#considering its not until the very end he acknowledges the map in his back as scars

[puckish-rogue-archive-deux]

Lore Dump: Regarding the Supernatural

Note: This is gonna be a bit of a short one as it's more of a clarification for people who have Muses that are tied to the supernatural.

So, let me just get this out of the way and say that yes, there are elements of the supernatural present within the original SR games (although more so the first two, and that expansion I don't even consider canon). And while they aren't exactly anything that substantial, I've always seen that as an invitation to explore the concept further. Cause really, how the hell do you not love the idea of mashing organized crime and stuff that's far beyond the realm of comprehension together? It's definitely had a hold of me ever since a particular boss fight in the second game, but that's something I'll get to in a second.

Anyway, let me just lay it out like this; in the first SR, after the death of an important character (no spoilers on the off chance one of you actually wants to check out the series), you are given the chance to call up a number you might have seen around the map for a business known as Eye for an Eye. They are run by voodoo practitioners who can revive the aforementioned character, and have them come back as a zombie homie. This can also be done in the second game after the death of another major character.

Now, in addition to Eye for an Eye, we have a character introduced in SR2 who goes by the name of Mr. Sunshine. He is the second-in-command of the Sons of Samedi, a Haitian drug cartel led by a man who goes by the moniker of The General. Mr. Sunshine is important to our discussion because he is the first instance of The Boss encountering someone tied to the supernatural in the main plot, and not have it be just some silly little easter egg.

This is mainly shown during the fight you have with him (the mission is fairly graphic by the end), where Mr. Sunshine pulls out a voodoo doll that's able to both knock The Boss around, and keep himself invincible until the doll is shot out of his hands. Yet even on the brink of death, Mr. Sunshine is seemingly capable of reviving himself over and over again, right until The Boss decides to just decapitate him.

With all that said, you're probably wondering just what in the hell does any of that mean. Well, I think it's pretty simple; if the game is going to go out of its way to depict something as abnormal and clearly supernatural as that was, in a main mission no less, then what does that tell you about the rest of the world? What else might be lurking around that people might not be fully aware of? And yeah, I know it's kinda silly to go that buckwild over tiny little hints of shit being a little weird in this universe. But like hell am I keep myself or anyone else from taking the opportunity to explore that further.

And let me be clear, I'm not looking to do anything totally out there. There is a way to depict something regarding magic, the supernatural, and anything else that may fall under that category in a way that's both very interesting, and acknowledges that in a modern setting such as this, it's not commonplace. So I would absolutely love to do that with y'all. I love those kinds of settings, I love throwing Django into these situations where he has to deal with things that are soooo out of his league. It's a lot of fun! And I hope you can see that vision as well.

[eclipsecrowned]

Mithandin + HOUSE JAVAYA. (PT 1: history and forebears)

Javaya is not a new name in its native Al*thkar. Founded when the Sunmaker was still busy trying to wipe Az*r off the map, they have always held a speck of land within the Crownlands, minor nobility with good land. The name was known, but knew neither power or fame for much of its long half-life.

This all changed after several centuries of mediocrity, as the War of Unification saw the youngblood head of the House pursue his masters to whatever end. The change in fortunes for the family is built upon the blood of fallen Houses and conquered men, in lands and titles awarded for loyal service pulled from the grasp of dead resistance. Yet that youngblood grew old, long in the teeth, and eventually met his end during the failed plateau run that wiped out significant Kh0lin forces.

His eldest son has now risen to take the title of Highlord, but the family is not able to return to their lands. Living as refugees at the Tower of Ur*thiru, House Javaya is in dire straits as much as the rest of the country. It is perhaps further threatened by the unchecked vitriol its latest leader, as well as the personal machinations of his younger siblings.

The parents:

The late Highlord Abrar Javaya, Mithandin's father a good and amicable man by all accounts, until you realize this is a man who was close to D*linar pre-character development and still campaigns to 'bring back fun Blackth0rn.' This is almost certainly a war criminal who his son only knew as a loving and protective patriarch, ignorant of how horrific the campaigns he took place in really were. Duality of man. Someone give the listener that cut him down a bonus.

He began as a simple Citylord who met the hoard of his Highpr*nce's brother head on, his own volunteer army and household guard in tow, and swore fealty. It wasn't an act of self-preservation as one might expect, but a genuine fervor. In a society that solemnizes warfare as holy, he considered it a sacred duty to serve his master in all valorous pursuits.

Valor, in this case, meant subjugating the rest of the country for personal gain, moving from Citylord to Highlord once all his neighbors were cut down, and then trampling across borders in the intervening decades to destroy adjacent countries in bids for Al*thi supremacy.

Despite this, and most pivotally to Mithandin's journey, it never showed in his personal life. Upright, zealous, and affectionate in a way some considered outrageous for a proper Al*thi man, Abrar set a good example for the children he doted on. He did the best he could for them while still leading them from warcamp to warcamp. He was very clear that all he accomplished in various wars was for nothing if it didn't secure a better future for his sons and daughters.

Dies in the climax of the first book, cut down by the enemy as his son watched. He was the greatest loss House Javaya suffered that day, but not the only one. Part of Mithandin's narrative moving forward is both coping with/overcoming the trauma of that event, as well as acknowledging his family history and accounting for the crimes his father committed in service of recognizing a pattern and becoming a better man by far.

The dowager Highlady Catath, who was deemed 'unsuitable for motherhood' based on her treatment of her children. Has not seen or been seen by any of them since they were old enough that their father could safely wrench them out of her household and onto campaigns with him.

A pretty trophy for the conquering young hero, she was a widow who married up after her first husband was cut down for resisting the unification. She pursues her own aims in the capital, enjoying infrequent visits from a husband she's fond of in spite of it all. I never give specifics on how she behaved as a parent, just that the children old enough to remember her treatment resent her deeply, and the younger have no active memories of her.

Tries to worm her way back to the family once Mithandin ascends, only for her elder two children to pay her to return to the capital. It's an arrangement she takes to happily, so long as her son allows her to continue acting on his authority back at the palace. This will surely not come back to bite Mith in the ass in the future.

The fact Mithandin so favors her, that all his pretty boy features reflect his mother, fucks with him in some kind of way he can't articulate.

Both his parents suck, is what I'm getting at -- as people undoubtedly, but one made an alright parent. The kids give Abrar way more credit than he deserves in terms of being a good person. Their first red flag should have been just how devoted he stayed to a woman that mistreated the children he professes to love, but that's just how it is sometimes. Catath set such a low bar the kids would take whatever their father was selling.

next: the siblings/allies

[borreloadsavagedragon]

alright tell all of us your thoughts about kaito :)

I did not forget… I have just been con crunching but now I’m free to become the worse

Minor Zexal and Arc V spoiling ahoy

How I feel about this character:

Oh no you’ve opened a floodgate… welcome to oversharing hour with Jay

I’m very normal about Kaito, just ignore the two full cosplays + the EVA foam Orbital work in progress I have mapped out, the wall scroll that’s at my work computer, my ita pin bag, and the fact that I’ve done everything I can to make his deck competitive viable and god dammit am I still trying please print this deck a god damn banger starter, Konami, I can’t keep doing this without your help-

Short story but I used to be suuuuper YGO Vrains favoring from 2020 into early 2022, but I found myself drifting from it because one can only tolerate so much subtweeting and catty behavior over personal preferences, and I’d never really finished Zexal before, just has a half baked idea how it ends, like I watched a chunk of it when it first aired but never finished and proceeded to forgot most of it, so I picked it back up after deciding to pick up Kaito to write in an RP server with some friends because I remembered liking him and… well I didn’t stand a chance when I got back to him fjdhdhd

I deeply relate to the theme of self-inflicted loneliness because it’s easier to be by yourself, just getting walked out on, left in the dark, or even being shafted for reasons out of my own control, I really get that

Also taking on too much if it means the people you love will be ok even if the ending result is you’re not ok, where he is after his Duel with Yuma at the end of Zexal I and getting to repair all of those relationships he was damaged by is where I want to get to in life

Bonus fact that’s minor spoilers for another spin off, but I’m… not a huge fan of his portrayal in Arc V, I like that he’s there and acknowledge that it’s a different Kaito and I love all Kaito Tenjos as they exist, including the Structures Cosplayer, but… yeah, not a fan, I’m a big fan of showing vs telling and Arc V to me feels like it’s ALL telling for all of its supporting cast most of the time

All the people I ship romantically

The better question is who I don’t honestly because that list is far smaller, but if I had to pick favorites I’m very partial to Ryouga, Mizael, and Edo-

Something about rivals to lovers resonates with my very being, even if Edo is less of a rival and more of an enemy until Arc V does it’s usual-

I’ve written for Challenge and AntiHero both already actually, my docs is 99% Challenge Wips that are slowly coming along tbh, and GalaxyMaster takes more time to write since most of those are… you know what I’m getting at LOL

I stg Gallop's one mission was to make Kaito Tenjo a dating sim protagonist because I have no other excuse for why they gave him so many boyfriends and even girlfriends across Zexal and Arc V, Yugioh’s surprising most eligible bachelor

My non-romantic OTP

nervous laughter

Chris.

I like to think of them more as divorcees who are just fine staying apart

Also gestures vaguely at the first answer

My unpopular opinion

I don’t know if I have many tbh, besides disliking Arc V’s rendition of him / not liking mentor at all lol— Like maybe how I genuinely believe he’s the strongest rival bc his record was the best even after he was put up against forces behind human understand and was even considered dying majority of the time of Zexal while remaining arguably mostly human, Zexal’s wack

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon

Oh my god, the duel I hate the most in all of YGO is Kaito’s duel against Heartland because not letting Kaito win against someone who’s become representative of the garbage he was put through is SO UNSATISFYING

Yuma coming in and finishing it up is symbolic in its own right because of the importance of bonds, but to me that was and always should have been Kaito’s moment, let Yuma and Astral show up literally any other time and I’m fine with it

ALSO WE DON'T GET THE RYOUGA AND KAITO GRUDGE MATCH, though Kaito solos everytime, I’m so sorry Ryouga

[the-acid-pear]

Reverend Glasseye will make a whole album about the most miserable and most tortured little souls out there and I'll lose my mind everytime

[bloomyagi]

bleed me dry (m)

summary: where Itadori is your bottom-loving boyfriend and Sukuna reluctantly learns this vessel is the real curse. or: where seduction is a dangerous game, and the King of Curses loses.

pairings: itadori x f!reader, sukuna x f!reader

warnings: subby itadori, sub sukuna (yeah you read that right), light bondage, blindfolds, sukuna’s havin a whole ‘reconsidering life’s meaning’ moment, lotta swear cause u know sukuna things, coming untouched, he faints (yeah you also read that right) and is actually unabashed about it, all things considered

length: 1,432

notes: what? me? obsessed with jjk? that doesn’t sound like me at all! 

.

.

.

His vessel is in love.

The word curdles in his mouth, tastes like ash. He has never known such a thing. It is part of his nature, he muses absently. Hardened from centuries of death and decay. Of destruction and war. He revels in it. Feels the most alive amongst the chaos.

But that’s the point. Curses can feel. They can have emotional attachment. Can’t you see? In so many ways, they’re not so different from us. He thinks you’re too loud. Your thoughts and beliefs are too loud. They’re also pointless and naïve, and he likes to pop by just to drive it home.

Hello, Sukuna. Where is the fear? Where is the resentment, the anger? The disgust? He enjoys it. But you—you just sit there and coax him into conversation like he’s another one of your classmates. Like he can’t crush your windpipe with a single flick of his hand. Like he isn’t the slow bleed of a death sentence for your lover. Like he isn’t anything at all. Like his titles and powers are stripped. What is he beyond it all? Who is he?

You ask about him sometimes. He rarely gives any indication he’s listening, but he does. Of course he does. There’s not much to do, bound and locked in this pink-haired boy. He lounges on this throne and watches his vessel pine and blush.

Sukuna watches his vessel fuck his fist and mewl your name every night.

It’s sad. “Brat,” he hisses. “Grow some balls. This is just pathetic.”

Itadori swallows. “Oh. Can you—?”

Sukuna shoves him off the ledge. A faint yelp travels, followed by a large splash. “Fuck her already. All this sitting and plotting is making my ass itch. If you won’t, I will.”

“You wouldn’t.” Sukuna tilts his head to peer down. Itadori’s eyes are narrowed, uncharacteristically solemn.

His lips bare into a slow grin. “Try me.”

Itadori blinks once. And then vanishes.

.

.

.

Fuck. It’s the only coherent thought his muddled mind can pierce together. He gazes down at his palm, opening and closing languidly. His vision is blurry, spine tingling. He raises the other hand, reaching for his palm.

Mmm. He shakes his head firmly. The sharp tinge of metallic and iron coating his tongue clears the fog a little. The pain fades quickly, muted from his years of conquest and ruin.

Every nerve is on fire. His skin, this flesh cage, burns, an unfamiliar heat curling in his lower stomach. Sukuna is no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh—is well-acquainted, spent much of the centuries indulging in his vast harems. In the haze of blood and carnage, there is the memory of writhing bodies, of soft thighs and breasts, of glazed eyes and cries of his name. Of women fucked into wanton abandon, bred and lost in the worship of his cock.

But this. This heat is foreign in every sense. In its strange intensity and all-encompassing hold. All his senses are heightened but laser focused on the other pair of hands mapping his body. On the addicting sensations they’re inducing.

Can you—? Yes. Yes, he fucking can. He can feel everything and he wants to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze.

His eyes roll back. Ngh.

“Fucking wench,” he snarls. You’re a fuckin’ tease and if you edge him again, he is going to murder—

“Ah, ah. Watch your language, Sukuna. Ask nicely.”

He jolts. Finds his eyes cloaked in darkness, arms tied to his back and legs spread. Bare, save for a pair of briefs that’s slick and restricting. Kneeling. The sheets bunch beneath him. Every muscle in his body is tensed, body coated in a thin layer of sweat.

This position—!

“That brat—mmph!” Is that a fucking—gag? Did you just gag him? He struggles harder against the binds, but he feels your lips curl into a smile where you’re suckling against the column of his neck.

“You’re powerless here. The binds will restrict you for the next twenty-four hours … unless you can be good.” You trace the thick knots, smiling only growing at the way he lets out a muffled growl.

Every fucking sense is heightened tenfold. He’s on firefirefire. The flames consuming him inside out, like he’s being exorcised from within.  

It’s humiliating. It’s exhilarating. It feels—

“King of Curses. I want you to beg.” You’re a witch. You’re enthralling. Temptation incarnate. His head falls forward, chest heaving.

“Mmmmf!”

“What a dirty mouth,” you murmur, and his struggling is renewed when he feels your fingers dig into his thighs.

Oi, brat, he growls. What the hell is this?

His vessel is silent, but the back of his mind prickles. He’s watching. That freaky little shit.

“So stubborn. Let go. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Fuckfuckfuck, you’re palming his cock over the thin fabric. Maybe it’s been a while, maybe there’s a little more truth lurking beneath it, but he vaguely notes he’s never been so hard before.

You—! You’re fuckin’ burning his briefs off. Ash tickles his nose. A small part of him thinks it’s hot. His cock throbs, and even without visual confirmation, he knows you’ve paused at the sheer size. His mouth curls into a lopsided smirk, dark pride making his chest swell. What was he so worked up for? You’ll just end being another one of his breeding bitches, fucked stupid by his thick, long cock.

But then you pinch his left nipple, twisting harshly. Electricity courses through him and a sound he’s never heard in his absurdly long life escape his lips, muffled by the gag. His back arcs, head hitting the mattress beneath him.

His mind blanks, eyes rolling back as white noise fills his ears.

.

.

.

He rouses slowly.

He blinks lethargically at the ceiling, gaze unfocused. Everything feels muted, limbs heavy like he’s swimming in a pool of ink. But he’s not restrained anymore. There’s a blur of movement in the corner of his eye.

He turns his head to peer at you, half-lidded.

“That’s a very nice expression,” you chuckle, moving to sit by his side. The mattress dips lightly. He lifts a hand to tug at the hem of your outfit, expression twisting at the staggering movement.

“That’s a very nice look on you,” he murmurs in response. You’re wearing one of his vessel’s dress shirts, the oversized fabric falling mid-thigh. It simultaneously swallows you and presses against your curves. Something inside him stirs. His throat feels shot, even though he knows he hasn’t had much of a chance to speak.

You help him sit up, propped against the headrest, before offering him a glass of water. His lips lift into a half-smirk and you sigh, shaking your head but acquiescing. You take a mouthful before kissing him. Water dribbles down his chin.

You wipe it away with a half-fond, half-exasperated expression. His chest tightens.

