#like oop where did the small rodent go

[fanficmakesforgoodescapism]

Has anyone watched she devil 😅😂

I'm baking sweets, would you like any?

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 15 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 14 here. Part 16 here.

Summary: "I came out to be attacked and I'm honestly having such a good time right now" - Miss Reader

Words: 6700

Warnings: Choking. Rough sex. Do we need to put these as warnings? Seriously I ask because I feel like with our work it's just assumed but then I realized I forgot to put them last time and

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

Oops we snuck a little bit of angst in there at the end. :)

Hi! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter - honestly so relieved to be writing more porn since we missed it so bad. Also wanted to say that we genuinely appreciate the kindness, generosity, and love we receive each chapter. Like... this is such a small little fandom and to have people enjoy the story we create in it with such engagement is really really rewarding.

Love y'all so very much! See you so soon <3

You sat against the wall. Your makeshift scarf, your shoes and stockings laid at your feet. You stared at the bed.

It was difficult to imagine that you’d spent any time in camp wishing for this very sight—the sturdy frame and headboard, the downy mattress, the soft cloud of pillows and warm quilt bathed in candlelight. Once, you might have flung yourself upon it, snuggled into it like a duckling to a shepherd dog’s fur. Now, as you huddled against the wall, it seemed more and more that any movement might somehow set that terrible, four-legged beast upon you with blazing eyes and gnashing maw.

An ache had set through your hunched shoulders, your seat bones where they rooted into the floor, your knees where they curled to your chest. You barely felt any of it. Since entering the room and sinking into this spot, you hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. But within the stone mausoleum of your body, alive and thrashing itself bloody against its walls, was your mind.

A blink, and the party slammed your skull in a tangle of colors.

‘... may want to ask your permission, first.’

Another blink met lips, teeth, breath, the sheared seam of pleasure and pain.

‘William.’

Your eyes squeezed shut. Blood—soaking through linen, staining your hands. A rattled wheeze.

‘... the “bear’s den.”’

‘William, please.’

Papa—alive, alive, alive.

‘... heading northwest.’

‘Please, I want you to take me.’

‘Break for me. I want to feel you break around my cock.’

‘William—”

Across the room, the doorknob twisted. You shot to your feet.

William Tavington entered slowly, met your eyes before easing the door shut behind him. For the second time that evening, you considered the window.

He said nothing, his brow rising in expectation. You would not give him that. Instead, you dropped straight to the floor, flopped onto your side, and flipped toward the wall. As you studied the baseboards, your rodent heart beat in double-time with his footsteps.

The vibration of his boots started from the door, crossed to the bed. Behind you, a rustle of fabric. Your chest tightened. He was undressing.

Another flicker of memory: his strength under your hands, the tension against your fingers.

‘I see what you want.’

Biting back a groan, you shut your eyes. You weren’t going to look at him. You weren’t going to even speak with him. At least, that had been what you’d told him—and to some non-negligible degree, yourself. The fact that his presence inspired such a gnawing, clamoring want made you feel like you’d swallowed a baby bird, a thing with nothing but a wide yellow mouth and an empty stomach.

In any other circumstance, you would snap its neck. But this hungry, wiry hatchling of yours seemed so fragile that the thought of crushing its delicate bones made you wince.

You did not know what to do with it, what you wanted to do with it. But as you cradled it close, stared into its mouth, so desperate and vulnerable—you found yourself longing to feed it.

“I told you I would sleep on the floor,” you said to the wall.

You heard Tavington’s boots hit the wood. “You did.”

“So that’s what I’m doing.”

“I can see that.”

His clipped tone made you bristle. You spun around to face him and were struck with the sight of him seated on the bed, absent his jacket and waistcoat, unwinding the ribbon from his hair. He gazed at you, scanned your figure before he pulled the strands of his braid free, releasing them into loose waves.

You’d never seen him with his hair down before. Heat gripped your thighs. You pressed them together.

“I don’t know what right you have to be frustrated with me,” you said. “I’m doing exactly as you asked.”

“Yes.” He glimpsed you again as he shucked his stockings. “And you are woefully mistaken if you believe your affinity for discomfort is any concern of mine.” Standing, he pulled down his breeches, his hair cascading over his shoulders, and your heart tripped over its own allegro tempo.

It was clear he had no pretense about your attention. He doffed them as if he were alone in the room, revealing to you two trunks of muscle that disappeared underneath his shirt. The swell of his calves, the pretty curve of his hamstrings, the rigid outline of his quadriceps—all of it stoked your blood like fire, all of it made you want to sink your claws and teeth into his skin.

The realization made you swallow. Perhaps you were an animal.

“I…” You drew in a breath. “I’m not uncomfortable,” you said, wiggling against the hardwood. “I like the floor, actually.”

Tavington looked at you as if you’d professed a desire to eat spiders. Without another word, he grabbed his shirt by its bloodied hem and lifted it from his torso. All moisture in your mouth evaporated.

You’d never considered yourself someone who worshiped at the altar of beauty. Its disciples were vain, its tenets vapid. But seeing William Tavington nude—his shoulders and back rippling like a tiger’s, his hair a waterfall of shimmering chestnut, his ass arching into a high, firm hill of flesh—you realized how foolish you’d been.

For this man, you would become its vassal, you’d prostrate yourself along its shallow chantry and pledge yourself in eternal service.

Tavington cast a glance at you, as if he knew you were staring, and pulled back the sheets to climb into bed. Your eyes glued to him, memorized the pattern of the hair on his chest trailing to his groin, the cut in his hips that framed his stomach. You wondered how it would feel to touch him, to graze your hand along that strange skin, to introduce your mouth to every part of his body.

A yank of the covers concealed him, breaking your trance.

You frowned. “You aren’t going to snuff the candle?”

The bed shifted with a shrug of his shoulder. “You’re perfectly capable.”

“Why me? We’re both going to sleep,” you grumbled, but he said nothing in response. “Well.” You flipped back toward the wall. “Good night.”

You shut your eyes again. You could ignore the candlelight. Just like you could ignore your want.

Outside, crickets greeted the stars. The night was heavy with late August heat, its weight swathing you like a fresh hide, crushing you beneath the layers of your gown. You pressed your cheek into the cool wood of the floor. Savoring that small mercy, you willed every blazing mote of want to pass from your skin and into those inert planks, to learn from their example.

But the floor pushed back. Into your pelvis, your shoulder. You shifted your weight onto your backside. Then the tie of your skirts bit your spine, so you flipped again, finding your way onto your stomach. There, your petticoats swamped your legs, your stays pinched your belly.

Candlelight splashed shadow over the mound in the bed where Tavington laid. You rolled over to your side again, nestling your head into the crook of your elbow, causing the sleeves of your bodice to squeeze your arms.

“I thought you liked the floor,” he murmured.

“I do,” you snapped, and thumped your arm-pillow against the wood in emphasis. “Mind your business.”

A soft noise came from Tavington. It could have been a sigh. Perhaps a scoff. Either way, it irritated you.

You closed your eyes again, settled against the planks. This time, you would not move. Not even as a seam dug into your armpit. Not even as your own hip bones became pickets, gouging through your tissues and into the floor. After all, with your flesh the ruined patchwork that it already was, what were a few more bruises?

Your fingers brushed the side of your neck and met the tender evidence of his teeth. Pleasure ghosted your nerves. You jolted, your position shifting. Scowling at yourself, you focused on immobilizing your shoulders. But that only gave your hips the opportunity to tilt of their own accord to find relief, and you sat upright with a huff.

You scowled at Tavington’s back. Waited for whatever remark he was sure to make. But his shoulders merely rose and fell in a gentle tide.

A scorching heat crept up your neck. And as it reached your face, you smothered it in your palms.

What were you doing?

Certainly not fooling anyone with your self-flagellating charade. Between this stunt and your ridiculous insistence to walk home, you’d more than earned the accusation of petulance. The woman bound in a dress and curled up on the ground was one you didn’t recognize. You were tired of her presence. Tired of her punishment.

The facts were plain. That you had been with a man, and you’d liked it. That there was no reconciling your differences with him, but that hadn’t stopped you. That you could do nothing but take action, now, and there was no point in making yourself miserable.

Grumbling, you clambered onto your feet and shuffled to the empty side of the bed. You paused. Swallowed. Reached out toward it as if afraid it may bite. When it did not, you slowly rolled on top of the blankets, head on the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Beside you, Tavington faced the wall, exhaling as you wriggled to the edge of the mattress.

His presence felt heavier than that of a man’s. It filled the room like smoke, ate the air and made you choke. Your head felt light. Your skin burned.

This man had been inside you. Hollowed you. Shattered you. And now you laid in bed next to him as if you didn’t even know his name.

You wondered if it felt as foreign for him as it felt for you. Wondered how many dozens of women slept in his bed and were made nameless in the morning light.

Had he spent this evening only wanting you? Or were you a convenience, a pleasant exploit that he’d mock in tales to his friends?

Did he have friends?

“What were you laughing about?” you heard yourself ask.

Tavington was silent for a moment. He didn’t move. “Have your hopes set on a future asylum visit?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not now.” You looked at your nails, then the ceiling. “Earlier.”

“I can’t imagine I found anything prior to this moment entertaining enough to laugh.”

“With those two women,” you said, a bit more insistent than you wanted to be. “You know what I’m referring to.”

“Ah.” Something akin to a smirk entered his tone. “What was it you said—mind your business?”

You frowned. “I think it is my business,” you said, rolling over to face his back. “You looked at me right after you laughed.”

“Did you interpret that to be an invitation?”

“No.” You suppressed an urge to poke a finger into his shoulder blade. “I interpreted it as you—you laughing at me.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “What if I was?” he asked. “Why does my opinion concern you?”

“I…” It was a fair question. Why did it matter to you at all? One thousand emotions waited like frog eggs beneath the surface of your mind, their jelly bodies stuck together, their identities undisclosed. None of them had a name. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear,” he said. “Armageddon is upon us. She’s admitted ignorance.”

You growled in frustration. “I just…” To speak, to birth a feeling would be to christen it and accept it into your custody. But there were too many. You would surely suffocate underneath them. “It just does.”

Tavington sighed through his nose and rolled over. A lock of his hair fell over his face. He pushed it aside. “You cannot be so foolish.”

“What?”

He stared at you. The intensity of his focus seared you, set your burning skin aflame, made you question why you still had on this damn gown and this pair of stays and this shift and all of it.

“I suppose next you’ll tell me you don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Because you forced me to be,” you replied, huffing.

Tavington did nothing but hold your gaze, daring you to continue to skate along the edges of honesty. You would rather escape your body and float into the air than continue examining your little clutch of emotional liabilities.

But despite your wishes, you remained corporeal. Your emotions remained real.

“No.” It was a half-truth. You had a hunch of why you were in this room. A hunch that only extended to Tavington himself, and a hunch you could still not bring yourself to accept regardless. “I don’t know, all right?”

“Then I’ll ask you a question. You informed me that you would neither speak to me nor lie in this bed,” he said, as if he were reading to a simpleton. “Now you have, and you do.” He paused, still staring. “Why?”

You couldn’t keep looking at him. Your eyes fell to the space between you, more vast than the oceans between where you’d each been born. Why indeed—the question alone inspired a flinch of resentment. You had given him a part of you that you hadn’t ever anticipated giving anyone. And yes, you’d liked that you’d done it, but you hated how exposed it had left you. You didn’t want anyone to gloat over your vulnerability, least of all him. And at the same time, you couldn’t wait to do it again.

“I… It’s that…” The sentence fumbled on your tongue. “We’ve been together,” you said, swirling your finger on the sheets. “Perhaps it’s one of a hundred for you, but I don’t have the privilege of experience.”

Tavington watched you, followed the pattern you drew as you spoke. His eyes wandered along the edge of your figure, leapt back to your face. He snorted.

“You poor thing,” he said.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

He rolled onto his back, looked to the ceiling. “You’re terrified of what you want.”

“Terrified?” you said. “I’m not terrified of anything.”

“Look at you.” He glanced sideways. “Stumbling over your words.”

“I—no, I’m…” You shifted forward, trying to force your feelings free. They clung together like a congealed mass. “I don’t know what I want.”

He turned, cocked an eyebrow in dry incredulity.

“Why are we focusing on me?” You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want?”

Tavington rolled fully onto his side, propped himself up on his forearm. “No,” he said, chiding. “I think it’s quite clear what I want.” His eyes flicked to your marred throat. “To everyone.”

You swallowed, stupefied under his full attention.

“What I have already had,” he continued, voice falling into his chest, “and would have again.”

His desire raised the hair along your nape, called to you like the lightning tether between earth and sky. Your gaze flitted over his skin, the powerful curve of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest. That hungry want inside you wailed out your answer, gulped blindly toward the shadow where his body disappeared beneath the covers. Shuddering, you closed your eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

You began to shake your head. Winced at your own cowardice. Peeled your eyes open.

Tavington’s gaze ensnared you.

“Do not evade this,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Your tongue felt encased in bark. “I…” You tried to swallow, but it lodged in your throat.

“Ah, ah,” Tavington dipped his chin, coaxed your eyes to remain on his. “I want to hear you say it.”

Time stood still in the flicker of the candle flame.

“You.” A whisper, a bolt from the heavens that flayed the truth in naked, burning shards. “I want you.”

You let out a shaking sigh. With the admission spilled to the air, you could feel yourself unbind from your casing, come squirming, needing, wanting to life. Yet still, the gap in the bed felt impermeable. You wanted him to reach across it. To rip you up by your roots and lay claim to you. But he did not move.

Tavington’s lip quirked. “Go on, then.”

Your eyes devoured him. “What?” you breathed.

“Take what you want.”

A shiver. Your hand moved, though you didn’t remember asking it to, until it found its way within an inch of his body and hung there, parted a hair's-breadth from the expanse of his breast. Hot oil pooled in your belly, dripped between your thighs. You were so, so close. Tavington watched you, gaze trained on your hand. His breath had stilled. His throat bobbed.

In the frayed threads of his restraint you recognized a craving so unsated it threatened to consume him, a craving that only you could possibly satisfy. For this, you realized, your desire did not make you weak, or vulnerable, or fragile. Because as badly as you wanted him, he wanted you, too. And that made you feel invincible.

Your fingers grazed his chest, and he tensed, a sharp breath escaping his nose. You met his eyes, swallowed, dragging across his nipple, your thumb investigating the crease under his pectoral. Tavington stared at you, into you, his lips parting as your hand drifted further, your fingers grew bolder. Underneath your touch, he was firm, his skin warm. You wanted to know all of him.

Drawing a quiet breath, you swept to his stomach, skimmed the hair there. Muscle twitched in response. You started to tremble, your neck started to sweat, and you pressed your palm into him. He was solid, like stone, pushing back just by existing. Your thumb traveled to the side, ghosted over his hip bone, and you squeezed him there, exhaling at how impervious it felt. Tavington wet his lips. His eyes wandered across your body.

Lower, lower still you moved, crawling toward the coarse patch of hair below his waist. Your heart pounded so madly you were surprised he didn't feel it against his skin. Then you brushed the edge of hair and felt the heat of his arousal. The anticipation of it made your thighs compress, made your core pulse. You stopped. You stared at your arm, stalled mid-reach beneath the sheets. Your gaze met his.

You weren’t sure what you were waiting for.

Tavington smirked, curled his hand around yours, and wrapped it around his cock.

You gasped. He shuddered. He was hard, harder than you'd even thought possible; less like flesh and more like forged iron—unyielding, pulsing with heat. Tavington tightened your grip around himself, and he hissed in pleasure, his hips bucking into your touch. Your breath escaped in a quiver; you were paralyzed, your eyes locked onto his as he guided you up, then down, allowing you feel every inch, every tiny thumping vein, every beat of his need for you.

To your surprise, the ache between your legs swelled in response. Despite the pain of your virginity’s death, your cunt was stumbling back to bed, eager and willing for a reprise. And with the way his cock felt in your hand—the silken skin sheathing the savage, pulsating desire—you would oblige it.

Another stroke, another, your breath coming faster, his eyes hazy with growing pleasure. You squeezed his shaft and felt him throb, and he groaned, jaw stiffening as he thrust into your fist.

“Knew you’d learn quickly,” he huffed.

You wanted to say something clever, but the only sounds you found were, “Uh huh.”

He released your hand, instead moving to cup the back of your head, weaving his fingers into your hair and pulling your lips to his. You whimpered, flush with heat, and his tongue slipped into your parted mouth.

Your eyes fluttered shut. You melted into the kiss, your wrist rolling, twisting as you stroked his cock. His hips moved in rhythm with you, the head pushing through your fist as if he were fucking into it. Panting, you let him lick into your mouth, let him nip your lower lip, let him tug you closer, closer, until you were just inches apart, and your body suddenly felt all too restricted by the layers of clothing swaddling it. If you weren’t so captivated, you would’ve thought to remove them.

Then you skimmed your thumb up the underside of his cock, over the head, and he groaned into you, driving into your hand until you connected with his stomach, and you promptly forgot everything that you’d ever thought about before that moment.

Tavington’s nails scraped your scalp, his mouth moving hungrily over yours. Humming with satisfaction, you stroked him again, twisted your wrist, swept over his head, this time catching a bead of fluid on the pad of your thumb.

A memory: his own thumb on your leg, the collection of your blood and his essence, his smirk as he led it between his teeth. Your heart hammered between your thighs. You broke the kiss with a breath.

His lips red and flush, he watched you, entranced as you released his cock, brought your hand to your mouth. Keeping your eyes on his, you pressed your thumb to your lips and dragged your tongue up the pad, gathering his seed into your mouth. It was warm. Salty. You shivered as you swallowed it.

The man across from you beheld you as if you’d embodied lust itself. And then, before you could display even an ounce of pride, he lunged, body caging yours to the bed. His hands ripped at your bodice, his breath uneven.

“My, my,” he muttered, “I was right.” Tavington jerked your limbs like a doll’s as he tore your clothes free. “You are a glutton.”

You were transfixed, cunt tingling with something between fear and excitement. “Yes,” you said, allowing him to lift your hips to pull your petticoats from your waist. “I am.”

Having stripped you to your shift, his hands slid up your thighs, peeling it up your body and over your shoulders until you flopped, naked and exhilarated, to the mattress. Tavington loomed above you, his hair cast like a mane around his shoulders, his gaze glittering like cracked sapphire. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to speak, but then thought better of it and lowered himself on top of you.

“Oh—” you went to say, before his mouth smothered yours.

The sensation of his chest, his stomach, his thighs; of the smooth, addicting warmth of his skin; of his hands holding you still and his cock wedged between you both—it engulfed you, and you threw yourself into it, your hands roaming his back, grabbing at every part of him they found.

Tavington’s tongue slid over yours, earning a moan, resurrecting gooseflesh. You undulated underneath him, wanting to mold your body to his. His muscles hardened, he laid his weight onto you, his cock slipping between your thighs, its mere presence making your clit twitch with longing.

With a growl, he broke the kiss and found your bruises, teeth retracing their composition. You whined, scratching down his back, and he tensed, biting harder, moaning into your throat. His hands grasped at you, learned you, sought every place where you began and ended, until one caressed the heat between your legs. A single finger slid between your folds, coating itself slick.

“William,” you whispered, before you could even think his name. At this, he nipped at your bruises, teased your sore entrance before easing that finger into your core. “Ah!”

“Hm?” He pushed in deeper, exhaling as he felt you clench around him.

“It—that…” You squirmed at the pain, uncertain if you wanted more or less. “Nothing,” you replied. “It just hurts.”

Tavington’s finger curled cruelly inside of you, his breath leaving in a quiet laugh. “No sweeter words to my ears.”

Burying his face in your neck, he pulled his finger free and raised his hips. You were unable to speak, barely able to breathe before he’d prodded your cunt with his cock and started to spear you open. You choked, your arms winding around him, clinging to him like a bird to a cliff face, the pain almost as agonizing as the first time. The sharpness of it shook you, each inch making you quake, the stretch forcing you to stifle a wail.

“Shh.” His voice surrounded you, became the only grounding force outside of what you'd captured in your enduring embrace. “I doubt you'd want Pettis to become curious about what he's missing.”

You sank your nails into his back. “Pettis would—ah—die for that particular curiosity.”

“Treat him—” Tavington tensed, groaned into your ear. “Hell—treat him like a cat, then, would you?”

“If he's anything like a cat,” you said through gritted teeth as Tavington slowly withdrew from you, “then his curiosity would end all nine of his pathetic lives and still leave him unsatisfied.”

“So ferocious,” he muttered, pausing. “And yet here you are, screaming at the end of my cock.”

You snorted. “No, I'm—”

Smirking, he slammed in to the hilt. You screamed.

The strokes started deep, each new thrust prying free the scabs of your time apart, and you closed your eyes, suspended in sensation like water. Your hands scoured his back, felt the effort of his desire, and his mouth found your throat, kissing, nibbling what it could find. Sweat built between you, his hair tumbled into your face, and you wanted to feel him, all of him, wanted to know his body like it was your own.

You bit your lip, reached below his waist, groping until you latched onto his ass. It flexed in your hands, tightened and rolled with every pump of his hips. The reality thrilled you, flooded you with need. You squeezed him, and he huffed, shifting his legs so he snapped harder, faster into you, earning a stuttered cry as you rocked with the force. Pain, pleasure—the delineation fogged. As long as he remained inside of you, they occupied the same space inside of you, too.

His hips pistoned, he panted into your neck. You could not remember what you said, if you said anything at all. You remembered coiling your legs around him, hiding your wails in his shoulder, until the pressure became too great. He nailed something deep in your core, and you strangled the urge to scream by sinking your teeth into his flesh.

Tavington reared back, slammed a palm into your throat, and as your head snapped down to the pillows, you glimpsed a bead of crimson welling from the little red crescent above his collarbone.

“If you wish to behave like an animal,” he grated, gaze empty of mercy, “then you’ll be fucked like one.”

He ripped free from you, snatched your waist, and flipped you onto your stomach as if you were made of cotton. You sobbed, head spinning faster than your heart, pillows buffeting your face. Like a ravenous wolf, he kneeled behind you and jerked your hips into the air. A pleased hum escaped him as he smoothed his hands over your ass, down your back as it arced to the bed. Then, with a grunt of relief, he split you apart again.

The next moments blurred into a fever of passion. Tavington behind you; his hands seizing your thighs; the rolling cant of his breath in desperate resolve; his hips smacking yours; the lewd slap of skin; the quake of your connecting flesh; your body bound to his, bound to bear the furious punishment of his cock.

He fucked you like he needed to, like a parched man plunging into water, like he wanted to silence a terrible, screeching piece of himself that could not stop wanting you. He groaned, growled, gasped from his chest, his cock pounding into you with no concern for your pain, its only duty to use you for every ounce of pleasure that it could fuck out of your cunt.

You had become lost to the room, liquefied under his influence. Every breath ricocheted within you, every sound escaped as a wanton babble. You scrambled for the sheets, the pillows, reached toward the headboard, seeking something, anything to ground you in the storm of bliss. Nothing worked. You spiraled, untethered.

“Oh, God,” you whimpered, more pathetic than you’d ever sounded in your life, “Oh, God—”

Tavington laughed. “He can’t help you here, dandelion.”

You whined. Your clit pulsed, swollen beyond need. In the tempest, you reached toward your cunt, found the throbbing center, and swirled your fingers over it. Ecstasy shot through you, tightened your walls around him, all of it drawing free a fractured moan.

“Yes,” Tavington snarled, “yes—”

He pitched forward, crushing you into the bed, one arm locking around your neck, the other stuffing itself under your body and between your legs. His fingers mimicked your movement, his hips crashed into yours, the position causing him to strike a spot that whited your vision. Pleasure bloomed instantly, swarmed you like a hive.

You made to cry out, to squirm, but found the sound throttled by his hold, found yourself immobilized underneath him—nothing but a hole to receive his cock, nothing but a toy he was going to make come.

“I was—” Tavington spoke between heaving, bliss-wracked breath. His arm tightened at your neck, his fingers fluttered over your needy clit. “I was mistaken.”

You wanted to respond. But your impending climax silenced any thought, any noise outside of hallowed, wordless sobs of adoration.

“I’m not your cunt’s master.” He held you tighter, fucked you deeper. “I’m its owner.”

Nothing in the world made more sense to you than this. You hooked onto his arm, tugged at it, inhaling air and exhaling nonsense. “Yes, William, yes, yes—”

“Hell,” he hissed, spitting your name. “Come off, then. On my cock.”

Your addled mind required no further instruction. His fingers found the fracture point, and you flew over the edge, contracting around him with a cry. Your cunt milked him, your nails gouged him, and you convulsed, drowning in rapture. Tavington crushed your throat, breath ragged, dragged into his own peak by your pulsing cunt. Just as you descended, he jerked free from your core, thrusting between your soft, warm thighs. Once, twice, and with a choke of bliss, he broke.

His teeth tore at your shoulder, and between your legs, you felt his cock throb as he spilled himself, again and again, into the sheets. Haunted by the ripples of fading orgasm, his hips stuttered, and in your own aftershocks, you trembled with him. Finally, you both collapsed, his weight a sweltering comfort on your tender skin.

Drool covered your chin, sweat stained you from forehead to ankle, but you had absolutely no other care in the world. In fact, you figured, you might be content to lie here forever, attached to William Tavington’s cock and perpetually free of thought.

You hummed happily, and Tavington released you, letting your head plop onto the pillows. Above you, he grunted, sat back on his heels, but you remained still. Moving was not an option for you. You were fairly certain you’d lost all of your bones somewhere in the room.

As you settled into the bed, the evidence of his climax smeared your legs. You went to wipe it free and paused, gathering it on your fingers. Curious, you brought them to your face, grinning as you observed the strings of his seed web between them. Something about it, in your half-lucid state, delighted you. You felt you’d earned it.

That earning had come at a price, too: you shifted, and seethed in discomfort. You wondered if Tavington had somehow managed to shove a mace up your cunt in the interim.

He’d left the bed at some point, and you eased around to see him at the basin, wiping himself clean with a rag. Shadow threw the musculature of his body into relief, the edges of his figure glowing with sweat. Tendrils of hair pasted to his forehead, and he cleared them off before turning to return to the bed. He stopped at the candle.

“Now you go to blow it out,” you mumbled. You caught his eyes, felt your heart skip. Realized in the moment that he snuffed it that he’d known you’d come to lie in the bed all along.

Bastard.

What did one do, in the quiet of post-coitus? You imagined that those in love might hold each other, nestle together under the blankets. But the thought of wrapping yourself around him like you were squirrels in winter made you want to throw your skin to the floor. You squirmed to the edge of the bed, staring toward the wall as he slid in next to you, sight adjusting to the night.

The sky glittered beyond the window, silver light dusting the room. Silence grew heavier with each passing moment, but you found yourself unable to speak, less able to move. To crawl underneath the covers and entrap yourself in the boundaries of his body heat would be to permit William Tavington to a level of familiarity that no one could be privy to but family itself.

How bizarre to feel this way when you’d just had him inside of you. But acts of sex, you realized, held far fewer stakes to you than acts of sincerity.

Yet the chill of your evaporating sweat, the cooling of his seed underneath you made the air feel like ice. You’d already decided that you would not be subjected to discomfort to spite only your own pride. Just as sex did not equal sincerity, sharing a bed did not equal intimacy. So you capitulated, and pulled the sheets over your body.

To your surprise, the warmth didn’t feel imprisoning at all. It actually felt rather nice.

You wondered what you would say to who you’d been in May, before you’d met Colonel William Tavington. You wondered if that woman would even understand why you’d done what you’d done. If you’d done it for any reason other than desire, she would. But in this moment, you couldn’t discern the end that justified this means.

Because, truth be told, you did desire William Tavington. And in perhaps even bolder truth, you didn’t fully, totally, completely hate this man who’d left you a ruined mess.

Though, to be fair, you hadn’t been the single victim this evening. You remembered teeth, blood daubed like ink across his skin, its message taking shape: ruined as you may be, he wasn’t the only one who could leave his mark. Of every truth you’d had to face, this one was the most palatable—he’d been yours, too.

And in, perhaps, the boldest, most naked truth of all, you found yourself curious about him.

“Do you have friends?” you asked.

A pause. “I beg your pardon?”

You frowned. “What, is the concept that foreign to you?”

“I simply find myself wondering why you even ask.”

“I regret my folly of curiosity already,” you replied, shifting further away from him.

Tavington exhaled. The mattress shifted. “One,” he said. “Perhaps.”

You snorted. “Perhaps does not imply the confidence with which I'd expect to call someone a friend.”

“Then perhaps I don’t,” he said.

“No?” Flipping over, you found him turned on his back, gazing into the empty air. “You have no one you talk to? Confide in?”

He looked at you, brow raised. “I have no need to.”

“Not even when Cornwallis is excoriating you for one thing or the other?”

At this, you spotted a true, conspiratorial smirk on his lips. “Yes,” he said, looking back to the ceiling, “you've come to learn there's a certain burden to the weight of his opinion.” His eyes narrowed in amusement. “What would you have said to him if I hadn't stopped you?”

“Well…” A grin fought its way onto your face. “I may have been about to imply his wife deliberately found a permanent way to escape the weight of his opinion.”

His smirk grew, cracked into a genuine chuckle. “He can't have wounded you so terribly.”

“That—” You held your tongue for a moment, then realized you didn’t care. “He's a blithering, myopic half-wit with the insight of a bloody olive. He has no right to lead an army.” Sneering, you added, “Probably couldn’t land a shot if the target was hung around his neck.”

Tavington stared, his expression inscrutable. If you didn't know better, you would've confused it for fascination. “Hm.” His eyes were sterling in the starlight. “You may be accurate on at least one of those accounts.”

For some reason, you felt flush. “I know that.” You averted your gaze. “Anyway. I would find taking orders from him repugnant.” With a shrug, you added, “I’m surprised you don't wash your hands of the war and have done with it.”

He frowned. “Wash my hands of it?”

“Yes,” you said, pursing your lips. “Go back home to England or whatever you call the hole the demons spawned you from.”

“Interesting you choose to speak so confidently about the short-sightedness of the general.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“This war is my home,” he replied, as if it were plainer than the rising sun.

You blinked, face screwing in confusion. No friends, no home? This was hyperbole.

“You have no one you wish to see?” you asked. “No dreams of what you’ll do in days of peace?”

Tavington snorted. “I dream of nothing,” he said, “I wish for nothing.” He spoke with such finality that it stilled your tongue. He glanced at the window, back to you, before resting his head on the pillow again. “Without our victory, I have no hope or need for any of it.”

You studied his face. It was not one of a man tormented by sadness or beguiled by the romanticism of war. And this in itself utterly baffled you.

Without your family, without the ones who loved you and you loved in return, the outcome of the war was meaningless to you. Your country’s liberty held no value if Grace or Papa could not be present to witness it. Your own life hardly held value—who were you if not Grace’s protector? Who were you if not your father’s daughter?

The thought of the world without them opened a void in your chest. You had at least two people who cared if you lived or died. And you’d unwittingly mocked the man you shared a bed with about having no one. And then, to make matters worse, he’d rewarded you for it.

Apparently, even the most vicious of creatures could feel shame.

“I'm…” You held your breath, hoping the words could escape on an exhale. “William?”

He sighed. “Yes?”

“I apologize for what I said earlier.”

Tavington glanced at you, unimpressed. “The list of words you've spoken to me that would warrant an apology approaches the length of a treatise,” he replied. “You'll have to specify.”

Chewing your lip, you turned over the specificity in your mouth like marble. It felt heavy and cold on your tongue. But you needed to spit it out. “When I said, uh… That no one would care. If you lived or died.” You cleared your throat. “That was cruel.”

His brow furrowed. “That?” Scoffing, he turned to his side, his back facing you. “Why apologize for speaking truth?”

You stared. He’d said it without an ounce of self-pity or a flicker of concern. Not an edge of dispute was present in his tone. To him, it seemed, this was the simplest fact of his life—simpler, even, than his own name, and just as intrinsic to his existence.

William Tavington: the man nobody loved.

The phantom of your shame sank to your stomach. You swallowed, turning over, gazing out of the window again.

Stars mingled among a smattering of feathery clouds. Aches from your evening dulled to a hum. The beat of your heart, the cadence of your breath, the distant warmth of his body feet away from yours—you weren’t sure which of these finally lulled you to sleep.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

The Waiting Game

Warnings: tickling, fluff

Word count: 3200

I'm not as happy with how this one came out as the last two, but if I keep thinking about it I'll never post it so... hope it's alright!

* * *

You knew you shouldn’t tell anyone. You knew there would be consequences. But it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You had been taking care of your friend’s pet hamster while they were away for the weekend. For the most part, you’d kept it in your room in its cage to avoid bothering the others with all the noise it made overnight, running on its squeaky wheel at all hours. When everyone else had left the compound for the day, you decided the poor animal could use some real exercise. You had placed the critter in his little hamster ball and brought him to the common area so he could roll around freely.

Except, the little door that closed the ball wasn’t latched all the way. Oops.