“How long—?” He tries to move, but you stop him with a firm hand. He’s conflicted at the way his body responds immediately to the touch. His temperature flares despite his obvious fatigue.

“A few hours. I asked if Yuuji would keep you out until you woke.”

There’s a pause, and the knowing look in your eye tells him you know he’s mulling it over.

And then—

He reaches for you, and you set the glass aside to climb on his lap.

He bares his fangs. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

As you press him into the bed, tongue stroking his in such a manner his brain is starting to haze over again quickly, he thinks, brat, we’re going to have a long talk after this.

Sukuna doesn’t expect an answer after his vessel’s continued vigil, so he starts when Itadori replies, she’s ours.

I don’t share, he slurs. He thinks he sees a flicker of Itadori’s grin.

You’re going to have to. Because you like her, too. And she’s the one in control, not either of us.

Dimly, Sukuna acknowledges he’s right. You might be the one bouncing on his cock, but he’s not the one fucking you, you’re the one fucking him.

Fine, he gasps as you run your nails down his abdomen. Deal.

Good, his vessel says. Because I’m next, and you better not get in the way.

He growls, eyebrows knitting.

Your smile only grows.

[no-droids]

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute.  Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside.  Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by.  It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it.  Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it.  It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore.  At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical.  But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive.  It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it.  He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing.  Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong.  He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have.  He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now.  He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here.  It’s not necessary.  He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now.  He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago.  He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you.  He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight.  Yes, this is what he’s waiting for.  He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi.  But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe.  In, and out.  In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level.  Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep.  He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient.  It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you.  Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious.  They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around.  Pulsing.  In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it.  Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean.  He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip.  He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer.  He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There.  He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious.  Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence.  There you are.  Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it?  He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet.  To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now.  Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world.  All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now.  He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere.  He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current.  He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember.  These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill.  Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth.  He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before.  Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal.  He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive.  The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks.  Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it.  Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose.  Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for.  There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus.  It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving.  With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get.  He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him.  He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi.  But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided.  Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps.  His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh.  It’s… good.  It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously.  Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely.  Where’s the challenge in it?  The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him.  It’s brash and brutish and not his style.  No, this is what he wanted.  He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger.  Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak.  He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect.  Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand.  Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here?  Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave.  It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared.  If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change.  Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time.  He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No.  No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here.  It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him.  A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough.  Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you?  Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you.  You’re not here.  Why aren’t you here?  He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer.  Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really.  They’re yours.  He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor.  He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together.  This will work.  If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open.  This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good.  His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs.  When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him.  He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting.  He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created.  Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously.  You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it.  But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you.  Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops.  Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself.  His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat.  Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows.  He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely.  Why does it feel so… so spectacular?  Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it.  Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see.  That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist.  Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up.  No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride.  The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine.  He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home.  Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences.  Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there.  They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again.  But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would.  They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability.  Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep.  His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires.  Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants.  He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through.  No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all.  His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now.  He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found.  He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second.  He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth.  Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth.  Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that.  It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it.  The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it.  He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself.  Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice.  The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made.  Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants.  Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now.  There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved.  Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did.  There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened.  Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time.  He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No.  You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe.  There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow.  He must have… increased it, or something.  Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep.  Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though.  He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now.  No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is.  Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue.  Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs.  Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot.  Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

[astradrifting]

While Tyland seems to mirror Tyrion, the latter has already experienced all that in the book, hasn't he? Serving the wrong regime, being hated by the people, being badly disfigured etc. But now he's bringing an enemy with dragons to Westeros. Isn't that far beyond Tyland? I keep thinking the Lannister in the service of a rotten regime and for the wrong reasons (Cersei) might be Jamie. He too is disfigured. Is there a parallel for him in DoD?

(referencing this post)

Well, Tyland was sent across the Narrow Sea to Pentos to get sellswords for the Greens but failed, so maybe Tyrion bringing Dany across is meant to be him succeeding where Tyland failed. But you’re right, the foreshadowing events have already happened for Tyrion and it seems repetitive for his story to progress in exactly that way again. The show seemed to indicate that this was his endgame, but I could see D&D giving him this ‘happy ending’ purely because he’s their favourite, maybe swapping his ending with another character’s to facilitate it. The removal of the Tysha reveal so completely stagnated Tyrion’s character arc, which might be why D&D seemed to have no idea what to do with him post s4 aside from get him sucked into the Dany-cult.

There’s definitely meant to be a link between Ser Criston Cole and Jaime, though more of a mirror reflection than parallels. Cole was known as the Kingmaker, for his crucial role in playing Aegon II and Rhaenyra against each other at the start of the Dance, and was later made Aegon’s Hand. He was once Rhaenyra’s loyal sworn sword, until one of them spurned the other before her wedding to Laenor Velaryon. Either he asked her to run away with him to the Free Cities and she rejected him, or she tried to seduce him (for a second time) in the White Sword Tower and he rejected her. Either way, they clearly had a falling out, after which Rhaenyra turned to Ser Harwin Strong and Cole became a supporter of the Greens and Queen Alicent’s new sworn sword. This is similar to Jaime turning away from Cersei for her infidelity, though he doesn’t go so far as supporting the younger brother that will kill her and keeping her from the throne just yet.

Cole’s death is clearly a reference to the Red Wedding - at the Red Wedding, Robb was hit by three crossbow bolts, before Roose Bolton killed him while saying “Jaime Lannister sends his regards.” Criston Cole died at the Butcher’s Ball, a battle in the riverlands near the God’s Eye, killed by three arrows. The man in charge of the archers, and one of the men who killed him, was called Red Robb Rivers. His head was later put upon a spear and marched to another battle. But considering this is already a reversal of Robb’s exact fate in the books, I don’t know if Cole’s death is meant to provide foreshadowing for Jaime’s ending. He seems to be more of Jaime’s foil than a true parallel - Cole appeared to truly hate Rhaenyra in the end and worked to destroy everything she had, but I think Jaime is going to find it harder to give up on Cersei no matter what he says.

Some of Tyland and Tyrion’s parallels could actually apply to Jaime too, in some ways mapping closer to Jaime:

- Tyland was the younger twin of Lord Jason Lannister, as Jaime is Cersei’s younger twin.

- both were tortured and disfigured by the opposite side in war.

- Tyland’s policies benefitted lords, but made him hated by the smallfolk - similarly, Jaime’s slaying of Aerys actually benefitted the nobility, since it was they that Aerys tended to target, but has made him reviled by the smallfolk as the Kingslayer.

- Tyland advised Aegon II to kill his nephew Aegon the Younger instead of just gelding him or sending him to the Wall, because he would always be a threat to his reign. Tyrion has never threatened Bran (yet, at least), but Jaime has already tried to kill him, and later said that he should be killed, ostensibly for mercy but really because Bran was a threat to his and Cersei’s secret.

I’m still more inclined to think that Jaime and Cersei’s endings are linked in some way. But there’s also a lot of possible foreshadowing for Jaime being Hand within the books - @fedonciadale wrote a meta about Jaime possibly becoming Hand before s8. He also spends much of Feast riding around the Riverlands trying to clean up the war, during which he dreams of becoming known as Goldenhand the Just, instead of the Kingslayer. Of course, right now it’s incomprehensible why exactly either Bran or his council of regents would choose to make Jaime his Hand, aside from possibly appeasing supporters of the old Lannister regime, but Tyrion becoming Hand is pretty baffling too. I’d think that either of them would be especially insulting to both Sansa personally and the Martells, but if both the North and Dorne go independent at the end they probably wouldn’t have a say in who becomes Hand in the remaining kingdoms.

I don’t know why it would happen politically, but I could see why it might happen thematically. It might be a bitter, full circle of sorts for Jaime to end up loyally serving a king he’s already wronged.

In Jaime’s last AFFC chapter, he makes plans to eventually return to KL, but not for Cersei. He intends to separate Cersei from Tommen and find him a new small council, considering a slew of lords who could become the new Hand (even Baelish, bizarrely enough), but conspiciously not including himself, even though he’s already planning political manouevres and there have been previous Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard who have served as the Hand e.g. Ser Ryam Redwyne, and Ser Criston Cole during the Dance. He even wants to tell Tommen that he’s his father.

And he had done his own part here at Riverrun without actually ever taking up arms against the Starks or Tullys. Once he found the Blackfish, he would be free to return to King's Landing, where he belonged. My place is with my king. With my son. Would Tommen want to know that? The truth could cost the boy his throne. Would you sooner have a father or a chair, lad? Jaime wished he knew the answer. 

(AFFC, Jaime VII)

He seems to want a second chance, with Tommen after years of not truly acknowledging him as his son, and as a knight of the Kingsguard. The last king he truly served, he ended up stabbing in front of the Iron Throne. Robert barely even counts, because Jaime never had any real loyalty to him. Now he has grand plans to guide Tommen as king that will ultimately be disrupted, first by Lady Stoneheart, then likely by Aegon coming out of the woodwork and taking the crown from either Cersei or Tommen. If Jaime survives to the end of the series, he might end up serving a final king.

Bran and Tommen have often been linked to each other and contrasted throughout the series. They’re the same age, both second sons, and Sansa thinks explicitly that Tommen reminds her of Bran in ACOK. At the very beginning of AGOT, they have a sparring match, in which Bran knocks Tommen down:

There was a shout from the courtyard below. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran was standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet.

(AGOT, Arya I)

There’s a more oblique link made when the Lannisters are discussing Bran’s fall:

“[...] There is nothing Lord Eddard can do for the boy in any case."

"He could end his torment," Jaime said. "I would, if it were my son. It would be a mercy."

"I advise against putting that suggestion to Lord Eddard, sweet brother," Tyrion said. "He would not take it kindly."

(AGOT, Tyrion I)

In AFFC/ADWD, Jon bitterly remembers the spar between Bran and Tommen:

"At Winterfell, Tommen fought my brother Bran with wooden swords," Jon said, remembering. "He wore so much padding he looked like a stuffed goose. Bran knocked him to the ground." He went to the window and threw the shutters open. The air outside was cold and bracing, though the sky was a dull grey. "Yet Bran's dead, and pudgy pink-faced Tommen is sitting on the Iron Throne, with a crown nestled amongst his golden curls."

(ADWD, Jon II)

Except Bran isn’t dead, and it’s Tommen’s prospects that aren’t looking good. By the end of the series, their positions will likely have reversed entirely from Jon’s statement - Bran will be the boy with a crown in his curly hair, while Tommen might be the one tragically killed in his home.

There would be something bitter and darkly ironic in it, if the boy-king Jaime gets a second chance with isn’t the son he desperately wants to know, but the boy he threw out of a window.

[friendofhayley]

Monthly shout-out to every fanfic creator for all fandoms! Thank you for posting your talent for free and making our fandoms a more creative place. <3 This fic rec includes 12 fics from One Direction, Harry Potter, and Teen Wolf fandoms.

Larry (One Direction)

1. Praise the Mutilated World by @eeveelou, @creamcoffeelou | dystopian AU - A/B/O - on par with Hunger Games for dystopian world/plot - maybe its the feminism but I saw some parallels between governing of vagina-welders and omegas - 106k

It was August when everything changed.

By October, the leaves changed, and so did Louis’ heart.

2. i'll be someone who won't be forgotten by @socialiststyles | oof oof oof this hit close to home (for Sagittariuses) - love confessions - friends to strangers to lovers - angst with a happy ending - 27k

"I’m just—" (Harry hiccups) "there’s a lot here."

And – yeah. There are oceans between them and mountain ranges surrounding them and Louis can feel tectonic plates shifting beneath his unsteady feet, pulling them further and further apart by the heartbeat. There are countries of distance, but there are pages and maps and textbooks of shared histories, moments documented and carefully filed away and Louis can’t remember thinking complete thoughts before he thought of Harry.

3. Send Me Your Pillow (The One That You Dream On) by @lesbianiconharrystyles | this was so soft and lovely - gAyBO - omega/omega - fluff and anxiety - 1k

Harry is embarrassed to realize he's nesting but can't stop stealing Louis' things for his nest.

4. falling, catching by tsuneni | light academia - first time - strangers to lovers - creatives in love - 23k

Harry’s jotting down some more notes when he feels a thud on his right shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, thank God, because when he turns his head to the right his suspicions are confirmed. The boy has fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder.

When Harry lets out the breath he had been holding, the sleeping boy pushes his nose further into the burgundy fabric of Harry’s sweater, and wraps his arm around Harry’s waist.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

Wolfstar (Harry Potter)

5. I Tried Writing Your Name In The Rain, But It Never Came, So I Used The Sun Instead by @lenscribbles | I loved that Remus was a POC and his Syrian mother is amazing - friends to lovers - mutual pining - and nothing bad happens to them ever in the future :) - 12k

Don’t get Remus wrong. He loves his friends, he does! Loves them to the moon and back in fact. They’re his people, his favorite part of everyday, his found family. He’d do anything for them. But the thing is that doesn’t take away from the very simple fact that his friends are fucking ridiculous. Remus knows this, has known it for five years now. But it doesn’t stop him from startling awake on the morning of his sixteenth birthday surprised by the sound of fireworks exploding in their dormitory and a raucous chorus of “Happy birthday Moony!” being shouted into his ear with jaunty gusto.

“You are wicked, wicked wizards,” Remus moans from where he refuses to get up on his bed, covering his face with his hands, a good call on his end considering that the very next moment he feels a cascade of confetti pouring all over him. “The worst of the worst! You deserve to rot in Azkaban!”

“Oh how you flatter us Moonykins,” Sirius croons, pulling him up while James and Peter begin a frankly awful rendition of For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.

6. Our Destiny in the Stars by orphan_account | non-magical AU - body insecurity issues - trans Sirius - amputee Remus - 11k

Having no luck in the dating field, and insecure about his body, Remus checks out a dating website which offers the users the opportunity to get to know a person before seeing what they look like. It's during this time he meets Sirius, an enthusiastic teacher--and they immediately click. When they agree to meet, Remus sees a photo of Sirius and immediately panics. He's too good looking to ever be interested in someone like Remus. What the tawny-haired man doesn't know, is Sirius has already checked him out online and has fallen head over heels for the adorable editor.

Drarry (Harry Potter)

7. Old Magic (series) by @mystickitten42 | Drarry runs away together pree-HBP - very realistic getting-together - Narcissa is the GOAT - poor Sirius stuck in the middle - 2+ parts

Harry is undeniably numb. Still reeling from the sudden death of his godfather, he’s back at the Dursleys and everything seems hopeless. One day bleeds into the next. But, as they say, nature abhors a vacuum…

Draco is unimpressed. The Dark Lord and his infernal giant snake have taken over Malfoy Manor and he’s confined to his rooms. He feels like a prisoner and it’s just not right. He’s a Malfoy. Itching for confrontation he decides to go visit Harry Potter.

Things don’t go according to plan.

8. The Importance of Being Draco Malfoy (series) by @upon-poppyhills | this is just great, I love that without memories Draco is without prejudice - Harry goes from suspicious to denial to crushing - brief but wonderful Draco/Justin Finch-Fletchley - I can't wait for everyone to find out about Draco's head - 3+ parts

The answer to the age-old question, "What if instead of a scratch on the arm, Buckbeak had stomped on Draco's head instead and caused tragic memory loss?"

It was a truth universally acknowledged that the path to reforming a Slytherin prince never did run smooth.

9. Dear Cousin, Love Regulus by @xx-thedarklord-xx, @llap115 | I confused this with another fic so I never read it until now and it's THE BEST - Drarry talk like dark academia boys sometimes - I'm so glad Draco had Regulus T.T - when he meets the Regulus portrait!! *screams* - 86k

As the sole Malfoy heir, Draco understood that his path was set long before his birth; who to be, how to act and what his choices should be. What he had not counted on was the power of outside influences. Letters from his deceased cousin caused him to realize that he did have choices, starting with the choice to be someone else, to be who he wanted to be. The road to self-discovery was difficult and navigating that path in the shadow of Harry Potter was its own challenge but maybe, just maybe, his friends would help him along the way. And he would owe it all to Regulus Black.

10. bury the dead where they're found by @rocketdocket | THIS FIC is the ultimate found family fic - sometimes people prefer the closet and that's awesome! - PTSD and suicidal thoughts - queer people are just better than the straights, sorry not sorry - 52k

The war is over. Or at least, that's how it feels for everyone else. But not for Harry. He can't escape the memories and the nightmares of the war, or his guilt about those who died for him. While all he wants is to be alone, finding a family in the most unlikely of places may be just what he needs.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

11. A Californian Werewolf in New York by @dancinbutterfly, knight_changes | I love that Oz from Buffy is just there - friends to lovers - bottom Derek - misunderstandings - 16k

When Derek finally realizes that there's nothing left for him in Beacon Hills, he goes back to New York, gets a life, falls in love and finds his home.

12. (they say) this should feel something like fire by dallisons | mental and physical trauma - Boyd & Stiles friendship - dream!Erica - rebuilding - 11k

"Turn it off." The pack looked up, stunned into silence by the first words they'd heard from him in weeks.

Stiles stood, trembling - his knees weak. He tried to run and collapsed, his bad leg failing him once again. Derek caught him. "Turn it off," he said, his voice unmistakably a growl.

The water continued leaking from the loose faucet, and all Stiles heard was Erica's blood against the concrete. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.

[abumbledbee]

Techno’s victim complex

I’ll be the first to admit that as far as tier lists go, Techno’s character would not be high on my list. Part of that comes with being a fan of Tubbo, but the aspects of his character also have a part. 

When it comes down to it, Techno and Tubbo’s characters are very similar in some ways. They both are very logic-based, introverted people who look for answers to this world’s problems.

A big difference between them is that Techno has a victim complex, and Tubbo does not. In reality it’s an interesting aspect to his character because it gives him a big flaw to balance out his power, but it can also make him unlikeable to some. I’ll be going into that a little deeper.

When Techno first joined the server, he was invited to join Pogtopia and help them overthrow the ruling government and take it back. During this arc he takes a canon life from Tubbo on Schlatt’s orders, which Tubbo ends up forgiving him for. He also takes a canon life from Schlatt and Quackity during this, by accident because of the blast radius. He leads the battle against Manberg, showing everyone on his side his private vault of weapons and armor. Once Schlatt is dead, which technically happened of his own accord by way of a heart attack/stroke, they elect a new ruler. Tubbo is thrust into this role by way of Tommy and Wilbur, who both give up the seat for personal reasons. Tubbo, who feels indebted to Wilbur and Tommy because they created L’Manberg together at the start, accepts the role despite never wanting it and also openly admits he doesn’t really know what a president does.

Techno watches this happen, and his reaction is deeply personal. He calls them all hypocrites, fools, for thinking they can replace one dictator with another right in front of him, fully ignoring his part in everything that’s happened. He takes their choices on personally, and believes he’s the only one who can right this wrong and that the only way to do so is to destroy L’Manberg. He tells Tommy if he wants to be a hero, he can die like one. An ironic line considering how noble Techno considers his own motives. He summons withers, and they along with Wilbur’s TNT create a sizeable crater. He makes himself into a tragic character, who in his fight for justice ends up destroying what he was originally fighting for, for the ultimate good of the SMP. It’s parallel to Wilbur in a way, as Wilbur is also accountable for its destruction but he is far more open to admitting his motives were personal, and doesn’t hide his opinions under a ‘noble cause’. Wilbur is naturally a tragic character, who after fighting for his nation back finds he can no longer see it as his own and would rather it and himself be gone than face what he or his nation has become. 

After this Techno decides to move far away, “swearing off violence” while also building a new vault that is filled to the brim with wither skulls as the voices in his head still crave death. He keeps to his word and leaves everyone alone, until the Butcher Army arrive at his house. They are led by Quackity, and include Fundy, Tubbo, and Ranboo. They demand Techno pay for the crimes he committed to L’Manberg, specifically his role in its initial destruction. Quackity and Tubbo don’t even mention that he also took a canon life from both of them, which could be arguable cause for its own punishment. Techno is almost killed but had a totem on him which saves him from losing a canon life. In his escape he’s caught by Quackity and takes Quackity’s second canon life. 

When he goes home he finds Tommy, who has escaped his exile camp and ends up taking him in. They grow close again and Techno agrees to work with Tommy until he gets his discs. Part of their goals is ‘minor terrorism in L’Manberg’, which Tommy is uncomfortable with but Techno assures won’t be bad. In reality he ends up summoning a wither again, causing damage to the rebuilt nation and threatening anyone he can until he receives all his items back. Tommy is clear from the start of their partnership that he does not want to hurt L’Manberg despite being exiled from it, and is focused solely on getting his discs back. It’s clear he’s gone through a lot in exile, but Techno never tries to find out any details or push Tommy to talk. Techno ends up giving him an ultimatum. Tommy either joins him in destroying L’Manberg and Techno will help him get his discs in return, or he has to leave Techno’s place and get them on his own. Tommy ends up choosing to team, but he’s uncomfortable with the idea and seems very unsure of his decision. They continue to work together until it all comes to a head when the community house is found blown up and Tommy is being blamed.

Tommy fights with Tubbo, and accidentally says the discs are worth more to him than Tubbo ever was. He instantly regrets it, the fighting stops, and he tells Tubbo to give Dream his disc. He tells Techno he’s changed his mind and will side with Tubbo, because following along with him makes him feel like he’s becoming worse than everyone he hates. Techno is deeply hurt by this, and ultimately teams with Dream and Philza to wipe L’Manberg off the map permanently. During Doomsday he and Tommy argue while the bombs go off.

Techno tells Tommy how betrayed he feels, how he feels that Tommy never viewed him as a person, but as a weapon. He mentions how back during Pogtopia Wilbur and Tommy never came to Techno or Tubbo’s aid, just sat back and watched while they handled everything. Although he didn’t fully admit it, he was jealous of how many people were willing to fight on Tommy’s side when he asked for it, and Techno felt like he had no one. Although it doesn’t fully fit in the timeline I want to double back on what Techno told Tommy and the hypocrisy of it. 

He tells Tommy that Tommy doesn’t view him as a person, but more a personified weapon for him to utilize and cast away when he’s done. Techno is valid in feeling like this, but he never acknowledges that he is also guilty for doing this to Tubbo. Tubbo becomes a personified form of government to him, and his feelings towards Tubbo become deeply negative during his presidency despite Tubbo trying his best to do right by a country he never wanted to take care of. He blames Tubbo almost fully for the Butcher Army despite Quackity being the leader of it. Even after L’Manberg is gone and Tubbo moves to Snowchester, any time he greets Techno in chat he’s replied to with a “Silence Government”, despite Tubbo now living in his own isolationist commune and no longer participating in any form of government. 

L’Manberg is destroyed and Techno returns to the tundra with Phil and Ranboo ends up moving nearby too. He and Phil end up forming The Syndicate, a hidden group of anarchists whose primary goal is to ensure no new governments are formed on the Dream SMP and to snuff out any signs of tyranny. They end up inviting Niki and then Ranboo to the group, along with another unknown person.  In his latest stream Techno has the Syndicate check out Snowchester, which he’s never been to but has heard could be a possible new nation and a new government. When they arrive he finds Tubbo, and questions Tubbo about the new place and his motives. Tubbo describes Snowchester as an isolationist militarist commune with no leader just equals. He discloses that they have nukes, and Techno asks who he could possibly need that much protection from. There’s no sarcasm in his voice, he genuinely doesn’t seem to acknowledge that he is Tubbo’s current biggest threat. He’s destroyed the country Tubbo lived in twice, and taken one of his canon lives, but won’t admit to himself that he in his own way sometimes acts like a tyrant by enforcing anarchy upon the entire smp. Tubbo ignores this and just says that people scare him, and ultimately Techno leaves but says he still wants to keep an eye on Snowchester.

We find out the members of the Syndicate choose to go by codenames of Greek gods and important figures, and Techno will go by Protesilaus.

Protesilaus is a hero from the Iliad. In the Iliad an oracle prophesized that the first Greek to step foot on land when they reached Troy would die first in war.  Protesilaus purposely leaps off the ship first upon arrival, and subsequently is the first on the Greek side to die. I think this is such an interesting name for Techno to choose. One could argue it’s an attempt at foreshadowing maybe a possible future death for him, but I don’t think so. Protesilaus makes himself a tragic hero. He fully knows what is the fate of the first Greek to touch shore and he went out of his way to be that person and let his story become known past his death. He made himself the victim and the hero. I think this is a great nod to Techno’s choices and how he, even sometimes unknowingly, makes choices that feed into his victim complex. I don’t think Techno actively wants to be considered a hero by any means, but his deep set beliefs in how he feels the server should be run makes him act as though he is the only one whose path is the right one. 

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

08.

where do we go from here

“Dorms, huh?”

“Yes,” nodded the green-haired boy, staring at his drink – affogato that you prepared. “it’s to ensure the safety of the students tenfold, considering the recent events.”

Nodding, eyes watched the scars on Izuku’s gentle hands – from when he was trying to figure out his quirk, trailing up to the burn he keeps hidden on his left arm – one caused by someone.

“I can imagine Auntie Inko wasn’t overboard with the idea?”

Izuku shifted in his seat, fingers stirring the straw of his drink. “She wanted me to transfer, because of how much I’ve been through…”

“I can’t blame her,” you nod again – there was USJ, and then there was this. “then again, it was something you couldn’t control and not really the school’s fault.”

“It’s what I told her, but she was adamant on keeping me safe. She’s a mom, after all.” That made you smile, Auntie Inko was really protective of Izuku ever since Uncle Hisashi worked abroad.

“A-Also, A-All Might convinced her,”

(E/c) eyes widened. “W-Wow…”

The All Might was at Izuku’s? Informing Auntie Inko of the dorm system and convincing her to have his apprentice stay at UA?

Izuku must be that special for the Symbol of Peace, his biggest idol, to keep him in UA.

“That’s amazing, Izuku.” Scoffing, you broke into an easy grin. “Isn’t that great, you get to stay in UA, got convinced to stay by the All Might, and you still have a chance to live his legacy.”

“(N-Nickname)!” With your praises, red flushes his cheeks and his arms flounder in the air, much to your amusement, before they ended up wrapped around his head protectively.

Everything changing again, huh?

With the dorms, students of UA will be granted and ensured of their safety as they’ll be living within the school’s premise. Really, they were doing so much just to give their students, future heroes, the very best that they deserve.

Still, it would be kind of lonely to have Izuku away.

Carmine eyes suddenly crossed your mind. The soft look on his face. The smell of burnt sugar. His warm rough hands.

“Neh, Izuku,” arms stretched out, head dropping down, your voice was quiet. “how is he?”

Drink long gone, he swallowed the sweet concoction down his throat, relishing in its sweetness and bitterness. He studied you for a bit, noting the glint in your eyes, how it was much different from before whenever Kacchan brought up.

Tapping his fingers, he carefully shared. “For starters, he’s safe. But somehow, he’s the same as ever.” Fingers twitched slightly at that, curling in slowly. “That much I can tell.” Brows furrowing slightly, especially when you recalled the relief in those carmine eyes, with something else.

The League of Villains.

They kidnapped Bakugou because he was top of their class, an easy target to play with considering his rather volatile streak that might bode well with villains.

“League of Villains,” you try, testing the weight of the villain group in your mouth. Izuku fell silent.

You didn’t like it. It felt dangerous, bitter, terrifying-

“I-It’s about your parents…”

Releasing a shuddering breath, you slumped into the table, forcing the numbing thoughts away. That is until a hand wrapped over yours, giving a gentle squeeze. You squeezed back, as thanks.

“(Nickname),” at the call of your name, you look up, meeting gentle green – brighter than emeralds, opals, more soothing that viridian or moss. “when you get the chance, talk to Kacchan. Okay?”

Carmine eyes crossed your mind again, the shocked expression turning gentle. Burnt sugar filling your senses. The fluttering beating of his heart.

“Little did you know, I’ve already had one.”

He hummed. “Yes, but you know what I’m talking about.” He says kindly, almost teasingly. You rolled your eyes at that.

“By the way,” recovering, you sat up, hands still in his. “you’re currently working on your ultimate move, right?” he nods “Well, need some help with that?”

Puzzled, it took about a few seconds until the questions sank. “Y-You don’t mean…!?”

Giggling, toothily grinning at your best friend, your eyes flashed yellow. “I might not look like much, but at least I can give a few pointers and wisdom. Also, I hope you’re okay with extra hours- “

“Of course! I’ll be in your care, (Nickname)!” he replies almost immediately, face filled with so much excitement to finally see you use your quirk at its full potential.

Mentally thinking of the days you’re not working, but hey, this was all for a good cause. “Looking forward to it, Izuku~”

Taking a break from work, you felt your phone vibrate, seeing a text from Izuku. 

To: (Nickname)

From: Izuku

[image.txt]

I PASSED MY PROVISIONAL LICENSE!!!!!!!!!!!

You couldn’t help the smile breaking on your lips, threatening to split your face in half from sheer joy and pride for your best friend. He did it!

All those days mastering his Shoot Style while dealing with your rather whimsical and unpredictable fighting really paid off!

  From: (Nickname)

To: Izuku

Congrats, you!

I’m so fcking proud of you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Let’s celebrate, okay? Just drop by the café!

You were tempted to ask if Bakugou had passed as well, debating even to give him a text. Fingers tapped lighting through your contacts, scrolling to find his name, staring. Just staring.

Shaking hands fisting against his shirt, nose buried between his shoulder blades, taking in his scent- You locked your phone, exhaling through your nose as you closed your eyes.

“You’re being unfair to him, (Nickname).”

Just then an unknown number called you.

It had been All Might.

All Might.

The Symbol of Peace.

He had called you, urging you to come to the UA campus at the dead of night for something he wouldn’t enclose over the phone. The hero had managed to work things out for your entry into the premise, albeit, discreetly, since it’s past working hours after all.

“So, you’re Young Midoriya’s good friend, yes?” the said hero was tall, so freaking tall! Even in his skeletal form, he loomed over you like a skyscraper, and his voice was commanding, firm, yet kind.

Remembering he had asked you a question, you fumbled for a reply. “A-Ah, yes sir!” Still, to be in his presence was something. Now you understood why Izuku fanboys hard – there were so many emotions to contain!

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Young Midoriya speaks very highly of you.” That made you duck your head, a fond smile on your lips. “It’s clear that it is a bond forged greatly through careful means.”

“That, it is.” It was a rather poetic way of putting it, but yeah.

“With that being said, I’m sure you’re also acquainted with Young Bakugou, right?”

You nearly tripped on your own footing, halting at that, glancing up in question. “Y-Yes…” Carmine eyes, the smell of burnt sugar, warm calloused hands, suddenly filled your senses.

“In the short time that I’ve known them, I’ve also come to an understanding that the boys have a rather complicated relationship,” you gulp, for some reason. “they’re both on equal footing, yet it’s not very evident to both of them. They balance each other out perfectly.” He’s not wrong, you thought, hands curling and uncurling into fists.

“W-What are you trying to say?”

Turning to you, you realized that you reached some sort of building – it was huge, almost spanning the size of USJ! maybe it was a training ground? – the hero’s gaze wasn’t one of All Might’s, his gaze was soft, weary, understanding, guilt, and, dare you say, hopeful?

“Those boys have the makings to be a great hero, are each other’s greatest rivals yet they can be each other’s greatest ally if only pushed right.”

That was an idea you would never have thought of, but one you refused to acknowledge.

Before you could ask, suddenly, your senses went on full blast – (e/c) eyes turning yellow.

Heavy blasts from afar. Devastation followed. Heavy breathing. The smell of fire- no, angered explosions. Fully mapping out the vicinity, you found two presence were at the heart of it all. These heartbeats. Izuku? Bakugou?

“As expected, your senses indeed sharpen at night.”

Confused, angered, you turned to him, yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight. “WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE!?” Their breathing, it was erratic, labored, abnormal, what was happening!?

He could only stare, expression betraying nothing. “I think I need to give the young boys some time to talk before I do it myself.”

“And what am I, some spectator?”

“I’m sure there’re things you would want to say to them as well, Young Yuroichi.”

Was what he said, but walking into the battlefield, having watched two of your childhood friends going out on each other, talking with their fists, kicks, and quirks, leaving bruised and battered, you could only feel one thing – numb.

With the fight over, your two childhood friends sat back on the asphalt ground, weary and exhausted out – physically and emotionally.

“Who else knows?” asked the ash blond, head hanging low with both arms propped against his knees.

“Recovery Girl, the principal, and…”

Apparently, that was your cue to make your presence known.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the two boys raised their heads, eyes widening at the sight of you, in their campus, dead at night, eyes still in its dangerous yellow.

“A-ARE YOU TWO FUCKING KIDDING ME!?

They flinched at the volume of your voice, as though you bellowed it with all the air in your lungs, coming out from the shadows after All Might’s speech, knowing that it wasn’t your place to be there, but after hearing Bakugou’s voice – that was pathetic of him, even the hero hadn’t expected that.

“Y-Young Yoruichi-“

“Don’t,” the hero flinched at your voice, pinning him with your stare “get me started you skeletal excuse of a hero!” you say to him angrily, bitingly, forgetting that this man was the Symbol of Peace, the greatest hero of this generation, the hero who could easily do away with you, and the greatest hero to your two asshole of childhood friends.