Before you knew it, you were crawling around on your hands and knees trying to locate your friend’s pet. You left little snacks out around the room in hopes it would get curious and come out of hiding to munch on something. You were so focused on the task at hand you hadn’t noticed Loki had entered the room, until you heard his voice behind you.

“What in the norns are you doing?” he inquired. You turned to look at him, just as you saw a little fuzzy creature tear across the room and right in front of the dark-haired god. He let out a somewhat undignified yelp as he jumped back. Luckily, the hamster stopped at one of the treats you’d left for him, giving you ample opportunity to scoop him up in your hands. “W-what is that?”

“This is my friend’s hamster!” you explained, giggling at his reaction. “The better question is – what was that noise you made? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this little thing?”

“Of course not! It merely startled me, is all,” he quickly insisted. You held the hamster out toward him, and Loki took a nearly imperceptible step backward.

“Mmhmm, ok. Not scared. Got it.” Grinning, you moved your hand back and petted the hamster gently on the head. “What would the others think if they knew you a tiny little rodent made you freak out?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at you. “Never speak of this,” he demanded, pointing a finger firmly at you to emphasize. He quickly left the room after that, likely to regain his composure.

But you couldn’t just not tell anyone about this gold nugget of information you’d just learned. So, naturally, you told his brother. And Thor, not one for keeping secrets, told everyone else. Needless to say, there was quite a bit of teasing over the next couple of days. You steered clear of the god, knowing he would not take kindly to your having informed the rest of the team about the little incident.

You couldn’t avoid him forever, though. A couple days later, after having returned the pet to your friend, you were making breakfast for yourself in the kitchen when Loki’s voice echoed from the doorway.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated, his tone ominous. You turned from the stove to meet his eye, smiling sweetly to mask your nervousness at being confronted by the trickster.

“No, of course not! We just haven’t crossed paths,” you fibbed. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes – I suppose yesterday in the hallway you just realized you forgot something SO important you had to literally sprint in the opposite direction as you saw me approach?”

“Oh… alright, fine. Yes, I’ve been avoiding you. Wouldn’t you do the same?” Loki stepped into the kitchen, taking a few gradual steps toward you.

“You must know there are consequences when you cross me,” he warned. “You humiliated me, and so I think it only fair I do the same to you.”

“Well good luck with that, I’m an open book. There’s no secrets you can use against me,” you quipped.

“You see, I thought that may be the case, so I started querying the other Avengers,” he explained, now standing only a few feet away from you. Instinctively, you put down your half-cooked breakfast and took a step away from the advancing Asgardian. “Most of them had fairly useless information – scared of spiders, fairly standard human weakness… sleeps with a stuffed bear, which everyone already seemed to know about…”

“Please. That’s not embarrassing,” you huffed.

“…and then I spoke to the spider child. He provided me with some very interesting information about you.” Loki smirked, causing you to laugh nervously.

“Oh, do tell,” you urged, folding your arms across your chest, and trying to play it off as a laugh of disbelief. Loki had now backed you into the corner of the kitchen, which you hadn’t realized until your back met the cold plaster of the wall.

“He informed me that the only time he’s ever seen you truly flustered and embarrassed was during one of your sparring matches, when he accidentally learned about your little secret.” Realization dawned on you, and you tensed up immediately. “He described how you’d begged him not to tell anyone, and he hadn’t up until this point. Apparently he finds me threatening, so it wasn’t difficult to convince him to start talking.”

“I-I don’t know what he could possibly be talking about,” you muttered.

“I think you do,” Loki argued. He pounced at you, lunging with his hands aimed at your sides, causing you to squeak and curl into yourself. His hands stopped inches away from you, close enough that your skin tingled from sheer proximity to his fingertips. “You’re ticklish. Severely, based on that reaction.”

“Pshh, no I’m not! That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you denied, your lie exposed by your nervous giggles and blushing face.

“Mmhmm, I’m sure.” His hands darted toward your belly, again stopping right before he made contact. You yelped and whipped your arms down across your torso to protect yourself. Loki’s smirk only grew wider.

“Ok, fine. You’re right. Just… get it over with!” you begged.

“Oh no. Where would be the fun in that?” he chuckled, stepping back and allowing you space to move away from the wall. “I’ve got to build some anticipation. Catch you when you least expect it.”

“That’s just mean!” you groaned. Loki laughed again, turning around to leave the kitchen. Just before he left, he called over his shoulder.

“You’d better watch your back.”

* * *

Loki’s little game went on for days.

You were on edge at any given moment. Peeking around corners before entering rooms, listening through doors before opening them, trying to ensure your safety before making a move. You half expected him to jump out of nowhere and attack you with tickles on your way down the hallway, but it never happened. Still, you made your travel between rooms as brief as possible.

You wouldn’t say you were dreading the moment he finally did decide to pounce. In fact, in a way the idea made your heart flutter with excitement. What made you most nervous was the thought of the team figuring out you actually enjoyed being tickled, especially Loki. You were certain that that would be the embarrassing part. That, and the fact that you were already flustered by being around Loki long before he figured out this bit of information about you.

You couldn’t always avoid him. There were times that you had to be in the same room for prolonged periods, like during meetings. Loki always seemed to have things set up before you arrived so that the only seat remaining in the room was next to him. You considered sitting on the floor, once, but Steve gave you a scorning look which made you shrink down into the chair beside Loki, albeit begrudgingly. During these meetings, Loki always made sure to keep you on your toes; leaning towards you abruptly and placing his hand on the back of your chair, making you jump, only to whisper something about the meeting presentation, or some ridiculous observation about his brother.

It wasn’t just during work-related gatherings, either. One night, you joined a few of your teammates in the common room to watch a TV show together. Wanda stood up from the couch beside you to go grab a snack from the kitchen, and out of nowhere Loki swooped in and sat down in the spot she previously occupied.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, smirking as you shuffled further toward the edge of the couch to increase the distance between the two of you.

“Loki,” you grunted stiffly in reply.

“Now, y/n, that’s no way to greet your fellow team member,” he scolded tauntingly, clapping a hand on your shoulder, and causing you to flinch away reflexively. He leaned back against the couch, casually propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of you – a stark contrast from your position, huddled in the corner of the couch hugging your knees to your chest in an effort to make yourself as small as possible. “Pray tell, what are we watching?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you huffed. Maybe this whole situation was making you feel a little bratty toward the Asgardian, but in all honesty he really did deserve it.

Suddenly he lunged toward you, causing you to squeak and jolt away from his fingertips. He never touched you, though, closing his fingers around the TV remote sitting on the couch beside you with a smug grin on his face.

“My, my, aren’t we jittery this evening?” he teased, settling back into his seat as he pointed the remote toward the TV to check the guide and find out the show title you had refused to provide.

“Everything alright over there, antsy-pants?” Tony asked, having witnessed the whole interaction.

“Yup! Just peachy,” you replied quickly, shooting Loki a quick glare.

“Peachy? Uh… alright then…” Tony scrutinized you for a moment before turning his attention back to the TV screen.

Needless to say, you didn’t really remember any of the rest of the show from that evening.

Then, as if these group gatherings weren’t enough, there was also your regularly scheduled training sessions. One morning, when Nat had you practicing throwing punches at the punching bag, you sensed Loki lurking around behind you. You turned your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision standing a few feet away, observing you silently.

“Better watch yourself – I might just throw one of these punches in your direction,” you threatened, keeping your eye on him as you continued to practice.

“Such hostility,” he teased. “Surely this much stress can’t be good for a mortal such as yourself.” He quickly advanced toward you, causing you to spin around and throw your hands up in front of you in defense. A deep, throaty laugh escaped his lips at your reaction. “You’ve only proven my point. You must learn not to be so tense.” He grabbed hold of your shoulder and turned you around, kneading both shoulders with his strong hands. Under normal circumstances, you’d have melted under his touch, but you were unwilling to let your guard down even for a moment. You grabbed his wrists and turned back to face him, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

“I’m not just going to let you slip past my defenses that easily,” you warned, stepping backward toward the door to leave while he smirked at you in amusement.

“Oh, don’t worry - I’m certain of that.”

* * *

After a week of this charade, you were really getting anxious. You were starting to flinch at every little sound, every rapid movement anyone made in your direction. Even when it wasn’t Loki you were interacting with, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The anticipation was literally driving you insane.

You entered the training room that morning ready to release some of your stress in your sparring session. Unfortunately, Steve had started noticing over the last few days that you and Loki were in the middle of some sort of conflict, and so he assigned the two of you as sparring partners, telling you to either fight it out or get over whatever it was. Reluctantly, you stepped out onto the sparring mat and faced your opponent, already starting to feel nervous butterflies in your stomach. Loki shot you his characteristic mischievous smirk, ducking into his fighting stance.

“I’ll do my best to make this a fair fight,” he goaded. You mimicked his stance, narrowing your eyes at him across the mat.

“Just get on with it, Loki,” you ordered. You didn’t wait around for him to make the first move, throwing a quick one-two punch which he dodged easily. He countered with a jab toward your ribs, stopping just before he made contact, but it was enough to make you flinch. You aimed a low-sweeping kick at his ankles but missed again as he hopped over your leg. Frustrated, you threw another sloppy punch toward his shoulder, but he grabbed hold of your wrist and yanked you toward him, spinning you around easily and pinning your arm behind your back, his other hand gripping your waist.

“Do you yield?” he asked, his voice low in your ear. You spun back around and yanked your wrist free in one fluid motion, driving him backward by slamming your forearm into his chest.

“Not just yet,” you grunted, grinning as he stumbled from the unexpected force. Loki quickly regained his balance, wasting no time in lunging at you again. This time, he aimed his hand toward your side, causing you to yelp and twist awkwardly to avoid his touch.

“Did Natasha teach you that move? Your form is getting sloppy.”

“You know exactly what made me move like that,” you muttered, jumping back on the offensive and landing a couple of blows to his shoulder. He retaliated with a jab straight at your stomach, stopping his own momentum early enough that he merely tapped his fist against your belly. You doubled over, wrapping both arms around your torso protectively.

“It seems your fighting skills require quite a bit of work.”

“Damnit, Loki!” you shouted, unable to take it anymore. “If you’re going to do it, just do it!”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean. You’ve been finding every excuse to lean toward me or make a sudden move in my direction to make me think you’re going to do it. I can’t stand it anymore!” You didn’t quite realize how loudly you were shouting at this point, causing heads to turn in your direction without your noticing. “I know this was all part of your grand plan, to drive me insane with anticipation. You win! I give! Just… get it over with already, please!”

In one swift motion, Loki tackled you flat on your back onto the mat, arms pinned over your head. You felt your stomach somersault, partially from the sudden drop to the floor and partially from the wide smirk on Loki’s face as he hovered over you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Loki released both of your wrists and latched both hands to your sides, squeezing rapidly. You burst into uncontrollable laughter at the agonizingly ticklish sensation. Even Loki seemed somewhat taken aback by your reaction. “No wonder you were so concerned; the spider boy certainly wasn’t lying.”

“Damn you Peteheher!!!” you groaned through your laughter. At this point, everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to see what the sudden commotion was about. You could feel your face burning, knowing everyone’s eyes were on you as Loki tickled you senseless.

You couldn’t bring yourself to fight back very hard, though; after all, you’d been waiting for this to happen for an entire week. You hoped it didn’t seem too obvious. You didn’t dwell on it for long, though, as Loki’s fingers crawled up to your ribs, depriving you of all coherent thought.

“Do you regret spreading humiliating rumors about me yet?” he teased, his smirk widening.

“N-no!”

“Tsk, tsk, wrong answer, darling,” Loki shook his head in mock disappointment, his hands darting back down to your sides so he could dig his thumbs into your hips.

“Lo… Loki… wahahait!” you pleaded, shrieking at the new sensation, and swatting feebly at his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m not comprehending what you’re trying to tell me.” He was laughing now, clearly enjoying himself as he made you squirm under his torturous fingers. “Come, now, darling; I know you can fight better than that.” You shook your head rapidly, grasping weakly at his wrists. He moved to scribble lightly into your belly, trying to allow you the chance to talk while still keeping you giggling. “Use your words, love.”

“I-I cahahan’t!” you protested.

“You can’t? Or you’ve chosen not to?” Your eyes widened a bit, realizing he’d caught on to you. “Are you enjoying this?”

Blushing furiously, you rolled abruptly to the side to break his hold and scrambled to your feet, gasping for breath. Loki stood as well, staring you down for just a moment before lunging toward you. You turned and began to run, but the god easily caught up to you, grabbing hold of your arm and yanking you backward so he could trap you in what you could only describe as a bear hug.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Um…” Your heart was pounding in your chest from both exertion and embarrassment. “No? That would be… that would be weird.”

“On the contrary; I find it amusing. Dare I say… endearing, even.”

“Really..? Are you sure-” You were cut off by your own hysterical laughter as Loki dug his fingertips into your ribs, tickling you with renewed vigor. With your arms pinned to your sides and your back pressed flush against his chest, there was very little hope of you escaping this time.

“Surely you understand the implications of this newfound knowledge, dear? You’ve provided me with the perfect excuse to torment you whenever I’d like.”

“Stohohop teasing… LOKIHIHI!” you pleaded, your knees going weak as his fingers darted up and down your sides. You’d completely forgotten about everyone else in the room at this point, your mind going fuzzy. The only thing keeping you standing upright at this point was Loki holding your weight up as he tortured you.

By the time he released you from his hold, your stomach hurt from laughing so hard, and tears of mirth blurred your vision. It had been quite some time since anyone had tickled you like that. Heat still prickled in your cheeks, but you felt happy, nonetheless.

“Damn. Now I know how to cheer you up when you’re moping around the tower,” Tony quipped, walking past you and patting your shoulder as everyone finally returned to their own training exercises.

“Shut up, Tony,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. A swift poke in the sides made you jerk both arms down away from your face.

“I do believe we’re even,” Loki stated, smirking.

“Fine. We’re even. Now – can we finish our sparring match? Without cheating this time?” You shoved his shoulder playfully to emphasize your point. He only grinned wider.

“Darling, I refuse to make promises that I don’t intend to keep.”

[soulsborne-pilled]

MK-S: Small excerpts from Candeloro’s journal (dated as January 1, but not necessarily the actual date; as a role play journal, she takes some creative liberties; if she stops for a break, changing days as a way to mark different writing sessions, etc.):

Jan 1st: …And so I already find myself making camp, barely more than a small jog from the entrance to this realm; the multitude of passages available exceed my wildest expectations. If I do not begin my map making now, then I will surely leave several of these passages unmarked in future endeavors; I cannot allow this fresh perspective and attentiveness to be muddled by time and familiarity…

Jan 27: Today I engaged with yet another servant of the Rat Lord. Truly, he must be the cruelest of tyrants, for his minion was surely no more than a mere babe. (Note to self, google if baby rats wander into homes, or if it’s a sign of nesting; really hoping it’s the former.) All the same, the beast fell by my blade. My honor dictated that give I give my foes, however vile, a proper burial, least their remains rot and let their evil bleed over into my own realm. (Reminder: start bringing plastic bags so I don’t need to drag these things all the way back to the entrance every time I kill one and the moment I do so; I don’t want these things to start stinking up the house, but I’d rather have to drag multiple bags back, than have to stop everything each time.) And so, I grabbed my fallen foe, and began my return to my beloved home realm (Need a name for this. ‘House of Seckendorff’? Sounds good, but the ‘House’ part’s a bit too on the nose, and realms are inside and out…did I call them realms or spaces? Check later.) dragging my foe (oops repeated with pen) so that he may receive a proper burial, with the rites of his people (a quick goodbye in the dumpster outside)…

Feb 3rd: …I…I cannot begin to describe the thing I saw today, but it is my duty to do my best, to document all aspects of this strange land.

One of the rat lord’s minions descended upon me from above, a tactic they had never done before (scared the heck out of me, looking up to see an eye looking back. And since when can these things climb on next to nothing?!?) and one that caused me to drop my trusty blade in shock. This foul beast of gargantuan size (seriously, as big as me; I’m tiny, but that’s got to be big for a rat…Todo: google wild rat sizes after family dinner) lunged at me.

I was backed into a corner, and the beast moved ever closer, fangs bared, intent to rip me to pieces (or make me shoot a small hole in the wall, but still something I’d rather not have to fix). But then…something I could not tell be blessing or curse came out of the darkness. At first I thought it the Rat Lord himself, for surly this titan among rodents must be king of his kind. But this greater beast waited not but a moment before biting down on the neck of my assailant, killing the ambusher in nary the time it took (to find a word to go here) for me to release my baited breath.

The titan, though seemingly made of the night itself, I believe I saw impossible traces of reds and blues, took the fallen rat and left retreated (sounds much better) back into the dark. I myself fled back to camp, so I may document this strange event, least I potential find some more mundane, albeit tragic, end. (Note to self: ask Nagisa if she’s always had such big small familiars, and add more cheese to the shopping list.)…

Alright, that concludes these excerpts written as though by Candeloro. Hope they were fun to read! (I thought it be fun to have things like Candeloro making small notes in the margins, where she breaks character to write reminders, or having this double as a diary of thoughts while she’s hunting rats. Also a few jokes related to how she’s writing this down and, like many of us, may get stuck trying to catch that word on the tip of her tongue.)

That is soooooo cool omg,,

[aarcanechaoss]

Runaway

Okay so I wrote something anyway love you guys :)

Meet Amaya Harlow noble and full time badass

“What do you think you are doing ungrateful child!” A slap echoed in the study. The man in question was Cristano Harlow, noble of the Clover Kingdom. “I keep you fed, I keep you clothed and you can’t do a simple thing for me? Your father!”

The man was in a rage, his fiery hair seemingly matching the flush on his cheeks as a second slap echoed.

“I’m sorry.” Amaya whispered through quiet anger.

“No you aren’t.” He spat before gripping at her hair. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, you will marry anyone I choose, better yet you’ll do anything I say. For example- if my business partner wants to see the merchandise you’ll let him see it…. Understood.”

“Yes sir.”

Grey eyes locked onto the wide fearful eyes of her younger brother- wondering if it would happen to him too. It wouldn’t. Cristano would never lay a hand on his son. His daughter however he slapped for simply answering a question in a way he didn’t like.

That was it. Amaya couldn’t handle it anymore she had to leave.

Once Cristano left Eren stepped towards his sister.

“Amaya?”

“I have to leave Eren.” She said softly. His stormy grey eyes locked with her silvery ones in confusion. “He won’t hurt you. He never has. I can’t live like this anymore.”

It hurt to hear his older sister sound so broken, weak, fragile. She was always boisterous and rowdy with him teaching him magic and sword play she even taught him archery considering that was the only thing their father would boast about her, his eldest child- her incredible archery skills. It was pathetic really that he didn’t see anything else worthy of being a Harlow.

“Where will you go?” He asked. He was only 13 while he understood her leaving he still wanted to know she’d be safe. Thirteen was when he had to start becoming a man his father told him. Amaya gently ruffled his auburn locks, the shade so much lighter than her bright scarlet ones.

“The magic knight entrance exams are soon. Maybe I can join a squad and keep out of fathers radar.” Eren’s eyes sparkled. The idea of his sister being a knight filled him with so much joy.

“Promise to write to me?”

“Always.”

It was only weeks later when she’d escaped and made her way to the capital. A silver locket pressed to her chest with her hand as she navigates through the busy streets towards the arena for the exam. The locket held a picture of Amaya and Eren, a good luck charm from the little wizard.

Next thing she knew she had a number and was waiting for the exam to begin. She pulled her cloak tighter against her for comfort. This might have been insane why did she think she could hide from the Harlow watchers like this? Becoming a magic knight… wouldn’t that put more eyes on her? No. She promised Eren.

The first test was basic, fly on a broom, she felt like a child standing so perfectly upon the old cleaning utensil high above the rest. She sniggered quietly watching people stagger and wobble beneath her.

Next was magic blasting? She had to blast magic at a wall. She wasn’t too sure about that considering blasts weren’t something she ever worked on. With a steady breath she allowed her grimoire to flutter, a new page being written, the royal blue covers seemed to glow happily at the new page making her smile. A small ball barely bigger than her palm appeared, a black spiral formed with what seemed like white sparkles. Her hand buzzed urging her to throw it. Without any beautiful movement she threw the orb hard at the wall tearing a hole clean through. She jumped a little in excitement before straightening herself out and walking towards the next test.

Moving targets. She held back her excitement. Technically there wasn’t anything against her using weapons as far as she was aware but she didn’t bring her bow but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make one out of magic…. Actually no she had something more fun up her sleeve. With a puff of her chest her grimoire came to life once more.

“Rain fall target lock.” With a tilt of her head a grey cloud seemed to form around her grimoire and with a crack rain water seemed to strike its mark with ease. She smiled again, pulling down her hood to hide the glee, that was always her favourite spell.

Time to create something with magic. Amaya’s nose scrunched she has no idea what to do that that task. She could bring over a small Thunder cloud, darken the arena, make it rain or make a shield or mist… that might be a good idea. With a quiet hum Amaya stepped forward hands seemingly just swaying through the air. The squad captains watched closely confused at the simple movement as the air began to still.

“Is she crazy or are we just not seeing what she is?” Jack asked, the captain of the green mantises. Amaya’s head snapped towards the captain making him furrow his brows- had she heard him?

“Excuse me?” Her voice carried towards one of the other examinees.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you could you do me a favour and blast some magic at me. I can create mist shields and well it’s a bit hard to see as you can… well see.” Amaya shrugged. The other mage squinted at the slightly hazy orb just barely visible. They nod. Magic water swirling in their palms.

“Is she actually crazy what’s happening?” Jack asked again.

“She’s got balls is what.” Yami, the Black Bulls captain, laughed.

The mage’s magic swelled before blasting towards Amaya who stood perfectly still. The captains and those watching nearby held their breath only to see a spray of mist swell around her the water magic disappearing at a touch.

“It was a shield.” Amaya yelled out in conformation. Held breaths dissipated- okay she wasn’t crazy that’s good.

Next she needed to help a seed grow. She won’t lie that was very easy especially with magic that involves the rain. It bloomed into a beautiful blue rose, Amaya hummed happily as she held the rose up to be seen- Charlotte was more than impressed by this.

Finally. Amaya had been waiting for this a fight. A mage stood across from her, his magic seemingly water of some kind. Maybe snow she wasn’t sure. With a grin she took a step forward.

“Little missy thinks she’s tough just because she’s been doing so well so far.” He taunted. From the shade of her hood all he could see was the grin that split across her face. Taunting back she laughed lowly.

“Little man thinks he’s special with his pretty purple robes.” He flushed.

“Don’t mock me little girl.”

“Ouch that one hurt.” She snickered. Her tongue swiped across her teeth. “Are you going to fire first or just keep walking backwards?”

“You insolent child.” Within an instant her smile dropped and so did she beneath the shade of her grimoire which was left floating above her cloak. “Where did she go-“

“I’m right here.” She whispered into his ear. His eyes widened and head turned, she was behind him. But how? He wanted to yell. She had only seemed to have rain magic of some kind. “What did I scare you?” She laughed.

“No you lowly peasant. A mere slave like you could do no such thing. You vile rodent of a being.” He barked, trailing into insults many people chose to cover their ears for.

“People like you piss me off.” She spat before blasting him with her new found spell- though more subdued so as to not put a hole in him. He fell to the ground skidding away from his Grimoire. He looked up at her, long scarlet hair shadowing her face, silver grey eyes staring him down as he slowly lost consciousness. “Oops.”

With a yawn she waited her turn cloak now resting comfortably back on her shoulders. Her number should be soon she thinks. She’d heard before the exams began that two new squads had formed over the last few months, Black Bulls and Golden Dawn. Grey eyes scanned the Captains, she really hadn’t thought about who she’d like to join. Definitely not the Silver Eagle or the Grey Deer she wasn’t a fan of the Silva family and while she knows the Grey deer have a good reputation her father spoke of the captain highly so that’s a no. The Coral Peacock didn’t peak her interest and within the lack of feminine traits she has the one thing she got from her mum was at least a sense of fashion- so she wasn’t a fan of the colours sue her. Purple Orca’s also was a no her father was friends with their old captain. Blue Rose didn’t peak her interest, Charlotte was nice they’d met before but all girls meant she’d not be allowed to have fun- Uh yes because Char is a stickler for following rules. Yep. The Green Mantis just wasn’t up her ally she’d definitely butt heads with Jack knowing her personality when pissed off. Crimson Lions… the captain isn’t ugly… but again a stickler for rules and orders she might not get much freedom. The Black Bulls had Yami Sukehiro as its captain, many people in the nobles know of him as the foreigner that pisses off the Royals and such. She might get along with him if memory serves her right from the few times they met when she was sneaking out- doubtfully he’d remember that. Golden Dawn she new nothing about. She didn’t know the captain except that he was a noble and that he wore a mask at all times according to the crowds knowledge. She stared at him, drinking in his posture and movement. He was a kind man probably lenient if this is the first time he’s a captain.

She didn’t expect to see all hands but the fact that Nozel was the only ones who didn’t raise his hand made her smirk- so maybe he’d recognised her she couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“Golden Dawn.” She said before anyone else could.

“You’ll be the first person to-“

“”I said the squad I want to be in referee is that not what I was meant to say?” She asked. Her grey eyes stared up to look at her Captain who gave a genuinely kind smile.

“Well uh-“

“Welcome to The Golden Dawn you’ll be shown to your designated area by a guard.” William interjected. She nodded before walking off.

Yami whistled lowly to his friend.

“Can’t tell if you bagged an insane woman, an attractive woman or one that’ll fuck you over.” Yami joked.

“Now Yami don’t be crass.”

“Don’t deny her beauty I saw you watching her.”

“We all where.” William responded quickly.

“Sure sure.” Yami laughed.

William rolled his eyes, he could tell she’d make a great asset.

[pines-troz]

Weekend With The Warners Chapter Four - Animaniacs & Pinky and The Brain

Summary: When the CEO assigns Pinky and The Brain with the important task of watching over the Warners for the weekend, Brain is prepared for any antics that the children have in store. What he didn’t take into account was forming a familial bond with the kids. 

TW: This chapter features a brief scene of vomiting near the second half. It doesn't go into great detail, but I would rather highlight this now in case anyone is squeamish or uncomfortable with that.

Word Count: 9,664

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849962/chapters/70318416

The golden rays of the morning sun seeped through the curtains of the hotel room. The Warner siblings slept peacefully in the queen bed near the door. On the other bed, Pinky stirred in his sleep. Crinkling his nose, the tall mouse awoke from his peaceful slumber. As Pinky batted away the sleepiness from his eyes, his gaze focused on the one thing he loved most in this world: Brain, still fast asleep making that cute whistling sound while he snored. The smaller mouse nestled his chubby head close to Pinky, clinging onto his chest with a fistful of fur on his right hand. Pinky watched as Brain’s body moved with each breath he took, utterly mesmerized by his peacefulness. The lanky mouse’s blue eyes trailed to the small river of drool pooled on his purple robe. Another trait of Brain he found to be absolutely endearing. 

Pinky smiled at his sleeping partner. Brain was usually grumpy and grouchy when he was awake, but all of that melted away when he slept. Instead of a scowl, Brain snoozed with a contented smile. There was a serenity to the eloquent mouse’s face that revealed his soft and vulnerable side, the part of him he always tried to conceal. It was that softness combined with Brain’s desire to anchor himself onto his partner that captivated the taller mouse’s heart. 

“Poit! Brain looks so adorable when he’s asleep!” Pinky thought to himself as he gazed at his partner with adoring eyes. 

The lanky mouse was so enamored with his slumbering partner that he was compelled to shower him with love. Pinky quickly planted a kiss on Brain’s forehead, hoping this small gesture wouldn’t disturb him in the slightest. But the smaller mouse’s nose twitched upon feeling the tender kiss and his eyes fluttered. As Brain slowly awoke from his rest to find Pinky smiling at him. 

“Good morning, Pinky.” Brain mumbled sleepily. 

“Good morning Brain!” Pinky lovingly replied as he leaned in and nuzzled his nose into Brain’s. The smaller mouse chuckled contentedly at the affectionate gesture. 

Brain’s eyes darted downwards to his hand, still gripped onto his partner’s chest. He noticed the pool of saliva on Pinky’s robe and blushed. Using the sleeve from his blue robe, he wiped away the excess drool from the corner of his mouth. After cleaning himself, Brain let out a huge yawn as he stretched out his arms. He slowly got up from his sleeping position and started to scratch his back, but stopped when he felt a warm hand caress his forearm.

“Oh Brain, don’t get up just yet. Can’t we spend five more minutes in bed together?” Pinky pleaded softly. Brain looked at his partner’s sparkling blue eyes. He would surely be a cad to refuse such an enticing request. Entranced by Pinky’s soft sapphire stare, Brain gave him a tired smile. Pinky received his answer when he felt his partner pull him close, resting his large cranium against his chest. Pinky’s cheeks warmed when Brain snuggled up to him. 

“Ten more minutes, Pinky.” Brain responded with a blissful sigh. The pudgy mouse contentedly closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his partner. Pinky smiled at Brain and closed his eyes, cherishing the loving gesture. Pinky gently wrapped his arms around Brain. The bed felt so much warmer now. 

The two mice held each other close. Brain wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he returned to his partner’s warm and loving embrace. Ten minutes, twenty minutes perhaps. But he didn’t care. 

“You know Pinky, I could stay like this forever…” Brain sighed as he tightened his hold around Pinky, snuggling up to his partner. The taller mouse hummed in agreement. But Pinky soon thought of something that would go against his partner’s proclamation. 

“But Brain, what about taking over the world?” Pinky asked softly with a worried expression. 

There was a moment of silence before Brain came up with a compelling response. Liberating his right hand from underneath his partner’s back, Brain gently cupped Pinky’s left cheek and stared into his beautiful blue eyes. “How foolish of you to assume that I haven’t done so already.” He said with a sly smile. 

Pinky’s brows shifted to a bemused expression while he took his left hand and placed it over Brain’s hand. “What do you mean?” 

Brain hoisted himself over Pinky, pulling himself closer to his partner until foreheads touched. “To put it simply, you are my world Pinky...” He admitted right before he leaned in for a kiss. 

Pinky was stunned to hear such a proclamation from Brain. He was aware of how important his dream of world domination was for the ambitious mouse. But for Brain to hold Pinky in such high regard made him feel all soft and gooshy. Once their lips broke away, the lanky mouse gazed into his partner’s rose-pink eyes. 

“Naaarf.” Pinky purred as he felt Brain tuck himself underneath his chin once more. Both mice closed their eyes again and resumed their peaceful embrace, resting for ten minutes more. 

But the intimate moment between the murine beaus was shattered when a big pillow fell on top of them with a quiet thud. Their screams were muffled as they were engulfed by the surprisingly soft darkness. The mice tried to escape, but the pillow was quickly lifted off of them. Pinky and Brain looked up to see Wakko, still in their blue footie pajamas, swiftly holding the pillow behind their back. Dot stood by holding her smartphone. 

“Oops, sorry dads.” Wakko sheepishly apologized. “I was actually aiming at Dot because she was acting like a creep!” He explained while pointing at their little sister. 

“I wasn’t acting like a creep!” Dot growled at the middle child, flashing her fangs. “I just happened to notice how cute they looked and wanted to capture the magical moment.”

“Ooh, could I see?” Pinky asked eagerly, clapping his hands. The Warner sister’s anger melted away upon hearing the mouse’s cockney accent. She turned to face the mice with a bubbly smile and sparkling eyes. 

“Well, of course, Pinky!” Dot happily replied with a charming smile. She showed the mice a series of photos of them entangled in their embrace as they snoozed together. As she swiped her finger across the phone, each picture proved to be more endearing than the last. 

Pinky’s blue eyes glistened as he gazed at the pictures. “Aww Brain, we look so cute together!” He gushed as he patted his partner on the shoulder. 

Brain while secretly thought that Dot had a good eye for detail and captured their beautiful moments of intimacy, merely rolled his eyes and turned his attention towards the Warner sister. “Promise me that you won’t post those photographs on social media?” He begged with pleading eyes. 

“You have my word!” Dot affirmed. “I already posted your lovely duet from last night on most social media platforms, which is trending last I checked.” 

“You what?!?” Brain screeched with bulging eyes as color flooded his cheeks. 

“Here, let me show you.” Dot explained as she pulled up the Insta-Gratification app on her phone. Brain and Pinky watched themselves sing passionately on Yakko’s palms while he zoomed around the room. Brain’s anger simmered down as he relived the magical moment from a third-person perspective. Even Wakko took a seat next to their rodent guardians as they watched the duet play out. Once the video ended, Pinky stood up and clapped. “Encore! Encore!” He chirped. 

“And just look at these accolades.” Dot added as she scrolled down the comment section, which was flooded with colorful heart emojis, thumbs-ups, mice, stars, and various smiley faces. 

Pinky’s eyes lit up as he gazed at the parade of positive emojis. The lanky mouse was thrilled that the world loved Brain’s singing as much as he did. Perhaps he should repurpose his social media account from teaching the world how to wrap their toes with various foods to one where he and Brain could sing along to Top 40 hits! Brain simply nodded at the praise. Despite his insecurity over his own singing, he preferred to be trending over a lovely duet with his partner rather than being assaulted by the various elevated mountain ranges on the globe. 