“(N-Nickname)…”

Giving him a warning look, deadlier under the moonlight with your yellow eyes shining, Izuku knew better than to gulp and avoid your gaze. You then turned the same look to Bakugou, whose shoulders sagged underneath your gaze, a sense of defeat washing over him. He’s already bad in your book, he might’ve worsened it in this situation.

He was walking on thin ice, treading on it really should he wish to fix it.

“A-Ah, K-Kacchan just wanted to talk s’all, (Nickname)! B-but it ended up…um, uh…” words were failing him, especially when you are at the receiving end. Unamused. Unfazed. Unrelenting. Angered. Not even All Might could help out, too scared to deal with an angry teenager. “…uh…i-it ended with our fists….?”

Izuku had been quick to his defense, much to the surprise and annoyance of the blond. But you weren’t having it.

“Stop making excuses for him, Izuku. You’re better than that.” The green-haired boy flinched, hands dropping in defeat. “He should well know to defend himself instead of beating himself down for it, which is a far cry from that proud pompous asshole we’re both familiar with.” The ash blond’s fingers twitched at your words.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled slowly out your nose. “You two haven’t had a proper talk since and you thought of doing it now with your fucking fists and kicks? What’re you, animals!?”

Having watched their fight and taking into account the months they’ve been in UA, seeing their performance during the Sports Festival, and hearing accounts of progress from Izuku, Aizawa-san, and the Bakugous, the two clearly have changed.

After all this time, you still felt so far from the two.

After all this time, it pained you still to see a drift between your best friends.

After all this time, just seeing finally talk to each other – in the shittiest way of their own version, it was all you ever wanted.

After all this time, the only thing you wanted was for them to finally see eye-to-eye.

After all this time, you just wanted the two to be friends again.

Weakly you fell to your knees, arms reaching for both and bringing them to a hug. The two boys were stunned, to say the least.

“I’m so glad.” Tears began to spill, your hold tightening. “I was worried about you two so much, you know. You two are selfish, stubborn, and terribly reckless in your own ways, but you two are the strongest persons I know.”

Izuku can be so out of reach sometimes, especially when he’s trying to embody himself as the current One for All user.

Bakugou had always been so far from your reach, but it pains you to know that he had been feeling shitty because he didn’t know just how to deal with his emotions.

It made you feel like the worst friend.

“You have to be more honest with how you’re feeling,”

You say you wanted to support Izuku? Part of the deal was respecting his wishes when it came to a certain ash blond he’s admired next to All Might, the person who was the embodiment of victory for him, someone he’d like to catch up with.

But you let confusing emotions – like a stupid crush and hate, cloud over your judgments.

“I’m sorry if I won’t be able to understand if I’ll have to beat it outta you guys, i-if…” hiccupping, your hold slackened momentarily, before tightening. “I’m sorry if I’m such a horrible friend. I’ll try to do more, be better for you guys. So please, don’t ever forget that…okay?”

“(Nickname)…”

A tentative hand reached out, hesitant as it patted your back. Seeing as you didn’t flinch away, the hand awkwardly rubbed comforting circles as you cried harder.

Seeing this, the green-haired teen smiled, relishing in your hug, the pain from Kacchan’s attacks, and the wisdom from his mentor.

“Okay.”

All Might could only watch three youngsters settling amongst themselves, as all friends should.

“Okay, (Name).”

masterlist • nine

[iztarshi]

My Murderbot Musical

This is so dumb, but I started out thinking about how a novella so focussed on Murderbot’s interiority and voice would make a better musical than a film and then before I knew it I had 2,000 words of how I’d adapt All Systems Red into a musical if I knew a damn thing about writing musicals. Murderbot would probably have Pin-Lee sue me for making this too sappy.

I’m putting it up anyway though, because if I can’t post my dumb ideas on tumblr, where can I post them?

The stage is divided into four, the front of the stage and three platforms behind it with a screen behind each platform.

The show opens with the novella’s opening lines. “I could have become a mass murderer after I hacked my governor module, but then I realized I could access the combined feed of entertainment channels carried on the company satellites. It had been well over 35,000 hours or so since then, with still not much murdering, but probably, I don't know, a little under 35,000 hours of movies, serials, books, plays, and music consumed. As a heartless killing machine, I was a terrible failure.”

The lights then rise on Mensah standing at the front of the stage with a Company representative standing behind a desk across from her, behind the Company representative stands Murderbot, in full armour with the faceplate blanked and perfectly still. The first number, Sanctuary (Moon) takes place with Mensah and the Company representative arguing in the foreground about why she doesn’t want to take a SecUnit with her. This fills us in on a lot of background about what SecUnits are and what Mensah would need one for and also shows us that despite arguing that what’s done to them is wrong Mensah is still falling into treating the actually present SecUnit like it’s unaware. In the background clips from Sanctuary Moon and other shows play on the screens, while characters from it act out scenes on the three platforms. They frequently take over the song with a much fuller and brighter song about fictional events. We can see that this is the inside of Murderbot’s head, that it’s playing media on the feed while the humans argue about its nature in front of it. The song ends with Mensah giving in and leaving and Murderbot being packed into a crate as the lights go down on the stage.

The lights rise with Dr Bharadwaj and Volescu in the crater, Murderbot standing by. There is a clip from Sanctuary Moon playing silently on the screens, which is suddenly superseded by images of the monster coming out of the crater. The song Client Retrieval Protocol starts, a fast, rhythmic but not frantic song. Murderbot sings the instructions to itself, to the systems as code flashes on the screens, and describes what’s going on in rapid, professional, but also witty commentary (basically its narrative voice as a patter song). There’s a discord when the HubSystem tries to send the abort command, and we see it on the screen, but it’s rapidly dismissed by Murderbot. The music softens when Murderbot takes its helmet down to reassure Volescu but once again we get caught back up in the rapid patter of its divided attention and things it needs to do. The song ends on the big “No!” to Ratthi as he tries to retrieve the bags and the hopper takes off just in time.

Murderbot’s cubicle is represented by a small white platform in the middle of the front stage. We see it shed its armour, pull an emergency blanket around itself and sit down. Despite not being small, it looks alone and vulnerable like this. Mensah enters, following the trail of blood-stained armour it’s left across the stage, and sings a short song, You Didn’t Leave, thanking it for staying with Volescu when the MedSystem was telling it he would be fine by himself. Murderbot’s responses are spoken rather than sung and obviously awkward as it looks anywhere but at her.

The next song, Too Much Media, shows Murderbot, still not in its armour, walking through the scene with Volescu as it rewinds and replays it, now seeing what it actually said to Volescu and wondering what the hell it was doing. It sings to him, asking questions about his family, and we see the family on the platforms as Volescu sings his answers. Murderbot’s questions are sung very tentatively, in contrast to the parts of its song sung in its own head. The song breaks for a while as Mensah calls it to answer questions and offers to let it stay in the crew area. The song resumes for a few lines as Murderbot curls up in its cubicle again, regretting how much it’s given away to the humans both with its questions to Volescu and with its terror at being offered a place among them.

It’s Not Right is sung by the humans as they try to figure out whether they’ve been sabotaged or whether the company is just cheap and also try to figure out how to treat their SecUnit now they know it’s a person. The humans are shown arguing among themselves during the mapping expedition, up on the platforms while Murderbot is with another group on the stage, although Gurathin doesn’t join in. Ratthi’s attempt to talk to Murderbot about its feelings is moved to the way back rather than the trip to DeltFall, with Overse and Ratthi singing their argument. Murderbot gets its one line in the song “Dr Mensah, a message” as it sends the clip to her and the song ends with her telling Ratthi to drop it. When they return to the habitat, Volescu tells them that DeltFall can’t be contacted and Murderbot insists on coming with them when they check it out.

We open at the DeltFall habitat, deliberately spooky in design and lighting. Murderbot sings Murderbots (it’s what we do). We’ve heard it use the name for itself in its own songs before, but here it’s referring to the rogues it believes have wiped out DeltFall. Flashes of unrealistic and murderous SecUnits from media play across the screens, along with contextless flashes of a mine. The song is angry, Murderbot singing about its intention to hunt down these rogues who killed their humans, no matter what the humans might have done to deserve it.

We see the fight, Murderbot taking down other SecUnits and getting hurt in the process, and we see Dr Mensah coming to rescue it. Murderbot tries to convince her to go with You Have To Leave (You Didn’t Leave Reprise) as she refuses and drags it out with her. Finally it realises what the combat module is, tells her to kill it and then grabs the gun itself as the stage goes dark.

Murderbot is on the white platform again, this time lying down with all the humans gathered around it. Gurathin tells them about the hacked governer module and he and Volescu start arguing about whether Murderbot is dangerous with It’s Not Right (Reprise). Murderbot suddenly joining in by singing “the company isn’t trying to kill you” is as startling for the audience as for the humans. From then on it joins the song, for the first time singing with the humans the same way it sings in its own head, as it falls into the rhythm of the song and argues for itself. There’s a brief musical callback to Murderbots (it’s what we do) when Gurathin brings up the mining incident, but it’s subtle. The song ends with Murderbot grabbing Gurathin and Mensah interrupts the increasingly frantic rhythm they’ve built up by saying her next line.

Gurathin and Pin-Lee leave to shut down HubSystem, Bharadwaj and Volescu go to check the download package, and Arada, Overse, Ratthi, Mensah and Murderbot sing EvilSurvey as they work out that there might be a third survey group on the planet out to get them. Murderbot is more subdued now and won’t face the humans, but it’s still singing its lines and gets lines like “the company could be bribed to conceal the existence of several hundred survey teams on this planet”. It’s a group song and Murderbot is part of the group now.

After leaving the habitat and finding a place to camp, Mensah talks to Murderbot about leaving its helmet down and asks if it’s okay. We then get Because You Need Me a distant duet between them sung to the audience rather than each other. Murderbot considers what it means to be seen as a person who wants to help and chastises itself for forming an emotional connection to a client. Mensah thinks about how much it means to her that someone who has so many reasons to distrust humans is starting to open up to her and her guilt at leaning on someone who’s in such a bad situation themselves.

Murderbot finds out who Mensah is and that she’s Preservation’s government from Ratthi before leaving with Gurathin to retrieve the drones. Gurathin prodding it about the mine and whether it wants revenge on humans becomes  a reprise of Murderbots (it’s what we do), this time much more sarcastic as Murderbot rejects the idea of revenge killing sprees as a human thing.

We see the video play on the screens as Murderbot watches GrayCris’s message and then the lights go down as Murderbot announces it has a plan.

We follow Murderbot’s approach to GrayCris and conversation with them up until they demand Mensah accompany them and Murderbot has to disguise itself as a Deltfall SecUnit. As the plan falls apart Murderbot starts to sing There Is No Fucking Protocol (Client Retrieval Protocol Reprise) as it talks us through the plan and what it’s doing the way it did back then but with full acknowledgement of how out of its depth it is. We see the other humans on the platforms, in Murderbot’s awareness thanks to drones. The song builds up, getting more and more frantic as Murderbot knows the launch is coming closer and Mensah’s still too close, before ending as it grabs her and the explosion knocks it over. We see it give the “this unit is at minimal functionality and it is recommended that you discard it” message and Mensah respond “shut the fuck up, we’re not leaving you” before the stage lights go down.

Murderbot wakes up on the platform again, but is swiftly retrieved by Pin-Lee and Ratthi. When it rejoins the humans they’re in normal clothes. They’re more colourful than their work clothes, and the environment is prettier now too, echoing the fictional characters in Sanctuary (Moon) earlier and the way they were bright and colourful then. The humans cheerfully sing Preservation as they tell Murderbot about their world and about how it can come home with them now. Murderbot is no longer singing with them, only speaking when it responds.

Murderbot sings You Didn’t Leave (Final Reprise) about how astonishing it is the humans didn’t abandon it, that they even bought it, and yet how confused it is at the idea of being somewhere it isn’t needed. It moves to talking about not wanting to be owned, not wanting to be told what it wants, and gets up and starts walking through the port as it does, stealing a rucksack and slinging it over its shoulder. Its last few lines make it clear it’s leaving a message to Dr Mensah and then it ends with “that’s why I had to leave” as the stage goes black.

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – A Rescue Without a Plan

A/N – Finally back to this baby, and boy am I glad to be back.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Making your way in the world today, takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.” You sang the Cheers song quietly in your cell, concentrating heavily on the cell bars.

Ever since you had forced yourself to calm down, streams of information had come flooding across your optics, revealing structural strengths and weaknesses to everything you looked at. You hoped to find something about the electrified bars that might lead to your escape, but so far, all the weaknesses were ones you couldn’t exploit from within the cell. You had long since given up on desperately trying to contact the Lost Light, figuring that something was blocking your comms.

You sighed, giving up on your song, a childish idea coming to mind. You knew nothing would come of it, but a smile reached your lips as you stared at your hand, “Go-Go-Gadget, Lock Pick.”

Naturally, nothing happened, but at least you were entertained, so you continued the game, taking comfort in the familiar words. “Go-Go-Gadget, Gun. Go-Go-Gadget, Scanner. Go-Go-Gadget, Blow Torch-” You jumped back in shock as one of your fingertips split open at the command, a strong blue flame roaring up from the split. You didn’t know whether you should be praising Brainstorm, for this was most certainly his addition, or cursing him for the cartoonish way you had accessed the tool. You were almost afraid to wonder how many of your body’s other commands were linked to the phrase Go-Go-Gadget.

Without wasting any more time, you put the flame to the bars, beginning the laborious process of escaping your cell.

As you worked, you had one more idea which you hastily tried, “Go-Go-Gadget, Manual.”

Before your optics, a string of writing cropped up, instructions on how your Cybertronian body worked. “Play audio,” You said, having been introduced to the opening menu. Perceptor’s voice filled your audials, starting your tutorial on your new body. You vented air through your systems and got to work, studying during your attempted escape.

Once he had been released from his cell, Swerve spent all of his time at the Lost Light’s shooting range, his aim never improving despite his efforts. He knew he had little hope of becoming a soldier in the time it would take to get to you, but he didn’t care, so long as he had something to keep him occupied. How could other humans be so cruel as to throw you of all people in a battle arena? You were kind and compassionate, and you would never have even considered harming another species, claiming that all were equal.

Swerve had often found you crying over books wherein humans had treated others terribly, mostly among their own species. He remembered asking you why you chose to read such books as The Diary of Anne Frank or Boy Erased, if they only served to make you upset, and you had replied that they were important to read lest history be repeated from ignorance. It was awful to think that you, the most empathetic of souls, were going to be scrapped for the entertainment of others.

Swerve knew they didn’t have long to rescue you. If the Arena’s advertisements were to be believed, you would be entering one of their battles in less than three cycles, when the new contestants would arrive to scrap you.

Swerve couldn’t forget the picture they had uploaded of you on the advertisement. You had been harmed in ways he never wanted to see, deep gashes in your arms and visible dents everywhere, yet in the picture, you were defiantly angry. He alone could recognise the fear beneath, but he couldn’t be prouder to see that you weren’t giving your captor the satisfaction of your apprehension.

He reloaded his gun, aiming it at the target, imagining it was your captors. Despite his anger, he missed, hitting a spot on the wall at least six feet from the target. Coolant sprung to his optics. You were in danger and he was completely useless. He couldn’t pilot the ship, he couldn’t shoot, it wasn’t even him that had discovered your location; that had been Nightbeat while he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. He was useless.

Rodimus’ voice rang clear through Swerve’s comms. It was a channel he had left open until you were found; that way anyone who needed him could contact him.

“Swerve, get to the board room. We have news on (Y/N).”

Swerve brusquely wiped the coolant from his optics, throwing the gun on the table before leaving. As soon as he was in the hallway, he transformed, speeding to the board room, eager for any information he could get, yet also terrified about what it could mean for you.

He didn’t say anything as he entered, his attention, like everyone else’s drawn to the video-feed of the Arena, where a human woman in acid-green armour was speaking.

“Greetings to fans, peasants, and nobles alike. It is I, Lady Ouida, your adored host of the Arena.”

Lady Ouida. Swerve glared at her holographic form, now having a name and a face to put to his enemy.

“As all of us betting royals know, there is to be a new competitor here. The foul-mouthed mini menace has refused to state her name, but we don’t care about that. We only care about one thing and one thing only. Which of our noble competitors will be the one to take her out?”

Banners depicting different armoured competitors unfurled around Lady Ouida; the scumbags that would try to take your life.

“In this message to all of you, my lovely subjects, I would like to make a special announcement. Although we had planned to set the battle for three cycles time, we have hit a little snag.”

Warmth flared in Swerve’s spark, as he hoped that the battle would be delayed even further, giving the Lost Light more time for your rescue.

Lady Ouida snapped her fingers, motioning for someone off-screen to do her bidding. The hope that Swerve had dared to feel was quickly extinguished as several trucks with chain attachments drove forward, dragging you behind them, the chains affixed to your arms.

“Our little menace here was caught roaming the halls of our fair kingdom, trying to escape her fate. She may not look like much, but she has proved to be very resourceful indeed, which I am sure you’ll keep in mind when betting.”

It looked like you desperately wanted to retort, but a modified gag stopped you from doing so. It didn’t stop you from attempting to kick at several of your captors, your pede falling short of its mark.

“NO!” Swerve cried out as you were electrocuted, making you fall to the floor. The others in the room spared him looks of pity before their attention returned to Lady Ouida.

“Spirited, is she not?” The Lady continued, spurred on by your attempted attack. “Alas, that brings me to my next point. We cannot keep her subdued for long and as such, we will have to cut betting short. You will have till the end of the cycle, for at dawn THE BATTLE BEGINS.”

The feed ended with a screen of competitors and their odds against you.

Rodimus wasted no time in addressing the room, all traces of his usual playfulness gone. “ETA to the Arena?” He asked no one in particular.

“Two cycles at most,” One of the Co-pilots answered.

“Not good enough. If you have to burn out the engines, you’ll get us there tonight. Strategy?”

Megatron brought up a hologram for the planet, pointing out the building on the map, a modernised castle with plasma-turrets as its main defences. “If it were me, I’d have the turrets hacked. The fastest route to the Arena itself is by the West wall. The ship is far too big to hide, so our best option is an outright assault. We could blast through the walls with an Alpha team. Meanwhile, a smaller Beta Team could attack the Northern ramparts, where we believe the prison cells to be located, in case (Y/N) is still being held there.”

“Who’s our hacker for this?”

“We have an accomplished team that will be led by Skids.”

“What will we need to get through the castle’s walls?”

“Ultra Magnus assures me that he has a supply of confiscated weapons from Whirl and Brainstorm.”

Rodimus nodded in acknowledgement, “You know Megatron, it’s rare, but on occasions such as this, I’m glad that you’re a crazed war-lord with a lot of strategic experience.”

Megatron looked uncomfortable at the compliment but didn’t comment.

Swerve raised his hand in what he assumed was a military fashion, “I’d like to be in the Alpha team.”

Rodimus took in some air with an awkward hiss, “Yeahhh, about that. Don’t you think you’d be better off, uh waiting to comfort (Y/N) in the med-bay or something? You’re um- You’re not exactly a good shot.”

Swerve bristled at the veiled insult. “THAT IS MY CONJUNX ENDURAE. I’LL BE GOING DOWN THERE EVEN IF I HAVE TO STEAL A POD-SHIP!”

“Okay, yep, cool. You’re there to rescue (Y/N), got it. Just… Maybe stay behind the rest of us, okay? Wait no. You go in front, I don’t want to be shot in the back or anything-” Rodimus stopped talking when he noticed more than one bot glaring at him for his lack of tact. “I mean, uh- You just go where you think is best, buddy. You got this.”

“Let’s just continue going over the plan,” Megatron interrupted, turning his attention back to the planetary holograph.

Thankfully, nobody questioned Swerve further, and he was free to remain undisturbed as the meeting went on.

Once again, you were behind bars but this time you were outside of the prison block. You were now in the centre of the Arena, which greatly resembled the Ancient Colosseums of Earth. You cradled your servo close to your body, the pain immense where your captors had crushed it after they had caught you trying to use the blow torch a second time; if there was any hope of returning to Swerve, it wouldn’t be the same way you escaped before.

With nothing else to do, you resumed listening to the recorded manual. Theoretically, you knew how to scan a vehicle and transform, so long as you found something to scan. Maybe you could convince Ouida to show you a vehicle in order to make the games more interesting. You doubted that plan would work, but if Ouida thought you were going to die in her games anyway, she might grant the request.

“In the event that you are in danger and need to record a message into your processor for an ally to discover-”

You focused on Perceptor’s instructions. Now seemed like the perfect time to record a message for Swerve, should he ever find your body. You tried to focus as your processor informed you that your voice and surroundings were being recorded.

“Swerve, I wish I could see you right now to tell you everything that’s on my mind, but if you’re watching this… Well, we know what’s happened.” You tried to keep your tone happy, but it proved to be impossible when thinking of the last time you had seen Swerve and how badly that had gone. You couldn’t stop from crying as you continued.

“Swerve, you are my whole world. I love you so much and I’m so sorry about how I acted. I was scared and confused, and… That’s no reason for the way I was. I’m terrified of what might happen to you if I die. Please, don’t think sadly on this. You have so much time left in the universe, and it’s a brighter place with you in it. No matter what happens, I need you to remember, I’m sticking with you. Never forget that you have my heart, always. I’m sorry that this is goodbye. I love you.”

Ending the feed, you hugged your knees to your chassis with your good hand, while you sat in silence and wept.

Swerve gripped the base of his chair, in the cruiser that the Alpha team had taken, hard enough to dent it. Upon reaching a close enough proximity to the planet’s surface, he had received a few dozen delayed private comms from you, the last of which was time-stamped only one hour prior. You were being kept in a cage, telling him how sorry you were and how much you loved him. If you were sticking with him, then he was going to stick right back to you.

Turbulence hit the ship, but Swerve’s determination didn’t waver. He knew it was just the first volley of attacks from the turrets, until Skids’ team would be able to disable them. Swerve remembered feeling like this thousands of times in the war. The feeling that you could be shot down at any moment on the way to your goal, but that you couldn’t think about death, lest it leech into your processor, freezing out all other thoughts. Swerve wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not while you were in danger. You were his mission and this was just another, smaller, war.

Swerve remembered his very first mission. His entire squadron had died, except for him. Being a mini-bot, he’d managed to hide without being discovered; he’d spent centuries hating himself for living as a coward instead of dying a hero with the rest of his squad. As it turned out, many bots had had similar experiences which haunted them. This time, he would not hide, his team would survive, they would rescue you, and Swerve would tell you every minute of every day that he loved you.

“SKIDS,” Rodimus yelled over the comms, “A LITTLE HELP WITH THE FRAGGING TURRETS.”

“Working on it,” Skids replied frantically. “They have one hell of an IT team there, Rodimus. The turrets are encrypted at least five times over.”

“Great. I’ll pass on the compliment when I meet them. Can you stop the turrets or not?”

There was a sharp silence on Skids end which was answer enough; the team would have to go in under fire.

“Okay,” Rodimus looked to his team. Ultra Magnus, Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Swerve were there, along with a few other volunteers that made their number twenty. “Plan B. We drive fast and furious, ploughing through their defences.”

The team were less enthusiastic at the thought of being shot, but none of them buckled under pressure; everyone was ready to go to your aid.

“Beta team, in position?” Rodimus asked, as they had planned to do before the Alpha Team dropped down onto the planet’s surface.

“Negative,” Megatron replied. His team comprised of Drift, Nautica, Nightbeat, and Brainstorm. It was decided that a smaller team would be better for infiltration. “The blueprints were wrong. We landed right in their armoury and are facing heavy fire.”

“HEY, NO, NOT COOL. WE WERE FACING HEAVY FIRE FIRST.” Rodimus pouted. “THAT’S OUR THING. GET YOUR OWN THING.”

“Don’t be a sparkling,” Megatron hissed. “Rendezvous here. We need backup.”

Swerve crushed another part of his chair. Meeting up with the beta team would lead them further away from you. They should face the turrets, consequences be damned. Swerve imagined reaching over to the control panel and forcing the team to drop. If he wasn’t afraid to have their energon on his servos, he’d do it. However, frustrating as it was, he left the planning up to the Co-Captains, itching for the moment that he would finally be useful. So far, everything in the plan was falling apart.

“Get ready to fight, crew,” Rodimus warned as the cruiser approached the Beta Teams location. Everyone stood up, heading to the back of the ship, “Dropping in three, two, one.”

The doors opened, leaving all the transformed vehicles to drive out on the ramp, jumping the gap onto the planet. There, the battle began. A handful of Cybertronians against a few hundred organics, none of whom seemed to be human; perhaps Lady Ouida was the only human among the organics that inhabited the planet.

Swerve raged with every shot he took. In hallways full to the brim of enemies, even he couldn’t miss. His blaster kept ringing off with compliments. Good job. Nice shootin’ Tex. You’re my hero.

However, as many shots as he got in, the enemies didn’t drop. It seemed that they were immune to most of the weapons, only stumbling slightly before they got back up to fight.

“This isn’t working,” Cyclonus growled through gritted teeth, him and Drift being the only ones to do any real damage with their swords, though they kept getting pushed back by the horde.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rodimus said sardonically. “Time for plan C.”

“We don’t have a plan C,” Ultra Magnus reported.

“Then improvise.”

From the corner of his optic, Swerve saw a flash of green and he spun around to see Lady Ouida herself. She was climbing over the rubble, apparently trying to reach the fast-firing ballista behind the invaders of her castle. Full of rage at the human who had dared to harm his Conjunx Endurae, Swerve rushed at her, screaming. He tackled her to the ground, grunting as she stabbed a plasma dagger into his side. He would worry about the pain later, when you were safe. For now, he didn’t care, as that was the only weapon she had and she couldn’t retrieve it from his side now that he had her arms firmly in his grasp.

Swerve had always prided himself on being gentle with you, his beloved human. However, with Ouida in his grip, he was all too aware of how easy it would be to crush every bone in her body with only the slightest bit of pressure.

“WHERE IS MY CONJUNX?” He spat at her.

“Dead.” Lady Ouida lied. “As you will be soon enough, robotic scum.”

Swerve didn’t bother to press her on her deception, knowing instinctively that she wouldn’t talk, no matter what he did. Instead, he carried her towards her army, making sure the creatures could see her.

“I HAVE YOUR LEADER,” He roared at them. “LET US PASS, OR I’LL CRUSH HER.”

The organics stopped shooting, eerily expressionless as they lowered their weapons. Ouida shot her captors a disgusted look, hating that they had bested her experimental mutants. They were made to follow orders and protect the castle, but they had also been designed to ensure that she wouldn’t be harmed; with her as a captive, they were useless.

Swerve made his way forward, but Rodimus grabbed his shoulder-plate, pulling him back.

“Hey, loving the energy buddy,” Rodimus complimented Swerve. “Great improv and all, but uh, the Arena is the other way.”

“Oh,” Swerve looked at the mutant army, who were watching Ouida like a dog watching its master. “In that case, don’t follow us, or I’ll crush her.”

“YEAH,” Rodimus fist-pumped the air. “LET’S GO RESCUE (Y/N).”

You didn’t know what to say as you were faced with the many faces of the Lost Light that you thought you’d never see again, but most importantly Swerve. For a moment, you were half-convinced that you were hallucinating again, but then he had pushed Lady Ouida into Drift’s arms and he was holding you.

He kissed your helm, pulling you into his chassis, checking over every inch of you for injuries. “(Y/N),” he murmured. “My (Y/N).”

“Swerve,” You cried his name. “Swerve. I was so scared I’d never see you-”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here now. I love you. Always,” He repeated your message to you, letting you alone know that he had received it.

“Not to interrupt this reunion,” Megatron said sombrely, “But enemy reinforcements could arrive at any moment, and we need to get you two to medical treatment immediately.”

For the first time, you noticed the gash in Swerve’s side, coated with freshly congealed energon; he had taken the dagger out prior to seeing you.

“She hurt you… She-”

It was your turn to scream at Ouida, “YOU HURT MY CONJUNX ENDURAE.”

You reached out to crush her with your good arm, but Drift dragged Ouida into safety, “Sorry (Y/N), but she’s our ticket out of here. If we kill her, we have no leverage.”

You glared at Ouida, “You’re lucky he values all life, you hateful witch.”

Ouida rolled her eyes, unperturbed by the raving antics of a non-organic.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Swerve ushered you ahead of the group. “It’s time for us to go home.”

Home. You thought of your hab-suite aboard the Lost Light where you had built your life with Swerve; you couldn’t wait to get back to it. Letting Swerve cradle you in his arms, you leaned on him and took your first steps back towards home.

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[hoodie-2]

Hours had passed since the "math duel" and the sun had began its descent, setting the town ablaze with a warm orange glow. Krel had spent a portion of the evening exploring, or rather wandering, throughout more of the town, observing it's people. Many of the humans were out in pairs at this hour, some of the pairs had included smaller versions of themselves in whatever activities they were partaking in. He had spied a young pair of, well, human girls at the park, almost identical except in the tones of their skin and the color of their hair, and a pair of adults he assumed were their parents seated on a bench not far away, sitting at polar ends from each other on the bench conversing on their communication devices, otherwise leaving the two children on their own.

The girls themselves didn't appear perturbed or at all bothered by their parents behavior, more entertained by the images on the platform they made with the unusual writing untensils in their tiny hands. Well, all Earthly untensils were unusual in Krel's perspective; pencils, pens, markers, but ones that the two girls used were different even from those. These were maybe the length of an unused pencil but far thicker than a marker and... powdery? His head tipped as he watched one blow away part of her line, the colorful powder pushed into the air in one big gust, as she redrew the line. Her fairer toned sibling patted a hand on her clothes, a blue colored handprint left behind on the green fabric. Both girls took notice of the mark and giggled, the first girl Krel was watching pressed a hand to her own clothes and left a pink handprint similar to the other's blue. The action brought a smile to his face, it has been a while since that happened.

He eyed the girls' parents again. Would it be rude if he just started talking to the children? Their parents didn't seem to be very attentive at the moment. Doesn't that sound familiar? But he was curious about their weird, colorful writing tools. Hm, maybe if he just kept a decent distance as he spoke to them. He didn't want to come off as strange.

"Excuse me," he approached the girls, kneeling to their height at what he believed was a respectable distance. Both girls looked at him, shifting as if they were preparing to run at the first opportunity, Krel wasn't exactly surprised by the reaction seeing as a lot of the commercials on the picture box involved something called 'stranger danger' and he was, afterall, a stranger to them. But he pointed at their drawings, from a closer examination the colorful etchings turned out to be crude imitations of other Earth creatures, a lot of them with long ears and roundish tails and a few like clouds with legs. "What is that you are writing with?"

The wariness in their eyes wavered as they looked down at the drawings around them and then at the untensils in their hands.

"You mean chalk?" The yellow-haired one asked, pointing her free hand to the blue powdery stick she held.

"Chalk," Krel echoed thoughtfully. "And you, ah, draw with it?"

"Yea, dummy," her sister answered. "Haven't you used chalk before?" They gave him identical looks of confusion only someone their age could.

"No, actually, I haven't." Krel answered back quietly. "We don't have anything like 'chalk' where I am from." He looked down at their drawings again, noticing colors other than pink and blue, there was a yellow circle he figured was the sun judging by the green landscape below it and many other colorful dots he supposed were plants. His head tilted so the image wasn't completely upside down in his perspective. "You have some very pretty drawings."

"Do you want to try?" The yellow-haired girl asked, holding out her chalk stick to him.

He eyed the shrunken piece of blue in her open palm. "A- are you sure?"

"Sure!" The girl chirped, a smile spreading over her features, a matching one on her sister's as well. "We do this all the time, its fun."

Krel took the chalk from her, rolling it and turning it in his hand, blue powder stuck to his palm wherever it touched. He looked up to see the girl reach behind her sister and pull out another stick of chalk, purple this time. They went back to scribbling on the bricks around them. He watched as their creativity grew and spread, narrowly crossing over each other's work and somehow still blending together.

Looking down at the emptiness around him where their chalk hadn't yet touched. What would he draw, he wondered. Things considered artistic escaped him, even on his planet; he couldn't understand poetry, the closest he gets to crafting is inventing gadgets, even basic drawing on a telepad wasn't something he had much skill in. What could he draw? Well, shapes are pretty simple.

He started with a triangle, Earth's history was full of them according to Kubritz and her research teams. Ancient tombs and monuments to societies that have long since passed, the triangle was acknowledged as the strongest structure, those words rang true clearly. A square, the basic form of most present day structures; there wasn't anything too spectacular about it, a little more space than a triangle, sure but meh. Then a circle, a shape Krel was most familiar with, there wasn't a screen or viewing monitor in Akiridion-5 that did not have circles, and even then there were links that connected them to more circles. On Earth, circles meant unity to some and a means of 'alien' communication to others - Kubritz.