“Okay, I’ll let this one slide.” The eloquent mouse firmly declared. “But from now on, all videos and photographs you capture of me must receive my consent before you showcase them to the world.” 

“You got it!” Dot comprehended with a thumbs up. 

The bathroom door swung open and Yakko emerged, still in his green pajamas. He had a toothbrush in his mouth and some specks of toothpaste on the sides of his lips. “What’s all the commotion?” He mumbled through the toothbrush. 

“Dot was creeping on Pinky and The Brain while they were having a romantic moment!” Wakko shouted, pointing at their sister. 

“Wakko assaulted Pinky and The Brain with a pillow and destroyed their moment of intimacy!” Dot cried out simultaneously, pointing at her sibling. 

Before Yakko could act as a mediator between his younger siblings, Brain stepped forward and interceded. “Now now, Pinky and I understand that you two had no malicious intentions for startling us from our slumber. So please cease your quarreling and get dressed already.” Brain addressed the siblings in a slightly stern tone. “We have a long day ahead of us, and I’m certain that we’re all eager to have some continental breakfast downstairs.” 

Yakko took out his toothbrush and pointed it at Wakko and Dot. “Alright sibs, you heard Casanova. Let’s get goin’!” Yakko advised in his ‘responsible-big-brother’ tone. He quickly turned his attention over to the mice and flashed a playful smile and pointing finger guns at them. Brain frowned at the realization that the oldest Warner most definitely peeked in on his romantic moment with his partner. Pinky eagerly returned the gesture by pointing his finger guns while making beeping sounds. 

The mere mention of breakfast excited Wakko, who hopped over the bed and right into his suitcase to get dressed. Seconds later, he leaped out of the suitcase, dressed in his regular attire. Yakko ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Dot noticed this and barged over to the door, angrily banging for her brother to open up. The doorknob jiggled and Yakko exited the bathroom dressed in his brown slacks. 

“Patience, dearest sister,” Yakko playfully quipped as he walked past Dot. The Warner sister let out a humph as she strode into the bathroom. About a minute later, Dot emerged from the bathroom wearing her pink skirt. The girl smiled as she adjusted her yellow flower hair tie. 

Pinky and Brain simply took off their robes and tossed them onto the bed. Brain climbed up the robotic suit and hopped into the pilot seat. After their run-in with those pesky punks from the previous night, the mouse knew that it was wise to take precautions and arm himself with his technologically advanced suit in case they were to run in any trouble. He guided the suit over to the nightstand to retrieve the hotel key, placing it safely into his pocket.

Pinky bounced over to the Warner siblings, where Wakko picked him up and placed him on top of their red hat. Soon everyone exited the room, with Brain closing the door behind him. 

As they walked down the hall, Wakko and Dot skipped merrily down the hall while Yakko took Brain aside. “I know who you li-ike!” He sang to the tune schoolyard chant children use to tease others. 

Brain looked over at Yakko and gave a feigned shocked reaction. “Well shoot, you discovered my deepest, darkest secret.” He drawled sarcastically. “I’m romantically enamored with the mouse I’ve been dating for the past few months.” 

Yakko chuckled and back slapped Brain’s robotic suit. “For all the years that I’ve known you, I never assumed you’d be the romantic type.” He remarked. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me Yakko.” Brain retorted. 

“Now you sound like you’re hiding some actual deep dark secrets there, Brain.” Yakko bantered. “Have you made any powerful enemies? Murder a man? Plague your internet history by visiting some saucy websites?” 

The eloquent mouse released an exasperated sigh but decided that it was better to humor the boy by satiating his curiosity. “To answer your inquiries: The Yakuza are still on my trail, no, and yes, but I’ll have you know that I only visited those websites for research purposes.” Brain answered dryly. 

“Uh-huh, sure. ‘Research purposes’.” Yakko replied with a sly smile and waggling eyebrows. He quickly retrieved a pen and notebook from his pocket. “Now before I forget, wherein that big old head of yours did you come up with those swoon-worthy pickup lines, and can you give this hopeless romantic some pointers?”  

Brain let out another exhausted sigh. “I hate to rain on your parade, Yakko, but I’m not in the mood to instruct you on the art of wooing potential romantic partners.” He gently declined. “Perhaps some other time when we’re not mozying about in public.” 

“Right, you don’t wanna freely give away your valuable advice to any curious onlookers.” Yakko understood as he put away his pen and notebook. 

The elevator opened and Wakko, Dot, and Pinky filed in. Wakko held their foot out by the door while Yakko and Brain entered the elevator. Once everyone was inside, the elevator doors closed and they made their descent. 

The mice and the Warners enjoyed a contented continental breakfast together. Yakko had a stack of pancakes covered in syrup. Wakko had three plates full of waffles, eggs, french toast, and bacon. Dot enjoyed a nice plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. Pinky and Brain both had a plate of eggs and onion bagels smothered with cream cheese. 

After they finished their meals, they made their way through the lobby and exited the hotel. 

Once they hit the streets, Wakko and Dot immediately grabbed onto Brain’s robotic hands while Yakko placed Pinky on his shoulder. He bounced in front of Brain and started to walk backward, casually placing his hands behind his head. 

“So Brain, what’s on the docket for today?” Yakko asked with a playful smile. 

“Well, I’ve already planned out an extensive schedule of engaging activities, with some input from Pinky.” Brain took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to Yakko. The eldest Warner opened up the paper and read the schedule the older mouse created whilst Wakko and Dot sprinted over towards their older brother and looked over his shoulders. 

10:00 AM - Visit the Library

12:00 PM - Lunch at Denny’s 

1:30 PM - Go to the Movies

4:00 PM - Stroll through the Mall

6:30 PM - Dinner at The Puce Fedora

8:30 PM - Return to the Hotel 

“Taking you kids out to Denny’s was my idea! Troz!” Pinky chirped while looking at Yakko. 

“Well sibs, looks like we have a busy day ahead of us,” Yakko commented as he glanced at Wakko and Dot. “Then lead the way, my good man.” The oldest Warner addressed Brain with a dramatic bow, gesturing his arm towards their path. 

Wakko and Dot then perched themselves on the right and left shoulders of the robotic suit, with Brain settled between the siblings. “Onwards!” Dot commanded, pointing out to the horizon. Wakko flashed an eager grin with their tongue bouncing out. 

Brain looked over at the cheerful siblings on his robotic shoulders. “As you wish,” The eloquent mouse replied with an amused grin. 

The group walked through the city streets, with Brain shifting the controls to keep up with Yakko’s pace. The mouse noticed the fascinated glances from the other pedestrians and onlookers that passed by. The mouse ignored their curious stares and kept his attention on Yakko, who was showing off his parkour skills to an easily-impressed Pinky. The taller mouse carefully held on tight as the eldest Warner demonstrated his great athleticism. Yakko swung on the lamppost and flung himself onto the mailbox and did a backflip, landing gracefully on his feet near the edge of the sidewalk. Wakko and Dot clapped at their brother’s performance. Yakko turned to his audience and bowed. Brain gave the eldest Warner an impressed smile.

“Egad Yakko, that was amazing!” Pinky praised. “Hey, I should give this parker thing a try!” The lanky mouse hopped off of Yakko’s shoulder.

“Actually, it’s pronounced Parkour, Pinky.” Yakko gently corrected the enthusiastic mouse.  

Brain looked over at his partner with a skeptical expression on his face. “I don’t think that’s a particularly wise idea Pinky.” He warned. “You already pulled the muscle in your head, and the last thing I need is for you to injure yourself further.”

“Oh fiddleyposh,” Pinky dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I’m in great shape for someone my age!” 

The tall mouse eagerly hopped from the sidewalk’s edge shouting “Parkour!” before landing flat on the street with a hard thud. The Warners and Brain winced at Pinky’s rough landing. The mouse tried to pick himself back upon his feet but felt hissed at the painful bruises from his fall. “I’m fine!” He assured the others. 

Brain shook his head. Using the controls in his suit, he gently picked Pinky up with his metallic hand and carefully placed him in his coat pocket. The mouse steered the controls and continued to walk down the sidewalk, with Wakko and Dot perched on his shoulders. Yakko followed suit and kept up with the robotic suit at a casual pace. 

Ten minutes later, the group approached the main grounds in front of the Central Library. The Warners oohed and ahhed as they walked through the Maguire Gardens, observing the trees and the shallow pools that lined the small stairwells. Their eyes scanned upwards beyond the trees that filled the park and to the building, whose grand tower was crowned with a mosaic pyramid. 

“Ah, the public library.” Brain sighed blissfully as he gestured towards the building. “The beacon of literacy, accessibility, and community. A place where people of all backgrounds can easily access books and other materials for free use as well as utilizing other programs and services.” 

“So in other words, they’re socialist book lenders.” Yakko quipped with a smug smile. 

Brain’s brows furrowed at the smart aleck’s comment until he realized that the teen had a valid point. “More or less.” He answered while waving his robotic hand. 

When they approached the doors, Wakko and Dot hopped off of Brain’s robotic shoulders and landed both feet on the ground. The siblings then held onto Brain’s hands, with Wakko holding the right hand and Dot holding the left hand. Yakko opened up the door and allowed Brain and his siblings to enter first. 

Once the group entered the library, they were in awe of the beauty and grand scale of the interior. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot bounced along the black and white checkered tile floor as they marveled at the magnificent interior design of the library. Brain already took into account what kinds of shenanigans the Warners, and by extension Pinky, would partake in without his supervision. Bouncing around the quiet areas and potentially plotting revenge against anyone who would dare be rude to them. After careful consideration of the varying scenarios, he concluded that it would be best if they stayed in the children’s section, where the rules concerning indoor voices and energetic movement were not as strict. 

The mouse guided the siblings away from the more austere sections of the library and towards the vibrant and inviting aura of the children’s section. They ventured over to the children’s section, which was more colorful and inviting. The Warners gazed at the various soft sofas, colorful posters promoting various library programs appealing to different age demographics, and gorgeous displays promoting new books. They learned from various TV shows and movies that libraries were mostly authoritarian places where silence was always enforced upon patrons by stuck-up librarians. But they saw many young children talking and giggling to their friends and parents at a reasonable volume and decided that libraries could be fun and weren’t as bad as the media made it out to be. 

Brain noticed how entranced the siblings were and allowed a smile to escape. “Enchanting, is it not?” He humored. “Now that we’re here, I’m sure we’ll make the most of our time at the library. And the first order of business is to obtain some library cards.” 

“Yay! More snacks!” Wakko exclaimed. 

“No, Wakko, they’re not meant for consumption.” Brain told the middle child. “Library cards are used to check out books, movies, CDs, and other materials so you could bring them home for a reasonable period of time before returning them.” 

“Oh,” Wakko noted, nodding their head in understanding. “I think I get it. So I use the library card to take out the library books, and then I get to eat the books!” 

Brain simply shook his head, causing the middle child to let out a disappointed sigh. 

The group approached the front desk and were greeted by a young librarian who had wavy brown hair in a loose ponytail, wore pink round glasses, a rainbow-striped long-sleeve shirt, a long magenta skirt and glittering star earrings. The Warners were immediately captivated by the librarian’s vibrant appearance. Perhaps not all librarians were uptight middle-aged snobs. Another library stereotype had been shattered. 

The librarian noticed the mice and the Warner siblings walk up towards the desk and she immediately greeted them with a friendly smile. “Good morning!” 

“Good morning Miss Librarian!” The Warners and Pinky chorused. 

Pinky climbed out of the suit’s front pocket and hopped on the table. He approached the librarian with a friendly smile. “Yes, I would like to order a number four meal with extra cheese and no onions, and-” But Brain squeezed Pinky into his fist (a little harder than he intended) to shut him up. 

“Forgive my partner’s inane ramblings,” Brain apologized as he placed Pinky into his coat pocket, giving him a gentle pat on the head to compensate for his earlier transgression. “My children here are eager to have their very own library cards.” The mouse said as he gestured towards the siblings. The mouse took another glance at the rambunctious kids clamored by the desk. The jubilant faces were evidence enough that they took no offense to his statement. 

“Yes,” The small mouse pondered, “they are my children…” 

“Alrighty, let me get you the registration forms and you kids will be all set!” The Librarian replied as she opened up the drawer in her desk and retrieved the necessary papers. 

The Warners accepted the forms and quickly filled out their information. They handed their papers over to the librarian who typed in the information into the computer. After a couple of minutes of waiting, she authorized three library cards and gave them to the siblings. The Warners eagerly took their library cards, and Brain courteously thanked the librarian for her service. 

Yakko played around with his library card in his hands, smiling at the prospect of taking out new books to read. Wakko licked his library card before giving an ambivalent shrug, placing the card underneath their red cap. 

Dot eagerly grabbed her own library card and inspected it. The realization dawned on her that she could borrow any book she would like for free as well as picking out any book she desired from the library’s vast catalog. “So this is what true power feels like...” She said to herself with a devilish grin. 

Brain noticed the Warner sister’s excitement and flashed his own manic grin. “Yes! Let the power of book borrowing privileges seep into your very soul!” The small mouse encouraged. He let out an evil laugh and was surprised to find Dot joining in with her own dark chuckling. 

Pinky watched the two chuckle and an astounding realization came to him. “So that’s what King Arthur meant when he said ‘having fun isn’t hard when you’ve got a library card’! Narf!” The lanky mouse exclaimed. 

Brain ceased his laughter upon hearing Pinky’s misquote. “Pinky, King Arthur never said that, and there was certainly no mention of library cards in any variation of the Arthurian Legend!” He berated. “That quote was from that Arthur cartoon you’re so fond of!” 

The lanky mouse took a moment to register that information. “Oh, I guess it is...poit!” 

Yakko tapped his sister’s shoulder, who immediately turned to face her older brother. She joined him and Wakko as they started to explore the children’s section. Pinky hopped out of Brain’s pocket as he journeyed over to the picture book section. 

Yakko and Dot excitedly explored the shelves, eager to pick up some books for leisure reading. Wakko trailed behind as he did not share the same enthusiasm for reading as their siblings. As the middle child darted their eyes around the many shelves, he spotted a few circular tables near the reference desk, all of which had scrap paper and a box filled with colored pencils and crayons. 

Wakko immediately went over to the coloring table. He decided that he would spend their visit drawing. The middle child took a blue colored pencil and tapped their red hat, thinking of a perfect picture. After a moment of pondering, he became inspired. Taking a sheet of paper, Wakko grabbed a handful of colored pencils and went straight to work. He was determined to make an artistic masterpiece worthy enough to be displayed on the refrigerator door. The middle child was so focused on their work that he failed to listen to the pattering footsteps encroaching the table. 

“Aren’t you gonna look for a book?” Yakko asked his younger sibling. 

“Maybe later,” Wakko answered with a twinge of worry in their voice. Truth be told, he didn’t want to go through the stress of picking out a book he knew he wasn’t going to enjoy or take the time to finish. Instead, Wakko turned their attention back to the drawing. The middle child settled down at the table. “I’ve got some drawing to do!” 

“Okie-Dokie,” Yakko replied, holding his hands behind his back as he strolled through the children’s section. 

Over in the teen section, Dot perused through the shelves to find any popular YA novels but found the process to be quite arduous. Teen romances were either hit or miss, dystopian novels weren’t her cup of tea, and she greatly disliked any books told from the first-person perspective. However, the Warner sister managed to spot a few poetry books that seemed promising and a couple of mystery novels with intriguing set-ups. Dot sauntered over to one of the leather chairs and made herself comfortable. She opened up one of the poetry books and began to read. 

Unbeknownst to her, Brain took a quick glance over the shoulder of his suit to see her silently reading. The mouse was impressed to learn Dot’s bookish nature and her willingness to engage in more challenging reading material. 

The mouse then walked towards the nonfiction section to find Yakko browsing through the 900s books. The Warner brother picked up a book and inspected it, but ultimately decided that it didn’t catch his interest and returned it to its original spot. 

“Find anything of interest?” Brain addressed, trying to act as casual as possible by leaning on the shelf but figured that he looked like a complete goober. 

“Not yet,” Yakko answered. “but hopefully I’ll find some books on a specific person or time period to write some catchy educational songs about them.” 

“Good to know,” Brain nodded. He swerved the controls of the suit and continued to explore the shelves, allowing Yakko to resume his search for decent books. 

The mouse ventured into the fiction section in search of a particular novel in mind. Using the signs indicating the first letter of the last names, Brain moved towards the shelves where all the authors with last names starting with the letter S. With a pointed finger, he guided the metallic hand over to find a particular novel from a particular author. 

“Come on, come on…” He muttered as he trailed through the So’s over to the Sp’s until he landed on the book by Johanna Spyri. “Aha!” Brain cheered as he retrieved the book from the shelf and laid eyes on one of the greatest pieces of literature. He gazed at the illustrated little girl with curly brown hair in a red dress playing with two white goats on the grassy mountains of the Swiss Alps. “Heidi!” 

Gripping the book close to the robot’s chest, Brain decided to check to see how Pinky was faring. He hoped by Odin’s beard that his eccentric partner wasn’t causing too much trouble on his own. 

When Brain emerged from the fiction section, he was pleasantly surprised to find Pinky running up to him while lifting two books above his head. “Oh Brain, can I please get these beautiful books!” He asked as he dropped the books to show his partner. One had a picture of a family of bunnies wearing sweaters while the other book featured a parade of colorful elephants holding their tails together as they marched across a grassy plain. 

“Of course you can, Pinky,” Brain answered. “And need I remind you that despite your child-like mannerisms, you’re a grown adult with agency.”

“That’s odd, I don’t recall having an agent.” Pinky mused aloud. “Brain, do you think James Bond would be interested in being my agent? Or maybe one of the Spy Kids could be up for the job!” 

“No Pinky,” Brain groaned as he massaged his forehead. “what I mean is that you are an independent individual who is capable of making decisions of your own free will. In other words, you don’t need my permission to take out whatever books you want.”

“Oh, okay!” Pinky chirped with some comprehension of what Brain told him. 

With a shrug, Brain walked over to the table where Wakko was hunched over as he worked on his illustration. When the middle child spotted the mice approaching, he quickly turned their picture over flat on the table. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Wakko?” Brain pleasantly asked. Pinky sprinted to catch up with his partner while carrying his books. Brain noticed his partner doing his best to lift up the books and quickly confiscated them from his tiny paws, placing them underneath his library book. 

“Yep!” Wakko eagerly nodded with their tongue out. “I’ve been working on my magnum opus! It’s still a work in progress, but I’ll show you once it’s finished.” 

“Ah, I see,” Brian noted with a smile. “Well, aren’t you going to find a book or two while we’re still here?” The pudgy mouse inquired. 

“Nah,” Wakko answered with uncertainty. He tucked their hands into the sleeves of their sweater and kneaded their fingers through the soft cotton. 

“What’s wrong?” Brain asked. 

Wakko nervously wrung his hands through his sweater sleeves and looked up at the big-headed mouse. “If I tell you, can you promise not to tell anyone else about this?”

“You have my word.” Brain solemnly replied. 

“Books can be kinda intimidating, you know?” Wakko blurted out. “There are too many words, and they don’t grab my attention.” 

Brain looked at the child with concern, raising his bushy brow upwards. “Well, I’m certain that there has to be at least one book that’s tailored to your interests.” He insisted. “What types of genres do you enjoy most?” 

Wakko rubbed their chin as they pondered. “Well, I did try to read some sci-fi and fantasy books, but they were too wordy and I couldn’t understand what was going on. And Yakko tried to give me a couple of easy-reader books, but they were too boring!” The middle child let out a dejected groan. “I don’t get it. Dot’s younger than me and she can read all these heavy young adult books and I can’t even bring myself to read a lousy chapter book!” Feeling overwhelmed, Wakko buried their head into their sweater sleeves. 

Pinky was saddened by Wakko’s plight and decided to help them as best as he could. After a moment of thinking, the mouse thought of an idea. He looked up at the middle child with an optimistic grin as he showcased his library books. “Oh Wakko, you should try reading these wonderful board books. There aren’t a lot of words and you can look at the pretty pictures! Zort!”

“But those are baby books!” Wakko complained. “I don’t think there are any books that are made for me!” He then buried their face in the crook of their elbow and let out a hopeless sigh. 

Brain gazed at the downtrodden Warner sibling and pondered. He needed to figure out a way to alleviate the middle child’s dilemma. The eloquent mouse scanned the library shelves and found a section dedicated to graphic novels. Perhaps those books should suit Wakko’s needs and capture their attention. 

“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Brain whispered to his partner. 

“Sure Brain, but did they ever show us how to get to Sesame Street?” Pinky mused aloud. 

“While that’s an admittedly fascinating rumination dear Pinky, we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Brain stated as he gestured his head towards Wakko. 

The smaller mouse approached the middle child and gently placed his robotic hand on their shoulder. “I think I found some books that you might be interested in.” Brain gently prodded. Wakko hesitantly followed the mouse over to the bookshelves full of graphic novels. 

Brain glided the metallic finger across the various book titles until he found one that would interest Wakko. Hilda and the Troll. The mouse took out the graphic novel from the shelf and handed it over to the middle child. 

Wakko’s eyes shone brightly as he stared at the book’s cover, which featured a young girl with blue hair wearing a black beret standing in front of the snowy mountains with her cute animal companion. He gingerly opened up the book and was immediately captivated by the artwork. 

“What is this?” Wakko asked with wonder. 

“Why, dear Wakko, what you are holding is a graphic novel.” Brain answered with an encouraging smile. “A literary phenomenon that utilizes comics content to tell cohesive stories similar to typical novels.” 

The middle child carefully read the page, following the text and admiring the illustrations “Woah, this has easy to follow words and pictures!” Wakko exclaimed. “And they’re real books?”

“Graphic novels are novels, Wakko.” Brain reassured the child, patting their head with his robotic hand. 

“Great! I’m gonna take ten!” Wakko cheered. He perused through the shelves and picked out a handful of books that piqued his curiosity. After taking out the rest of the Hilda series from the shelf, he picked out Roller Girl, Ghosts, and three books from the Dog Man series. Wakko wore a jubilant grin as he gathered their graphic novels while Brain and Pinky smiled at the middle child’s revived enthusiasm for reading. 

Meanwhile, in the teen section, Dot was invested in her book. Yakko saw his sister and decided to sneak up on her. He tip-toed over to the teen section and carefully approached the couch. He had his arms out, ready to scare his little sister-

“Hey Yakko,” Dot said as she looked over at her older brother. Yakko brought his arms down and snapped his fingers in defeat. 

“So I see you have your books,” Yakko mentioned, trying to change the subject. 

“Yep!” Dot chirped as she hopped off the couch. “How about you?” 

“I picked out a few books,” Yakko explained as he held them up. “One on European architecture, another on the Renaissance, and a book on the Sixties.” The oldest Warner also held up two paperback books from his stack. “I also picked out a couple of those Captain Underpants books for Wakko just in case.” 

Dot nodded in approval. “Speaking of which, we should probably find them.” As the brother and sister walked back together, they were pleasantly surprised to see Wakko carrying a pile of books. 

“Since when did you become an eager reader?” Dot asked playfully. 

“Ever since Brain showed me the magical world of graphic novels! They’re like comic books, but formatted like a novel.” Wakko explained with the confidence of a college professor. 

“Nice!” Yakko replied, elated by his sibling’s excitement. “I also got you a couple of books that you might like.” 

Wakko looked at the Captain Underpants books and smiled. “Oh cool! I can read those too.”

Pinky and Brain quickly joined the Warner siblings. “So is everyone all set?” Brain asked. 

“Uh-huh.” The Warners chorused while nodding their heads. 

“Excellent! At this rate, we’ll be able to check out our books and arrive at Denny’s at a much earlier time than I had planned.” The big-headed mouse mentioned as he started to leave. The siblings eagerly bounced behind. 

-                           -                          -                          -                           -

The group arrived at Denny’s at around 11:45 AM and were quickly seated in one of the booths. As they waited for their meals, the Warners and the mousey couple decided to pass the time by swapping stories. 

Yakko divulged some unusual anecdotes, from a wild goose-chase over who stole Wakko’s donuts from the designer donut shop to the crazy hunter who turned out to be Chicken Boo in disguise. 

The mice listened carefully to the ‘whodonut’ story. While Brain was not the least bit surprised to find out that Wakko was the one who consumed the box of donuts, Pinky thought it was a plot twist for the ages. However, Brain was shocked to learn that the hunter bent on capturing all of the Animaniacs cast members was none other than Chicken Boo. He and Pinky admittedly didn’t spend as much time with the giant chicken during the show’s original run, but Brain must have suspected the twinge of jealousy in the poultry’s eyes when the mice and the Warner children received carts full of fan mail on a weekly basis while he only received a few letters during the five years the show was on the air. The latter story prompted Brain and Pinky to explain their run-in with their weirdly deranged former co-worker. They were heading back to the lab from a candle-lit dinner date, holding hands when they were spotted by a peculiar man with a mustache. The mice were able to evade capture by using decoys. Brain put a nice paint job on his spare Noodle Noggin doll and retrieved old Pinky plushie made in the nineties to trick the hunter into thinking that he caught them. 

Dot engaged the mice in one of her other anecdotes where she consumed a kawaii cupcake that turned everyone and everything into an adorably cute version of themselves. Pinky and Brain also remembered that fateful month and told the Warners about how their reactions to their cuteness.

When the mice first took a glance at their kawaii forms, Pinky was overwhelmed with excitement at how cute Brain was and wanted to show the world how cute he was. Brain was inspired by Pinky’s proclamation and tried to use his and Pinky’s cuteness to take over the world. But the mouse was dismayed when he learned that it had no effect in an already cute world. Brain spent the rest of the month thinking about his new form was reminiscent of the disgustingly saccharine artwork from the ‘Pinky-Winky and Brainy-Wainy’ pitch he heard from a pair of aspiring TV writers during a failed scheme from the nineties. It didn’t help that Pinky remembered the theme song and kept singing it. 

“They’re Pinky and Brainy! They’re Winky and Wainy!” Pinky gleefully belted out.

Brain placed his hand on Pinky’s cheek, ceasing his singing. “Quiet Pinky or I shall have to hug you.” He commanded, which elicited some chuckles from the Warners. 

As they shared their stories, Wakko eagerly read one of his graphic novels. Brain was pleased to see the middle child so invested in their library books.  

By the time they got their food, everyone was mostly content with their food. As they ate, Brain noticed how Dot grimaced as she consumed her lunch. When Yakko asked her if she was okay, the Warner sister shrugged it off. But the big-headed mouse could see the pain she concealed with her adorable face. 

Once Pinky finished his meal, he excused himself to use the restroom. A few minutes later, Pinky was skipping towards the booth when a middle-aged man and woman were appalled by the fact that a mouse was in the restaurant. The woman shrieked while the man violently kicked the poor mouse into the drywall. 

Brain and the Warners were horrified by the assault. The smaller mouse quickly approached his partner, gently plucking him from the wall and cradling him in his robotic hands. Brain exited from the driver’s seat, scurried down the right arm, and carefully draped Pinky over his lap as he inspected his injuries. 

“Pinky, please speak to me!” Brain cried out. 

“Naaarf…” Pinky uttered. He looked over to his partner and cupped his chubby cheeks. Brain was relieved that Pinky was okay. 

The Warners sadly gazed at the mice with sympathetic eyes. They then turned their attention towards the perpetrators and snarled. The careless couple exited the restaurant with no remorse for what they’ve done. The siblings retrieved their weapons; Yakko took out his pen, Wakko retrieved his wooden mallet, and Dot flashed her flamethrower. 

Pinky and Brain watched in astonishment as the children busted through the doors and followed the couple. The mice heard two frantic screams followed by childish giggling from the siblings. After five minutes, the Warners returned to the table as if nothing happened. 

“How are you feeling, Pinky?” Wakko asked. 

“A lot better, actually! Troz!” The lanky mouse answered with an optimistic grin. 

“What happened back there?” Brain inquired. 

“You don’t want to know,” Yakko replied. 

“Let’s just say that those bozos won’t be bothering Pinky anymore.” Dot mentioned cryptically. With a gentle hand, she carefully caressed Pinky’s head. The mouse smiled as he accepted her loving touch. 

Brain gave a warm smile at the siblings. “Thank you for standing up for Pinky.” 

“Of course!” Yakko assured. “After seeing you stick up for us last night, it’s only fair that we return the favor!” 

The rest of their meal went off without any further issue. Brain rewarded the Warners for their solidarity by allowing them to pick out as many deserts as they so desired. Wakko had one of each, while Yakko picked out brownie cake. Dot graciously declined the offer, instead of ordering another glass of water. As Yakko and Wakko contentedly enjoyed their desserts, Dot continued to look a little uneasy as she sipped her water. 

After Brain paid for lunch, the group was on their way to the movie theaters to see an animated movie featuring the Furbies which was most certainly attempting to ride off the coattails of The Lego Movie. Yakko and Wakko were excited to go to the movies when Brain informed them that the theater will have assigned seats and comfy reclining leather chairs. Yakko was especially elated by this. They’ll have fewer chances of coming across a man spreader and have a more comfortable movie-going experience.  

While Yakko and Wakko excitedly bounced around on their way to the movies, Dot was unusually quiet compared to her older siblings. The Warner sister walked at a slower pace, clutching her stomach and looking down at the sidewalk. 

Yakko knew that something was up with his sister and decided to intervene once more. “Hey, you doin’ okay sis?” He asked concernedly. 

“I don’t think I’m feeling too good…” Dot admitted. She then felt something rise up from her stomach and started to panic. The girl spotted a trash receptacle and sprinted towards it. Gripping the sides of the can, she threw up straight into the trash. 

Yakko, Wakko, and the mice winced as they watched the poor girl spew out her lunch. 

Once she finished, she felt woozy. Brain took out the folded handkerchief from his suit pocket and offered it to Dot, who graciously accepted it and wiped her mouth. 

Overwhelmed with guilt, tears began to stream down Pinky’s face. “Poit! I’m so sorry Dot, this is all my fault!” The tall mouse cried. “This wouldn’t have happened if we went to The Cheesecake Factory instead!” 

“It’s okay, Pinky.” Dot assured, trying her hardest to sound confident. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

Brain tied his best not to give in to stress and remain in control over the situation. “Okay, new plan: we need to return to the hotel right away so you could rest.” He addressed Dot and the rest of the group.  

The mouse consulted the map app on his smartphone and was thankful that it was only a ten-minute walk to the hotel from their current position. He looked over at Dot and realized that she needed some ginger ale after what happened. Fortunately, the group just so happened to be standing right next to a convenience store. Brain picked up Pinky from his shoulder and placed him next to the Warner siblings. 

“Pinky, you watch the kids while I go inside the store to fetch some ginger ale and crackers for Dot.” Brain explained as he dashed through the front doors. 

“You can count on my Brain! Troz!” Pinky responded, giving his partner a serious salute. Once the smaller mouse entered the store, he shifted his attention over to the Warners. 

Yakko and Wakko comforted their sister as they waited outside. Dot just stared down at the sidewalk, propping her head in her gloved hands.

“Why did this have to happen?” She thought to herself.

The girl felt Yakko’s hand ruffle through her hair while Wakko’s hand stroked up and down her back. Pinky, despite his short stature, went over to her knee and hugged it with all his might. Dot looked over at the lanky white mouse, giving him a grateful smile. She released her right hand from under her head and gently patted Pinky. 

The group was alerted when Brain exited the convenience store with a brown paper bag filled with a liter bottle of ginger ale, a box of salted crackers, and plastic cups. Additionally, he held a cold can of ginger ale in the robot’s right hand. Steering the controls, Brain knelt the suit on one knee and offered the ginger ale to the Warner sister, who wordlessly accepted it. She opened up the soda and took a generous sip. With the necessary goods purchased, the group started to make their way back to the hotel. 

“Do you need any help, sis?” Yakko asked. 

“No, I’m good.” Dot assured him. She was tough. After all, she was the one who marched to grant toons the right to vote and managed to sing an impressive song about the First Ladies of the United States in under two minutes. Dot was also strong enough to open up any jar lids for Wakko. Heck, she even saved Yakko’s life on Halloween night for crying out loud! A far cry from the sickly waif she played in Wakko’s Wish. While Dot knew how supportive and loving her older siblings were and she greatly respected the mice, the last thing she wanted was to be pitied by them. 

But the girl stumbled. She almost tripped, but managed to catch her footing and placed her hand on Brain’s robotic leg for support. 

Brain noticed this and immediately used the man-suit to pick her up, cradling her in his arms, an act that surprised Yakko. Brain gently adjusted his arm to properly carry her. Dot was too exhausted to put up a fight. Pressing the cold soda can to her forehead, she closed her eyes and surrendered to his concerned affection. Pinky made his way down the robotic arm and gently stroked Dot’s hair. The Warner sister gave a small smile, cherishing the care she received from the mice. 

Brain gazed at the Warner sister with worried eyes as he continued to walk back over to the hotel. Yakko and Wakko shared worried glances before catching up with the mouse. 