"Can't you draw?" The brown-haired girl asked as she crawled over to look at his work.

"I am not very talented." Krel admitted. "But drawing with chalk is fun."

"Try drawing your family." Her sister suggested as she joined them. "That helps me sometimes."

Krel hummed at that logic. It was sound enough, even if he was currently at odds with his family and it was an extremely delicate situation. But they are human children, it was probably best to go along with it.

He started with Aja, forcing himself to recall her human form; it wasn't perfect, especially since he was limited to one color but he knew. Next his mother, whose disguise he's only seen a handful of times so this may be a little more difficult. That was nothing to drawing his father. How does one draw face fur?

The girls giggled at the etching.

"That one looks like a monkey." The yellow-haired one pointed to his etching. His gaze roamed over the attempted drawing and felt laughter bubbling in his chest.

"It seems you are right." Oh, how was Krel going to look at his father's face without laughing now?

He looked around them, seeing that the sky was gradually getting darker, getting closer to the time that younglings would be taken back to their homes. The girls' parents were still occupied with their own priorities, poor girls.

"I suppose I should go," he sighed, giving back the chalk he was given, "you will be going home soon." Krel did not expect such saddened expressions at his words.

"Do you have to?" The brown-haired girl asked, watching him stand up.

"I'm afraid so." He dusted the blue powder on to his jeans. "But I'm sure we will see each other again."

"Really?" The yellow-haired girl asked excitedly.

"Of course," Krel chuckled. "I wander around when I have free time." He watched as they shared a look, tipping his head as they stood as well, the yellow-haired one picking up the blue chalk and holding it out to him again.

"My name's Abby," she said, bouncing a little on her heels as she shook the chalk at him.

"And I'm Gabby." Her sister added proudly. "You can have the blue one, then we can draw again next time. Right?"

A smile pulled at his lips again. It would be a shame to see their faces fall again in sadness. He took the chalk from Abby. "That sounds fun. My name is Krel, it was nice to meet you both."

They waved at him as he walked away, pocketing the chalk he was gifted. Maybe he can find out where they get it next time so he can obtain more himself. He admired the blue powder that tainted his palm, opening and closing his hand, it was somehow amusing how the color clung to his flesh. It was almost as if his real body was peering through, if only.

After a bit of wandering, the sky growing darker, and some of the street lights were blinking to life Krel found himself at a back alley behind some stores that surrounded the park, if his memory of the town map was correct. It was empty of any lifeform that was human as he stepped in, looking around at his surroundings carefully; four-legged creatures that he was told were cats saw his approach and ran off into hiding; even smaller creatures scurried away behind them, leaving Krel alone with the garbage bins of two different sizes, the walls of the buildings were clean aside from the occasional stain near the bins or moss that grew more toward the ground.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to do so but he pulled the piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote the equation from the math duel, following it with his correct work and answer. Satisfaction washed over him as he wrote his answer, the right answer, his original answer. He was still a bit stuck on his why's during the duel, he knew he did a good thing for Seamus so what did it matter anymore. Why did Seamus stare at him when it was over?

Krel's hand moved to write another equation, it was more complex but watching the letters and numbers come into being it made sense to him, it always made sense to him, similar to cataloging past events and his planning for the future. It was comforting as he continued the equation, spreading it further along the wall, blue clear against the red brick but still convoluted. Had he been less taken in with his work he probably would have felt more guilty about how much of the chalk he was using up. He didn't notice the approaching person behind him until they addressed him.

"Kubritz?"

Krel whipped around, instinctively taking up a defensive battle stance startling the newcomer. That was... Seamus? And was holding an item in each hand, they didnt seem to be weapons though so he could relax somewhat. Not completely though, he has noticed around the education prison that some human males in their age group tended to be, well, boorish and found amusement in harassing other males they perceived as weak, and Krel's human form unfortunately suited that perception. Primitive. He'll be sure to correct that.

"Uh... hey," Seamus waved one of the things he held, the action stiff. His eyes flicked beyond Krel, looking over the equations behind him. "What're you working on?" His gaze followed the equation to the start, lingering on the work shown. "Looks complicated."

"You have no idea." Krel wasn't trusting this interaction, not that there was any reason to.

"Hey- Look, you can relax, uh, whatever move that is," Seamus gestured to Krel's posture with whatever it was he held. "What is that anyway? Judo? Jujitsu?"

Krel eased his stance but kept a leery eye still on the human. "Nothing you have ever seen, I assure you." He answered in little more than a monotone.

"Ookay...?" The human coughed, taking a few meeger steps toward him with a hand extended outward. "You want a burrito? I dunno if you've eaten yet or anything but it's an idea right?" He gave a pitiful laugh as he stopped only a few feet away, the thing in his hand slumping over his fingers like it was trying to slip out of his grip.

As a being of energy, Krel had no need to consume organic materials, but he has been curious. On another hand Earth has a history in poisoning consumables for enemies, again not that it should affect him, maybe.

A sigh escaped Seamus, seeming to notice Krel's reluctance. "I just want to apologize for my behavior." He said, "You didn't deserve it. You earned the grade fair and square."

"I suppose I should say that I'm relieved you've gained some sense." Krel retorted, not completely convinced.

"Okay... I earned that." Krel saw Seamus' grip tighten around the 'burrito', his restraint was admirable. "But you didn't have to let me win, so why did you?"

Krel finally took the burrito, examining it for a moment before tearing the aluminum wrapping like he's seen other humans do and bite into it. The texture was strange, soft, soggy; the taste was savory, it was weird feeling the crunch of vegetables but overall it wasn't bad but he didn't have much in expectations, so, another point for Earth.

"Wanna sit?" Seamus gestured to the the sidewalk. Krel didn't object, taking another bite of his burrito and joining him on the cold cement just a yard or so from a flickering lamppost.

"I had nothing to gain," he answered finally, getting a startled look, "from winning the math duel. Nothing to lose either, unlike you."

The human's head ducked almost sheepishly. He must have recalled how loud his father was in bellowing their agreement. If it could have been called that.

"Again, I'm sorry," he declared. "My dad just has high expectations. Very high."

"Understandable."

"Is it really?"

Krel frowned at him. "Just because my parents are not present does not mean I don't have my own problems with them."

Seamus' face turned even more guilt ridden. "R-right, sorry," he stammered, a red hue spreading over his features. He was quiet for a moment, taking large distracting bites of his own burrito. The silence allowed Krel a moment to gather his thoughts about the present situation, and possibly plan for what could happen next. Maybe he could somehow make Seamus an ally, like Aja had with the majority of their peers, to keep his disguise here. It certainly would make things easier than researching every tidbit about this mudball to blend in while Morando outsources the search for Gaylen's core. The question was how to do so.

"You," Seamus spoke up again, breaking the silence between them, "you came from a warring country, right, like Aja Tarron and her family?"

The words brought a bitter curl to his lips. Her family, may as well be, ironic, consider she used to run away from her family at every opportunity.

"Yes," Krel answered softly. "Maybe even the same country, if luck would have it." Some luck that would be.

"What happened? I-if you don't mind me asking."

The expression on Seamus' face was different from before; softer, solemn, perhaps even sympathetic. It's been a clear background to his class that Krel escaped from a war torn country with no family besides Morando who was discharged due to injury during the fight. Could this be the opportunity he needed to make Seamus his ally? To make a 'friend'? In one quote Krel had heard, he now understood. When opportunity knocks, it would be wise to open the door.

"I-it all happened so fast," Krel began, quickly coming up with details to twist the story from the traumatic reality. "It happened on the coronation day for the royal heirs; my parents both had high political and military positions so my sister and I were allowed good seats to see the crowning," he kept his voice low, allowing some of the emotion he kept at bay to fill his words, "everyone was excited, we all had high hopes. The princess hadn't made her appearance yet when the attack happened." Krel swallowed thickly as the real memory came to mind. The running, his parents ordering him and Zadra to find Aja, falling behind, and being left behind. "It was chaos; people were running everywhere, trying to find each other and to find shelter, soldiers and their weapons, the cannon fire..." his eyes were leaking again, it was too much already with so little spoken. What was wrong with him? "I- I was too slow, my... my parents- my sister, gah, what is wrong with me?" He took the fabric of his shirt, quickly trying to wipe away the streaming liquid, his chest felt heavy, his core ached. Krel hadn't felt like this since he first found Aja and their parents on Earth. His head hurt.

A hand touched his shoulder making him freeze up. "It's okay." Seamus' voice was calm, relaxing even. "You've been through a lot, huh?"

Krel sniffed, trying to regain some composure before answering. "You have no idea."

[anemonenemerosa]

It said three people

Hello fellow people and Hazelnoots (love it),

 This is a drabble I got inspired from the lively discussions and brain-cell sharing at the SW-Discord with @im-oknutzy-trash, @bkfstclubmember and @icaughtfeelsagain

Thank you so much for beta-reading @unadulteratedpaperparadise

O'Knutzy alternative getting together:​

The characters and the world that is Sweater Weather/Coast to Coast belong to the wonderful @lumosinlove.

It said three people

Summary: Finn does not know what nature is, Logan has a plan and Leo is cold.

Warning: It gets a bit angsty.

 ____________________________________________________________

"Ok, we are lost." Finn stated for the fourth time in ten minutes.

"No, we are not." Logan answered for the fourth time in ten minutes with an exasperated groan that drew a chuckle out of Leo, who was walking behind them.

"Of course, we are. Here is nothing!"

"Harzy?"

"Knutty?"

"Do you know how places outside from cities work?"

"Why?"

"Because most of them do not have civilisation... that's, like, the whole point, y'know."

"But how do you know where the hell we are?" Finn turned around himself, gesticulating wildly.

"There are markings on the path? And we have a map?" Logan gave him, waving with the map just as madly as Finn with his arms.

"But-"

"Fish, you desperately wanted to go hiking and camping for once in your live. Get it together and enjoy the sounds that are not traffic and the air that is not half exhaust fumes." Logan snapped playfully and sped up his steps.

They walked on quietly for a few more minutes until Finn voiced the presence of another aspect of nature.

"Ugh, there are bugs everywhere and dirt... so disgusting."

Logan just groaned again, burying his face in his hands while Leo started to laugh, exclaiming "City-boy!" in-between breaths.

They went on like this for a while. Logan and Leo trotting along while Finn complained over every little bug or twig or root that bothered him. Being in the woods was always described as freeing and peaceful but if just one other little beast bit him, Finn would burn that whole thing down.

Just when he considered digging though his backpack for a lighter, Logan stopped at a small clearing.

"Alright, let's just stay here for the night." Leo nodded happily and went to unpack some stuff while Finn had a hard time believing that they were not just joking.

"Here?"

"Yeah. Harzy, get that tent out." Logan was already in camp-mode, puttering around with stuff Finn had never laid his eyes on.

"Like, in the middle of nowhere? In the woods?" more gesticulating.

Leo laughed again "Yes, Finn. What did you think we would be doing while hiking? With a tent?"

With that, the other two continued unpacking while Finn dawned that this was a lot less peaceful and freeing than he thought. He was ripped out of the re-evaluation of his vacation-plans by Logan, adding another coffin nail to his camping adventure.

"So, we have two rolls of toilet paper and a foldable spade. I put them besides the tent -that is still not standing." Logan glanced meaningful at the folded tent in Finns arms, who just stared back in shock.

"A SPADE?"

"Yeah?" Logan just shrugged. "You dig a hole and then you take a shi-"

"Ok, Ok, OK. I got the concept. Why do people do that again? It's completely gross!" Mortified, Finn tuned away, finally setting up the tent. Behind his back, he just heard Leo giggling "City-boy" over and over. He was pathetic, wasn't he? But to hear that giggle, he would do it again. No. Nope. No. Don't think about it.

"Have you started on the tent, yet?" Logan asked airily, knowing exactly that Finn was lost.

"Yes."

"How's it going?"

"Fine." Finn looked up from the mess of fabric and stakes, not missing the teasing glint in the eyes of his best friend. He braced himself for endless chirping, but Leo just got up, leaving a little fire in a stone circle* (please read end notes) under Logan's supervision and helped him setting up the tent while an awkward silence fell upon them. It seemed to sink in that they all have to share that one tent.

The silence was broken by Leo. "Harzy..."

"Mh?"

"What is this?"

"A tent?" It was a tent, wasn't it? He got it from that outdoor store at the mall.

"And how do you expect us to sleep in there?"

"Oh, non. Harzy. We will never fit in there." Logan had looked up from poking the fire.

"But it said three people on the tag!" Finn exclaimed. He was very sure, damn it.

With a sigh Leo turned to Finn " Three people tents never fit three people and luggage, let alone three grown-ass hockey players!"

"Oh." Finn felt his cheeks warm up in embarrassment. Why did the guy at the shop did not warn him?

______________________________________________________________

"Alright, I'll sleep outside. That way I can see the stars all night."

Logan heard Leo offer while patting the shoulder of a slightly ashamed Finn and needed to react immediately.

"NO." He nearly shouted, making the other two turn their heads to him, questioning. "You- Erm... You freeze too fast. I'll sleep outside." Logan could not be in a tiny tent alone with Finn, he would do something very stupid.

"Nonsense." Finn exclaimed, looking worried all of a sudden. "No one sleeps outside. What if bears eat you?"

That pushed a laugh out of Logan's lungs. " Harzy, there are no bears in-"

"Or wolves... Or... or- mountain lions or venomous snakes or spiders... oh god, why did we come here?!."

While Logan was preoccupied with doubling over in laughter, he nearly missed Leo's deadpan reply.

"Finn Callahan O'Hara, do you actually know anything about wildlife?"

"Yeah." Came the defiant reply.

"Really? Because we picked this very region to make sure that all the animals you just listed do not exist here."

"Oh. Good then." Despite turning completely red, the older boy seemed very soothed by the thought of not being eaten in the night.

With that settled, Leo came over, crouching down besides Logan so close their knees were touching, sending a jolt through Logan's body, quickly followed by guilt. The blonde continued getting the fire bigger while clouds were accumulating above them, making him shiver.

"Why the hell is it so cold here? It's August."

"Bad news Pinotte, its actually very warm today." Logan joked in an attempt to calm himself down again.

"God." Leo wrapped himself closer in his hoodie and poked at the fire, before his gaze flew upwards.

"Oh no."

"What?" Finn asked, rather alarmed. He probably thought they spotted a bear anyway.

"It starts to rain."

"Naaah, it's just a drizzle." Logan reassured the younger boy. It always did a bit here.

_____________________________________________________________

It was not a drizzle. Soon they had to extinguish the fire and squeeze into the tent with their backpacks while torrential rains were pouring down outside. Neither of them could even sit upright, let alone move.

"I'm sorry guys," Finn mumbled while trying to navigate his backpack into a corner "Tomorrow, we will go back."

Logan could not stand to see his best friend like that. All sad puppy eyes and slumped shoulders. "Yeah." He said, patting Finns head as lovingly as he dared. "We camp out on your balcony and have the park as the only nature you experience, like the city-boy you are."

The puppy eyes gone, Finn smile warmly at Logan's attempt to cheer him up, but it faltered again as Leo's deep sigh waved over.

"Sorry that it's raining. I hoped for you to see the stars"

Leo looked strangely at Finn and Logan shifted uncomfortably. He had noticed the looks they exchanged but here, he couldn't ignore them. This trip was a horrible idea altogether.

Dinner consisted of cold canned beans and toast

"No Finn, you cannot make a fire in a tent. We will either burn down or suffocate."

 Getting ready for the night was awkward as hell. There was not much room and operating camping mats and sleeping bags out of the backpacks was almost as complicated as getting out of their trousers. Brushing teeth was holding the toothbrush out in the rain, simply swallowing the toothpaste and washing it down with a sip of water. Once they all were settled as good as they could, Logan looked over to Leo, buried in his bag, barely suppressing his shivers.  

"Come on Pinotte, you're freezing. Get in the middle." With that Logan rolled over Leo, who shifted thankfully towards Finn.

It was not easy but once they were all settled again, Logan found himself too close to Leo. He could smell his soap, his toothpaste and the way it made his heart flutter let his stomach knot in guilt. Mortified, he tried to turn away, but the tent was so small, all they could do was awkwardly spooning each other to even fit inside. He moved his head as far as possible against the backpacks to not touch Leo' neck. He was not allowed to enjoy that, could not risk creeping Leo or getting caught, by Finn, nonetheless.

______________________________________________________________

Leo felt heavenly warm where he was but knew very well that he was, metaphorically and now literally in the middle of something he did not belong to. Logan and Finn had something. And although neither of them seemed to acknowledge it, it was very obvious. Leo would not try to get a foot in the door with either one, as much as he wished for it, he would not ruin it for them. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried not to feel these wonderful boys snuggled to either side of him. This was not what they wanted, after all. It was necessity.