The group made it back to the hotel without further incident. But the somber mood from Dot’s sudden illness had rendered everyone, even the talkative Yakko, speechless. Brain couldn’t help but think of how strange it was to see normally energetic and loud Yakko and Wakko this quiet. It was an unnerving sight. 

When they arrived in front of their room, Yakko retrieved his hotel key and opened up the door. He allowed Brain, who carefully held Dot with the metal arms, to walk in first. The oldest Warner watched as the mouse brought his sister over to the bed. Brain moved the covers with one arm and gently lowered Dot with the other. Once she was in bed, she placed her magenta robe on. As she laid down on the bed, Brain placed the covers over her and adjusted them to her comfort. 

Yakko was still standing by the doorway, feeling surprisingly out of place. Normally he was the responsible one. Always taking care of his younger sibs when they were sick, making them breakfast, or enchanting them with bedtime stories. While he didn’t ask to play the part of the parent, he adapted to the role to the best of his ability. And for someone who had to watch over Wakko and Dot for over sixty years, Yakko thought he did a pretty good job. 

So why was he feeling weird about having an adult he knew to do his job for him? 

Brain placed the groceries on the nightstand, taking out the ginger ale, plastic cups, and box of salted crackers. Once the mouse emptied out the paper bag, he placed the library book bag on his bed and rode the suit over to the other side. After he parked the robotic suit, he got out of the driver’s seat and hopped onto the mattress.

“Pinky, you’re in charge of supervising Yakko and Wakko.” Brain ordered. “Why don’t you take them to the movies while I’ll stay here and keep a vigilant eye over Dot.”

“Sure thing, Brain!” Pinky said confidently, giving him a thumbs up. 

“Uh Brain, I can stay and help too,” Yakko interjected, trying his best to mask his worry. 

Brain noticed the boy’s willingness to help out. He tried to come up with a gentle way to assure him that his sister would be fine under his care. 

But before he could speak, Dot spoke up. “It’s gonna be okay, Yakko. I don’t want you to feel bad because I’m feeling under the weather. Now go on and have a fun time with Wakko and Pinky.” 

“You sure?” Yakko asked. “Cause I don’t mind staying here.” 

“Yakko, I understand how concerned you are of your sister’s well-being, but I promise you that she will be cared for under my vigilance.” Brain consoled. 

“But-” Yakko tried to make an argument but was quickly cut off by his little sister. 

“Brain’s got it under control.” Dot said a little more firmly. After seeing the worry in her brother’s eyes, she knew that he meant well. “Please Yakko, have a fun time, for me?” She softly told him whilst batting her eyelashes. 

Yakko realized that Dot was weaponizing her cuteness to her advantage and that even he was not immune to her adorable charms.  The last thing he wanted was to upset Dot while she was still ill. While the Warner brother didn’t want to leave her, he had to respect her wishes. “I will, sis.” He sighed. “But just call me if anything happens, okay?” He proceeded to playfully ruffle her hair. 

“I will,” Dot replied, giving her brother a small smile as she gently shoved her brother’s hand away. 

Wakko approached her and carefully squeezed her hand. “Feel better, dearest sister.” Wakko consoled before letting go. He then took Yakko’s hand, tugging him towards the door. On the way, he picked up Pinky and placed him on their red hat. 

“Take care, Dot!” Pinky happily called out. 

Dot giggled at the taller mouse’s enthusiasm. “Thank you, Pinky!” 

“And don’t worry Brain, I won’t let you down! Narf!” Pinky addressed with a wave. 

“I know you won’t, Pinky.” Brain confidently replied as he waved back. Pinky smiled at his partner as Wakko carried him out of the hotel room. The smaller mouse gave his partner a soft smile. 

Once the door was closed, Brain turned his attention towards the Warner sister. 

“Now, is there anything I can do for you?” Brain asked softly. 

“I’m all set for now.” Dot answered. “On second thought, could you turn on the TV?” 

With a click of the remote, Brain turned on the television set and the image of reddish stars decorating the darkness of space accompanied by soothing piano and synth music. The title of the program slowly appeared on the screen: Cosmos. 

“Wait, don’t change the channel!” Dot cried out. “I love this mini-series!” 

Brain was surprised. “You’re an admirer of Carl Sagan’s work?” 

“Of course! Where else would I get my scientific knowledge from? Mr. United States-Canada-Mexico-Panama?” Dot quipped. 

The small mouse couldn’t help but chuckle at the Warner sister’s snide remark. 

“And besides, I’m the witty one.” She playfully added. 

Brain smiled. “Well, I’m glad to have found someone who appreciates the sciences as much as I.” 

The smaller mouse and the girl turned their attention over towards the flat-screen television as they watched Carl Sagan discuss the hundred billion galaxies within the universe. Twenty minutes into the show, Brain heard the soft snores. He turned to find Dot fast asleep in her bed.  

The mouse sighed in relief, happy that she was resting, and used the remote to lower the volume. 

Brain then walked over to the book bag and retrieved Heidi from the pile of library books. Walking over towards the other side of the bed, the chubby mouse plopped next to the pillow and began to read. After a few minutes, Brain was becoming invested in the story when he heard his phone vibrate. He placed a bookmark in between the pages and trotted over to his smartphone. The moment he turned on the device, a text message from Yakko appeared on the screen.��

Is Dot okay? 

Brain understood the boy’s concern. As he reread the message he pondered over how Yakko had single-handedly raised his younger sibling for decades in the confines of the water tower without adult supervision or any assistance from the outside world. Brain could not imagine the emotionally harrowing task of having to tend to the needs of his siblings at such a tender age. After years of being the sole caretaker of Wakko and Dot, it would make logical sense for Yakko to be incredibly concerned over his sister’s well-being. 

But Brain wanted to assure Yakko that he no longer had to worry about carrying the burden of responsibility on his own. The eloquent mouse opened up the text message app and thought of an appropriate response to send. After coming up with words of comfort, he decides to type out his message. 

I commend your concern for your younger sister. Dot is taking a much-needed nap at the moment and she will be okay. 

Brain stared at the message with critical eyes. After a moment of musing, he concluded that it sounded too serious. He decided to spruce it up a bit with a smiley face, just as he always does with his usual emails and text messages. 

I commend your concern for your younger sister. Dot is taking a much-needed nap at the moment and she will be okay. : )

The mouse nodded at the message and pressed his paw on the send button. In seconds he saw the text message turn blue, indicating its arrival on Yakko’s phone. 

Putting aside his smartphone, Brain took another glance at the sleeping Warner sister and smiled at the peaceful sight. With everything under control, he opened up his novel and picked up where he left off. 

AN: This chapter was also originally supposed to be longer, but I decided to divide it because it was too long.

More fun shenanigans in this chapter. I wanted to explore Brain and Pinky slowly going dad mode in certain scenarios, with Brain being the more responsible dad while Pinky is the more doting parent. The library scene mainly started because I was curious as to what kind of books the Warners like to read.

I also wanted to explore more of the siblings in this chapter, especially their vulnerabilities while keeping true to their reboot characterizations. With Wakko, I wanted to touch on their insecurities a bit when compared to their siblings. With a capable and confident character like Dot, I wanted to put her in a situation where she allows herself to be cared for while acknowledging her strengths and intelligence. Then we have Yakko starting to question his own abilities as a parental figure to his siblings when he sees Brain taking care of Dot. This issue will be further explored in the following chapter, but I hope I’m doing my best to expand on these otherwise comedic characters.

Thanks for reading!

[pumakaji64]

fuck im gonna watch the film theory on Ratatouille even though it’ll make me mad

 part 1.

preface: It’ll probably look like im taking this way more seriously then I actually am ( I mean I love the movie so on some level yes I am ) but I tend to come across way more aggressive then I mean too in my writing oops. Like I don’t mind people having different takes on a piece of media, you can respect and authors intent while still having your own thoughts about a work even if they don’t line up because sometimes what a creator tries to convey and what they really do aren’t exactly the same. But if you’re gonna have such a wild take you better be able to back it up with some real good evidence. Overall tho I’m mostly just doing this cuz im bored lol ( also I haven’t seen the movie in awhile so my memory is a little foggy )

So going in I already know what the argument is gonna be “ good guy bad, bad guy good” whatever, so I’m just gonna comment on the argument and presentation itself as I watch the video

Ah I see we’re going with the good ol’ “ not technically lying but intentionally omitting and/or wording things in a manner that benefits my argument “ technique, I’ve used that before.

Nitpick: As someone on twitter brought up: Protagonist doesn’t mean “good guy” it’s the leading character that the story if focused on, so even if Remy is a bad guy he’s still the protagonist.

I get it’s probably a joke but Remy’s whole deal isn’t that he wants to be famous. He just genuinely loves cooking but can’t do with without fear of being murdered since he’s y’know a rat.

He doesn’t willingly leave his colony, he’s separated from them after he blew their cover by getting caught while cooking and for prioritizing taking the cookbook over escaping.

I’ll just say it now since i’m sure it’ll be brought up later, yeah Remy is kind of selfish, and thats actually a good thing. Him being a flawed character makes him more interesting and this also swiftly sets up his character arc early into the film.

“ If this sounds like an inspirational story about overcoming obstacles and achieving your destiny... you missed the point.” bruh the arc words of the film are literally “Anyone can cook”, it’s about overcoming prejudice to achieve your dreams in spite of everyone telling you not to because of the identity you are born with ( this is not just seen with Remy but also Colette, a female chef )

“Narcissist” As I said before yes Remy is selfish and at times this makes him unlikable but he genuinely cares about his family but he struggles to connect with them since they can’t understand why he’s so passionate about cooking.

Calling it now, the crux of this argument is going to be the scene where Remy gets mad about Linguini taking all the credit for Remy’s work during an interview. Which yeah I’ll agree that Remy was being unrealistic but Linguini had been ignoring Remy’s advice and had grown a bit of an ego which of course eventually leading to Remy having a heated gamer moment and doing abusing Linguini’s trust which the story punishes him for. It’s not a simple right or wrong situation but more of a two wrongs don’t make a right type.

“Jerk of a creature” Newsflash! Not all protagonists are nice, even the ones that aren’t villain protagonists!

First point: Remy is a thief and a hypocrite. I’ll admit I was agreeing that Remy is a hypocrite until he gets to the point of Remy letting his family steal from the kitchen. 1.) This was when him and Linguini were starting to have a falling out, he was angry at him and starting letting that affect his judgement. Was this wrong of him? Yes and he regrets his actions. 2.) Remy cares for his family even if they don’t always get along and his anger at Linguini makes it easier for them to pressure him into letting them steal.

“Remy never learns his lesson” maybe not explicitly but he does face punishment throughout the story. Stealing the book and food from the old lady costs his family their home and gets him separated from them. Allowing his family to steal from the kitchen leads to Linguini calling off their partnership. I don’t remember him stealing again after that.

Also is he implying that Remy is bad for stealing the will that proves that Linguini is the rightful heir to the Gustaeu that Skinner was trying to hide so he could keep profiting off of a dead mans work?

Remy is aware that what he’s doing is wrong, we are shown this through the figment of Gustaeu which represents his conscience reprimanding it but Remy continues to justify himself until it’s too late. He is a flawed character.

“In a realistic context.” Good thing this is a Disney kids film

Fraud!? You’re gonna grill Remy for fraud when Skinner is the one intentionally keeping Linguini from learning about his birth right?!?!?

“Poor Linguini. The sap that Remy controls like a puppet.” here we go again with the manipulative wording hooray

I see where he’s going with this one and it’s really funny to me that’s interpreting Gustaeu’s “Anyone can cook” line the same way Ego does for most of the film. Ego takes the opposite stance MatPat does by mocking the line because to the critic not everyone has what it takes to be a great chef. It’s by the end of the film he changes his perspective on the line to the idea that a great cook can come from anywhere even in the most unexpected of forms like Remy.

Gotta love the clip he added of pre-character development Remy being a jerk to Linguini before to two even met. It really ads to the manipulative wording he uses to make Remy look underhanded and shifty.

Is he really gonna gloss over Remy attempting and failing to teach Linguini how to cook? Remy is a fucking rat who can’t talk directly to Linguini attempting so teaching him would be really damn hard. Not only that but they are on a time crunch and don’t have the time necessary to teach Linguini how to cook like Remy can.

Also whose to say that by watching what Remy is making him do Linguini hasn’t picked up any cooking techniques by the end of the film.

It’s not like Remy freaking forced Linguini into being his man-puppet. Remy is a small animal who can’t talk to people so honestly Linguini has most of the power in their dynamic. Linguini can call of their partnership anytime he wants and even does so after Remy is caught letting his family steal. 

“And whats it for? Just so Remy can cook! Just for his own benefit!” BRUH, DID HE NOT SEE THE PART WHERE SKINNER THREATENS LINGUINI’S JOB IF HE CAN’T RECREATE THE SOUP!??!? (Also skinner only wants to keep Linguini around if he can make money off of him )

God damn he really is taking advantage over the fact that most of his viewers either have never seen the film or only watched it when they were young to straight up ignore elements of the fucking plot lmao

“Who hasn’t forced un-consenting adults to kiss “ I can’t believe MatPat is trying to #cancel Remy for being #problematic, #remyisoverparty. The stretch is real my dudes.

LMAO HE LITERALLY MAKES A CANCELLE ON TWITTER JOKE BRUH FUCK OFF

Jesus I feel most of what I have to say will just be me restating what I already said. Ugh lemme just summarize it: Remy is a flawed and selfish rat who often prioritizes following his dreams over his responsibilities putting not just himself but his family at risk. But guess what? He faces consequences for that! His actions get him separated from his family and lost in a giant city, the only reason he doesn’t die is because he got lucky and found Linguini ( also because it’s a film and it ending at the start would be lame )

Also so is he arguing that Remy should just accept his lot in life and give up on his dreams because he can’t change the fact that he’s a rat ( which MatPat often reminds us by calling him unhygienic a lot so far ) as if that’s not the crux of his character dilemma.

I agree it’s wrong of him to put his family at risk but that only applies to the opening of the movie. How is he the only one in the wrong later in the film when both him and Linguini acknowledge to risk of their teamwork?

Here we go with the disease thing again. This is anti-rodent propaganda and I will not stand for it! >:(

Also bruh it’s a fucking kids movie.

??? how the fuck would Remy be aware of rats carrying diseases??? does he work for the fucking CDC????????

“Remy is bad because he kidnaps the pest inspector” Because it would get the restraunt shut down if word got out about the rats!!! And the only reason there are so many rats in the kitchen during this part is because the staff except for Colette all walked out!!!!!!!!! Which, guess what MatPat, wouldn’t just fuck over Remy but Linguini too!

“Oh sure they wash themselves but only after they walked into the kitchen!!!!” and I thought I was bad with nitpicking!

No need to bring up that The Jungle is a fictional story, nope! I guess it’s only fitting to use a fictional book as evidence for an argument covering the logistics of a fictional movie!!!!!!

Remy didn’t fucking “quit” his “job” as a rat poison sniffer, he still does it but he also cooks in secret. When he’s caught he’s separated from his colony ( which MatPat still hasn’t brought up ) so of fucking course he can’t keep sniffing for a clan when he is literally not there!!!!

Also if he’s talking about later in the film when Remy refuses to rejoin the colony when he reunites with Emile then we get the moral dilemma of Remy rejoining his family while fucking over Linguini who can’t cook because Remy is a small rodent and can’t adequately teach him do to a language barrier.

lmao this dramatic emotional music he’s playing bruh

He really is taking the kiss thing that seriously

“I’m not saying Remy shouldn’t follow his dreams” Thats literally what you are saying

“Chef Skinner does nothing wrong” Okay you law-loving bootlicker lol

I’m not ready for the second half of this so im gonna take a break and make a part 2 later

[wienerbarnes]

Whatever It Takes (2/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1,519

Prompt: Doctor AU

Warnings: Descriptions of disease symptoms, funny stuff

A/N: yay chapter two! thank you to everyone who showed me love on the first chapter and left the sweetest comments! 

SERIES MASTERLIST

Your loud James Brown and the Famous Flames ringtone interrupts the silence of the quinjet on the way to Avengers tower. Bucky feels a vein about to pop in his forehead as he glances up from his book in his seat across from you as you pull your phone from your pocket to see Abraham calling. He watches you glance at the screen as you pick out the pretzels in your teeth with your tongue.

“I thought you said you left your phone in your office?” Bucky questions, annoyed wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

“Just wanted to see if you’d be able to tell if I was lying.” You respond mischievously as you answer the phone and put it on speaker.

“Inspector Gadget speaking,” You greet as Bucky continues to stare at you.

“Where are you?” Comes Abrahams voice through the speaker, excitement poking through his voice.

“I’m on a top secret mission for the Avengers.” You inform as you kick your feet up on the corner of Bucky’s arm rest across from you. Bucky rolls his eyes and glances back down to the book he was reading.

“… Right. CT, history, and tox screens came back normal.” Jordan tells you.

“Her tendon reflexes seemed a bit weak to me, though.” Abraham argues.

“Areflexia could mean Miller Fisher.” You infer.

“Yes, Areflexia could mean Miller Fisher, but since her reflexes were weak and not absent, it means nothing, I’m releasing her. You can get back to your strip tease or Avengers-themed orgy or whatever it is your doing with your cosplay buddy.” Jordan states.

“You think the Avengers would allow such-“ You’re cut off by the dial tone as Jordan hangs up the phone.

…

Bucky leads you through the modern looking hallways of the Avengers tower and you sneak peeks into the many labs that line either side of the hallway. Large screens, cases and cases of tubes and containers with various liquids in them, even the hospital beds look like the most luxurious cots that money could buy. They probably are the most luxurious cots money can buy, you think. You finally reach an office at the far end of the hall and Bucky opens the door for you.

Inside you find Bruce Banner sitting behind a desk looking over various files and papers. He glances up at the sound of the door, removes his glasses, and stands to greet you.

“Dr. Bruce Banner. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor, especially on such short notice.” Dr. Banner holds out his hand and you shake it gratefully.

“P-pleasure’s all mine. You’re Bruce Banner.” You ogle at him. First an invitation to the Avengers Tower and now you’re standing in front of the Bruce Banner?

Bucky smirks, amusement clouding his face as he takes notice of your admiration. It’s hilarious to him to see how fast your sarcastic and immature exterior melts into a star-struck, stuttering mess. It’s… endearing, almost.

“Oh! This is Dr. Curtis from the Mayo Clinic,” Banner gestures to a middle-aged woman sitting in a chair in front of the desk. Glasses hanging around her neck with a dark blue blouse and black slacks on her body, she stands and shakes your hand, too.

“Dr. Sydney Curtis on Immunology, Dr. Curtis?” You confirm.

“Oh, you’ve read it?”

“No, but it is keeping my piano level in my apartment.” You inform. Dr. Curtis’ smile drops and you see Dr. Banner’s eyebrow quirk upwards and Bucky stifle a laugh and disguise it as a cough from his position near the door.

“So, where is the poor, sick fella?”

…

“I’m afraid there will be some limitations on his medical history. Just let me know what you need and I’ll try my best to provide.”

Dr. Banner leads Bucky, Dr. Curtis, and yourself down a different hallway, presumably towards the Agent’s room.

“F-Y-I, my medical malpractice insurance doesn’t cover alien autopsies.” You tease.

“Don’t worry, all of that stuff is the next wing over.” Bucky chimes in, sending you a wink when you turn your head to look at him. He finds you more amusing now that you’re annoying more people than just him. Your wit is always clever and you always seem to know the perfect thing to say to push everybody’s buttons and make him laugh.

“Where was the patient when he fell ill?” Dr. Curtis asks.

“I’m afraid that’s classified. Assume there aren’t many places John hasn’t been. And, yes, John is a cover name.”

“Well, why do think it was an attempt on his life?” Curtis tries.

“We can’t tell you that either.” Banner replies, stopping front of one of the white rooms along the hallway.

“Well, what can you tell us?” Curtis asks.

“Yeah, did Oswald really have sex with Marilyn Monroe?” You ask. Bucky smiles and opens the door, leading in first followed by Dr. Banner, yourself, and Dr. Curtis.

Walking into the dimly lit room finds everyone staring at the frail looking man laying in the hospital bed. Pale skin, open sores, bruises, skin almost looking like it had bubbles forming it over it. Redness covers what’s visible of his body; arms, neck, and face. Dark circles surround his closed eyes and lips are cracked beyond belief.

“Good Lord,” Curtis whispers.

“Very professional,” You huff and throw a disapproving glance at Dr. Curtis.

“Five days ago he was 185 pounds,” Banner begins. “Perfect health.”

Silence fills the room as everyone observes the sick agent in the bed, wondering what could possibly cause this amount of damage in such a short amount of time.

“Cool.” You exclaim.

Banner walks over to the stack of files sitting on the small table at the end of the bed. He hands one to both you and Dr. Curtis and you realize it’s Agent John’s file, or at least a file with any information they’ll give you.

“We’ve tested him for every poison, every metal, and every biological agent we can think of.” Banner informs.

“It says in here that he ate a lot of chestnuts.” Curtis states, reading through the file in her hands.

“Woah, woah, woah. If the squirrel liberation army is involved in this, I want no part. Those little rodents will-“ You begin to mock.

“Horse chestnuts are poisonous, if someone switched-“ Curtis begins to explain but you interrupt her.

“Horse chestnuts may look like chestnuts but they taste like a horse’s lower-than-chestnuts. Which makes the theory that he ate a couple hundred a tad unlikely.” You argue. You don’t ignore the fact that both Bucky and Banner are both failing to hide their smiles at the banter between you and Curtis. You want to be professional around a very handsome, brooding soldier and the doctor that inspired you to study medicine, but Dr. Curtis is making it very difficult.

You close the file and pace slowly around the room. “Seeing as he was prowling the streets of… Tehran?” You guess.

“Actually it was the streets of- Oops! You almost got me.” Bucky faces you with a sarcastic grin.

“Unless you can tell us the environmental factors or any poisonous fauna-“

“Which you know I can’t do-“

“You might as well just Google, ‘poison’!” You respond defeatedly. You’ve solved difficult cases before, but this is turning out to be a real puzzle.

“The only thing they would tell me is that he’s spent the last eleven months in Bolivia.” Bucky compromises, arms crossing over his large chest. He wants to help, he really does. He cares about this agent; he cares about all the agents he’s trained and watched become great heroes. Especially after requesting to be taken off missions, he’s been lucky to be put in charge of training any and all incoming agents and helping Sam assign them to missions.

“Who are you gonna kill in Bolivia?” You question, brows furrowed on your face.

Bucky rolls his eyes as Dr. Curtis chimes in, “What does it matter what he was doing? He’s dying!”

“Not anymore, it’s pancreatitis.” You say as you slump down into one of the bedside chairs.

“He’s not an alcoholic.” Banner informs you.

“And unless his pancreas is in his fingertips-“ Curtis sarcastically states, looking to Bucky to see if his expression matches the annoyed one of Curtis herself, but he’s only staring at you, curious about your thought process.

“Spies can’t get fungal infections?” You ask.

“What about the burns on his skin?” Banner inquires.

“Spies can’t get sunburns? Bolivia doesn’t have sun?” You joke, catching Bucky’s eye as he chuckles softly at your reasoning.

“So either we go with her theory of the non-drinking drunk, which is totally unreasonable, or the theory that someone poisoned him with the resources to make it completely untraceable.” Curtis argues.

Banner looks between you and Dr. Curtis, gears running a million miles per minute in his brain trying to think of what to do.

“Let’s, uh, let’s treat him for radiation poisoning.” Banner says as he begins walking towards the door. You roll your eyes and stand to follow him, Dr. Curtis, and Bucky out of the room again.

TAGS: @thefvcker-tucker @angel-fire @gagmebucky @hannie-writes-marvel @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @creepylittlemarvelgirl @spiderrpcrker

[hiddendreamer67]

Patton Was Right

Accidentally takes place in Clever Borrower AU again, where timelines are irrelevant lol. (Aka this is a flashback to when Patton meets Logan)

Clever Borrower (Logan escapes his captors)

Comforting Roman (Logan comforts a drunk Roman)

Roasting Marshmallows and Maybe Each Other (S’mores Sleepover)

October prompt #19: Trap.

Check out more of my writing @hiddendreamerwriting!

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Patton knew something had been sneaking their food. Little trails had been found in the cupboards, and snacks left discarded on the counter were often bitten into by morning. His roommates thought it was a mouse, but Patton knew better. Mice didn’t cut precise holes into cardboard boxes and replace the flaps, so the seam was indiscernible. Mice also didn’t have secret passages through the walls, like the one Patton had found hidden beneath their television stand.

And now, staring down at the tiny person stuck to the glue trap he had strategically placed, Patton knew he was right.

“I actually caught one of you.” Patton almost couldn’t believe it himself, reaching out to grab him. “What were the odds?”

The borrower tried to backpedal away from his grip, only to trip and fall further into the glue.

“Careful!” Patton tried to pull the borrower up, only to hear a small cry of pain.

“Let me go!” The little one gasped, and Patton quickly released his grip.

“Sorry.” Patton winced. “I’m new to all this. Um…here, we’ll figure it out in the kitchen.” Patton picked up the edges of the trap, carefully carrying it to the other room. As he looked down at his find, Patton couldn’t help but feel that familiar wave of joy wash over him. He was right, tiny people were real.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for something like you?” Patton said giddily, too excited to keep it to himself as he pulled up instructions on his phone. “I mean, wow, you’re freaking amazing! What are you, anyways? A borrower?”

The tiny person’s head snapped to attention at Patton’s guess. “How…?”

“Oh, I know all about borrowers.” Patton assured him, pulling out the vegetable oil. “I’ve been studying you guys ever since I was a kid. Sorry about the trap, by the way. I didn’t think you’d reply to a note, and I really wanted to hold one of you myself.”

This did not seem to calm the borrower down; in fact, his struggles began anew.

“Careful!” Patton rushed back to the counter, holding the little guy in place. “I don’t want you to get hurt! Just remain calm, I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

“I refuse.” The borrower spat, and Patton yelped when he nearly bit his finger. “I will not be domesticated like some rodent.”

“What?” Patton frowned. “Oh, no no no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant I was going to take good care of you getting out of this sticky situation. Now stay still.”

Patton didn’t give the borrower much choice in the matter, holding him steady as Patton poured oil all over to loosen the bonds of the glue. Slowly it began to loosen as Patton massaged it in, lifting the borrower from his imprisonment.

“Aww, there we go, that’s got to feel better.” Patton rubbed him gently with a towel, taking off some of the excess oil. He glanced back at the glue, noticing a little wired contraption floating in the excess oil. He fished them out, noticing they appeared to be a tiny pair of glasses. “um… oops.”

The borrower snatched them back with no small amount of annoyance, oil still dripping from his hair as he tried desperately to dry them on his shirt.

“So what’s your name?” Patton asked, resting his elbows on the table as he leaned forwards. “How long have you been in the walls? Are there other borrowers here?” 

The borrower did not answer any of his questions, instead pressing his sticky glasses to his nose and looking up to Patton with his own question. “Are you going to let me go?”

Patton sighed. He should have expected as much, because everything he’d ever read said that borrowers were always trying to get away from humans. But despite what he knew, Patton had hoped it would be different- after all, Patton would love to befriend all tiny people! He didn’t want them to be scared of him, even if it made sense. Maybe if he could just stall long enough for his roommates to get home, this borrower would see that staying out in the open wouldn’t be that bad. Patton certainly didn’t want the borrower to try and move.

“How about this,” Patton offered, “If you answer just a couple of questions, I may just let you go.”

“It hardly seems logical to reveal secrets about my kind for a mere possibility of escape.” The borrower argued. “Especially considering any deal you offer could just be a method of deception.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair.” Patton relented. He tapped his chin thoughtfully with his finger, trying to come up with a better solution. “Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen- I ask a few questions. We wait until Roman and Virgil come home so they can meet you. Then we’ll figure things out from there. How does that sound?”

From the looks of things, the borrower did not think that sounded suitable in the slightest. His eyes had gone wide, clearly uneasy about the prospect of bringing more humans into the equation. 

“Don’t worry, I promise, they’re not so bad.” Patton tried to ease the little guy’s worries. “Virgil’s scowling figure is just a facade, and Roman-”

“I’m well acquainted with Roman’s overwhelming personality.” The borrower interrupted bitterly.

Patton blinked. “...you’ve met him?”

[thepeterfuckinparker]

miss. thompson — peter parker smut

Summary: Miss. Y/N Thompson is Flash’s step-sister, one of the queen bees and a popular girl around the school. One day, she’s feeling bold when Peter Parker is her chemistry partner.

Notes: ive had this idea for such a long time, but like a fanfic for it on wattpad (FOLLOW ME ON WATTPAD: @/angryfangirl) bUt im a dirty girl so i turned it into smut oops,, i GOT SOME CUTE ASS LINGERIE ON, GOT SUM DICK TODAY, THOUGHT ID UPLOAD THIS LOLOL

Warnings: very smutty, rubbing, boners, wet things, annoying flash, kinda sex-in-school!!!

pt. 2

“Miss. Thompson,” Your head shot up, meeting eyes with the irritated teacher in front of you. You smiled, laughing nervously as you raised your eyebrows. “Do you know the answer to number fifteen?”

Before you could answer, the bell rang causing you to spring up and grab your things. The class chuckled in amusement while you smirked, holding your books against your chest as you waltzed out of the classroom. There was thankfully one class period left, Chemistry Honors, you loved it. Well, not the subject specifically. You took your time walking down the hallways, greeting peers as they waved at you. It wasn’t hard to explain, you were pretty popular around the school, you could blame that on your step-brother, Flash Thompson. You were the nicer sibling, sweeter and smarter, definitely the favorite. Flash’s father would easily choose you over his son, you were just that good of a kid. Flash, on the other hand, was a known troublemaker, stuck-up rich kid, and quite the bully. You were nothing alike despite your years of growing up with each other, your parents married when you both were eight, it was a love-hate relationship between you both. Something that was a bit similar between you and Flash was reputation, you were somewhat serious about yours, never associating with the wrong people, it was a flaw of yours. You didn’t hang out with the Gaming Club, you found yourself a bit closer to Liz Allan and the cheerleading team.

“Today, we will be doing a Mole project. You will be making stuffed Moles! Get it? — Mole?” The chemistry teacher announced the moment students began to enter the room. He held up a little stuffed rodent that he had made himself.

You rolled your eyes, looking around for available seats at the working tables. Your eyes landed on Flash, instantly scoffing and shaking your head. You refused to work with him, he was already a pain in the ass at home. You continued to scan the tables before finding all the seats used up, you gasped at the sight of a free chair and table, rushing over, you jumped to seat yourself. You glared at the back of Flash’s head as he was seated in front of you, the seat beside you screeched.

“Can you not talk so obnoxiously loud?” You flicked your step-brother’s ear causing him to flip you off in return.

He began to think of a snarky remark before he focused on the person who sat beside you, “Penis Parker!” Flash laughed.

You turned your head and raised your eyebrows at Peter, he kept his head low in attempt to ignore your step-brother. You slapped the back of Flash’s head and muttered for him to be quiet. After a few seconds, you turned to Peter and smiled. “Sorry about him. He’s an ass.” The boy looked up and laughed quietly.

You bit your lip as he gazed away, paying attention to the directions being given. You couldn’t help but stare at him, Peter Parker was handsome, an old crush since middle school that died down by the beginning of junior year. He was interested in your best friend, Liz Allan, everyone was pretty sure of that, but as soon as she had moved away, his interests were unclear. You found yourself biting your pencil, your eyes still studying his face. Peter had a strong jaw, soft skin, these cute brown eyes that were either very focused or sometimes incredibly lost. You were brought back into reality when Peter looked at you, you straightened yourself up. He scooted his seat closer to you, settling the worksheet in between you both. Peter Parker was a low status at school, typically, he was someone you didn’t really associate with. It was bitchy, but that’s how it was. People would probably laugh at you if they were knew how you felt about the boy. You watched him scribble his name on the top of the paper. It was senior year now, things were different, what was the point of still trying to fit in when school was going to be over soon anyways? He passed the paper over to you, waiting for you to write your name.

‘Y/N Thompson’ You write neatly, moving your seat closer to start working. His clothed knee touched your bare thigh, he cleared his throat nervously. “Um- okay, did you want to do the stitching while I completed the work problems?” He suggested.

You raised your eyebrows in amusement, “Why do I have to do the lady work?” You passed him the sewing kit with a smirk while you grabbed the calculator. Peter’s cheeks turned a bright pink before he stammered nervously. “We’ll switch off, okay?” You started off with number one, easily figuring out equations and scribbling down the answers.

Peter sat beside you, starting to stitch the fabric to build your stuffed mole. You found yourself tearing your gaze away from the paper to look over at him. He was focused, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. You bit down on your lip again, taking an attempt at question number two before you moved your thigh. His knee continued to brush on your skin, your arms touching. You cleared your throat, pushing the paper closer to him before thinking of what to say.

“Um, I don’t think I get this one.” You said softly, you did understand the question, you just wanted his attention.

“Oh okay, I-I can explain it.” Peter nodded, You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Can you talk louder? I can’t hear you.” You lied, the classroom had gotten rowdy but not to the point where you couldn’t hear.

He leaned closer to you, his lips close to your ear as he began to explain the question. You moved your leg, goosebumps running across your skin as he spoke to you. Your hand slipped underneath the table, landing onto his left thigh. Peter froze, his words choking up. You stroked his leg gently with a soft smile playing on your face. He stared at you, unsure of what to say. You looked around the classroom, no one had been paying attention.

“A- W-What are you doing?” Peter asked quietly, continuing the stitching while you used your free hand to play with the pencil on the desk.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked, all he needed to say was yes or no, you would oblige. It was bold move, completely unexpected. Peter never thought you would try something like this on him, Y/N Thompson trying to seduce Peter Parker? It had to be a cruel joke.

He was scared to respond before he gulped, “No.”

“Then I won’t.” Your whispered into his ear, your hand continuing to stroke his thigh.

Peter shuttered beside you, his hands slightly shaking as he ran the needle through the fabric. He wasn’t very good at stitching but now he was doing even worse. Your touch was making him sweat, your soft hand on him was getting him hard. You noticed, occasionally looking from the worksheet to the boy’s face to his stitching to his lap. You smirked slightly as your hand led to his hard-on, you palmed him through his pants. He let out a small gasp, whipping his head up to glance at the teacher. You looked over at Flash who hadn’t noticed anything, you don’t know how he would react. You focused back to Peter, the pants leaving his mouth were leaving you wet. You cleared your throat, opening your legs wider and slipping down your hand to your soaked panties. He glanced over, eyes widening even further, if they grew any bigger they’d probably fall out of his head.

“We always have tomorrow if you don’t finish today! We will be presenting these, they need to be unique, make them a name. They can even be based-off of your favorite character!” The teacher exclaimed, Peter flinched each time.

You watched him attempt to stitch with one hand, the other grazing up and down your thigh. He clearly hadn’t done this before. You leaned closer to him, your lips lingering along his ear. Peter inhaled sharply, as your breath hit his skin. “Touch me.” You almost moaned quietly, he did as told, nodding as you sat back and continued to watch his lap with hooded eyes. Your hand worked back to the worksheet, while your other was handling palming him through his black jeans. His fingers pushed away your panties, he instantly collected the wetness between your slits, the pad of his index finger placed on your throbbing clit. You groaned lowly at the feeling, he didn’t really need your help, he somewhat knew what he was doing. Peter Parker has never been with a girl, especially in this way - he must’ve learned from videos, it felt good so that’s what you assumed. You clutched his hard cock through his jeans, biting down your lip as he rubbed circles on your sensitive bud. You looked up, on look-out once again before you met Flash’s eyes.

“What?” You snapped, “Sorry that our mole is gonna look better than y-yours.” You stuttered during the last word as Peter’s fingers pressed down on your clit harder than before, you rubbed him quicker.

“You wish!” Flash scoffed, turning his head and paying attention to his work, nudging his partner to work faster.

You quickened your pace with the palming of his cock, resisting the urge to accidentally drop your materials and get on your knees for Peter right there. His breathing was heavy, his fingers were quicker on your clit, he was close. You could see it in the way Peter was twitching, the way he occasionally shut his eyes and shuddered in pleasure. You leaned towards him again, a smile on your sweet face. “Cum for me, Parker.” You said softly, he instantly groaned but quickly covered it up with a cough - no one noticed. You continued to palm him until he grabbed your hand, it rested there for a second until you felt a wet spot on his black jeans. Peter was lucky he had worn them. You pulled away from him, a shit-eating grin on your face. You looked over at him and admired the post-orgasm look on his face, he was red, a bit sweaty from the pleasure. With confidence, you picked up his hand and raised it to his mouth. Peter took the hint, taking the fingers he had played with you and cleaning them up. He smiled back, leaning closer to you, “You taste so good.” Peter’s comment was low, it made you squeeze your thighs together in surprise.

“See? Look at mine, fuckers!” You both tore away, looking over at Flash who set down his mole. It was a stuffed animal in what looked like a makeshift Spider-Man suit. You snorted, your step-brother was obsessed with the superhero. Peter’s eyes widened at the sight, awkwardly coughing and focusing on your own project.

“It looks fucking stupid.” You laughed, snatching the Spider-Man mole in chucking it across the room. Flash smacked your arm, immediately protesting and shouting.

“Miss. Thompson!”

[digimonadventuretimelines]

The skies were darker as they invaded the territory of the enemy, a secret mission filled with a tenacious bravery, kind and determined to lead them to the happy ending. However, as he was willing to avoid conflict…

… He had detected by the enemy’s air squad. The Airdramon group chased them in the skies, with the blue phantom dragon dashing in a risky attempt to vanish thru the clouds. It was all in vain, sadly, because those flying lizards with no hands nor feet had fired against them.

“ARGH!!”

They got hit. the digivice in his pocket kept acting like a phone. He heard then some voices:

“Whoa, they got hit!! I heard it!! KABOOM!” said an energetic feminine voice

“H-hey!! A-are you two OK?!” someone tough yet concerned boyish voice babbled “D-don’t dare to die here!!”

“You all, calm down and try to find them…!” a shy boy voice replied with some hesitation “Please, he won’t… like us to get panicked…!”

“Oh C’mon, kids. He’s strong” a fourth and female voice responded them all “... You know that, right?”

“Are you listening to us, big bro??” the energetic girl spoke.

“Hurry, hurry! We need to find them!” the first boy kept yelling.

“I don’t need to see your faces to know that you two are quite nervous right now” the shy boy sighed “They might be OK, but let’s not get panicked or we will be captured…!”

“You three, be quiet!” ordered the older girl “I’m trying to call him! Are you here, did you get hurt...? Please answer…!! You’re strong. Much more than you think…! If weren’t for your tenacious soul, we would haven’t evolved…!! Hurry up..!! Answer me...”

[01 - The World’s Future]

“Hey you two,” A familiar yet older voice called someone “Don’t you have school and work today?!”

The room was in the dark and the only source of light was a TV. Sounds of a racing game from an old rodent’s video game series was blocking the voice of a mother, who kept staring at a male adult and his children playing on an old Game Cube console.

“Did you hear me?” she asked again, “or am I being ignored by?”

It’s 2025, spring to be exact. Flowers are blooming and birds are singing. On days like these…

“I won!! Haha yes!” a kid raised his fist as laughed cheerfully about the nice sweet victory over his father.

“What-- How did you--?!” the man gasped as response.

The kids father then realized something odd and when he looked to the room’s entrance he saw his wife there, staring at him.

“Oops, are we--”

“Yes,” the woman closed her eyes and said in a very annoyed voice “You. Two. Are. Late. Again.”

“Haha, sorry!” the kid scratched his neck, smiling “This old game is exciting, mom!”

This kid, you may ask… It’s your protagonist. He might not be that different from his father or mother, but hey. He’s his own individual. His name? Motomiya Daichi.

Son of Daisuke and Miyako. Wait, are you confused? You will understand everything later.

“Time for school!” The kid exclaimed and left the room, took his backpack and moved towards the entrance.

“Have a nice day!” Miyako wished him, smiling at the boy.

“Thanks mom!” he replied and left the house.

“Wait what do you mean that I’m late to work?!” Daisuke shouted panicky.

The goggles in Daichi’s head reflected the sunshine when he goes chatting with his best friend about the game he had been playing with his father before school.

However, a younger child silently observes Daichi. He has a wild haircut as someone you know very well -- brown eyes, tan skin, a shade of brown more orange-ish… He stared at Daichi, but kept avoiding interacting with the older boy.

Later on the end of that day, Daichi opened the door with a happy smile. Excepting to have his dad & mom to welcome him as usual happens, he started talking:

“Mom, dad I’m home! Kiyoko’s at a friend’s house--”

But once he saw the empty living room and  his mother alone, with some bandages and talking to someone on phone…

“... Mom?” he asked with a frown on his face “Is something wrong? Where’s dad?”

His mother let a silent gasp escape from her mouth. She then turns back to the phone and tells the person on the call about the actual scene:

“I… I talk to you later, Ken. Daichi’s home, I will explain it to him.”

Daichi threw his backpack on the floor and hugged Miyako tightly, lying his head on her stomach. She watched him for a while til ruffle his hair. With a smile, she says:

“It’s okay, I just got hurt at work. Your father is fine, just had to travel to New York, again.”

… I couldn’t accept that. It was all a lie. I was sure, he had vanished. Probably died, and no one wanted to admit that. But… they can’t fool me.

Two years later… On Summer 2027…

“Hey, big bro.” “Big bro…!” “Brother!”

She was getting so so DONE with him ignoring her…!!

“Motomiya. Freakin’. Daichi.”

She was there, hands on her hips and glaring at him. In front of the couch where he was sitting and reading a book.

“Are you listening to?! What is your problem?!”

That girl is, as you expected, his sister. Daichi shifted his attention from the book to the girl. Her having a rose-ish long hair, amber eyes, a pair of pink sunglasses in his head and a hairpin of the said color a la Hikari (when Hikari was young, of course)

In confusion, Daichi tilted his head. She was about to spit fire on him if she had superpowers. She rolled her eyes.

“You’re reading. Again. On a sunny day. Inside. Like, studying on summer vacations.”

“Reading and studying are indeed important,” he closed his book with one hand, and he said calmly yet colder than the winter, “Especially because that would’ve been his last wish.”

“No no,” she was getting upset with that ol’ talk about their dad’s status and whereabouts “don’t talk like our dad were dead. He’s in New York, okay?!”

“I don’t think so, Kiyoko. But I’ll spare you from all of my assumptions.”

She tilted her her in silence. That was so uncalled for! No, her dad is not dead! Sure, he’s super duper famous and has to get some bodyguards like a couple of humans and digimons, but… Why on earth would someone try to kill Motomiya Daisuke, the man everyone adores and feels blessed for his kindness and high spirits?!

“Listen here, Daichi” she started “Our dad IS alive because--”

“Help. Help me. Miyako…!” a mysterious voice echoed in the room “I… I need you. And The Digichosen. Hurry…!!”

“W-what was that voice?!” Kiyoko looked to the ceiling, and when she looked back at Daichi… He had gotten up and passed by her side, following that voice.

“Kiyoko, go stay with your friends,” he said.

The voice led him to a room. The same room he used to play games with his father. Once the door was open, he saw a small pink bunny digimon (who looked like similar to a Chibimon) lying on the floor.

“A… Digimon?”

Another look in the room and he realized the old computer was mysteriously on. It had passed three years from the day his father had (suddenly) disappeared. That room kept closed for most of the time. Has that digimon invaded the room while no one had been paying attention to their surroundings?

Oh, it moved. It woke up and her green eyes met him. Due to the tension, the small digimon switched forms… to a woman. A very familiar woman to Daichi.

“N-Natsu?!” the boy was surprised yet confused

She glanced at the boy, then started looking around to make sure no one had followed her. But why? Why is Natsu a digimon? What’s happening here?!

“Daichan… I need to find your mother, and the rest of the group, very quickly.”

Daichi blinked. A ‘group’ of what? Friends? Adults? Maybe he could just call Taichi and ask for help, but…

“Mom’s at work right now. And I don’t know about this group you’re talking about.”

“The Chosen Children! Don’t you know?”

“My parents and their friends told us some stories about them, but mom is a regular Digimon researcher and not a  legend heroine.”

Oops, she forgot that Taichi and Daisuke alongside the others had decided to make it a secret from their children. Not like they don’t enjoy their glorious past, but they definitely do not desire their kids to risk their lives. Chosen Children -- Or just like they decided to change the term for ‘Digichosen’ -- will always exist no matter what happens.

But, they will fight to keep their children safe and live a happy life. That world already is a chaos with both worlds connected, with both human and digimon groups living in each other’s world.

“I have to tell you a secret” Natsu showed some determination with her words. She had decided to trust that kid, despite Daisuke’s wishes, “Your parents are part of that group. And some of their friends too.”

“W-wait, my late father too?!” it was too much information for him.

“He’s not dead!” Natsu went a bit defensive, but calmed down “He’s… lost in the Digital World. I know I can find him, but I need your mother’s help. Any adult Chosen is fine though.”

Daichi felt strange, his eyes were lively after three years of wild theories and despair. He had lost hope for so much time that he had admitted defeat.

“Can I help you…?” he asked with some excitement “I’m a hero’s child! And I’m good at lots of things, like--”

“I can’t let you help, Daichan” she avoided look at his eyes “Your parents, especially your mother, would’ve killed me if I let you do that.”

“Mom’s not home, I don’t know who’re the other heroes, Kiyoko is with her friends right now… I’m the only one here and if you are in trouble…”

“L-Listen, I can’t let you--!!”

“Besides, the legendary Chosen Children were around my age when they saved the world. Are you saying a kid can’t save his own father?”

Oh, he’s got some kind of Miyako in it…

“... No but-- Miyako’s gonna be mad at me--”

“My father would’ve let me help you because he knows I’d be safe with you~”

“He-- He wouldn’t--” she felt conflicted, imagining Daisuke telling her he was proud of her for taking care of his children while he hadn’t been around.

Natsu felt totally defeated by that fantasy. Daichi laughed, smirking and resembling very much his father.

“O-Ok! Motomiya Daisuke would’ve been so much happy to have his own son adventuring into the DigiWorld and saving him and it!” she was quite noisy now “Daichan, I’ll protect you with my life! I’m going to die for you!!”

“C-Cut out the part of ‘dying for me’ and let’s go!” he had regrets… oh boy.

She opened the gate with the computer and then… Both her and Daichi were absorbed by the screen’s light.

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

“Your brother is annoying.”

Kiyoko had to agree with the short boy, while the second boy had been there in silence, just watching them chatting.

“I know that” she seemed a little upset yet “Like, what’s wrong going to play some sport or game OUTSIDE?! Or I dunno, read a book but in the park?!”

“That’s why he’s a sore loser.”

“I’d have preferred he was the same Daichi from years ago!”

“Yeah, at least he wasn’t annoying and goody-two-shoes like now!”

“Can you believe he thinks my dad is dead?! No, not just that, he definitely talks like if my dad is dead!”

“Tch, how insensitive he is… My dad would’ve said something if mr. Motomiya had been dead for a long time!”

“My father would’ve said too” the third kid said with a quiet voice “He’s not only an officer but also a best friend for your father, Kiyoko...”

“I know, I know!” she snorted “Daichi’s definitely upset because it’s taking too much time for our dad’s return.”

“At least he’s going home someday…” the first boy clenched his hand.

“Please don’t like if uncle Taichi were dead, Taisuke…”  the other boy asked.

“M-my bad, Eiji…!” Taisuke babbled “I meant like… N-Never mind!!”

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

“W-where are we?”

“Daichan, this is the Digital World, or DigiWorld to make it short.”

Exotic plants with bizarre formats and colors… The skies being like a watercolor paint… A few data and circuits running through the scenario, strange vending machines in the middle of the florest…

Everything was new for him, like if he had opened the door for a brand new experience. It was different from books and photos, seemed much more better to live in. He had heard a lot about the DigiWorld, except his parents never let him go there and always said he had to wait a little more. When was this “little more” if not now? He’s good at surviving the summer camp, interacting with the digimon as well. How can it go wrong?

“Now listen,” Natsu looked at the kid with a serious glare “Whatever you heard about this place, know that there’s an actual civil war happening here, your father and the others had been dealing with. Stay closer and do not go walk alone.”

“What’s… What’s happening?”

“So, you’ve heard about that one time Yggdrasil went nuts and tried to separate humans and digimons from each other? Your father and mother discovered it and tried to stop, but they, Ken and Iori got captured instead. Taichi and the other seven saved us all but… Something went off.”

“I… I didn’t know that-- Wait a minute!? Taichi… Yagami Taichi?!”

“You have to learn a lot of things I guess.”

“Why didn’t dad tell me before…?”

“He…” Natsu looked found some difficulty to word that answer, “He was going tell you a little later.”

“Was he…?”

“... When you were about to turn ten, he had decided to tell you but… A little unfortunate event happened. But I’m sure I can find him, I can…!”

She was acting suspicious, like avoiding to say something. What was the ‘secret’ she’s keeping away from him…? Did something happen to his dad?

“What happened to him…? Do you know something, Natsu...?”

She didn’t answer and avoided look at him during their walk in the forest. It got on Daichi’s nerves so much because he wanted to know, he really wanted to help there but Natsu’s silence was worse than passing through years thinking his father had been dead.

And when he finally got some concrete clue about that mystery…

“Natsu! Tell me now!�� his voice sounded serious, he definitely gritted his teeth like when Daisuke does when angry “I’m his son, I have to know!”

“I… I can’t tell you now!” she babbled “I’m sorry but maybe we should go home--”

A lightning needle has passed through them and all she could do was rise a pinkish forcefield around her and the boy. She knew… The one hunting her down, the one she had been trying to hide from... was there. Now some regret hit her conscience, putting Daichi in danger like that! He does not have a digimon partner! And she’s not partnered to him! Plus, she’s not even Daisuke’s partner but just a mere ally digimon who had ‘adopted’ by Daisuke a long time ago.

“Wha-what was that?!” the kid gasped “Is it… A digimon attack?!”

“Stay quiet, please! And run…!” she grabbed Daichi’s hand and left the place, with a shadow following them in the woods.

[asterythm]

Born of the Same Impulse

Or; The Abolition of Man(a)

Pairing: Romantic LAMP Prompt: Written for Secret Sanders 2018 with the prompt “magic AUs (especially if someone doesn’t know about the others)” Word Count: 12.8k (oops.) Warnings: Very occasional caps lock, panic, negative thinking, food mention. (But don’t worry, the end is fluffy!!)

General Summary: When an experiment goes wrong, the wizard-slash-scientist Logan finds himself stranded in an alternate, magic-less dimension -- but the more he explores, the less anxious he is to find his way back home again.

A/N: @soft-transboy​ Surpriiise!! It’s me -- @secretsanders herself :D Hoo boy. I had so much fun writing this one, but... let's just say that I definitely bit off wayyyyy more than I could chew with this story (as you might be able to tell from the word count, which is well into the double digits). In fact, I spent so long planning this thing that I ended up being left with under a week to write it all. Meaning I finished this about ten minutes ago, and it’s completely unedited. Oops.  That said, I'm still super proud of how it came out, for the most part. Hopefully, you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

AO3

xxx 

“The serious magical endeavour and the serious scientific endeavour are twins: one was sickly and died, the other strong and throve. But they were twins. They were born of the same impulse.” — C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

xxx

Logan Sanders does not believe in magic.

This perhaps will seem to most people like an illogical sort of statement, once they’ve taken into consideration the fact that Logan Sanders is a wizard.

Illogical or not, Logan’s mind is made up. Unlike Most People, Logan never has believed in magic. And he never will, either. It’s one of those beliefs that transcend tenses, you see — does not, did not, will not. Past, present, or future, the fact remains that magic is impractical at best.

Magic is real, of course. Logan can hardly deny the presence of magic in his everyday life, seeing as it’s damn near impossible to do anything without it, in this day and age. He’s not saying that magic doesn’t exist. Logan only means that, the way he sees it, magic on its own is completely and utterly useless. In fact, he’s quite certain that he’d be perfectly capable of surviving without relying on any magic at all, given the opportunity.

Life would be so much easier if more people just believed in science.

This is the second of many (many, many, many) seemingly illogical statements — at least, to Most People. Science? Most People scoff. Impossible! A fully automatic life reliant on science is a nice thought, but that’s all it will ever be — a nice thought. Science simply isn’t capable enough to accomplish all that magic does. Whoever this Logan fellow is, he ought to get his head out of the clouds and do some actual thinking. Blah, blah, blah. On and on and on.

Logan, of course, hates hearing Most People saying these things, but frankly he’s come to expect responses like that. He hears the same kind of thing almost every day, after all. It’s quite normal for Most People to doubt that science could ever be useful. And why even bother, really? Magic is perfectly fine as is.

But of course, the first thing you will notice about Logan Sanders is that he is most certainly not Most People.

xxx

Weekends, reflects Logan in between sips of hot tea, are the only part of the week ever worth paying any attention to.

For Logan, Saturdays and Sundays are the busiest days of the week — but they’re also far and away the best. Because rather than spending his hours working a boring day job, he’s hard at work inventing things that he’s passionate about. On weekends, Logan is free to play around with the concept of using science to enhance day-to-day magic. (Or perhaps the magic is enhancing the science? One or the other. Logan isn’t completely sure.) It’s been his favourite hobby for years and years, creating these little devices that make simple daily tasks even simpler by relying on science, rather than on magic.

Take, for example, Logan’s kettle. The one that he’d put away only moments before, after pouring himself a cup of tea. On the outside, it appears to be quite unremarkable. But Logan can assure you that this kettle is anything but. It’s a one-of-a-kind design that Logan invented himself, many moons ago, and it is easily the most efficient kettle that he’s ever known.

Boiling water, as you surely already know, is a tedious and boring task that requires one to channel their mana into heat-energy, focus that heat-energy into a stream, and then direct that stream continuously towards the water until it finally begins to boil. It’s a time-consuming task that Logan’s tight schedule simply cannot afford.

Logan’s innovative kettle combines magic with science in order to significantly cut down the amount of time and energy one needs to boil water. There’s a metal coil inside of it that allows the kettle to heat up water almost all by itself, by converting electric energy into heat energy — meaning that Logan only needs to fire off a quick spark, and his kettle takes care of the rest.

Despite the simplicity of the design, it has always been one of Logan’s favourite pieces of work, if only because of how often he uses it. On the other hand, he’s got plenty of favourites to choose from. Logan’s cozy little apartment is nearly covered with his own gizmos and trinkets, some fully functional, some half-finished with pieces spilling out the sides, some completely abandoned. He doesn’t consider those latter ones “failures”, though. Logan prefers to call them “learning experiences”.

And he does learn. Logan enjoys his work, regardless of whether or not his creations work out the way he plans, because every experiment teaches him something new. Science is so (woefully) underexplored that Logan finds himself discovering new and exciting concepts left, right and centre. Indeed, it's not at all an uncommon occurrence for him to find something that he's never read of or even heard of before. The sense of accomplishment he gets from these not-so-rare occasions is just about enough to make up for the inconveniences of his lifestyle.

The keywords in that sentence being "just about".

Recently, he's been finding aforementioned inconveniences to be growing more and more, well, inconvenient. The impermanence of his living situation, for example. (Just thinking about this subject makes Logan's chest tighten involuntarily. Though he isn't all the way finished yet, he sets his teacup down.) Logan hasn't been able to hold onto a home for more than a matter of months ever since he first picked up this hobby of his.

For some completely unfathomable reason, the idea of having a mad scientist living in their building is apparently one that most landlords consider to be somewhat unsettling.

There are other difficulties, too, that prevent him from finding a permanent place to call home: noise complaints from neighbours, property damage from explosions and acid burns, that one time that he accidentally gave sentience to a small tin-can-and-soy-sauce-packet robot, leading to the creation of an army of small but hostile rodents. The usual.

(Now that Logan thinks about it, he's starting to see where the whole "unsettling" thing might come from.)

The first one or two or twelve times he was kicked out, Logan didn't mind terribly. Change doesn't bother him too much. But as his collection of knick-knacks and doo-dads continued to grow, it began to become a real nuisance to have to pack everything up and relocate so often.

Not to mention, the constant moving means that Logan has never had the time to make any sort of lasting social connections, either. That's not a huge issue, though, since Logan isn't exactly the most social of people anyway. Even when he was younger and by extension wasn't constantly being forced to move around, Logan had never had much luck with friendship. So although his life is a lonely one, Logan's grown quite accustomed to having things be this way. He doesn't mind. Not as much as he used to, at least.

Logan picks his teacup back up again. He swishes the cup around a few times, watching the half-disintegrated leaves swish with it. After a moment, the leaves settle down into a shape that almost resembles a dragon if Logan squints and turns his head a certain way. He takes a sip, notes with displeasure that the liquid inside has grown unpleasantly cold, but finishes it anyway. After his cup is empty, Logan takes a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate how nice of a day it is; both suns are happily shining, and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. The perfect weather for a weekend, even if he is going to spend the whole day cooped up in his apartment.

Stretching, Logan rises from the comfortable armchair on which he had been sitting and crosses the room to where his latest invention awaits him. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks, allowing a rare smile to slip out as he approaches. He's been working hard on this one, and he thinks now that it may be finished at last; his tests last week, he had been amazed to find, had all gone off without a hitch.

That is, all but one. But that's only because he has yet to run the final test. Logan thought he would save that one for today, just to be on the safe side. But he’s got high hopes for the outcome of this final test. A good day, indeed.

In fact, the best, worst day of Logan's life has already begun — and it's all thanks to the pair of two little round creations sitting right in front of him.

xxx

THREE MONTHS AGO

"Okay, but… I still don't get it," grunts the landlord. "What are they supposed to do?"

Logan smiles wryly. "Permanently revolutionise the way that people get from place to place, that's what."

"Looks pretty typical for something that's supposed to be so 'revolutionary'. Honestly, it kind of looks like a regular TP-circle. Except, uh, portable."

"Yes? Well, I'm glad to hear that, since that's exactly what it is. A portable teleportation-circle. I've very nearly completed the design, and I can promise you that as soon as I've added the final touches, this is going to completely change life as we know it. Then I'll have more than enough money to pay rent. Just you wait, sir." The other man still doesn't look convinced. Logan is getting desperate — he doesn't know where else he can find a home if this doesn't work out. "At least allow me to explain to you how it works before you turn me away."

After a moment, the gruff older man relents. "Alright, fine," he sighs. "How does your portable TP-circle work?"

"Well, the general concept is more or less the same as a regular TP-circle. You step in, it collects a bit of your mana and converts it into a path between the circle you're standing in and whichever circle you want to TP to. The difference is that my design is, well, portable. I mean, TP-circle stations are all well and good, but sometimes they're just located in such inconvenient places. Add that to the fact that there's always such long line-ups for those stations, and... well, suffice it to say, I'm surprised that they've been in use for this long.

"With my portable TP-circles, you can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and you don't have to deal with those annoying line-ups anymore. You can just fold one of these up and use a simple object-TP to send it wherever you want. Anyone can do this. Object-TPs are one of the first spells they teach in school. So, portable TP-circles will make transportation easier and more accessible for everyone. Like I said before, I've already almost perfected the design. I only need to iron out a couple of kinks, then figure out how to make it more lightweight. Once I’ve done that, it’ll be completely ready. Ready for use, and ready to change the world, by extension. I only need a few months, half a year at most. I promise." He’s nearly begging by the time he finishes talking. This location is his last chance, after all. Logan holds his breath, watching the landlord's face change as he weighs Logan's words.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, Logan finally hears the words he's been hoping for.

"Okay. Four months. That's all you get. You'd better have your portable thingamajig finished by then. Otherwise, you're outta here. You hear me? Out. Of. Here. Don't let me down."

Logan sighs, a wave of relief washing over him. Four months... a quarter of a year. That's going to be tight, but Logan's sure that he'll be able to manage that deadline if he works hard enough.

If there's one thing that Logan has never had a problem with, it's working hard.

xxx

And work hard, he did. For three months straight, Logan’s devoted every second of his free time to perfecting his design. He’s long since lost count of how many tests he’s run, how many times he’s taken his invention apart and put it back together in a completely different way, how many times he’s had to entirely scrap an idea or component… yes, the journey has been anything but smooth. And yet, looking at his finished creation now, Logan realises that every single second spent has been completely worth it.

Technically, Logan shouldn’t be using the word “finished”, since his invention has yet passed its final and most important test. But last week’s testing was the farthest that any of his prototypes had ever come, so Logan can’t help but hope that today, it’ll go just one step farther.

Well. There’s only one way to find out, now isn’t there?

Logan quickly pulls his trusty notebook and pen out of the ether, where he keeps his most important items. He flips the book open to a fresh new page. At the top, he writes the date, then a title: TEST RUN # —

He hesitates.

TEST RUN #WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE, HONESTLY.

There, perfect.

And so he begins. The first twenty or so tests, he completes without even thinking. Logan has done those ones so many times, to say that he could complete them in his sleep would be an under-exaggeration. He tests the prototype’s durability, folding ability, resistance to wind and cold and heat and water. Of course, he doesn’t run into any problems there.

Next comes the slightly more interesting tests. Logan places one of the two circles onto his apartment floor, then folds the second one up so that it’s smaller and therefore easier to transport. With a snap of his fingers, he sends it off to the location that he’s been using for testing: a vast and empty flower field that, as far as Logan knows, no one besides him has set foot in for a couple of years at least.

Next, Logan picks up a small six-sided dice and places it gently onto the circle that he’d laid on the table. He’s barely let go of the dice and pulled his hand back when a familiar flash of bright blue light fills the room. By the time the light is gone, the dice is, too.

Logan grabs a looking-glass off his bookshelf, the one that he’s enchanted to always show the flower field. It only takes him a second to spot his circle lying surrounded by tall blades of grass, and then only a second more to find the dice sitting right there in the center of the circle. Looks like the dice test was successful. Logan isn’t surprised. The dice test is another easy one.

His next few tests are all more or less the same as the dice test. The only difference is that he’s no longer transporting dice; for each test, Logan uses a slightly more difficult object. First, he picks up a —

Hold on.

If Logan were writing this story, he would surely go into incredible detail about each and every test, listing off every single object he tries, telling you which tests have stood in his way in the past and explaining what he did to get around them.

Luckily for you, dear reader, Logan is not writing this story. He's only living it.

Suffice it to say, his portable-teleportation-circles pass each and every test with flying colours, just like they did last week. With every test passed, Logan grows more and more excited. He had already known when he began test run number who-even-knows-anymore-honestly that it was going to be an overwhelming success, but of course there’s such a difference between knowing something is going to happen versus seeing it happen with your own two eyes. Last week felt like a fluke, you see. This week is proof that it was not.

xxx

By the time Logan completes his second-to-last test, he is so giddy with excitement and passion, he can hardly think straight (although to be fair, “straight” never really has been a strength of his). A rush of adrenaline courses through the young inventor as he jots down two familiar words: Trial successful.

And then suddenly, the time has come. “This is it. I am... about to perform the final test,” Logan says to himself, scarce able to believe that he’s actually made it until he says the words out loud. They come out no louder than an awed whisper.

He tucks his notebook and pen back into the ether, smoothes down the wrinkles on his button-up shirt, adjusts his necktie, combs through his hair with his fingers. Not because he thinks someone is watching him; it’s just that Logan can’t help but feel that he should look his best for a moment like this. It’s, he thinks, a moment deserving of trumpet fanfare, of multi-coloured confetti, of a loud and dramatic drumroll.

Alas, Logan has none of these. He’ll have to settle for the loud drumbeat of his heart thumping in his chest, instead.

Logan stares at the devices sitting in front of him. He gets to his feet. Dusts himself off. Starts to back away. As he walks backwards, something swells inside of him; something big and bright and demanding. Pride? Hope? Fear? Perhaps a mixture of the three? Whatever it is, it grows and grows until it threatens to engulf the normally-so-unemotional young man. It’s now or never, Logan suddenly realises. He’s got to move before this strange Feeling-Thing immobilises him.

So move, he does. Logan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then before he knows it he’s running forward, forward, forward and onward as fast as his legs can go.

Because it’s him, of course; Logan is the final test. Transporting around little objects is all well and good, but the purpose of his invention has always been to transport people, after all.

The tip of Logan’s toe lands in the transportation circle, the rest of him following close behind. As soon as he’s landed, a familiar tingling begins to spread through him; the circle is harnessing his mana and converting it into a teleportation path, exactly as it’s meant to do. For precisely two instants, Logan’s body is suspended in a strange little pocket between time and space. He’s surrounded on all sides by pure light, bright enough to blind even with his eyes closed.

Then, just like that, it’s over. Logan touches down on solid ground, somehow feeling at once like he’s drifted down gently as a feather and like his entire body has been slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle the teeth in his skull. Slowly, warily, Logan opens his eyes to see that… something’s different.

No, scratch that. Everything’s different.

Logan turns around cautiously. The new location he’s found himself in is dimly lit, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust.

He takes in old and cracked wooden planks, stains marking leaky spots on the ceiling, and spiderwebs strewn all over the place. He’s standing in what appears to be the attic of an abandoned warehouse of sorts. Maybe not a warehouse — maybe a workshop, or an old storage unit. No matter. Whatever this place is, it’s very clearly not the empty flower field that Logan had been expecting to open his eyes in.

As disappointment shoots through him like an arrow to the heart, Logan realises that he can literally feel his hopes being ground to dust. How curious. It’s not a very pleasant sensation, to say the least. The young scientist had been trying his best not to let his hopes run away from him too much, but after all the success of the previous tests, you can hardly blame him for getting excited, now can you?

Logan sighs heavily. I suppose I have some work to do. He’s not looking forward to resigning himself to yet another month of tinkering and testing, especially now that he’s tasted success. Who knows how long it’ll take to identify and fix whatever problem caused him to end up here?

Speaking of, where is “here”, anyway? Logan, quite frankly, hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is. He probably should figure that out, before he begins worrying about repairs and re-runs. Stretching, Logan looks around for the exit.