______________________________________________________________

Finn was set alight with panic. He knew that sharing a tight space with Logan was bound to be awkward. Last time he slept so close to Logan, he left for Gryffindor the next day. And then Leo in all of it? What had he thought, getting both boys he had not-very-platonic feelings for on a trip in the middle of nowhere? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think, just to sleep.

______________________________________________________________

Leo was the first to wake up in the morning. Somehow Finn had accomplished to turn around and was snuggled up in his arms. Also, he could feel Logan's head between his shoulder blades. While this was the essence of the few daydreams, he allowed himself from time to time, the circumstances were horribly wrong.

Just necesseties, he told himself. Don't get your silly hopes up. But he did not move. Moving meant being awake and that meant acknowledging the elephant in the tent.

Also, it was still raining. There was nowhere they could go if things got even more uncomfortable and Leo had no intentions in starting this endeavour.

After a while of waiting in this compromised position, Finn blinked blearily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Then, he just stared at Leo, eyes wide and pressed his fingers to his own lips, nodding towards a still sleeping Logan. They tried to disentangle but there wasn't enough room to move so they were stuck in this pose. Leo gestured at his arms, wrapped around the other boy, with his head and made a face that was supposed to look apologetic, but Finn just shrugged, avoiding his eyes now. Great.

"Sleep alright?" He asked in a hushed whisper.

"Manageable and you?" Finn replied just as quiet.

Leo gave him a lopsided smile and a tiny shrug. "'t was ok, a little cold."

______________________________________________________________

They stayed like that in uncomfortable silence until there were some very quiet, suppressed sobs wafting over from behind Leo's back.

"Tremzy?" Leo tried to look over his shoulder and failed.

"Non."

"Lo, what's up?" Finn was getting worried now and he leaned up as much as he could. Emotions were nothing Logan liked to share; Especially being hurt was something even he rarely saw. But instead of an answer there was just the usual flurry of French. His usual escape-route.

"No, Logan please speak to me in a language I can understand." He turned to face Leo again, pleading. "Leo, what was he saying?"

Leo looked pained but only shrugged. "No idea, it was something Canadian."

With that, Finn carefully scrambled over Leo to get to his friend but slipped with his hand on the sleeping bag fabric and fell into the blonde, faces colliding rather painfully but lips meeting, nonetheless. Finn and Leojerked apart, then froze, staring at each other, the world around them forgotten for a short moment as both tried to figure out what played in the mind of the other. Just as Finn slowly leaned back into Leo to do something, he was ripped out of the bubble by a violent move that made the whole tent shake. Logan was trying to get out, but the heavy rain outside made it rather impossible to leave so he stifled a sob and retreated completely into his sleeping bag, only a tuft of dark hair looking out while silent sobs shook his body.

"Lo", Finn said softly and worried as hell. What had he done? He knew how Logan felt about him, knew how he felt about Logan, even if they never dared to act on it and here, he was almost kissing Leo in this goddamn prison of a tent?

Leo did not move but his eyes switched frantically between the Logan-Burrito and Finn, still on top of him.

Carefully, Finn shifted from Leo's lap towards Logan.

"Lo, please talk." Finn pleaded now. It was ripping him apart to see Logan like this but all that came out of the burrito was some choked mumbling.

Finn did not know what to do. Logan never talked to him about his feelings when they were alone but now there was Leo in the tent with them, no way to escape and something had just shifted between Leo and Finn. He was at loss, starting to tear up himself.

Now Leo, very carefully leaned over Finn to put a hand on the burrito. "Logan. I think you should talk about what is wrong. I promise you I will never tell a soul what happened in this tent."

That made Logan's shaking still a little and a part of his head slowly re-emerged from the sleeping bag, eyes red and puffy, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"I can't." He said very quietly.

"Why not?" Leo asked calmly.

"I – I don't want you guys to hate me."

"Lo, I could never hate you" Finn exclaimed and reached out to Logan but as teas were spilling out of his eyes again, he stopped the movement.

Finn knew that Logan would not talk on his own, so he needed to make a start. But how? Hey Lo, remember we've been pining after each other for years now? Yeah, I started to fall for Leo here while my feelings for you have not changed in the slightest. Nice, huh? Not an option.

Instead, he just lunged over as good as he could and hugged the Logan-Burrito, burring his face in the fabric.

They were all stuck in here for the time being. Logan could not escape and somehow Finn felt elated about it despite it being probably cruel towards Logan. The elation did not last long as he felt Leo shifting and turning his back to them, possible only because Finn and Logan were closely pressed together, and his heart ached. He was ripped into two directions, wanted Logan to understand, really understand that he loved him, no matter what but also tell Leo that he wanted him there, in his life, with him. Finn craved both and he was freaking out.

______________________________________________________________

"Leo?" Finn asked hesitantly from behind Leo's back.

"'S fine, I'm sorry I cannot give you more privacy but really, I promise I won't spill a thing." That was something Leo had expected sooner or later but not like this. Not being forced to witness both men he fell for finally getting together, leaving him out.

______________________________________________________________

"I know what is between you." Logan said between sobs.

"What?" Finn asked but he didn't have to. His stomach just dropped out of his body into the void.

"And- And I'm not mad at you. I know I kept you waiting for too long without even the hope of becoming more and- and I understand but it hurts so much." It all came out in a flurry and Finn had a hard time following before Logan broke into another round of sobs.

"No. Lo, no you don't understand." He tried to calm Logan down but the more he petted the brunette's head, the worse it got.

"What is there to understand?" Logan's voice rose a bit as he stuck his head out of his burrito. "I've seen it for a while now, the way you look at each other, but witnessing..." He trailed off, seemingly not daring to finish the thought.

"Lo, no. We are not together or something." Finn felt Leo flinch against his back and bit his lip. This was a disaster.

"What- but-" Logan looked more confused than hurt now but he had no idea how Leo was doing behind his back.

Finn took a deep breath. And then another. Apparently, he was the one who had to spill first.

"Alright. If this all goes down in flames, let's just leave it all in this tent. We literally burn it down and go on OK?"

"How comes you want to set things on fire all the time? What-" but Finn pressed his fingers to the other boy's lips.

"I love you Logan. I've loved you for so long, I can't even remember how it is not loving you." He had to take another breath as Logan's eyes widened. They had never said it out loud.

"But I also fell for Leo a while ago. And I know- I know that makes me a horrible, selfish person but I can't help it and I cannot decide between the two of you. Please don't be mad at me." Tears started spilling out of his eyes.

______________________________________________________________

Leo had the feeling his heart had stopped and he was dead now. Finn liked him? Slowly, he turned around to see Logan's gaze flicker between Finn and Leo

"I love you, Finn and I- Me, too."

Too? Leo thought, not daring to believe his wildest dreams might actually become true.

"You like him?" Finn asked, baffled.

Logan nodded slowly and now they were both looking at Leo. Leo, who could not believe that was happening. He bit his lip in an attempt not to cry and just nodded, grabbing both their hands and pressing them to his chest

"But... but can we do that? How does that even work? Is that legal?" Logan was getting panicky again.

Leo grabbed Logan at his sweater to pull him over but ended up pulling himself into the middle instead.

"We can do what we want." He mumbled into Finns shoulder, smiling dumbly.

Logan laughed wetly. "Do I get it right that everyone of us likes the other two and was afraid of admitting it?"

"Yeah." Both, Finn and Leo replied but their similes became confused as Logan started to laugh hysterically.

"Lo?" Finn was rather alarmed by now.

Said boy was rubbing his eyes, gasping for breath. "This is hilarious. The whole situation. Like in a bad rom com and of course we all had to collapse on this horrible hiking trip."

Leo was giggling now too. "I actually wanted to back out after I realised what going hiking with you two meant but I didn't know how."

"Me too." said both Logan and Finn and now all of them were laughing loudly.

After a while, they calmed down again, and Leo spoke out loud what they all thought. "What now?"

"I don't know... I mean it's still raining so there's not much we can do..." The brunette replied casually only to get smacked around the head playfully by Finn.

"Idiot, he means with us. In general. Are we a thing now? All of us?"

"I'd like that." Logan sighed deeply. "But I don't think I'm as brave as Cap and Loops are."

"We don't need to go public." Leo countered and Finn nodded.

"But Finn... it's the same all over again. I've never wanted to hide. I still don't want to."

"So, you'd rather not be with us?" Leo strained his neck to properly look at Logan. Why was he still so reluctant? Didn't he want them as much as Leo wanted?

"I- I don't know. What if it gets out? We're not Cap, we're exchangeable... What if it gets too much for one of us, what if-"

_____________________________________________________________

"Logan, please calm down." Finn caressed his cheek because he could and this time, it made Logan calm down a little.

"We are not like Caps and Loops were. Our families can know, the team can know. We are not bound to be completely secret or completely out. It's not a light-switch, it could be more... like a dimmer." He had to pause and swallow a laugh at Logan's incredulous face.

"Light-switch metaphors?"

"No one knows if one of us gets annoyed with everything. This is why people talk. I think if we can talk about what's going on, everything will be fine. Now stop it, I'm the worry wart and you're stealing my job." Leo continued as Finn was busy stifling his laughter.

"O- OK."

"What?" Finn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You know." Was Logan actually blushing?

"Say it." Yes, he was, and Finn was not letting it go. He needed to hear it.

"Alors,-"

"NO FRENCH!"

"Alright, alright. I want it if you two want it." Logan looked between the other two and Finn felt Leo nodding as animatedly on his shoulder as he did.

"Let's be together, then." Logan concluded with the widest smile Finn had seen in years. He felt like squealing like a little kid over a puppy.

"I wanted to do that for months" Leo whispered into Finns ear as he leaned over and kissed Logan. Finn had to bury his face in Logan's neck, breathing him in, trying to stay composed. Them kissing was the best thing he's ever seen, and he was so filled with love that his chest was close to combustion.

Their chaste, careful kisses quickly turned into heavy snogging and when Logan grabbed Finn at his collar to include him, the redhead complied instantly. However, in the confined space, moving was demanding and Leo's arm slipped on the fabrics. He lost contact to Finn's lips and buried Logan beneath himself who let out a loud oof.

After another while of trying to figure out a comfortable position to make out in a tent they couldn't even sit upright in, they gave up eventually.

"We have all the time in the world". Finn concluded after failing repeatedly to get on top of Leo without pushing Logan into the clammy tent walls, just dropping between them.

Leo and Logan instantly made a thing out of unzipping all sleeping bags to create a cuddly nest and snuggle close to Finn, one on each side. The redhead drew and arm around each of his boys, afraid to wake up from this dream, while Logan and Leo were holding hands on top of Finn's chest.

"Let's just wait for the rain to stop and go home. There, we have quite a lot of space to explore all the possibilities." Leo commented cheeky, receiving one of Logan's feared finger-jabs.

Finn kissed both on the crowns of their heads, enjoying the feeling of them burying their faces in the junction of his neck, drifting back to the most comfortable sleep he ever had.

  *Alright: Important: DO NOT JUST MAKE OPEN FIRES IN THE WOODS!!!! If you want to go on a hike, inform yourself concerning wild-camping and open fire. The rules probably change according to season and region.

Stay safe and channel your inner Hufflepuff

P.S: There will be a little different version of it on AO3 and I put the link here once its up there.

[unnameablethings]

sunlight and allegiance

The bone-king, tall and shadowed, comes to the knight and asks, “Will you aid me?”

The answer is no, of course, will always be no, should always be no. Sunflor is the last shining bastion of what came before the god-king, and she will not bow her head. Her sun-king is dead, and the bone-king killed him, and only his seat on the throne and her oaths prevent her from taking his head off. She stands in the doorway of her quarters (inside the bone-king’s castle, inside the home that has been conquered,) and she knows that “no” is not an answer she can give, so instead she says nothing. Her face, however, betrays her. 

The bone-king winces, just the slightest twitch of his sharp-angled face. 

“Please. Lady Knight. They will listen to you, if they listen to none other, and I am so weary of bloodshed. Are you not weary?”

“There would be no bloodshed,” she says, very carefully, “If you had never come here.” 

The bone-king’s expression is… tired. Old, and drawn. She doesn’t know how old he is - he seems ageless, ancient and young all at once. “Of course there would be. Why else did you exist? A king doesn’t keep a land-blessed knight of sunlight and death unless he intends to use her for the slaughter. Are you telling me you had never killed before I came from the west?”

Sunflor says nothing, again, stubbornly silent. It’s not the same, she wants to say. That was keeping the peace, not war. I only slaughtered things like you. Threats. Monsters. Instead she drops her gaze to the floor, avoiding his old, dark eyes. 

“Need I make this an order?” the bone-king asks, very gently. Sunflor’s jaw clenches, works in a convulsive scowl. She is sworn to the throne, not the man who sits on it. It was meant to make her a peerless, unbiased warrior, but it feels, now, like a weakness. She wants to throttle him, wants to reach down his throat and tear out the way things used to be, as though he had swallowed it whole and unharmed. But she cannot disobey an order from her king, however little he has earned the title. 

“No. What do you need?”

“Thank you,” the bone-king says. He sounds relieved. She does not look at him, though the oath-bond pings with the righteous satisfaction of her fealty. It used to be one of her favorite feelings - it makes her sick, now. “Some parts of my land are still restless under my touch, and the kingdom loves you so much it burns. Come and help me coax it? Let us settle this gently, and with peace. I dislike the thought of having to stamp it down into fearful submission.”

“As you wish, my lord,” says Sunflor, because she is bound, and because she recognizes, through the haze of her rage and her grief, that it is better this way. Her king is dead, and a part of her is dead along with him, but no one else need die unnecessarily. 

He brings her first of all down into the labyrinths of the castle, where Sunflor would follow her sun-king when he did his rituals and his prayers. She knelt by his side, gave him her strength when he faltered, let him pull draughts of power from her like blood. She is almost nostalgic for the dizzy, giddy emptiness of being drained, of being filled instead with sunlight and the slow earth-love of a country. Not enough to want the bone-king to do it, though. She has no choice. 

The bone-king exhales, when they’re down in the wide, circular ritual-room, with the map of the kingdom stretched over the floor. There’s sunlight shining into the room from a window in the ceiling, though they’re dozens of feet below ground. The bone-king looks up at the sunlit window, inquisitive.

“A lovely working. Do you know the spell?” he murmurs, and stretches his fingers out to let the sun shine on them. Sunflor wishes for it to burn him, but it doesn’t. Just filters through his scarred fingers, making the webs between them glow faintly red, beams of light in the gaps. His flesh is slightly translucent, only the bones and the scars solid and pale.  

“It is a place of the sun,” Sunflor says, shortly, and kneels in the place where she always kneels, where generations before her have knelt. Had they ever knelt here and hated like she hates the bone-king? Stupid question. Of course they have. The kingdom is nothing if not ever besieged by conflict. They hardly go three or four generations without an upset - her own sun-king was only a second-generation dynastic king, and she knows the knight before the knight before her had ended up falling on her own blade, distraught by the loss of her queen. There is a strange comfort in the solidarity of a generational anguish.

Deep breaths. In. Out. The sunlight is warm, golden. The room is ritually hushed, and the scent of old blood and incense and dust fills her nose. It’s familiar, reassuring, down to the faint grooves in the stone from where thousands of years of knights before her have knelt in the same place. She has a duty to her country, not only to her king, and she will fulfill it until she can no longer. The kingdom cradles her in its stone, and she draws strength from it. 

The bone-king, watching, turns at last to stand over the map, closes his eyes, holding his hands out like he’s feeling along the top of a table. His hands are not callused in the way of one who wields a weapon, but blackened in forking patterns like lightning, from magic overuse. His fingertips are all scorched to a charcoal black. Those are recent - when she had battled the bone-king merely months ago, he had had much less prominent scarring. They are scars likely acquired in the battle against the sun-king, then. At least they managed to scar him.

“Here,” he murmurs, finally, hands poised above a part of the map like invisible strings tug his fingers down, and he crouches to touch a particular region on the map. He opens his eyes, and studies the landscape painted intricately beneath him. The knight watches him, looking from his face to the map and back. It does not surprise her that that particular demesne is giving him trouble - not when the forest loves its lady so much.

“What are your thoughts, lady knight?” the bone-king asks. 

“That is the demesne of Lady Lily-greenery,” the knight says. “Her sister, Violet, was slain at your hand.”

“I see.”

“She was one of the sorceresses in the king’s guard, and they were very close,” the knight says. “Not as close as some-” close as he and I- “but. Close.”

“I see,” the bone-king says again, quieter. “Well. There’s not much I can do about that, now. I’ll play bloodgold to the lady, if you think it will help?”

“She’ll consider it an insult. The gold you bought with her sister’s death? No.” 

“Mm. A wise consideration, Sunflor.”

“Do not use my name,” Sunflor snaps, and hears her voice break. “You haven’t earned it. Don’t you dare.”

There’s a long, fraught pause. “Apologies, Lady Knight,” the bone-king breathes, almost a whisper. It’s a concession she hadn’t expected from him, and she breathes in deep, breathes out the anger and sorrow. 

“If you want her to support you, then you need to show her respect, and show her forest respect,” she says, as though nothing particularly interesting had happened. “She lost a lot, in the war effort. A lot of her forest’s vitality was drained to shore up the borders and strengthen the soldiers.”

“I’ll send her some of that power back, then. Weakens the remaining military resources that are undoubtedly brewing dissent, and strengthens a possible ally. And helps me fix the absolute mess my predecessor has made of this beautiful thing,” the bone-king says, and runs a gentle hand along the map. 

“He didn’t,” Sunflor says, but it sounds like a lie to her own ears, a childish protest. It is not as though she hasn’t lain awake at night for years, hearing the kingdom in discomfort and weakness, knowing that it was stretched too far. She shifts in her kneeling, feeling herself sore to the bone though the kneeling hasn’t bothered her since she was knighted. “He did his best,” she amends.

“His best wasn’t very good,” the bone-king says, and looks steadily at her, eyes dark. His expression is opaque, unreadable. “He sought conquest and glory and didn’t have the means to manage it. I would never have bothered coming if he had not tried to conquer me in the first place, and I never would have succeeded against a kingdom as powerful as this if he had not already overextended it and strained its power and its patience.”

“The kingdom loves him,” Sunflor says. Her throat feels swollen and thick, and her hands fist in her lap. “It gave all it could for him because it loved him.”

“The kingdom loves you.” The bone-king’s stare is nameless, uncomfortably tender. “You gave all you could for him.”

“Not enough, clearly.”

“His weakness is not your fault.”

“His death is yours.”

The bone-king acknowledges this with a tilt of his head. “I am sorry.”

She laughs, ugly and shattered. It sounds wrong in the peaceful stillness of the ritual room, like a crow’s broken cackle. “Are you, my lord?” 

He stands from the map, shrugs off his cloak and holds his hand out over the ugly seething of the forest’s magic. The trees sprout up from the map, the flat surface rising to give way to infinitely small trees, a mass of greenery. The sunlight in the room goes strange, and she feels magic brewing, simultaneously familiar and repellant. It is the comforting kingdom-magic at the same time as it is the cold, dark grave-magic of an enemy she has been fighting for years, now, and it itches at her like a scabbing wound. 

It curls from the god-king’s fingertips, twining into the forest’s magic and settling in it. She feels it resist, struggle, but he does not fight back, even as it reaches for him in violence and fury. She watches his hands - he flinches, barely, when the magic sinks thorns into him, but he does not pull away. He merely offers the gift in open palms until the forest finally swallows it, and settles down. 

“My condolences for your loss,” he speaks, into the whispering of the forest. “And my utmost respect and honor for your sister’s battle prowess. She fought well. I regret her death. I hope this goes some small way towards amends.”

The forest takes the message, and subsides back into the map, smoothing out. A discordant note in the kingdom’s magic quiets, turns a little further toward the main body of it. 

“I regret that I caused you pain, lady knight,” the bone-king says, without looking at her. “I do not regret the sun-king’s death.” 

“What could I possibly matter to you?” 

“I underestimated the effect the kingdom’s power would have on me,” the bone-king says, instead of answering. 

Perhaps, however, it is an answer after all. 

The bone-king’s face is creased, sweat beading on his forehead. There are new pinpricks of red scars on his hands, and this is the point at which Sunflor would usually lend her power and her aid, let her king brace himself against her as the sturdy anchor-point of might and magic. She does not offer. The bone-king does not ask. 

“May I go?” Sunflor asks, at last.

“...You may. I will need you again, though.”

“I am aware.” 

Though her fealty-bond keens when she turns her back on the bone-king, alerting her he is in need of aid/strength/his knight, she does not listen. She climbs the stairs away from him, and does not look back. 

(I FORGOT I HAVE AN @ LIST... it’s from 2018 so it’s very probably outdated rip. sorry if you get mentioned when you did not want to be! @trishaloach @toastyglow @acefruitloop @skye07 @m1sosazai @yoyoendlessstring @blue-tomatoes @catsfeminismandatla @lady-redshield-writes @alhena09 @emanonnosrep, @je11yfish-queen @gingerly-writing @dramaticvoiceover @writingmyselfintoanearlygrave @authorisada @reciclingbin @lushprocrastinatrix @timeenoughforamasterpiece @tedrakitty @haphazardlyparked @kiwisoap @silver56 @pacifiedperoxide @kooncat @severe-fangirl-syndrome @startledserpent  @50-shaeds-of-fae @stritte @dorianelle @dhawandyke @churchyardgrim)

[vetlan]

Summary: There's a certain thrill to this, her feathers bristling as a chill runs through her. It almost takes her back to her youth. Almost. Neither of them is a young duck, but from the sharp glint in the masked mallard's eye, she can tell they're sharing the same thought: age has only brought them closer to their prime, not further from it.

Notes: See, I wish I could explain this, but all I have is the flint inside my head and also "haha wouldn't it be funny if" mindset. My writing style can be best described as "I don't know where this is going but I like it". Is the ending totally rushed? Yes. I sat down to write this all in one go but then work called and said I had to be in there in the morning, and I do like my sleep.

Characters: Launchpad McQuack, Bentina Beakley, Jim Starling, Drake Mallard, Your Suspension of Disbelief Please I Beg You

---

Although she wouldn't say that she and Launchpad were the closest of friends, she had still developed a soft spot for the chauffeur and how he brightened the kid's days, and so his presence was genuinely missed the more and more time he spent in St. Canard.

The stories he told when he came back, however, almost made it worthwhile.

It all started with a movie set.

Needing to confide in the loss of an idol, but not wanting to burden the kids with the heavy subject, he jumped on the chance to talk to her, Mrs. Beakley offering her ear upon seeing the pensive look on the usually jovial duck. Everything that happened that day, he let out in a nervous and even slightly guilty ramble that at first, she didn't understand… until he got to the part with the breaking and entering into Scrooge's movie studio.

But he assured her that things worked out! So she let him continue, her glare only slightly disappointed… until it softened into a sympathetic furrow of her brows.

It was a bittersweet story, admittedly, wherein Launchpad got to meet with a childhood idol only to learn that sometimes, meeting your heroes only shows you their flaws, and how you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. Yet, through that, he managed to find a genuine friend in the shape of one such Drake Mallard, and she couldn't help but poke fun at the young man, ever one to get a crush on every passing pretty face -- let alone one that shared his niche interests. He bumbled through his words, assuring her it wasn't like that, and they shared a comfortable laugh, the weight off his shoulders now.

And just like that, this story was tucked into a mental manila folder, dated and put away in the tidy office that she imagined her mindscape to be.

A corner of it stuck out, wouldn't let her close the drawer.

Bentina picked at it from time to time, trying to find what wouldn't let her put it to rest, a crossroads puzzle drawn out when she already knew the words. 

(Declared missing, assumed dead, never found.)

She let it be. It wasn't her story to unfold.

The next one came as filler to a bigger story, but it captivated her nonetheless. Launchpad rattled off excitedly about fighting villains side by side with Darkwing Duck, about how scared he'd been but yet how cool it all was, and Bentina was almost jealous, but she's had enough excitement to last her a lifetime. No, what got her attention was the mention of a child in the middle of all of this, and eventually, under her prying, he confessed to all the things she had already figured out. Yes, yes, Drake was Darkwing Duck. 

What she cared about was that his friend Drake had taken a young girl under his literal and metaphorical wing until the girl's grandfather could be found. It was nice and all but was he equipped to care for a child.

No, Launchpad didn't have much of a choice in the matter, he was going to take her to Darkwing Duck, and she was gonna give everyone there a masterclass on childcare and welfare. They might be well-meaning, but a diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches paired with hamburgers and fries isn't a diet a child should grow on, and from her past experiences with free agents, they aren't the perfect role models for self-care.

She tried not to acknowledge the thankful sag of Darkwing's shoulders as a smile threatened to tickle her beak, just as she tried not to see another little girl in Gosalyn's place, and how she doesn't want another to repeat her mistakes. 

To protect, but not to smother. To teach, but not to scar.

(She was all too familiar with taking on parenthood unprepared.)

This memory, too, is filed away fondly, even if the bulk of its annexes means that again, her drawer won't close shut. Old habits die hard, she was a director once, and with the sight of someone so positively green with nothing but bravado and want to do good propelling them forward she couldn't stop herself from looking over his shoulder, pointing him in the right direction.

And she alone understood the strain in his voice once he finally relents and lets her in, calls her one late Duckburd night. He knew it was true, but he couldn't be the one to say it and with a tired sigh, Beakley accepted the burden of connecting a name to the gruesome crimes that had been popping up in St. Cannard.

Jim Starling, now seen clad in a mismatched parody of his old costume, seemingly set on doing his best to tear down Darkwing Duck's reputation.

(A masked mallard has been causing havoc, and civilians only know the one.)

And just like that, the stubborn folders she'd been fascinated with for months now are pulled out and inspected, and she tells herself not to get dragged into this -- she had a mansion and multiple children to take care of, she retired. But as Launchpad himself witnessed, Bentina Beakley had to see things through.

Loose ends and open-ended questions were unacceptable.

Where has he been all this time? How was he managing to get away with his crimes? How long has he been planning this? Does he have help? What will he do after this?

But just as he resurfaced, back under the surface he went, and Bentina tried her best to swallow down her frustration when Darking was the one on the line, now left with nothing but vague footage of a lookalike in a different costume to clear his name.

(It did nothing, but he didn't give up on the city, and that too felt bittersweet.)

There was one thing, however, that she had on Darkwing Duck. Contacts. A considerable amount of them, and she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't considering sharing them if Darkwing Duck proved his worth. And learned to play nice with others.

St. Canard might have gone silent, but a caped duck dressed in yellow maiming people as he goes on a massive crime spree across various cities is very hard to miss. But where before Jim did everything in his powers to make people think he was Darkwing Duck, now he seemed almost offended by the comparison. 

You are to call him one thing if you know what's good for you: Negaduck.

A mouthful, in her opinion.

Still, there was a pattern to it, and in the morning after news would always come to find that something has been stolen by F.O.W.L. while Negaduck positively demanded their attention. There was no confirmation on if he worked for them directly, but whatever the case was, there was a connection there and she… admittedly saw it as an excuse to look into it with Scrooge's permission. 

Alone.

Much like Darkwing Duck, her hesitation stemmed not from putting herself in danger, but the precious people in her life -- a blood racing adventure is one thing, a bloodthirsty ego-maniac with a chainsaw is another. If she had her way, Negaduck would never as much as step foot in Duckburg.

But first, she'd have to find him, and all it took was following the pattern he blazed through the map, trailing right to the next city over. It was more of a sense of when he'd strike, but Bentina had a hunch for that too -- all it took was remembering who was behind the mask.

What day of the week has the biggest pay-off? At what hour is the bank full? When would it be most dramatic? Jim Starling is a showman to his core, and he can't perform without an audience.

Well, hopefully, he wouldn't mind a fan of his cutting in line.

Armed to the teeth, he looked almost cartoonishly evil, and she's not a single second off in ruining his entrance, dropkicking him away from the bank's beautiful skylights, hopefully, they could manage their fight without ruining -- ah, shots immediately fire in her direction, shattering the skylight behind her and sending the people on the inside of the bank into a panic as glass rains on them. That's a shame.

The shots don't stop, however, and the other duck's aim hones in on her as he gets back up, a pure snarl on his beak at having his big entrance ruined, and he unloads an entire clip into the wall behind which Beakley was hiding behind just to make sure she knew that he was a little upset. This doesn't calm down the screaming inside.

"You! Ruined! My! Entrance!" With every word, he sprays the wall with more bullets, storming his way over to where he saw the other duck hide, but when he turns the corner with his gun at the ready, there's no one there -- not in front of him, at least. 

A fist from behind him is headed straight for the side of his head, but the feeling of the brim of his hat brushing against something tipped him off and so he dodges down, causing Beakley to instead whiff her punch and slam her fist into the wall, but any pain from that she's quickly distracted from when the bottom of his automatic is slammed into her beak, the bigger duck stumbling back. Reactively, her hand reaches for it as she sucks a tense breath in through her pained teeth. She's had worse, and the hard glare sent his way definitely let him know so.

It seemed to frustrate him. Good.

"I would hope that an actor of your seniority would know how to improvise."

And that seemed to infuriate him. Even better.

"If you're looking for autographs, granny, I can't seem to find a pen…" There's a theatrical apologetic show of patting himself down, but Beakley predicts his attack from the saccharine grin on his face, a dagger brought out from his inner jacket in a sweeping arc that she pushes to the side, yet it still manages to cut the very tips of a couple of hairs loose. "But I can CARVE one right into you!"

After that, the gun he had been shooting at her with is tossed to the ground in favor of being more aggressive with his melee attacks, quick jabs that she has to doubly focus on as to not get stabbed and not cut herself while redirecting, looking for any opening to wrestle the dagger away from him.

"Flattered for the offer," she starts before ultimately kicking Negaduck back just so that she can catch her breath for a precious few moments, well aware it could mean he draws another weapon on her, "but I'll have to say no. I'm afraid I can't say I'm the biggest fan of your more recent works."

"Bah! Everyone's a critic these days!" He almost barks a laugh at that, slowly unholstering the shotgun from his back, relishing the wide-eyed look Beakley gives him as she's the one that closes the distance between them now, fists in a flurry to keep him from being able to actually use it. Both hands on the shotgun, he pushes against her, only to then pull it back towards himself when she tries to wrangle it out of his hands, patronizingly close for just a couple of seconds. "Everyone's been telling me to let go, try something new!"

There are sirens in the distance.

"Well, here I am!"

He lets go, and Beakley stumbles half a step back, not quite as much as he'd hoped, but he still tries his luck with a jumping kick to her already bruised beak -- instead, he gets the butt of the shotgun slammed into his stomach before his foot makes contact, and his years of stunt work have him performing a perfect roll as he recovers, but not without a hand at his bruised midsection, a grin still on his expression.

"I can assure you, this is not what they meant." It falters, however, when Beakley doesn't break eye contact as she tosses the shotgun off the rooftop, the masked mallard looking as if she'd tossed away one of his toys.

The sirens grow louder.

Negaduck straightens up, then, making a show of stretching his limbs and taking a little too much pleasure in how his back cracked as if reading up for a second round. Even Beakley couldn't help but roll her shoulders and wrists at that, feeling the tension pent up inside her.

The knife is back in his hands, and he's tossing it up nonchalantly in one hand, trying to read the bigger duck in front of him, gather any clues at all about who she was a person.. and coming up absolutely blank. He hasn't even seen her hanging with that actor kid, so what were her stakes? Why bother talking and entertaining him with a fight?

"What's it to you, anyway?"

(Questions. Answers.)

"You will not step foot in Duckburg."

He brings the tip of the blade to his beak, pouting with it at his lips as if deep in thought before giving her a look that let her know exactly what he was about to say.

"Or what?"

The sirens are deafening.

She throws herself at the other duck, and he has the gall to laugh, even when his own brand of martial arts blended with stuntwork starts to lag behind her skills, honed over a lifetime. There's a certain thrill to this, her feathers bristling as a chill runs through her. It almost takes her back to her youth. Almost. Neither of them is a young duck, but from the sharp glint in the masked mallard's eye, she can tell they're sharing the same thought: age has only brought them closer to their prime, not further from it.

But neither can afford to stay on the roof much louder, a helicopter approaching in the distance, law enforcement speaking on a megaphone from the bottom of the street.

Her thoughts stray for a second, and a smoke bomb is deployed. She loses sight of him --

There's a sharp cut on her feathery cheek, and she can feel them getting damp from the cut, and Beakley turns around in an instant, her hand clasping anything she can get a hold of. His cape -- 

But as when she reaches to restrain him, as the smoke dissipates, he is nowhere to be seen.

The signs of their fight are as clear as day, his discarded weapons are where they were left, yet the only thing left of him was the damned cape. A shaking fist clenches in the fabric, before ultimately Beakley forces herself to relax, and find her own means of escaping attention. She did what she set to do:

Interrupt Negaduck, interrupt F.O.W.L. 

Leave a message.

She would get her selfish answers some other time.