Aha! There’s a staircase. Following these stairs down onto the next floor, Logan comes across a door, standing the slightest bit ajar. A warm glow surrounds the doorway; sunlight from the outside world. He smiles triumphantly, allowing himself a little bit of celebration for this small victory (he needs the validation to keep going, after the crushing failure — er — learning experience he’s just suffered).

After the darkness of the warehouse-slash-workshop-slash-storage unit, the sunlight’s sudden harshness startles Logan a little bit when he opens the door. That’s odd, he thinks. I could swear that the suns weren’t nearly that bright a moment ago. He’s still a little lightheaded from the brightness of the transportation spell, so suffice it to say, the abnormally bright sunlight isn’t doing him any favours. Logan blinks as he steps out the door into a forest thick with trees and shrubs. “You’d think that the foliage would block out the suns a little, now wouldn’t you,” he deadpans under his breath. Logan rubs his eyes. Then he rubs them again.

Goodness gracious, why is it so bright? Logan fights back an angry growl as the white spots in his field of vision persist, refusing to diminish even the slightest amount. Today was supposed to be a good day! Channeling his frustration towards the most immediate cause, Logan glares up through the leaves, at the sun —

Hold on.

The sun, singular?

That can’t be right. What happened to the other one? Logan looks away, then looks back, as if he might have somehow missed the presence of a massive star in the sky. Nothing. He stumbles around, straining to see if it’s somehow hidden behind one of the larger leaves. But no — there’s still nothing.

Suddenly, it looks like Logan might have a bigger problem on his hands than simply needing to do some minor repairs.

xxx

There’s a sort of throbbing pain coming somewhere from Logan’s left elbow.

He’s only vaguely aware of this, but vague is better than none-at-all, so he focuses in on that pain to try and ground himself. It works; after a moment, the fractured world begins coming back into focus.

Logan tries to inspect the wound, only to realise that he can’t turn his head, since it’s currently locked tight in an iron grip between his hands. His legs are curled up beneath him, too. He doesn’t remember assuming this bizarre fetal position. In fact, there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. How he got here, for example. From the darkness surrounding him and the hard wooden floor beneath him, Logan guesses that he’s somehow ended up back in the attic of the warehouse. His mind is still too scattered to grasp anything beyond that. But it’s a start.

Stiffly, Logan forces his fingers to relax and, stretching his neck, begins to massage the life back into them. How long did I spend, just… sitting there, waiting for nothing? he wonders, marvelling at how tense his arms still are. As he starts doing the same for his cramped legs, bits and pieces of memories start breaking away and swimming to the surface of his consciousness at last.

He remembers staring. He’d always been taught not to stare directly at the suns as a child; the ultraviolet light might burn his retinas, causing permanent damage or even blindness. But frankly, solar retinopathy had been the last of his concerns once he’d realised that there was an entire star missing from the great blue sky above.

He remembers shouting. Who can blame him for that, really? Something about knowing that you are completely lost and alone… it triggers something primal within the soul, awakening a beast that can only be pacified with a roar. “Lost? Of course not. I’m right here,” Logan wants to argue with himself, but he can’t. He doesn’t have any idea where ‘here’ is, you see.

He remembers sprinting. Illogical, perhaps, to think that by putting distance between himself and the ugly truth, he can make it go away. But we as humans do tend to fear that which we don’t understand, and to run from that which we fear. Logan had always considered himself fearless, and therefore powerful. To have that power taken away? That’s one more thing to run from.

He remembers stumbling. He took the stairs two at a time as he went, trying to go ever faster. At one point, when he wasn’t paying attention, he missed a step and went flailing downwards, landing hard on… his left elbow. The sudden fall didn’t bother him too much, though. In fact, it was almost reassuring, in a twisted way, to have his body’s state match his mind’s.

He remembers squeezing, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, telling himself again and again that he must be dreaming. Only dreaming. It’s all just a dream, and when he opens his eyes back up again he’ll be resting, safe and sound, in his cozy little apartment with his kettle and his teacup and his comfortable armchair and —

And…

He’s not dreaming, of course. This whole — what even is it that Logan’s gotten himself into, here? Is he in an entirely different world? A different dimension, even? — whatever it is, it’s here to stay. The realisation almost makes Logan want to retreat right back into fetal position.

But… no. No, no, no. Logan catches himself before he can slip back into the apathetic zone. He mustn’t panic; not a second time, at least. Hold it together, Logan tells himself. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

What he wouldn’t give for a calming cup of tea right about now.

The deep breathing does the trick well enough, though; Logan’s head is now much clearer than it had been only moments before. He’s still afraid, of course (he’s just been dumped out all alone into an unfamiliar land; who wouldn’t be?), but for the most part, his logic and reason have returned; thank goodness for that.

There’s a lot about his current situation that Logan cannot control. Not least of all, the fact that his unsuccessful experiment has stranded him in what very well might be an alternate dimension. He can’t control what’s happened to him, or what will happen to him next, for that matter. All that Logan can control is how he reacts.

It’s not about what’s happened. It’s about what he’s going to do about it.

“Giving up” is a completely foreign concept to Logan. He is a scientist, for goodness’ sakes! Not only is he used to things not going exactly the way he plans them to, his hobby hinges entirely on staying determined and finding solutions. Logan does not simply “give up”. And he’s certainly not planning on starting now.

Instead, he approaches the problem like he’s analyzing the results of an experiment gone off the tracks and trying to figure out what went wrong. Step one: observe and gather data. He’ll only be able to figure out the “what comes next” after he’s got all the pieces of the puzzle.

The second time that Logan walks out of the empty warehouse, the immediate glare of the sunlight doesn’t affect him quite as much — possibly because this time, he’s expecting it. Now, this may be silly, but the fact that he copes with the sun so easily this time around gives him a bit of a confidence boost; it’s almost like he’s just managed to defeat an enemy that, the first time around, he couldn’t even bring himself to face. This might not be so bad after all, Logan allows, striding out the door with a newfound sureness in his stride.

And his good mood only gets better as he continues to explore the forest surrounding him, distancing himself with every step from the abandoned warehouse where he had shed his insecurities. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that, besides the singular sun (which he can almost forget about, provided he doesn’t look up), the forest appears to be… exceedingly normal. It’s one that he wouldn’t even take a second look at, back in his origin dimension.

(Goodness, Logan reflects absently, the phrase “origin dimension” sounds so strange, doesn’t it?)

But of course, the flora and fauna in this forest aren’t exactly the same. There’s just enough variation between the two dimensions to fascinate Logan without frightening him, in fact.

That fascination, as it turns out, leads perfectly into step two: record observations, preferably on paper, for reference. Logan quickly conjures back up his notebook and pen to scribble down notes and make rough sketches of the forest’s almost-but-not-entirely-familiar specimens.

The conjuring takes a little more effort than usual, making Logan realise that his mana supply is probably getting dangerously low. Of course — he must have used up quite a lot of it earlier, when he was casting all of those teleportation spells. I’ll have to be a bit more conservative with my mana, Logan decides, until I can find a place to sleep and replenish, that is. The prospect scares him a little. He doesn’t like the fact that people depend on magic so much, but disliking it doesn’t make it any less true, and he’s certainly not exempt from that dependance. What will he do if he runs out?

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan’s attention is drawn a beautiful species of butterfly landing on an equally beautiful flower. Uncapping his pen, Logan smiles, grateful for the distraction. Mana can wait, can’t it? For now, he’s merely a scientist investigating an alien world — nothing more, nothing less.

xxx

He’s not sure how long he spends wandering through the forest, jotting down notes and observations, before his feet bring to a well-beaten path. This comes as quite a surprise to Logan, who had somehow been under the impression that he’s alone in the forest. The idea of finding another civilization both excites and unnerves him.

To journey or not to journey? Logan is conflicted on what he should do next. On one hand, if he doesn’t follow the path, he just knows that this decision will come back to haunt him. It’ll simply eat him up inside, the not knowing.

On the other hand… he has no idea what to expect, following this path. Where, or who, will the earth lead him to? How long will he spend walking? Does the path even end, or is this world nothing more than one big forest with a path circling all the way around? Does he want it to end? A path that leads to nowhere is better than a path that leads to danger, but in an unfamiliar land such as this one, the latter option seems a lot more likely.

Yes, it’s clear that the cons far outweigh the pros. Safety ought to be his priority here. The correct course of action, therefore, is to ignore the path and turn back to the forest. Just… just walk away. Walk... away.

Logan tucks his notebook into his back pocket and walks towards the path, cursing his incurable curiosity every step of the way.

xxx

Seconds stretch into minutes, then minutes into hours, as Logan follows the mysterious trail. There are times when he feels like he should stop, turn back before it’s too late, before the universe can throw anything else at him. But he’s too damned curious for his own good, and he can’t bring himself to.

Luckily for Logan, the universe seems to have had its fill of tormenting him today. The path does have an end, one that he reaches without encountering any hostile entities, and what he finds at the end is more than enough to make up for the hours of walking and waiting and worrying.

It’s a city. A city with people walking casually around, completely normal people just like Logan himself, which is exciting enough on its own — but what makes this discovery go from good to great is the city itself.

Simply put, the city looks like it’s been pulled straight out of one of Logan’s favourite science fantasy novels. He sees people riding around in elegant and futuristic vehicles with sleek metal bodies and four perfectly round, perfectly uniform wheels. He sees tall, towering buildings with bright yellow or white lights flickering in their windows rather than the dim, disappointing blue glow that he’s accustomed to. And everywhere he looks, he sees people tap-tap-tapping away on these tiny little handheld devices.

A gaggle of people pushes past him, every one of them fixated on their screens. When he catches a glimpse of what’s on these screens, he doesn’t blame them for being so tuned out to the rest of the world; if he had one, he’d be fixated, too.

On every screen is something different: digital calendars and checklists, looping pictures, games, perfectly uniform writing. Some people even have their devices held up to their ear and are talking into them, showing Logan that they’re able to pick up and store audio.

What kind of world must this be, for every single person to be able to own a piece of technology like this and not think twice about it?

The answer to his own question comes to him almost immediately. “A world where science is king, and magic comes second,” Logan realises out loud.

He knew it. He knew it! Science isn’t useless — it’s not, it’s not, it’s not! And it’s not hopeless to try and pursue a future of science. The proof that it’s possible is right here, in front of him!

His excitement fuels him forwards and into the city, where he begins flitting from building to building in a manner much like the butterfly he’d been sketching earlier; mostly arbitrary, based only on whichever locations catch his fancy. This results in him zig-zagging erratically from place to place, as there’s scarcely a single storefront or skyscraper that doesn’t catch his fancy. Everywhere he looks, he sees unthinkably advanced innovations being used in perfectly natural, casual fashions. Logan’s dreamed of places like this, but never imagined actually getting to see one someday!

What’s more — in all his exploring, he doesn’t once see anyone using magic. The life of these people is completely effortless. Completely automatic.

It’s the very life he’s been dreaming of for over twenty years now.

xxx

As the sun begins to go down, so too does Logan’s stamina. Panic had brought him out of the warehouse, concern had fueled him through the forest, curiosity had led him down the path, and finally intrigue had pulled him through the city — but though the intrigue is still fresh, the burst of energy he’d gained is wearing off, and now Logan finds himself at the unhappy tail end of an exhausting day.

All those emotions!  Goodness, Logan is in no way used to dealing with so many conflicting emotions in one day (indeed, he is in no way used to dealing with emotions, period). A long, long day of feeling has taken its toll on the young man.

He finds a city bench, which he trudges over to and parks himself down upon. Then, his thoughts finally settling down, Logan reflects and starts to develop some hypotheses on his current situation.

First of all, what went wrong with his invention? That seems as good a place to start as any. And he thinks that he might already have a vague idea:

As a general rule of thumb, small, inanimate objects are the easiest to transport from place to place; they’re much less demanding. Logan had tested large objects and they had gone through just fine. He’d tested small plants, with similar results. But his mistake was assuming that this was sufficient proof that his design was advanced enough to handle something as large and… well, “animate” as a human being. The fact is that his devices, despite how long he’d been working on them, were still primitive designs. Too primitive to safely teleport humans, at least. Add that to the fact that he must have already been running low on mana when he stepped in, and it’s not hard to see what went wrong. The teleportation pat created by the circles must have become unstable and broken somewhere between point A and point B, dumping Logan out and into this brave new world of his.

As to what this ‘brave new world’ actually is… now, that’s a little trickier. His best guess is that he’s ended up in some kind of sister dimension to his own. Centuries ago, Logan recalls learning, people had much more faith in the capabilities of science. Nowadays, everyone seems to assume that science was a much more ancient concept than magic, and it was then replaced when intellectuals started “proving” that magic was more reliable — but that’s not true in the slightest. In fact, the two of them started developing around the same time. One might say they were born of the same impulse, as it were: to control and shape the world to fit one’s own desires. That was what introduced science and magic into the world.

During that time, science was at its peak, whereas magic had only just begun to peek out. Over the years, the two battled for dominance. And in the end, magic came out on top and science unfortunately faded into obscurity.

Or at least, that’s what happened to Logan’s dimension. What if this world, then, had the same history up until that point, and then the two timelines… fractured? Magic was considered a foolish endeavour and was cast aside, while science stepped into the spotlight and thrived there.

So, then, it’s not only that people abstain from using magic because science is enough to sustain them. Rather, magic may have in fact been completely erased. But despite that… at its core, this dimension is remarkably similar to his own.

My own. It doesn’t feel exactly right, referring to the magical world as if it belongs to him. Logan suddenly realises that not once since getting here has he thought of that other dimension, or the things in it, as “home”.

A home ought to be a place where he feels comfortable, oughtn’t it? A place that he shares an intimate connection with. By that criteria, then, the ever-changing apartments he’s always cycling through are not his home. The dimension where everyone accepts magic and disregards science is not his home. Even his inventions — they’ve always been an attempt to make up for what he feels he lacks, and therefore artificially construct a home where there is none.

Logan gets back to his feet, leaving the bench behind, and looks around at the buildings surrounding him. At the sun still steadily dipping its way below the horizon, painting the heavens in all sorts of colour. The sight of it all fills him with a sort of serenity that he’s never known before.

Never once has Logan felt a sense of belonging, in the other dimension. Whereas here…

xxx

For some reason, much later, Logan is still walking. He is tired, yes, but his legs seem to have a mind of their own, growing restless whenever he sits still for too long. It’s as if they refuse to relax until he’s walked the length of this city, seen all that it has to offer him. So while the sky goes dark and more and more of those peculiar yellow lights appear in the windows, Logan keeps on keeping on.

Logan doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he’s already found it.

A small theatre, not at all unlike one Logan would expect to see near his old apartment(s), but for the glowing sign on the front.

EVEREST ETHEREUM, ENCHANTER EXTRAORDINAIRE, its large, bold letters loudly proclaim. Directly underneath, in text that’s a much smaller size: Today only — mind-muddling magical marvels for guys, gals, and non-binary pals of all ages!

A little tacky, perhaps, and whoever came up with the name and slogan could definitely stand to ease up on the alliteration, but the message grabs Logan’s attention all the same.

A magician, here! And one powerful enough to call themselves an enchanter to boot. Could Logan have been too quick in assuming that magic doesn’t play a role in this dimension? Perhaps it still exists, to a smaller degree. Perhaps only a select few people have magical capabilities. Perhaps Logan is jumping to conclusions again and really ought to stop doing that.

No, that last one isn’t much of a “perhaps”.

Rather than drive himself crazy with what-ifs, Logan decides to go inside and see this enchanter’s performance for himself. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

The inside of the theatre is… underwhelming. That’s not to say the few posters and decorations hung up aren’t nice ones — they’re just not very impressive, that’s all. There’s a very conspicuous lack of the colourful banners and red-carpetry that he’d been expecting. The only other person in the room sits behind a simple folding table, head resting on the surface of said table and the rest of his body completely swallowed up by a baggy black-and-purple hoodie. All the audience members must already be in the theatre. Still, Logan is a little put out by how empty the room is. Surely, someone as powerful as an enchanter deserves a much more handsome welcome than this.

The door swings shut behind him with a loud beep. Logan gives a start and scrambles further into the theatre. As he does, the hooded figure resting on the table looks up for the first time, revealing a young man’s tired-looking face.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat. Speaking of handsome.

The other man blinks blearily a few times before he notices Logan. His eyes (which are smudged with some kind of dark substance — at least, Logan hopes that it’s artificial and not natural bags from sleep deprivation) immediately widen as he scrambles to sit up straight, jostling a plate of cookies resting on the table. The shadows cast by the man’s large hood aren’t quite enough to hide a deep flush colouring his cheeks; Logan guesses that he must be embarrassed at having been caught asleep on the job. “Don’t worry.” Logan quickly tries to reassure the man, seeing as he already appears to have enough stress as is. “I won’t tell your boss.”

The man’s hard, jagged fear visibly softens. “I — Um — thanks.” His voice is gravelly, but not unpleasantly so. Logan thinks the quiet scratchiness is in fact strangely soothing. “I swear that’s not, like, an everyday thing, I’m just…”

Logan quirks a brow, amused. The man checks himself.

“I’m just going to stop talking now. Thanks. Sorry.” Rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, the man’s eyes dart away. “You’re here to see the show, right?”

Logan nods.

“Great. Tickets are twenty dollars.”

That makes Logan hesitate. “Twenty...?” What does dollars mean? It’s an unfamiliar word to Logan, who’s used to using precious stones or mana to make payments. Does the man perhaps mean sand dollars?

Then Logan notices the metal box that the man is pointing to. It’s filled with colourful pieces of paper and perfectly round metal pieces. Those must be dollars, then. Do they use paper and metal disks as payment here? That’s new.

The man in the hoodie apparently misinterprets Logan’s hesitation. “It’s actually not that expensive,” he reassures Logan. “Like, if you’ve ever tried to get tickets to, say, a Broadway show… well, heh. Let’s just say, twenty dollars is peanuts. Besides, these guys are really good magicians. You’ll never be the same once you’ve watched them perform.” He pauses. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my boyfriends.”

If Logan wasn’t already convinced before, he certainly is now. Only problem is, he doesn’t have any dollars.

Then again…

Logan eyes the money box carefully. Many of the pieces of colourful paper are printed with a detailed design and a big number 20. That’s most likely worth twenty dollars, then. So he only needs one of those papers to get a ticket, right?

Or, alternatively, something that looks like one of those papers.

“Pardon me, but would you mind terribly if I...” As casually as he can, Logan reaches into the box and plucks out a paper.

“Hey,” protests the man, leaning forward. “What are you —”

“I promise you, I am not going to steal your dollars. I would merely like to take a good look at this for a moment, that’s all.” He turns it over in his hands, inspecting the detailed design on the front and the back, feeling its weight, even giving it a subtle sniff to confirm that it doesn’t smell of anything. He debates licking it, but something tells him that would be a bad idea.

Then he snaps his fingers, and where there was one piece of paper, there now lies two.

Creating a convincing Duplicate of an item is a difficult task in the magical world, but that’s only because people’s eyes are trained to spot little tells such as slight distortions when held up to the light, or corners and edges that are ever-so-slightly darker or lighter than the original object, or details that seem to blur when you look directly at them.

But people might be less used to spotting Dupes here, since they don’t seem to use magic as often. That’s what Logan is hoping for, at least. He’s just used up the last of his mana creating that Dupe, so it had better work.

Only one way to find out. Feigning calm, Logan hands both of the dollars back to the man with the hoodie.

Their hands briefly touch as he does so; the other man’s fingers are surprisingly soft, especially compared to Logan’s own calloused ones. As you might imagine, this doesn’t help his nerves any.

Then Logan steps back, feeling his heart rate speeding up (for more reasons than one). The man’s mouth has fallen open, and he seems dumbfounded… but he accepts the papers without question. Phew. Logan lets out a sigh of relief and feels himself relax. He’s safe. Nothing to fear.

“That’s a nifty little trick you’ve got there,” a new voice quite suddenly speaks directly into his ear, startling Logan so badly that he lets out a small scream and crashes directly into the folding table, very nearly knocking the dollar-box and plate of cookies over.

With both his tailbone and pride sorely bruised, Logan scrambles to his feet, automatically adjusting his necktie, trying to ignore the burning warmth spreading across his face and neck. So much for ‘nothing to fear’, he thinks, humiliated.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims the newcomer, who Logan now sees is another young man. His eyes are wide behind the thin frames of his round glasses. “Oh gosh, I didn’t realise I would scare you like that. Did I sneak up on you? Are you hurt? Ah, darn. I should’ve given you some warning, or something, shouldn’t I? Are you okay?”

“I — no — well, yes, but — that is —” Unsure of which question to answer first, Logan fumbles with his words for some time before finally settling on a simple, “I am fine, thank you.”

The newcomer begins to say something else, but he is interrupted before he can get anything out. “Hang on, what do you think you’re doing?” At this, Logan turns to look at the first man, the one selling tickets, worried that he has discovered Logan’s Dupe, but he isn’t looking at Logan. Instead, his finger is pointed accusingly at the newcomer, whose bottom lip is now stuck out in a pout.

“I know, Virgil, I just missed you!” ‘Virgil?’ Ah, that must be the ticketmaster’s name. “Roman and I have been stuck all alone without you for, like, two years already!” Two years? This man has been in isolation for two years? That seems... cruel. “Plus I got hungry and wanted to come grab some cookies.”

“I thought you had cookies backstage, Patton!” the ticketmaster — Virgil — replies, sounding exasperated. (Oh. Backstage. He was exaggerating when he said two years, then, Logan corrects himself.)

Patton shuffles his feet. “Well, yeah, we did. But, uh, we… lost them?” he tries unconvincingly.

“Lost them in your stomach, huh,” deadpans Virgil.

“Hey! No!”

Virgil gives Patton a skeptical stare.

“...Maybe a little. Anyway, the cookies don’t matter!” insists Patton, quickly changing the subject. “Either way, I wanted to come see you again before the show starts. Maybe help you out here, give you less work to do. Um, but that might have backfired, I guess? You know, since I almost scared this poor fellow right out of his pants just now.” He turns to the poor fellow in question, who has been watching this exchange play out, unsure of whether he should be saying anything. “Sorry about that, by the way. I thought that trick you did was really terrific, that’s all, and I guess I got carried away.”

“Not a problem,” Logan replies briskly. “Why don’t we both… forget that whole thing ever happened, please.”

“Aw, but I was going to ask if you could teach me how to do that!” says Patton.

Logan isn’t sure how to answer that. I’m actually a magician from an alternate dimension, and that money is nothing more than an illegal illusion. No, thank you. Besides, from what he’s heard so far, Patton is going to be performing in the show he’s about to see. If that’s the case, shouldn’t he already know how to make a Duplicate? It’s a very simple spell, after all…

Luckily, he’s saved from having to come up with a response when Virgil breaks in once more. “Hey, I hate to cut this whole bonding moment short—”

“I cradled you in my arms,” giggles Patton; Virgil ignores him.

“— but I don’t think you’ve got time to learn an entirely new trick before the show starts. Seriously, you can’t be out here. You’re going onstage in fifteen minutes, tops.”

Patton sighs. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right you’re right you’re right,” he says, though his voice is barely above a mumble.”

“What was that?” Virgil pointedly cups a hand around his ear.

“You’re right! You always are. Ever the level-headed one, aren’t you?” Patton walks around the table to embrace Virgil affectionately, pulling down the purple-and-black hood to give him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil shrugs out of the hug and shoos Patton away, babbling about showtimes and baked goods and tickets, and all the while trying to hide his wide smile behind dainty hands that aren’t nearly large enough to cover up his joy. Logan pretends not to notice.

“Enjoy the show!” is the last thing that Patton says, grinning with unabashed cheerfulness at Logan and — are his eyes deceiving him, or was that a wink? Before Logan can even process Patton’s words, the charmingly cheerful man has reached around Virgil, snagged a cookie or three, and strolled away. Logan watches him nibble at his newly acquired treat as he disappears through a large door marked BACKSTAGE.

“Don’t worry,” murmurs Logan, fighting a smile of his own. “I have no doubt that I will.”

xxx

As he watches the enchanter sweep grandly into center stage, Logan feels like he’s staring up into the sun’s glare all over again. Everest Ethereum’s regal red velvet robes are illuminated with all manner of golden sequins and sparkling trim, glittering so brilliantly in the dark theatre that Logan briefly has to lift a hand to shield his gaze for fear that he’ll go blind otherwise. His eyes adjust quickly, though, and once they do, Logan is able to look more carefully at the enchanter, Everest. Framing his face is a meticulously styled halo that’s just as red as his robes are, and he’s got a golden crown perched on his head to match the rest of his ensemble. He is, in a word, beautiful.

Moments later, Patton comes trippingly traipsing out from the other side of the stage with a large wooden box in tow. His outfit, a blue skirt-and-tuxedo combo, is significantly less flashy than Everest’s, allowing Logan to conclude that Patton must be the enchanter’s assistant.

Patton and Everest reach the center of the stage at almost exactly the same time — was that choreographed? A coincidence? Or are they just that in touch with each other? — as thunderous applause echoes through the theatre, where Logan is seated among many other eager audience members. Once the applause dies down, the performance begins. Logan leans forward in his seat, eager to catch his first glimpse of magic from this new dimension.

It only takes a few minutes for Logan to realise that there’s about as much actual magic in this so-called “magic show” as there are dolphins in the desert.

What he’s watching is decidedly not magic. There are no spells, no incantations, no nothing. It’s all simply misdirection, distracting audience attention towards one location on the stage while a sneaky sleight-of-hand takes place in another. Patton scurries around and fetches items and tells awful puns while Everest stands center stage and dramatically waves his hands around, but Logan knows that it’s nothing but an act.

He can’t decide whether he’s disappointed or impressed, or an odd mixture of the two.

Very disappointed, for obvious reasons. He’d come into the theatre hoping to find that he isn’t completely alone in his magical abilities. It’s one thing for him to say that he can survive without magic, but it’s another thing entirely to actually try it. He’ll be able to figure it out in time; that much, Logan is certain of. It just… would have been nice to have someone who could help guide him through this transition.

But then, at the same time, very impressed. Despite the letdown, Logan has to admire how clever all of the tricks are. He can’t even begin to guess how many of them work, and isn’t at all confident that he’d be able to recreate the same things with magic. The scientific dimension has yet again proven to be far more inventive and creative than the magical one, it seems.

Plus, he has to admit that though it’s not in the traditional sense, Everest is enchanting. He is nimble fingers and laughing eyes and flaming hair and words that sing as he speaks them, and he is downright bewitching, all of him.

xxx

“Alright, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!” Patton says, walking up to the front of the stage and squinting in the brightness of the stage lights. “Gosh, it is so great to see that we have such a full house today, and especially since we’re going to need to pull up an audience member for this next trick! I’m looking for one very brave soul to come on up here and lay all his cards on the table. Let’s see, how about… you there, in the front!” Patton finishes, pointing directly at Logan.

Directly at Logan.

Logan realises quite suddenly that his hand is stuck up in the air as high as it can go.

Huh.

“Come on up! Don’t be shy, now,” calls Patton merrily, undeniable kindness colouring his every word. Logan debates pretending not to hear him, but eventually decides that that would only do more harm than good, and has no choice but to get up and pick his way through the rows and rows of seats, then climb up onto the stage where the full force of the stage lights hits him so hard, it almost makes his ears ring. Logan watches recognition flicker across Patton’s face, but the blue-tuxedoed man doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s your name?”

Logan, he tries to say. The word gets caught in his throat. He coughs and tries again, awkwardly: “My name is Logan.”

Patton turns back to the audience. “Alright, everyone, give it up for Logan!” The words have scarcely left his mouth before the building starts shaking with applause and a few scattered whoops and whistles. Patton waits for the noise to die down before turning back to Logan. There’s a mischievous expression on his face that makes Logan very uneasy indeed. “You know, I didn’t quite catch you that first time. Guess your volume was too low…”

Logan blinks.

“...gan?”

Low… gan. Lo-gan.

I might scream.

It’s a tempting notion, but before Logan can act on it, Patton seems to read his expression and hurries to move on. “Alright, Logan, your job’s going to be a super simple one, okay? We’re going back to the basics with this trick. I think everyone’s seen this one performed before. All I need you to do is pick a card, any card!” So saying, Patton gestures towards Everest with a flourish; Logan watches on in amazement as Everest pulls playing card after playing card out from behind his ear, until he’s got a full deck in his hands.

The enchanter hands the deck to Patton. The audience applauds dutifully. Patton grins.

“Okay, okay, settle down now. That’s just the beginning,” he calls. Then, turning to Logan, Patton fans the cards out face-down. “Go ahead, pick one. Now look at it. Memorise what’s on there. Don’t show it to me, okay? You can show it to the audience if you’d like, but make sure that I can’t see it.”

Logan obliges, pulling out a 5 of Diamonds and showing it off. He gets the feeling that everyone knows where this trick is going except for him.

“Great. Okay, now just slide that back in here, anywhere you’d like” continues Patton, still holding the cards in the same fanned-out position. Once Logan has done so, Patton shuffles the deck thoroughly before handing it back to Everest. Logan watches as Everest performs a series of complicated hand movements, shuffling faster and faster until his hands and the cards are nothing more than a blur of colour and motion, and then all at once —

“Is this your card?”

Logan’s eyes widen. The enchanter is brandishing the same card that he pulled out! “I — yes, it is!” he announces, nodding. “How did you…”

The other half of his question is drowned out in the cacophony of clapping that follows. Both Patton and the enchanter shake Logan’s hand while Patton’s lips move. Logan can’t hear him, of course, but it’s not difficult to infer that Patton is dismissing him.

Shakily, Logan walks off the stage and returns to his seat, feeling one part alarm, one part confusion, and ninety-eight parts exhilaration.

xxx

Much too soon, the performance is over. Logan surges to his feet along with the rest of the audience as the lights go back up, applauding until the palms of his hands are red and stinging.

The crowd carries him out into the no-longer-empty lobby, where Logan leans uncomfortably against one of the red brick walls. Perhaps he’s supposed to leave the building now, but he hesitates.

He doesn’t know where he’ll go once he’s left. And there’s something else, too, Logan realises after a moment. For some reason, leaving the theatre feels like leaving behind the last trace of magic that Logan will encounter for a long time. Yes, the show was made up of clever illusion rather than actual mana, but something undeniably magical happened in there tonight and Logan doesn’t want to walk away from it just yet.

So, he doesn’t. He stands and he waits, and he watches people animatedly talking to one another as they stream out the door, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He watches the cookies disappearing as they get snatched up into the fists of greedy toddlers and equally as greedy middle-aged men alike.

He is squinting at a young fellow’s t-shirt, trying to decide if the text on it reads Could or Couldn’t Be Gayer (he’s quite fond of the sentiment either way) when a sudden shout and the sounds of scattered applause catch his attention. Logan looks up to see the enchanter walking out the backstage door and into the lobby, Patton trailing close behind.

At the sight of the two of them, Logan is quite glad that he chose to wait around.

A group of small children run up to tug on Patton’s skirt. One of them holds up a black device larger than her own head. “Will you take a picture with us?” Logan hears her say. Patton smiles warmly.

Logan’s heart feels warm, too.

He’s about to move forward in the crowd to try and get a closer look at the pair of them when someone sidles up next to him. Logan glances over to see Virgil, still clad in his black-and-purple hoodie.

“So?”

Logan furrows his brow. “So, what?”

“What did you think of the show?” Virgil clarifies.

“Oh. Oh, it was...” Logan trails off. He’s not sure if mere words can express everything he’s feeling right now.

The silence drags on. Virgil winces. “Uh-oh. Does that mean it was bad?”

“No! Not at all. I just — argh.” Logan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to adequately express himself.

“Take your time, buddy.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I guess… it wasn’t quite so bad.” Logan finally gets out. “In fact, it was the best time that I’ve ever had.”

The ghost of a smile flits across Virgil’s chapped lips. “That good, huh? I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Roman and Patton are just amazing, aren’t they?”

“Roman?”

“Yeah. Wait, shoot, I’m not supposed to say that.” Alarm briefly darkens Virgil’s expression, but in the next instant it’s disappeared again. Whatever mistake he just made, he appears to be too tired to care. “Ah, well, secret’s out. Yeah, that’s the enchanter’s real name.”

Logan doesn’t understand. “But the sign says —”

“Yeah, I know what the sign says, I designed it. You didn’t think he was actually named Everest Ethereum, did you?” Virgil makes an odd sound, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh. “Roman just wanted a really fancy stage name and wouldn’t leave me alone until I changed it. I mean, at least it’s not as ridiculous as ‘Sir Squiggles the Brave.’ Don’t laugh.”

Logan arches a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I first heard it, too.”

“Okay, I know that you aren’t insulting Sir Squiggles,” a familiar voice interrupts their discussion. Logan and Virgil look up to see Everest — no, Roman, Logan corrects himself — standing in front of them, velvet robes and all. “Especially because you named our hamster that very same thing barely a week after shooting it down for me.”

One of Roman’s arms is slung affectionately around a giggling Patton’s shoulder. He uses the other to gather Virgil up in a tight hug.

“Hey, gross, let go of me! You’re gonna get your sweat from the show all over my new hoodie, Prince Underarm-stink,” Virgil splutters, though Logan notes that he doesn’t make any actual effort to extricate himself from the embrace as he continues to complain loudly.

Roman lets go of Patton to plant a kiss directly into Virgil’s purple hair, who suddenly goes silent. “Good to see you too, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance.”

“Ugh, you are the literal worst,” Virgil tries, but the fact that he’s laughing takes away most of the insult’s sting.

Roman replies confidently, “Shut up, you love me.” And he proceeds to shut him up thoroughly with kiss after passionate kiss, until the man has been reduced to nothing more than a blushing puddle in Roman’s arms.

Logan shifts uncomfortably. He feels like he’s intruding on a very intimate moment. Apparently Patton notices, because a moment later, he grabs his shoulders and very deliberately turns Logan away from the awkward scene and towards him.

“It’s Logan, right?” Patton asks, dropping his arms. This catches Logan off-guard; he didn’t think that Patton would remember him. He nods. “Ever gone up on stage before?”

“No, never.”

“You were really brave to step up onto the stage tonight, you know. That takes guts. It’s always especially scary the first time.” Patton blows a wayward blonde curl out of his face, looking at Logan with interest. “You didn’t seem to be too worried, though.”

“Well, why would I be?” says Logan quizzically. “All I had to do was follow a few simple instructions. That’s hardly something to worry about.”

Patton looks surprised, but only for a moment. Then he starts to laugh.

Logan isn’t totally sure what he said or did that Patton finds so funny, but whatever it is, he doesn’t regret it at all. Frankly, he would be perfectly content to do nothing but listen to Patton’s bubbly laughter for the rest of his life.

“Wow. You know, it sounds so much simpler when you put it that way!” Patton tells Logan once he’s recovered enough to form words again. “Public speaking? Easy peasy, you’re just reading words off a teleprompter. Building a house? Just following the blueprints. Programming the next big social media app? Just writing a few lines of code. Painting the Mona Lisa? All you’ve gotta do is —” he’s starting to snicker again — “is — is put paint on a canvas!” And then he’s off again, laughing, laughing until he’s gasping for breath, laughing with so much joy and mirth that Logan wants to laugh too.

Because even though he doesn’t understand what the joke was or what a teleprompter or a social media app or a Mona Lisa is, he understands that Patton is carefree and smiling and it’s because of him.

How wonderful.

A minute passes, then two, before Patton is finally all laughed out. By this time, Virgil and Roman have separated and are staring at Logan so intently that Logan starts to wonder if there’s perhaps something on his face.

Fortunately, Roman speaks up then, and his words reassure Logan that nothing is wrong. “I’m impressed, specs. The necktie and button-up shirt had me thinking you were bound to be a pretty boring guy — no offense — but it looks like I misjudged you, hmm? Anyone who can make Patton laugh like that is definitely worth my time. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Roman,” cautions Virgil. “You’re starting to sound like an entitled brat.”

“Excuse you, I am not!”

“Definitely entitled,” Logan mutters. The words come out louder than he meant them to.

Virgil’s face lights up as he pokes Roman playfully in the arm. “Ha! Hear that, Ro? Even he agrees!” He turns to Logan in approval. “You know, I like you.”

Roman huffs, putting a perfectly manicured hand to his chest. “You’re both just jealous of me.”

“Kiddos! Play nice!” It’s Patton this time, swooping in to play mediator before Virgil and Roman can take their play-fighting any further. Logan sends Patton a silent thank-you as Virgil rolls his eyes fondly.

“Okay, yep. That we are, Roman. You got us.” This seems to pacify Roman, who allows his hand to fall back down to his side. Logan is grateful for the comfortable silence that follows.

Said silence doesn’t last very long, though. After just a moment, Roman speaks up again. “Pardon me, Logan, I hope you don’t mind my asking. Where are you from?” Seeing Logan’s confusion, Roman adds, “I mean, did you move here from another country or something? Your accent, it’s one that I don’t recall ever hearing before. And trust me, I would remember if I had.”

“I… have an accent?” says Logan, unable to mask his surprise.

“It’s very subtle,” jumps in Patton reassuringly. “I didn’t even notice, actually. Roman just has a bit of a knack for these things.”

Hm. Well. Considering how Logan lived in a completely separate dimension only a few hours ago, he supposes that probably shouldn’t be that surprising to learn. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course — the three of them would definitely think him crazy if he claimed that he’d come from an alternate dimension where no one believes in science and magic is a regular, everyday kind of thing.

Instead, Logan vaguely replies, “Oh, you’ve probably never heard of the place where I come from. It’s pretty far away.” Which technically is not a lie, unless the space-time continuum works in a very different way from how he thinks it does. Before any of them can ask him for more details, Logan adds, “In fact, I’ve scarcely been in this city of yours for a full day.”

“Ooh! On vacation, are ya?” asks Patton.

“Actually… no. I’m looking to settle down somewhere here.” It’s not until the words have left his mouth that Logan realises how true they are. He doesn’t want to leave the city. “It’s been, well, challenging, adjusting to the knowledge that I’m living somewhere completely unfamiliar. Especially since it wasn’t exactly my decision. I —” He cuts himself off, unsure why he’s confiding in these near-strangers. “I’m sorry, this is probably too much information, isn’t it?”

Roman replies quickly. “No, no, don’t worry. You’re not TMI’ing.”

“I’m not… TMI’ing?”

“Yeah. Like, TMI, but used as a verb.” Roman clarifies, not very helpfully.

“What’s TMI?”

“You know, like… too much information? It’s an acronym.”

“Oh, I see.” That must be a new vocabulary word from this dimension, then. Logan grabs his notebook from out of his back pocket and scribbles that down.

Virgil squints. “Are you making a flashcard?”

“No. Yes.” Logan coughs. “Not important. Are you quite certain that I’m not, er… TMI’ing, as you say?”

“Yes, we are quite certain,” says Patton, straightening his spine and imitating Logan’s posture. He giggles. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t much else to say. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s it, really. I haven’t done anything exciting yet; I haven’t yet figured out where I’m going to sleep tonight, even,” Logan admits, sliding his notebook back into his pocket. “But to be quite frank with you, sudden change is hardly a new concept for me, anyway. It’s been a while since I was able to hold onto living quarters for more than half a year at most. So you needn’t worry about me.”

The silence that follows is far from a comfortable one.

Eventually, Virgil is the first to speak. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Logan, but… from the way you just described your life in the past, it sounds like you never really felt like you fit in anywhere. And if that’s the case, then I’d honestly say that this change might be for the better. You can move on now, you know?”

“Virgil’s right,” Patton pipes up. “Why not try taking a look at what’s on the horizon, instead? Keep exploring! Don’t just tolerate change, embrace it! Get out there and meet some new people, ya know? In fact, I think you’ve already got that last one in the bag,” finishes Patton meaningfully, gesturing around at himself, Roman, and Virgil.

Roman nods, looking thoughtful. “Ah, it’s just like I always like to say: leave the past in the past, make a plan of attack. Start looking forward and stop looking back.”

“Roman, you’ve literally never said that.”

“Oh, hush, Northern Down-snore.”

Virgil sticks out his tongue.

“Ahem. Anyway. Logan, to welcome you to Florida, I’d like to offer you the best gift you could possibly get. A formality, of course, since I’m already certain that you will accept.” Roman pauses dramatically. “Would you like my phone number?”

Phone?

Logan sighs heavily. He’s getting sick and tired of hearing words he doesn’t understand.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I don’t own a… phone.”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replies Logan crisply. “I’ve never made a joke in my entire life.”

“Oh. Oh, my sweet cheese pastries. In this day and age, you don’t have a phone? Seriously, where did you even come from?” Roman says, scandalised. Without waiting for an answer, he moves on. “This simply will not do. Logan, how in the name of a forest fairy’s hairy armpits do you expect to survive out here without a phone?”

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologise to me.” Roman rubs his forehead. “Logan, this is unbelievable. Okay, tell you what. I always carry an extra phone around with me, just in case. I’ve decided that you will be taking that phone with you when you leave the theatre today.”

“What? Oh, no no, you don’t have to do that,” Logan protests.

“Don’t even try to argue with me, Logan. It’s an old model, but it’ll serve you well enough until you can buy a phone for yourself. And it’s already got all of our contact information in there and everything!” Roman suddenly stops. “Oh, but… I just remembered I left it at home today. Hmm. You don’t have any plans for the evening, do you?”

Logan shakes his head, dazed.

“Perfect! Everything’s coming up roses, you see? Stick around a little while, then; I just need to get out of this heavy bathrobe here and then the three of us will be heading back to our apartment. You can come with. I’ll give you my — your — phone, and then you’ll be free to go. Or,” Roman pauses and exchanges a look with Virgil and Patton, then continues, “if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you’re welcome to spend the night at our place. There’s a pullout bed in the couch. It’s not exactly a luxury mattress, but it’s comfortable enough.”

“Roman!” hisses Virgil. “You can’t just invite people into our house like that! Like, obviously I’m cool with Logan staying over, but… that’s a really creepy move, dude.” Virgil turns to Logan. “Sorry about him.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, Roman gets fired up a lot — hang on, what did you say?”

Logan shrugs. “I said, I don’t mind.” And it’s true; he doesn’t. In fact, Logan is absolutely blown away by the incredible kindness he’s just been shown. These three young men only learned about his situation moments ago, and now they’re offering him a place to stay and a ‘phone’, free of charge? It all seems almost too good to be true.

Logan opens his mouth to tell Roman something along the lines of thanks, but no thanks, but stops. His only other option, he realises, is to make the long trek back into the forest and along the path, then stumble around with no mana until he can find that abandoned warehouse again. Which sounds less than ideal. Who knows what might be hiding in the dark?

Fortunately, Patton’s voice breaks into Logan’s thoughts before his imagination can answer that question. “So?”

Logan pushes up his glasses. “You’d be willing to let me stay the night with you, just like that?”

“Absolutely,” replies Patton firmly.

“Well, if you’re certain, then…” Logan is aware that this is most likely exactly how most kidnappings begin. But then, there are far worse fates than getting kidnapped by three beautiful young men the same age as him. And he really doesn’t have much of a choice. Logan swallows his pride and nods. “Then, thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this —”

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” beams Patton. “I’m just glad you’re not going to spend your first night in Florida alone.” Virgil nods. “Seriously, it’s no sweat. You don’t need to repay us with anything.”

“We-ell…” Three sets of heads turn towards Roman as he makes a vague gesture, flourishing a long, crimson sleeve. “There is one thing.”

Logan feels his heart plummet into his shoes. Of course there��s a catch.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” protests Roman. “I’m not about to make you polish our bathroom with a toothbrush or anything; I’m no evil stepmother. All I ask is this: once you’ve found a place to live and gotten all settled in, you give us a call.”

As Patton gasps and Virgil’s eyes widen in understanding, Roman grins.

“Let us all take you out on a date sometime, yeah?”

[fbwzoo]

I’m super curious, how did you decide you wanted the pets you have? My first exotic pet (a turtle) was basically brought in by my dad bc he’s has no impulse control but after reserching that pets care I decided I liked caring for hands-off animals who needed varied diets. (Also turtles make horrible impulse buys kids don’t do what my dad did lol)

I’m glad the turtle ended up working well for you! Definitely not a good impulse purchase, oof. And uhhh I ramble a ton, so this turned out really long. So I’ll put the long stories under a read more and the tl;dr version is:

Hedgehogs - wanted small animal pet to be my very own, but wasn’t interested in small rodents at the time. Hedgehogs were new & interesting, and I stuck with them because I loved their personalities & that for the most part, they just snuggle with you while you read, watch TV, etc.

Hermit crabs - commonly neglected pet, which I’m a sucker for. My mentality was “well, I can provide better than like 95% of people”. I’ve stuck with them because I love to feed them & they’re amusing to watch…and I’m going to keep ending up with them bc I can still provide better than like 95% of people so I have a hard time saying no.

Ball python - commonly neglected pet & I’ve always wanted to get into reptiles since my mom wouldn’t let me before. Got Charis specifically because previous owner was my roomie’s cousin & horribly neglected her.

Cats - I love cats & wanted more since losing family cat when I was 19. Fell in love with Ebony specifically at wildlife rehab & got her as soon as I had a full-time job secured (I literally called from the parking lot to give the news & arrange to go get her). Ditto chose us bc we’re suckers!

If you want to read more of my ramblings, look under the cut! :)

I got into hedgehogs because when I turned 18, my mom agreed to let me get my own pet that would be just mine (as the dog/cat were family pets). Couldn’t be a reptile, I wasn’t terribly interested in fish, and it had to be fairly small - she ruled out rabbits & ferrets. So I was looking at hamsters, mice, rats, etc. I wasn’t very interested in hamsters, mice, & other small rodents at the time, so kept looking. I found out about hedgehogs and was fascinated. So I ended up getting my Lily! I didn’t do nearly enough research before I got her, unfortunately, but luckily she was forgiving of my mistakes & I spent the first year I had her getting things fixed & doing my best to spoil her. I still love hedgehogs because they’re fairly chill and don’t absolutely need tons of hands-on handling time, but they’re still good for bundling in a blanket and snuggling with you while you read, watch TV, etc. 

When I moved out, I hadn’t had a hedgehog for several years by that point & was desperate to have them again. So I ended up in contact with a rescue in the KC area - who I ended up befriending, and now he’s my bf (and his husband is my partner too)!! ♥ I got Bindi and Pancake both from him & he also has my Bassy boy too.

For the hermit crabs, I read an article about them sometime in college, about how they’re all taken from the wild & about the shell shortage in the wild. It went into a bit of detail about how their needs are often unknown or overlooked as well…and I was hooked. I’m a sucker for commonly neglected animals! I did some more reading & decided I wanted to rescue hermit crabs eventually. I ended up getting the chance shortly afterwards because I was talking (infodumping) to a classmate about what hermit crabs need & it turned out she had two that she wasn’t providing all this stuff for. She wasn’t really interested in improving things & offered them to me. When I posted about it on FB, a neighbor who only had one left after losing the second offered me theirs as well. So I spent 2 weeks in a flurry setting up a 40g tank & brought home my first three crabs! 3.5 years later……a 130g tank of 19, and a 55g tank of 5. Sigh. XD I still like having hermit crabs because again, they’re hands-off & I love feeding them! They have a massively varied diet and that’s my biggest interest within my animal interest. Plus they’re fun to watch because they’re dorks.

Charis, my ball python, I got because I wanted a ball python for a few years, again due to the commonly-neglected type thing. They’re so common in the pet trade that people don’t always do enough research, and there’s so much misinformation out there on how big of enclosures to give them & that they “don’t need enrichment”, which is bullshit. My roommate’s cousin had Charis & was NOT taking care of her at all. Seriously - she was in a 20g tank with one open hide, one water bowl, no heat, and no light. Prior to that he was keeping her in a PILLOWCASE for at least a month because he didn’t have a tank set up for her. She has scars on her because when he first got her at a couple years old, he didn’t know better & she had access to a heat bulb in her tank - which of course she wrapped around & got burned. It was just a mess and I’m so glad she’s safe with me now (though she lives at my partners’ house bc of apartment rules). Once I’m living in a bigger place where snakes aren’t banned, I would like to rescue another ball python & perhaps some other snake species as well! It’ll depend on how much room I have to work with though, and it’ll be slow due to wanting to purchase good sized cages prior to getting the sneks.

The cats…Idk, I love kitties! I missed having a cat around after we lost our family cat when I was around 19, I think. I was still around them a lot from petsitting & working at Wildside. I fell in love with Ebony at Wildside & told the rehabber there for years that she was mine & I was taking her home someday. She was quiet, but loved when someone would come over & give her attention, and liked to climb up on your shoulders to purr in your ear & lick your cheek. So literally the day that I was offered a full-time job at my workplace here, I called Wildside from the parking lot & asked if I could still have her & made plans to drive up & get her at the end of the month.

Ditto….well, she chose us because we’re suckers. XD Gotta feed the poor skinny stray cat…and pet it…and shit, she’s friendly….oh look she came straight into the living room….crap she’s really lovey and adorable and oops, she’s ours now.

[parttimepadawan]

Overtaken Pt. 3 (Hux x General!Reader)

A/N: I move back into my dorm room tomorrow T^T Blech. School. There will probably only be one or two more parts after this since I dove into it without thinking. Overtaken was originally meant to be a standalone, but now here I am with no plan. Oops.

Warnings: violence

Word count: 4438

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

As you spent the next few weeks living with Puffpuff, it became more and more clear that you should never become a parent. You spoiled the little thing absolutely rotten with trinkets, toys, and playsets all scattered about your quarters. You no longer held private meetings in your quarters, it had become so unprofessional.

“Look, mommy! I’m taller than you!” he cried from atop his tower that you’d ordered for him. It stretched nearly to the ceiling and was part of a network of tubes that worked their way throughout the room. It was a necessary purchase after you’d tripped over Puffpuff one too many times and nearly broke something.

“That’s great, squirt,” you said distractedly, tapping at your datapad while walking toward the door. It was the only pet name you would allow yourself for the little tyke, besides Puff. “Mommy has to go to work now. I’ll see you later, okay? Use your keypad if you need anything.” Reaching up and ruffling his fur once, you looked for your gloves before you could leave.

After several minutes of searching, they still hadn’t turned up. “Have you seen my gloves, Puff?” you asked. A whimper came from one of the towers in the room and you climbed up to peek in through a window. There sat Puffpuff, rubbing his face on your gloves, which he’d stashed away in a corner of his tower. You reached for them but his eyes stopped you.

“Can’t I keep them, mommy? You’re always gone,” he started, and he didn’t even need to finish before you gave in. You sighed and scratched under his chin.

“You know I’ll always come back, squirt,” you said. Had you really been neglecting him so much?

“But you’re gone for so long!” You hummed and frowned guiltily.

“Alright, squirt, you can keep them. But that’s it, okay? No more running off with my things.” He nodded and settled in on top of the gloves for a nap. You waited, and soon enough his breathing slowed and his eyes slipped shut.

You didn’t mind it so much since you had a spare pair of gloves. These were leather, unlike the soft fabric of the ones Puffpuff was currently sleeping on. You slipped them on and chuckled to yourself. You had no idea Hux’s hands were so small. Checking again to make sure everything was in place, you looked over at Puffpuff one last time before you left.

Your office was in a state of disarray. Papers scattered about your desk, trash can pulled out from under your desk to accommodate the growing pile of empty caf cups, and chair pushed away from your desk in a hurry. Just as you’d left it the night before. You laid your datapad down and tapped at the keypad on the wall to call for a droid to take out the trash and for another cup of caf. You had another long day ahead of you.

Competition in the workplace was never an especially fun experience, no matter who you were up against. You may not have had to worry about Tarkin after he’d botched his attempt at cornering the Rebels on his own, but Hux had been supervising your mission on Arbra, which left most if not all the credit for its success to him. With all reported Rebel activity on Arbra at a stop, you were now working with Hux to round up the ones that escaped Tarkin, and you were bent on getting the recognition you deserved.

At least, you would if they hadn’t done such a good job at hiding. The interrogators in charge of the Rebels captured on Arbra had gone trigger-happy, to both yours and Hux’s fury. You had half a mind to execute them for sabotage, but Hux had jurisdiction, being supervisor. Now with no one alive to tell you where the others could be, you were back to square one and working harder than you ever did as a lieutenant.

The trilling indication of a call coming in through your datapad rang through the room and you accepted it without looking up from your maps of the areas surrounding Crait. They couldn’t have gotten far without fuel, you hoped. The little blue hologram popped up in the corner of your vision with Lieutenant Ventra on the bridge as its centerpiece. From what you could see in his background, it was unusually busy.

“What is it, Ventra?” you asked. He straightened up, clearing his throat.

“General Hux is here and requests your audience in conference room 26, ma’am.” Your hands stilled, the holomap still twirling in front of you with your finger on the button.

“Did he say why?” you asked impatiently. The man had been getting on your nerves lately, though that was nothing new. Ventra shook his head and you sighed, powering down the holomap. “Tell him I’m on my way.” You ended the call and slipped the datapad into your pocket, making your way to conference room 26.

Hux stood with his back to you when you entered, along with some of your advisors as well as his own. You frowned at him, not caring whether or not he saw. He was making it a habit to turn up on your ship unannounced and it was rather inconvenient more often than not, and now he’d dragged your staff into his shenanigans.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Hux?” you asked, hands behind your back as you walked up to him. He turned away from the window and regarded you with the same bored look as was usual.

“We have a lead,” was all he said, and all thoughts of snark and sarcasm were gone. You took a seat with him at the table and your advisors followed. One of Hux’s advisors projected a holomap into the air and the meeting began.

You wondered what they were trying to pull, hiding on a planet like Omwat. The large cities provided cover, sure, but why choose a planet with no clear alignment? You hoped that the Omwati would give them up, for clearly there was a lesson that needed to be taught. Hux went on to zoom in on the planet and point out which cities they would be searching first, the cities lighting up blue on the green holomap as he listed them. Your brows furrowed. There were too many.

“We don’t have the men to cover all these cities at once, General,” you cut in. Much of the fleet was preoccupied keeping their eyes on other planets, other safe havens for the Rebels. The only infantries left available for this assignment were Hux’s and your own. You didn’t like spreading your troops out as thinly as this was going to require.

“I assure you, General L/N, that the number of men in our combined fleets will be more than enough to carry out this mission,” he said. “Your anxieties have no ground here.” You frowned.

“Underestimating the enemy is a mistake we cannot afford to make here. These are large industrial cities with natives that are just as likely to side with the Rebels as they are to side with us. The number of men we have will not suffice to lay these uncertainties to rest,” you said. You looked to your advisors for backup, but they seemed to side with Hux on this one.

“With all due respect, ma’am, the chances of your worries coming to fruition are considerably low. There is much more to gain in its success than there is to lose in the case of its failure.” After that advisor had spoken, several more chimed in, all in agreement to go through with the plan. With yourself being the only one against the plan, its execution was agreed upon and the meeting adjourned.

“Leave the map,” you said to Hux’s advisor, who had been readying to shut it down. He nodded and left the room with the others, while you stayed where you were seated to rove over it again. It was a large planet with large cities, the perfect setting for an ambush at every possible turn. Any one squad picked off in the cities would have very slim chances of defending themselves. With your already small sector of the fleet, you weren’t keen on losing any of your infantry.

You heard footsteps coming up behind you, but didn’t look back. “This information is new, L/N. Chances of ambush are slim at best. Even if one or two does occur, stormtroopers are replaceable.” Your fist stayed where it was at your chin, partly covering your mouth. He didn’t get it. His stormtroopers were replaceable. With all of the recognition he’s gotten for his work, he had advantages that you didn’t. Your troops were finite, and with nothing even close to Starkiller Base under your belt, so were your resources. If you lost something, it was gone.

With nothing in reply from you, Hux left quietly. The door hissed shut behind him as you continued to mull your options over in your head. You had heard of the Omwati before, come across them in your studies. They weren’t like the Hoojibs; as adorable as they were, they were but intelligent rodents. The Omwati were a proud race equal to humans, as much as humans didn’t want to admit it. The only real difference between an Omwati and a human was that an Omwati had feathers on their head instead of hair. They built cities, they had language and culture, they had the same complex thought process. All this meant that you would be unable to guess their every move.

With no other choice, you plugged your schedule for the mission into your datapad. Your men would be put into larger groups, but leave earlier than Hux’s to cover the ground they were assigned. You just hoped it was enough to keep your fears from coming to life. Tapping once more to confirm your schedule, you shut off both your datapad and the holomap and headed to the bridge.

By the time you arrived, the hustle and bustle had died down, almost as if it had never happened. At your arrival, Lieutenant Ventra approached, visibly nervous.

“Lieutenant,” you greeted. He was strangely distracted, acknowledging your greeting but not offering more, though he hovered relentlessly. “State your business, Lieutenant. My patience runs thin today.”

He straightened up considerably and stuttered an apology. “Th– There was a call to the bridge for you during your meeting with General Hux. It was from General Tarkin to inform you of your upcoming assignment on Omwat.” You nodded.

“I am aware of the assignment. You may return to your post, Lieutenant,” you said. Ventra nodded and scurried off. The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and you trudged into your quarters, still wondering if there were some way to heighten your men’s chances of making it off of Omwat without incident.

You readied yourself for bed seemingly on autopilot as Puffpuff watched from his perch outside the door of the refresher. He hopped down from his tower when you came out, racing to the bed and curling up on his corner of the blanket. You still worried, but your fears were eased some at the sight of Puffpuff. He wouldn’t be leaving the Subjugator, you knew, and that was a comfort in itself.

You reached out and he came closer, pushing his face into your palm. You sat cross-legged and pulled him into your lap. He settled and you watched as he played with your hands, wiggling your fingers at him to make him laugh. The game lasted only for a moment before Puffpuff pressed down on your hands and looked up at your face.

“Something happened.” It wasn’t a question. You shook your head.

“No, not really. I have a mission in a few days or so, but that’s not something for you to worry about,” you said. You still spoke out loud to him, despite learning some time ago that you could speak to him telepathically as he did to you. “How was your day?” You knew you would receive the same answer you always did, but you asked all the same. You let the sound of Puffpuff’s voice as he rattled off all the toys he played with lull you to sleep, still sitting and leaning against the wall.

The days leading up to your assignment on Omwat passed far too quickly for your liking. Caught up in all your duties, you hardly had the time to mull over the assignment, and you were forced to send your troops out as planned. You were to once again handle negotiations with the councilman in their capital city, with Hux acting as supervisor for both his troops and yours in your absence.

You sat alone in your transport, sipping at a cup of tea that had long gone cold. With extra security measures on Omwat, each transport had to be inspected before gaining clearance to land on the planet proper. You massaged your temples, desperate for something to do. Sitting still had you thinking again and you didn’t like it one bit.

Abandoning your tea entirely, you watched through the window as the ground approached and the ship shook slightly upon landing. You watched your datapad as you disembarked, waiting for your squads to check in. One ping after another sounded as each squad reported landing and you gave orders to hold until all had been accounted for.

Within the hour, all squads had been dispatched among the three cities you were assigned with orders to report to Hux until further notice. You yourself roamed the capital city in search of your guide who was to bring you to the councilman. You drew more than a few sets of eyes, being the only recognizable human, and with a squad of stormtroopers surrounding you on all sides. You glanced over the hustle and bustle of the crowd around you, unable to tell one blue face apart from another, the multitude of colored feathers passing you by, their gazes lingering on you for much longer than yours on any one of them.

“General L/N!” You perked up, turning around to find where the voice was coming from. An Omwati with red feathers sprouting from his head pushed his way through the crowd to get to you and your squad holstered their blasters at your signal. You greeted him when he finally reached you, clearly out of breath.

“You must be my guide,” you said, and the Omwati nodded. He pointed off to a large building some ways away.

“The High Councilman is awaiting your arrival at the consulate. Please, follow me,” he said and started walking at a much more relaxed pace. The consulate was sturdy and large, with the same imposing air as a fortress. You felt oddly nervous just looking at it. Once within the consulate, the guide led you through a series of twists and turns, so many that you’d lost track. This, combined with the unwelcoming atmosphere of the building in general, set you even more on edge. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and you were left at a door. The guide left quickly and you were left to knock hesitantly.

“Come in,” you heard from a gruff voice behind the door. Upon your entrance, the councilman rose, looking much more welcoming than he sounded. “Ah, General L/N! Welcome to Omwat! I trust you were taken care of on your way here?” he said. You nodded, and shook his offered hand. He pulled out your chair for you and you thanked him graciously, but he seemed displeased somehow.

“I’m afraid I must ask that your guards place their weapons on the table at the side of the room,” he said, eyeing them distrustfully. Ignoring his obvious distaste, you agreed, motioning for them to do as he asked. Once disarmed, they returned to their place standing behind you, all under the watchful eye of the councilman’s own guards. You noticed that they also appeared unarmed, which set you a little more at ease. The councilman took his seat across from you and the meeting began.

Part of the way through the meeting, you’d pulled your datapad out from your pocket and projected a holomap of Omwat to use as a visual aid. “There have been accounts of Rebel activity in the southern corners of Milledge and Vexham, the northern edges of Canport and Gaffrath, and in the centers of Yhonio, Azul, and Botol.” As the councilman spoke, you placed digital markers in the areas he listed. When you were done, you noticed that all the markers were spaced far apart, circling the entire planet in a wide net.

You frowned to yourself, not liking the circumstances. With your troops spread this far apart, reinforcements were never going to be able to assist in the case of an ambush. Perhaps you could convince Hux to order a transfer of troops to strengthen your numbers. “Is something wrong, General?” the councilman asked. You shook your head.

“No, nothing that is of any fault of yours,” you said, and stood from your seat. “I thank you for your cooperation, High Councilman. In exchange, I give you my word that my troops’ activity will be heavily restricted to the areas you have identified, your people’s safety in our time here, and three metric tons of durasteel, as promised.”

“It was a pleasure doing–” Before the High Councilman could finish his sentence, an alarm rang from your datapad, signaling an urgent message. The name Tarkin flashed brightly on its screen and you were not the only one to notice. By the time you processed how quickly the councilman’s mouth turn downward, he had already barked his orders in Omwatese to his guards.

Without time to reach for your own weapons, you and each of your guards were incapacitated and bound. Pressed against the table, cheek flush against your datapad, the alarm still ringing loudly in your ear and the brightness of it forcing you to close one eye, you glowered darkly. Your eyes met that of the councilman.

“What is the meaning of this?” you growled with bared teeth. The councilman’s jaw tightened and he looked down his nose at you when he muttered another order to his guards, once again in Omwatese.

You were taken to a detention center in another part of the city, each of your troops held in a different cell. You had no way of telling how much time had passed, and your guess was likely as reliable as a bantha’s. Your outrage kept you from keeping proper track and with your belongings confiscated, you had no way of calling for help. You passed your time with loud outbursts of rage and kicks against the clear walls of your cell. You ignored the eyes of your squad watching as you lost control of yourself for the first time since they’d been assigned to guard you.

Eventually the councilman came to fetch you himself with two of his guards by his side. He had a smug look on his face at the sight of you, and you supposed you would have too if your roles had been reversed. It had been some time since you’d let anyone see you in a state as bad as the one you were currently in. Your hair was in complete disarray, having run your hands through it many times over, your teeth were bared and gritted so tight you feared they might crack, and your eyes no doubt resembled that of a cornered beast. This was a low you’d never wanted to reach again.

“Come with me, General,” the councilman said in Basic, and gave a command to his guards in Omwatese. With a pair of magnetic cuffs locking your wrists together, you were led into a room with solid walls and no windows, the only door slamming shut behind you. Your wrists were secured to a chain above your head and it was yanked up so you were forced to stand on your toes. You shut your eyes. You knew where this was heading.

“Tell me, snake,” the councilman started, and you met his eyes defiantly. “What does Tarkin want with our planet? Surely his father before him has done enough.” You licked your lips, your throat dry from yelling at nothing all that time in your cell.

“I told you everything during our meeting. We are only here to capture the Rebels as enemies of the state, nothing more,” you said. Your voice came out a little raspy and you inwardly winced. You’d definitely overdone it in your cell. You barely saw his hand twitch before the chain was yanked up higher, stretching your arms uncomfortably with the tips of your boots barely scraping the floor.

“Liar,” the councilman hissed. “Tell me, has he come to continue what his father started?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not affiliated with the Galactic Empire. I am a general of the First Order.” Perhaps not for much longer, you thought darkly. “I don’t know what Wilhuff Tarkin has done to your people in the past, but General Vilert Tarkin and myself share the same goals; the ones I made clear in our negotiations.” Already your arms tingled, and your shoulders were uncomfortably stiff. The councilman scoffed and in the next moment you had the wind knocked out of you with a blow to the side. The cry that left you was more out of surprise than any actual pain, but it satisfied him all the same.

A guard at your side stood with a large rectangular piece of what appeared to be steel. If you didn’t feel any pain now, you would soon. He drew back and you readied yourself for the second blow. The councilman caught your flinch and held up a hand. “Are you ready to tell the truth?”

“I have been telling the truth.” The hand came down. The steel hit harder this time, and your side was engulfed in waves of pain, pulsing in and out while you tried to get the air back into your lungs.

You were offered no further breaks in between beatings. They continued relentlessly and you grew weaker with each one, now no longer even able to stand on your own two feet. The chain had been lowered in a small act of mercy to allow you to rest on your knees after the councilman had gone some time ago. “Let my men know when you’re ready to confess,” he said, “and I will return to save you.”

On his way out, you raised three fingers, the sign he gave you to use when you wanted to confess. The guards flagged for his attention and he turned back. “Yes, General?” The look on his face was of such sadistic self-pleasure that it sent a shiver even up your own spine. You met his eyes regardless.

“Good luck getting anything out of me, High Councilman,” you said, spitting out his title. All smugness left him and darkened over. He gave a nod to continue and left, the door slamming shut once more behind him.

And so the beatings continued, both sides of you covered in bruises. It hurt to even hold yourself up now and your muscles ached with each time you moved in the slightest. You met the guards’ eyes, and noted just how young they were, still young enough to let the guilt show on their faces. Not a trace of the dark pleasure you saw in the councilman could be found in his guards and you smiled weakly.

“Do you have someone coming for you?” one of them whispered after another blow. By now you had gone limp. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, and let yourself bow toward the floor to save your muscles the pain of supporting your weight. “Ma’am, are you still conscious?”

You nodded, sighing deeply. “No. No one’s coming for me.” Your voice was much softer than it was when you first came in the room, and the guards frowned in response. “What time is it?” you asked, and were answered with the news that it was now late afternoon; the sun had not yet start to set. “No one is coming for me,” you confirmed to yourself.

You relaxed your neck and let your head fall forward again, letting yourself fall into your thoughts. No one knew that you had been captured; they likely thought that your negotiations had gone on for much longer than planned. That or they didn’t care. You thought back to Arbra, the last time you had been put in charge of negotiations and wondered how there could be such a stark contrast between two events that were supposed to be identical. No longer even able to look at you, the guards left the room. You felt a sense of relief at that; it was a mercy for you to keep your pitiful state to yourself.

As the door shut, the chain holding your wrists went slack and you landed on your side, drawing another weak scream out of you. You rolled onto your back, but the damage was done and you could feel your entire body throb. You panted through your teeth and hoped that the pain would ebb through sheer willpower. You had no such luck, but your blessings came to you when you heard voices outside the door and two blaster shots. The door hissed open and in stepped the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

On Hux’s command, a stormtrooper uncuffed you and carried you with an arm under your knees and another around your back. As a frightened Omwati led you out of the labyrinth that was the consulate, you peered up at Hux, walking beside you. He met your gaze and raised a brow.

“How is my squad?” you asked weakly. You could feel yourself falling asleep now that you were in the safety of your comrades’ care.

“Alive. All accounted for.” That was all you needed to hear. You smiled and breathed a soft ‘good’ before letting yourself slip into unconsciousness, swaying in the stormtrooper’s arms.

You woke up again briefly, now feeling much colder. With your eyes still shut, you could feel yourself being lowered, your feet dipping into something warm. Before your head was submerged, you felt a hand stroke your cheek softly and a warm breath drift across your face. Then it was dark again.

[sidetable-drawer]

Michael? What are you doing? lt's after 12. Couldn't sleep, Pops. Neither can we, with the noise you're making. Let's go inside. Just one more shot? All right. Just one. Good. Shoot it again. Getting pretty good. Shoot till you miss. You think if l can get good enough, l can go to college? lf you get good enough, you can do anything you want. l want to play at North Carolina. That's a real fine school, real fine school. You can get a good education. l want to play on a championship team. Then l want to play in the NBA. All right, let's slow down, son. Shouldn't you get some sleep first? Once l've done all that......l want to play baseball, like you. Baseball. Yeah, now, that's a sport. When you've done that......l suppose you're going to fly? At this time......l've reached the pinnacle of my basketball career and must retire. The one good thing is that my father had the opportunity......to see me play my last game. That means a lot. What'll you do now? l've never really told anybody this, except for one person. l'm going to play professional baseball. What are you going to play? l don't know. As a kid, l was a pitcher. l think outfield, because it'll be hard for me to pitch. Let's get out of here, dad. This stinks. Don't bring me here anymore, alright? Don't bring me here anymore, alright? Are you listening? Did you hear him?  Did you hear him? That little brat is right. l told you, if l've told you once......l told you a thousand, thousand, thousand, thousand times! We need new attractions! New ones! Get it? Big, shiny new things. Absolutely, sir. Look at me and listen: The customer is always right! Right! The customer is always right! Exactly! Always! Right! Okay, we need something. We need something......nutty! Something wacky. Wacky! We need something, something.... Looney? Oops! Looney. Thank you! Looney? Yes! Looney! Now you're talking! Looney! Looney! That's it! That's the word l was looking for! Get the Looney Tunes. Bring them here. Sir, just noticing......they're from Earth. What if they can't come? What did you say? What if they can't come? Make them. Cool. Make them! We're gonna get them! Strike! Looks good in that uniform. Looks great. Can't teach that. Can't teach it. Thanks for autographing that basketball for my kid. l'm happy to do it. Let's go! Curve ball. Don't swing. Don't...swing. Ball! Fastball, outside corner. Swing. Strike! That was your pitch. l know, l missed it. l'll get you another one. Podolak! Come here. -l'm sorry, l didn't mean to-- -Come here! Make sure that nobody bothers Michael. l want him to be the happiest player. Slider. Don't swing. Strike three! l told you not to! l couldn't help it. l know. Nice talking to you! We're not worried. Good cut. That was a good-looking strikeout. You look good when you strike out. When l do, it looks nasty. At least you look good. Good-looking. Hi, Mr. Jordan. l'm Stan Podolak. Oh, jeez. You okay? That was a nasty fall. l'm Stan Podolak, Mr. Jordan, the Baron's new publicist. l'm here to make your life easier. Can l drive you somewhere? You want me to pick up your laundry, baby-sit your kids? l am here to personally guarantee......that no one will ever bother you. What was that? Hang on! -Hanging on! -Hanging on! Are we there yet? -Bombastic! -Cool. You irascible bunny! Come back here, you screwy rodent! l'll be with you in a second, folks, after l finish with nature boy here. All right, you pesky rabbit. l've got you now! One small step for moi.... One giant leap for Moron Mountain! And one whopper headache for Elmer Fudd. Diminutive, ain't they? We seek the one they call Bugs Bunny. -Have you seen him? -Where is he? ls he around? Bugs Bunny, Bugs Bunny. Say, does he have great big long ears?Like this? Does he hop around......like this? Does he say, ''What's up, doc?'' like this: What's up, doc? Nope! Never heard of him. You know, maybe there is no intelligent life......out in the universe after all. Hold on there, Mr. Looney Tune. What do you think we are? Stupid? Don't move a muscle. Okay, bunny, gather up your Tune pals. -We're taking you for a ride. -Move it. Totally. All right. So, like, where are we going? Are we there yet? -Sorry it took so long. -Don't worry about it. That exit on 65 wasn't clearly marked. -Hold up, right here. -Here? Thanks, Sherm. -Appreciate it. -lt's Stan, Mike. You can call me Sherm if you want. l follow your career and l think you're the greatest athlete that's ever lived. How do l get out? The door doesn't work. lt's a classic. lt's a classic, but it's got a few peccadillos. Hold on. A few? lt's smoking too. Thanks for the ride. This is nice. This is a nice house. Beautiful. What is that, Colonial? lt's a nice house. lf you need help with the house....l'm fine, thanks. You gave me a ride. Thanks l'll drive tomorrow, so l don't need a ride. But thanks, though. Too conspicuous? Yeah. Thanks, though. -Tomorrow! -See you tomorrow. Come on! No, not today! Get off me! Your breath! Mr. Jordan, are you okay? Get off of him, Charles! Bad dog! Git! Pooch, stop it! Get off of him before l cook you! Come on, come on, baby. Get out! Good game. Hey, Jeff, you okay? -How was your game? -l don't want to talk about it. How are you? You're covered with drool! That's your dog. What's wrong with Jeff? He lost 32 points in his average. ls that all? So that puts him at .685 or something. He's batting what? Smells good in here. What you cooking? Chicken. Chicken and what? Collard greens. Good. l need a good meal tonight. ls everything okay? l stunk up the place. Hope baseball was a good idea. It was another career day for Michael Jordan. What're you watching? He had 3 strikeouts. ls this the only thing on TV? What's up with this? His batting average is .214, which is his weight. Get this guy a tennis racquet! Did everyone get mad at you? No. Worse. They were nice about it. I know golf is your sport. But not here. You should open your stance. lt might make you more aggressive. You think so? l'll remember that. Watching this hurt me more than you. Why are you watching this stuff? lt's bad for you. There. Road Runner. Beep beep. Stop this cartoon! We've got an emergency Cartoon Character Union Meeting to go to. Hey, wait for me! Hold your horses! Where'd they go? Stop the music! Top duck coming through! Jeez! lt's getting so a guy can't even get himself wet around here! What's the big emergency? These little guys would like to make an announcement. Here. You......all of you......are now our prisoners! Oh, we're in big trouble now. We are taking you to our theme park in outer space. No fooling. You'll be our slaves. And placed on display for the amusement of our customers. Oh, fear clutches my breast.We ain't a-going......nowheres! Not so fast, doc. You just can't turn us into slaves. That would be bad. You must let us defend ourselves. Oh, yeah? Who says? Just a sec. Read. What's this? ''Give them a chance to defend themselves.'' Do we have to? lt's a rule. Okay. lt is in the rule book. Una momento! We must confer. All right, troops. lt is for us to choose a battlefield that affords us-- l got it. Yes, Private Porkster? How about we challenge them to a......spelling bee? Say......we could have a bowling tournament. Suffering succotash! What's wrong with you? Let's get a ladder......wait till the old lady's gone......and grab that little bird! Whoa! Take a deep breath, Sly! Okay, let's analyze the competition. Now what are we looking at here? We got a small race of invading aliens.... Small arms! Short legs! Not very fast. Tiny little guys. Can't jump high. Ah. We challenge you to a basketball game. Basketball it is! Basketball! What is basketball? -What's that? -Beats me. We didn't have that in school. Lights! Pardon me! Sorry. Down in front! An exhilarating team sport currently growing rapidly in popularity......is basketball. Unlike football and baseball, only 5 men can play on a team. It's a fast-paced, razzle-dazzle game that requires quick wits......and even faster reflexes. Here's how it's done professionally. The National Basketball Association......featuring the best players in the world. The best players in the world! The best! Excuse me. Oh, so sorry. Excuse me. Get off my nose! Quiet, they're looking! lt's basketball! Where? Whoa! Now what? -She's looking. -Close it up. Tightly. You poked me again. Sweetheart? l thought you'd get better seats. -This is the best l could get. -This guy's doing something weird in his raincoat. Just let me watch the game. Barkley is killing us. Someone's killing someone! No. Seriously? A killer! Let me see! There! That's the killer! He's big. He's good. He's mine! Go get him! Come on! Get back on defense! Let's go! Get back on d! What are you doing? Time out! Call time out! What's wrong with you? Let him in. Open up! Open! He did it. l got it! l got his talent! Super.-Sit down, Chuck. -Man, l'm fine! l am fine! l played you too much. -l'm not tired! -Get the doctor. You all right? You sure? Come on, we're okay. Come on, let's go. Come on, Patrick. Showtime! What's wrong with him? In a shocking development, 5 NBA players were put on the disabled list......in the last 24 hours, all suffering from the same mysterious ailment......that affects the player's coordination. l'll be home in a few days. Put your mom on. How you doing? Watching TV? What's going on? -You gonna be all right? -I'm ready, Coach. Looks like l retired just in time. l must go. l'll call you later. Love you, bye. lt's open! lt's game time! Lace up your Nikes. Grab your Gatorade and we'll get a Big Mac on the way. Now we go to the Los Angeles Forum......where the Lakers are refusing to take the court. Get dressed. We got a game in 5 minutes! We're talking a huge fine. We can't go in the locker room. You heard what happened to Barkley and Ewing. There's germs. Cedric, that was in New York, Bacteria travels faster than the speed of light. Like ''lnvasion of the Body Snatchers.'' All right. Dress in the hallway. Okay, okay, which one of you maroons has ever played basketball? l have, Coach. And there's an important question l must ask you. What do you think? l'm partial to purple and gold. lt's better with my coloring. Nice outfit, Daffy. The little aliens say it's their turn to use the court. Sure, let the little pipsqueaks knock themselves out. Too bad you can't practice getting taller, boys. Hey, little pig! Boo! l wet myself. Time to play a little basketball. These little pipsqueaks just turned into superstars! They're monsters! Suffering succotash! They're ''monstars''! Bye-bye. Eh, l think we might need some help. Okay, little fella. You my friend? Or my enemy? You are my friend. You are my ally. You are my associate, my personal assistant. You are my weapon. You are leaving. -Great shot. -Nice shot. You can stop posing now. Good try. Not bad. -Something for you to shoot at. -Hit it good. Do my best. Good shot. l know. l must ask you something. The NBA must face reality. What's happening is serious. They're going to need new players with talent. Skilled guys who never really thought about a professional career. Think l got a shot? Come on, really? Don't kid. lt's a man's game. -You can't play. -What if l tried hard? Keep it down. lt's because l'm white. No. Larry's white. So what? Larry's not white. Larry's clear. Get inside his ball! You clowns can't beat that. -My best shot ever. -You haven't played long. A Hall-of-Fame shot. -Nice shot, Mr. Bird. -Larry, please. Nice shot, Mr. Larry. Nice shot. You can do this. Don't be nervous, you can do this. You feel the NBA has to face reality, don't you? Look for some players where they never looked before. Just look at the ball. Visualize where you want it to go. Be the ball. Get off the tee. Can't jump. Go on. Close to the pin? For dinner? -Sounds good. -l'll go close to the pin. l'll have some. Not bad. Good shot. Get down. Look at that spin. Come on! lt is alive! My first hole in one. Never seen one of these. Nothing but the bottom of the cup. -That's his ball too. -Yeah, it's my ball. Wait, let me get a picture! You must smile. Reach in for the ball and then smile, okay? ls this good? Just take the picture! What kind of camera is that? Don't point it at me. -l didn't do anything! -Where'd he go? Eh, look out for that first step, doc, it's a real lulu. Bugs Bunny? You expected the Easter Bunny? You're not real. Not real? lf l weren't real, could l do this? ls that Michael? lt's Michael! lt's Air Jordan. Basketball! l thought l saw....l did. l did see Michael Jordan. Pardon me, Mr. Jordan. Can l have your auto-- Your John Hancock, please? Let the doctor take a look. A little high. Going down! So, what do you say we go for a little spin? Let's see what we got inside here. Say, ''Ahh.'' All right. He's okay! What's going on here? l thought you'd never ask. These aliens from outer space want to make us slaves in their theme park. They're little. So we challenged them to a basketball game. Then, they ain't so little! They're huge! We need to beat these guys. They're talking about slavery! They'll make us do stand-up, the same jokes every night! We'll be locked up like wild animals, trotted out to perform......for a bunch of bug-eyed, fat-headed, humor-challenged aliens! What l'm trying to say is......we need your help! l'm a baseball player now. Right. And l'm a Shakespearean actor. Mike? Michael? lt's Stan. Stan Podolak. l need you to come out now, okay? You got a baseball game tomorrow. And I'd look pretty stupid if you don't show up. Think he's all right? l hate to leave him. He's fine. l think he just had to get away from that Stan character. He's pathetic, isn't he? l'll give us both twos. We weren't in any kind of emotional state to putt. l think that's fair. lf Mike is gone, the NBA is going to need some new people. There's room at the top. An exciting guy who could even perform at half-time. You know David Stern? A phone call from you.... l want to help......but l haven't played in a long time. My timing's off. We'll fix it. Look at our facility. We got hoops. We got weights. We've got balls. You sure do. This place is a mess. You're worried about a mess? There's nothing here a little spit shine wouldn't fix. Spit shine! Lemony-fresh. You guys are nuts. Correction: We're Looney Tunes. And as such are the exclusive property and trademark of Warner Bros. lnc. l'm here! Me too! That hurt. Who are they? Remember the tiny aliens l told you about? You've heard of the Dream Team? We're the Mean Team, wussieman! Wussieman. We're the Monstars. M-o-n-.... Let's see what you got......chump! l don't play basketball anymore. ''l don't play basketball anymore.'' Maybe you're chicken. l say, l resemble that remark. You calling me chicken? Come here. Here you go. Take him! Watch the footwork. Can you believe it? Get out of the way! Everybody. Look at your hero now. You guys are making a mistake. You're all washed up, baldy! Baldy? He is not washed up! -Michael's the greatest! -Shut up! My poor little cranium. You okay? Yeah, are you okay? Whoops! You're not scared of them......are you? Let's play some basketball. You're...! You're Charles Barkley. Girls! Come on over! Hurry up! Hurry! Look! lt's Charles Barkley! Can l play? You're not Charles Barkley. Just a wanna-be who looks like him. Sorry. Break out. You shouldn't even be here! Be gone! Wanna-be! Be gone! Just a few more tests. Electrolyte levels, glucose, CBCs, RBCs, etc. And we've scheduled a stress test......and neurological battery to include EEG and.... And this girl......five feet nothing, blocked my shot. When did you first have this dream? lt wasn't a dream! lt really happened! lt climbed up my back......and into my brain. Are there other areas......besides basketball......where you find yourself......unable to perform? No! Just asking. l've been MRl'd, EKG'd, x-rayed, laser beamed.... l'll never swear again. l'll never get another technical. l'll never trash-talk. l've got other skills. l could go work on the farm. Really? Or maybe l could go back to the jungle and be a missionary. What are you saying? That l'm trying to disobey my mama? You said that, not me. l love her. Still can't find anything wrong! Maybe nothing's wrong! Maybe it's just in our head. We're fine. lt's psychosomatic. Or has to do with the moon. I'll never date Madonna again. What are you doing? l'm fixing a divot. He's fixing a divot! Has anyone here ever played basketball? l have. l'd like to try out for the team. Hi. My name is Lola Bunny. Lola? Hello! My name's Bugs. You want to play one-on-one, doll? ''Doll''? On the court, Bugs. She's hot! Ready? l got it! l got it! That girl's got some skills. Don't ever call me......''doll.'' Check! Hey, nice playing with you. Very smooth. Eh, she's obviously nuts about me. Obviously. Mais oui. Where's the ball? Let's do some drills. Can anyone lend me some sneakers? Sneakers? Sorry. Someone must get my gear from my house. Your house? ln 3-D land? Whatever you do......remember my North Carolina shorts. Your shorts? From college? l wore them under my Chicago Bulls uniform every game. l washed them after every game! l did! The view back here stinks. We're in front of his house. l knew that! Let's go in this way. l say, let's go in that way! He just never learns! Let me see. l must be very, very......close. Mother! Nice digs. Well, well. l wonder who that could be. Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Everyone's sleeping! l knew that. Come on, we gotta find Michael's basketball stuff. Nope. Nothing in here. Nope. But a very nice dinette set. Not here. Let's look upstairs. Yes, Oh, Fearless Leader. So, he needs his special underwear. Sorry. You think she's got enough toys? Speaking of toys, you know all those mugs and lunch boxes with our pictures on them? You ever see any money from it? -Not a cent. -Me neither. lt's a shame. We need a new agent. We're getting screwed. We've found the trophy room. Spread out and search the place. Yes, sahib. Oh, brother. Here l am, in the peak of my form......playing second banana to some sort of harebrain.... This could be useful. lf this were a union job.... That's very nice. -l could use this. -One of his shoes. Where is the other shoe? Where are you? Eureka! Come to Papa. What a fuzz-foot. You are so clumsy. Catch. Thanks. Time to go. Did we get everything? The shorts! ln there? Okay, l'll check. l found the shorts. The pain! l'm right behind you. That's not reassuring. Nice puppy. Want a bone? No dice. How about a nice holiday ham? Can't we talk this over? Down, Beethoven. The kids are here. Give it. Here. Thanks, kid. Bad dog! That is the last time l'm ever working with dogs or children. Where you going? You see, the Looney Tunes have a big basketball game coming up and... -...your dad's playing. -All right! Yeah! But don't tell anybody! l see aliens. Little aliens from outer space. They forced their way inside your bodies. They need your talent to win a......basketball game against......Bugs Bunny. l also see Michael Jordan......being sucked down a golf hole......by furry creatures. That's it. We're going. We're leaving. Let's try acupuncture. Good idea. This is it! This is it! I don't know where you are......but you obviously enjoy being there more than being with me! You better hope this Jordan character still can play. You and me both, brother. Listen, how is this for a new team name: The Ducks. Please! What kind of Mickey Mouse organization would name their team “The Ducks”? So sue me. lt's just a suggestion. You're doing it! You're becoming mighty! Go! No pain, no gain. Guys? Look who's finally ready to play! Let's see if l remember how. ls it really you? Thank God you're all right! l was so worried! Come on, Stan. Don't hug me, please. Sorry. -Why are you here? -l must take you back for practice. l can't. l'm helping my friends in their basketball game. Your friends are cartoon characters. Yeah. So? lt doesn't bother me. Let me help? Let me help! l can help! What can you do? l may not be tall, but......l'm slow. And large. And a dork! l'll do anything! Anything! Anything? Anything. Come here. Come here for a second. Sit right here. No problem. All right! All right, let's go, team! If someone gets injured, we could see a lot of minutes. l'm a cheerleader. Mr. Commissioner, the place is sealed off. Quiet! Listen. After meeting with team owners......l decided that until we can guarantee......the health of our players......there will be no more basketball this season. Just get out of my way. Ready? Let's go! Are these the best seats? Like them! Can see everything from here! Very good! Ready to go? Yeah, sure. Riot! Ladies and gentlemen......the starting lineup for......the Tune Squad! Standing 2 foot 4......The Wonder From Down Under......the Tazmanian Devil! At small forward......standing a scintillating 3 foot 2......The Heartthrob of the Hoops......Lola Bunny! At power forward......The Quackster of the Courts: Daffy Duck! Thank you! Thank you! Very funny. Let's all laugh at the duck. And at point guard......standing 3 foot 3, 4 feet if you count the ears......co-captain of the Tune Squad......The Doctor of Delight: Bugs Bunny! Thank you! Thank you! And now......the player-coach of the Tune Squad......at 6 foot 6, from North Carolina......His Royal Airness: Michael Jordan! Who? ls he a Looney Tune? Perhaps. Ready? l'll take it to the rack. They'll wish they never were born! Guys, let's just go out and have fun. The challengers for the Ultimate Game......all the way from Moron Mountain: The Monstars! Go Monstars! Go Monstars! Go Monstars! What are you looking at? Cool shoes. Ready? l got it! l got the ball! Way to go! Did you see the moves on that one? Come on. Show me something! The duck! Oh, my! She was wide open. Watch the screen! Watch out! Get him! How did he do that? Nice shot, Mr. J. Let's play defense. Way to go! Air J! Red light! Feed me! Feed you? Feed me! -Bad old putty tat! -l'll take that. Don't try this at home! ''l wish l was in the land of--'' Going somewhere? May l remind you, sir......that physical violence is patently against the rules! Did you order Original Recipe or Extra Crispy? Let's go. Me? l'm ready. l can do this. You picked the mouse? l love basketball. l always have. Do you? l bet you're good. l'm small, but l try hard to be good. l always try hard. My mom says, ''Try your best--'' Try to get by me, doll. ''Doll''? Don't ever call me......''doll.'' Nice shot, Lola. Thanks, Bugs. There's the defense boy. l got you. Pie? Pork chop? Sorbet, perhaps? Half-time. Holy Putty Tat! We're better than them. We got them. Moron Mountain, here we come. We're going to be slaves. There's a whole other half to play. lt's the boss. Hello, Mr. Swackhammer! All right. Not bad for the first half. But we must keep this up. No problem. We stole talent from the NBA players! From the NBA! Shut up! l smell something. We've been playing hard. Not you, you idiot! lt's coming from over here. That locker. Look! lt's the chubby boy! lt smells like a......spy! You guys need a publicist? l can make you big. -l know we're down. -Let's hear the story. l've been here before. We can still win this. lt's not over. We must come together. We must believe in ourselves. That'll help us. Looks like Stan had a close encounter with a bug-zapper. The Monstars! The Monstars! That must hurt. The Monstars! The Monstars......stole the talent from the NBA players. So that's what happened to them. l think we should qui-- qui-- forfeit. Listen, l didn't get dragged down here to lose to ugly Monstars. l ain't going out like that. We're letting them push us! We gotta fight back! We gotta get right in their faces! Well? Are you with me or not? Finished? Great speech and all. You had them riveted. But didn't you forget something? Your secret stuff! Nice deltoids! Play along. Stop hogging it. We're teammates! Secret stuff? Secret stuff? You wouldn't hold out on us, would you? No. l didn't think you needed it. You're so tough. You're competitive. We're also chicken. We need it bad. -l'd like some of that. -Could l have a sip, please? This goes against everything l learned in health class. Do you want to win? Bottoms up. Yummy. How about we go out and kick some alien butt? How about it? Ready? Open! Coming through! Special delivery! Nice kaboom, Wile E. Let's teach them a lesson. Nice butt! Going up! Slammy! Hello! A little surprise for you, my friends. This will be good. Okay, birdie! Time out! Shut up, get away from me. Powwow! We're right back in this game. Let's play tough defense. Why didn't you get him? He's a baseball player. A baseball player. Looks like a basketball player to me. Me too. He's the one l want for Moron Mountain. Are you talking to me? Yeah, l am. You want a piece of me? Come and get it! What do you have in mind? What about we raise the stakes? Interesting. If we win, you give the NBA players their talent back. But what if we win? lf you win? You get me. Good deal. Doc, you think that's a good idea? You'll be our star attraction. You'll sign autographs all day long. And play one-on-one with the paying customers. And lose. Do we have a deal? Deal. l don't think you should do this. l have faith in my team. Crush them! Defeating time, boys. Good-bye! Fore! But, Mommy, l don't want to go to school today. l want to stay home and bake cookies with you. l'm open! Heads up! Belly flop! Lola, look out! Oh, my! Bugs! ls this your man? Bugs! You okay? Me? Oh, yeah. l'm fine. Are you okay? Oh, Bugs, thank you. It was nothing. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. Time out. l could have been a contender! The Monstars! The Monstars! l could have had a V-8! We need a fifth player. You got any more secret stuff? l think it's starting to wear off. It didn't wear off. It was water. You guys had the ''special stuff'' inside you all along. Yeah, l knew that. But you got any more? Can l have some? -Stan? -Me? You're center. Just guard the big guy. Guard him? l'll smother him! l'll be all over him like a cheap suit! l'll be on him like stink on rice! He's going down! Over here! Over here! l'm open! Nice shot! Big man, ain't he? Let's get him out of here! Oh, my! Ew! How'd he do that? Anyone can do that. Even you. Watch this. No sweat. This is Looney Tune Land. Thanks for telling me, doc. l hate to be the bearer of bad news, Your Airness......but if you don't find a fifth player, your team will forfeit the game. Forfeit? Precisely, Sir Altitude. No way. We'll find someone. Da da da da da da da da! l didn't know Dan Ackroyd was in this picture! Perhaps l could be of some assistance? That's our fifth guy. Now you get to live your dream. Let's go. -We need to score 2 points. -Here's how l see it. You kick it to the girl bunny down in the post. Uh huh. You dish it to Bugs. Got it. You swing it to Mike. You go to the hole. -And dominate! -We're on defense! l don't play defense. Typical. You must listen to Mike on this. Someone steal the ball, get it to me and l'll score. Don't lose that confidence! Paws and wings in here! Okay! This is why l was born. l thrive on pressure. Excuse me, sorry. Easy on the trousers, Daf. Pardon me. Mr. Murray, something's really been bugging me. Just how did you get here? Producer's a friend of mine. Had a teamster drop me off. That's how it goes. You see this chunky fellow? That's good! Let's do it! Play fair. Don't choke now. Come on.  lt's gut-check time! This must be mine. l'm going this way! l'm going left! Never trust an Earthling! Get the girl! Come on! l'm open! -That's mine! -Not today! Bring it on, dude. You're mine! l'm open! Never mind. The Tunes win! Nice pass. Great stretch at the basket too. You really got some skills. You could play in the NBA. Thanks, Mike. l'll probably quote you on that. But l'm going to take this opportunity to retire from the game. Come on. No, l'm going to retire right now and that's it. l'm going to go out undefeated. That's how it will be. -You go celebrate. -Come with us. l'd like to, but l have to ice down my knees now. They're starting to go. Good-bye. See you. You sure? Yes. Definitely sure. Definitely. -Losers! -Sorry. -Choke artists! -Sorry again. Wait till l get you back on Moron Mountain. The party's over! Get in the spaceship. Why do you take that? Because he's bigger. He's bigger? Than we used... ...to be. What're you doing? -Wait! What are you doing? Wait! -Come here. Had it in you all the time. One thing. Pass me the ball, Bugs. Give my friends their talent back. Do we have to? lt's part of the deal. Touch the ball. Fair is fair. Touch it. That was so much fun. l feel so... ...insignificant. My clothes don't fit. What a trip! l'm up for another! Can we ask you a favor, Mr. Bunny? We don't want to go back. -We hate it there. -lt stinks. l was thinking, could we stay here? Please! Oh, brother. l don't know if you guys are looney enough. Looney enough? Do you know what time it is? Seven-fift-- Seven-fift-- Quarter past seven. You have a baseball game in 5 minutes! Okay. Take this. ls it safe? Yeah, put it in my bag. Let's go. l enjoyed playing with you. You guys have got a lot of... Uh...? A lot of, um... Yes? Well, whatever it is, you got a lot of it. Got to go. Bugs? Eh, Mike? Stay out of trouble. You know l will. Come here! Awoowoooo! The delay is killing us. Where's Michael? Where is Michael? He's not back from his other game. What game? What other game? Ladies and gentlemen... ...Michael Jordan! Guys... ...we suck! My grandmother plays better. You guys are still tall. l'm nothing now. Just a short guy. You're right. That's the only thing you got right. -Who's that? -Who is it? l don't know. You've been getting beaten. It’s Mike. -What's up? -Why're you here? Don't be embarrassed. Just face it. You stink. Lighten up. l know. You want your games back. What games you had. lt's hard enough as it is. Give us a break. l'm going to regret this. Give me the ball. lt's like ''Star Trek.'' Touch it. No way, Jose. You want your talent back? Just touch it. -l don't know. -Don't touch it. You'll walk around with a bad game for the rest of your career. Touch it. Careful, Pat. We've tried everything else. Come on. Touch it. The rest of you. Just touch it. -What was that? -l liked that. l caught it! Look at Mugsey handle the rock! l can handle it again! That's the old Mugs l know. Yeah, get height now! lt gave me my powers back! Let me show you something. The Round-Mound is back! Want to see something? That felt good! -l got it. -You got it. Yeah, baby. Stay. Play some 3-on-3 with us? l don't think so. You going to work on your swing? Leave the baseball player alone. He doesn't play basketball now. He probably doesn't have it anymore. Do you hear them? They don't think you can play the game. There's one way to find out. The Chicago Bulls is proud to welcome back... ...Michael Jordan! What's the matter? Larry, that could have been me. Will you get off that kick? lt's over. lt's done with. You can't play. Let's go, Bulls! Well, that's all, folks! That's my line. Step aside, Babe. Let a star do this. That's all-- That's all, folks! Can l go home now? 

[kitterahsdollhouse]

11 Mun Questions

Tagged by: @alinkbetweenportraits

Tagging: no one cause I did this already :P

1. If you had the means to travel, where’s the first place you would go?

I don’t really know.... it’d either be someplace in the US, Ireland or Spain

2. Do you have a favorite GIF? Let’s see it!

I don’t really have a favorite gif oops

3. What’s the most memorable thing you and your best friend have done (whether it’s stupid, silly, embarrassing, badass, warm and fuzzy, etc)?

Oh uh... I don’t actually know. The town where she and I lived was really small. OH! Maybe the one time she and I were studying and, I forget how, but it ended up in a stuffed animal fight! other than that it might be how we became friends or how we stopped.

4. Can you cook? Sew? Use hand tools? Use power tools? Know how to check the fluids or tire pressure in your/a car?

I can cook and sew! I’ve used both hand tools and power tools! I know how to check oil, but that’s about it.

5. Which video game character has your favorite design?

WOW ummmm.... NO clue.

6. You’re stranded on a desert island for a year. There’s a reasonable supply of food and vegetation to be found in the wild. Are you screwed, or can you make it?

I’d like to say I could make it but realistically? I’m probably screwed

7. Can you do anything weird, like lick your elbow or pat your head and rub your tummy?

while I CAN pat my head and rub my belly, what I like to call my “useless talent” is I can actually wiggle my ears! Either together OR one at a time

8. Can you say anything in another language? Can you sing anything in another language? (you don’t necessarily have to know the translation)

I can speak some Spanish and I know some things in Slovakian (though don’t ask me to spell anything). As for songs, that’s all about memorization of sounds, so yes.

9. Do bugs scare you? How about rodents?

mmmm, There’s only one bug that really freaks me out. All the others I’m cool with as long as they aren’t on me unexpectedly. As for rodents? I like em, just  not as uninvited guests.

10. Was there a subject in school/college you liked but were terrible at?

Nah? I liked what I was good at and hated what I wasn’t. Though if I HAD to pick a subject, I’d choose English. Hench ruined THAT for me.

11. You know how these things never have that one question you actually wanted to get asked? Here’s your chance. Free space!

Ummm... I don’t really have a question like that? 

Random fact: before we moved to where I’m living now, my room used to be such a mess you couldn’t see the floor, my bed was just as bad. I used to just shove everything aside and sleep in the clear spot on the floor.

My room now is pretty clean! but I’m pretty sure that’s only because I still haven’t ACTUALLY unpacked everything.