#every time ash is even in the shot he’s either showing off a little drawing or has written ‘help’

[cantbe-thecaptain]

Hear me out on this: Lovejoy on Celebrity Family Feud

[maraudersftw]

Glazed Glory

Hello, friends! This is my tribute to Shirtless James Potter May, which is now definitely a Thing™

Dedicated to all my lovely Jily Discord buddies! And special thanks to @mppmaraudergirl @the-dream-team @constancezin and @blitheringmcgonagall for making this happen.

“YES!”

A screech tears from her throat, excited and giddy and decidedly drunk, as the small ping-pong ball lands neatly inside the cup of beer across the table. Her partner’s roar of triumph is followed by an enthusiastic slap of hi-five that has her reeling, the blazing heat of his palm rather delicious against her own.

Quite generously, he decides to bestow more of this warmth onto her person when he lifts her off her feet, mad and grinning, arms tight around her waist. His cheeks, ruddy from all the drinks he’s downed, accompanied by the dazzling brightness of hazel eyes, causes something to clench painfully inside her.

He’s just a mate. He’s just a mate.

“James!” she yells, half-laughing, fully breathless. “Put me down, you big buffoon.”

“We won! Again!” he grins, letting her feet touch the floor after another spin.

Before she can so much as inwardly lament on the loss of his comforting warmth, a pair of lips land on her cheek. Heart thundering, she forgets how to breathe, a reaction that is by no means justified given the sloppy, open-mouthed, intoxicated nature of the kiss.

A kiss that is not even a kiss because it leaves her lips feeling petulantly ignored.

“You…are fucking brilliant, Evans,” James slurs, entirely oblivious to what he’s just gone and done. She can only stare at him with poorly-hidden surprise, face blazing, warmer and warmer by the second.

“Er, thank you,” she sputters eventually, immensely grateful that everyone around them seems too drunk to pay their little interaction any mind.

“Another game!” James announces.

But she can’t; it’s impossible now.

“I think I’m done for the night,” she tells him, fingers brushing over his arm apologetically. “I’ve had too much to drink already.”

“WHAT?” he shrieks, betrayed, glasses sliding off nose. “You can’t ditch me now, Evans! We’re this close to being named The Hogwarts Beer Pong Champions.”

“Winning the Quidditch Championship wasn’t enough for you?” she laughs, hands rising above her head to point at the banners and streamers dangling from the common room ceiling.

“Oh yeah,” he blinks, grins blindingly. “I’d almost forgotten about that. Next year is going to be even more amazing. We’re going to win all the matches!”

“I have full faith.”

James smiles, triggering that annoyingly familiar tumble in her stomach. “You sure you don’t want to play?”

“I’m sure. Why don’t you ask Sirius? He’s probably withered away to ash without you by now.”

“Good call,” he says, instantly cupping his palms around his mouth. “Padfoot! Up for a round?”

“Fuck, yeah!”

She saunters over to the drinks table as Sirius walks by to take her place, casually ruffling her hair as he passes by. “What’s the damage, Evans?”

She makes a show of observing James. “Mm, five shots from blackout.”

“Excellent. Gotta bring that down to one.”

“All the best.”

Sirius adopts a ridiculously fierce expression as he joins James, facing off against two fifth-years. “Let’s take them down, Prongs!”

She chuckles quietly at the silliness, fingers pulling out a bottle of butterbeer despite her previous proclamations of having had enough alcohol for the night. With some sensible distance yawning open between her and the stupidly affectionate Quidditch captain, oxygen is easier to draw inside. She sighs, chilling the bottle with a quick wave of wand.

With sixth-year coming to an end, she feels the significance of everything the past year has brought to her life rather tremendously, but especially on the James Potter front. While being his friend has been an experience she wouldn’t trade for anything in the world—well, it’s also a lie, because there is one thing she would trade it for: being more than his friend.

But she worries, quite justifiably, that they’ve already crossed a phase too many in such a short span of time to tease at their dynamics any more. There’s a strange fluttering in her chest every time her eyes land on crazy hair and goofy grins that she knows certainly aren’t friendly reactions though.  

She’s distracted from her thoughts by a sudden wave of excited hoots that ring out through the room. Curiosity piquing, she twists around to spot the fuss, eyes immediately flying to the beer pong table because there’s no doubt that that’s where the eye of the storm lies.

At the sight, the bottle of butterbeer almost slips from her fingers.

James stands, eyes even more glazed than before, crooked grin splitting over his face, bursting with laughter as he chest bumps Sirius. And if she hadn’t already noticed it before (she most certainly had) the action draws her gaze to his very sweaty, very bare chest, no doubt the target of the still ringing catcalls. She watches, mouth completely dry as the muscles in his abdominals ripple with movement when he runs a hand through his hair. It’s almost as if her ogling registers on his radar, because half a second later, James is looking at her.

She immediately lifts the bottle to her lips, hiding the awe-struck expression behind tinted glass. Fuck, was he fit! She’d guessed as much, of course; it was impossible not to when she hugged the boy as often as she did, but knowing and seeing, it turned out, were vastly different things.

“Lily!” he slurs, tongue rolling over the name as he walks over. “We trounced them. Did you see?”

“I think Evans was rather occupied with seeing something else,” Sirius smirks, the look he throws her entirely too knowing.

She takes another swig, unable to reply, unable to breathe, unable to think with James standing so close. The heat rolls off of him in waves, as sweltering as the fireplace in the room. To make matters worse, he raises his hand, swipes a thumb over her cheek. “You’re so red.”

She mumbles something unintelligibly while Sirius snickers.

“Sorry?”

“I’m tired. I’m gonna go to bed.”

And before either of them can protest, she chugs the rest of the beer and all but bolts from the party, heart pounding mercilessly in her ears. She almost makes it to the third step of the girl’s staircase before a hand wraps around her wrist, the warmth of the touch telling her enough. “James,” she sighs, turning around.

“Are you mad at me?” His brows pull together, sweat dripping from his hairline, down the side of his face, over that strong neck to pool into the hollow of his collar bone. She swallows, wondering if it would look too weird if she reaches up and licks it away.

Probably.

“No,” she wheezes.

He steps closer, makes it worse. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

She looks at him then—of course, she does—and something like adoration bursts inside her. “I’m not mad at you, James. You’re just too distracting right now.”

“What?”

Some remnant of Gryffindor courage has her reaching forward, placing a palm over his chest. She feels it, right beneath her skin, when the beat of his heart alters rhythm. “You’re quite shirtless, if you haven’t noticed.”

A rush of breath tickles the top of her head.

“Lily,” James breathes, fingers drifting to her waist, and when she catches his eye again, the look in them has changed wholly. Any previous glaze is wiped clean, replaced by some brightness that wars with the expanding darkness of his irises. “Will you—”

“Wait!” she says, almost moaning when his fingers squeeze her hip. “Not like this. Not now. We’re drunk.”

“I—” he looks down, eyes on her mouth, and she thinks he’ll lean forward anyway, kiss her anyway, fuck it all. It isn’t until he sighs, deep and resigned, that she realizes she wouldn’t have minded. “Yeah, alright.”

“James.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles, slow and confident, because now she knows, and leans forward to brush her lips over his cheek. The hints of stubble feel delectably coarse against her mouth, and even more so when he groans somewhere at the back of his throat. She pulls back sluggishly, weak in the face of her own want. “Ask me later,” she whispers.

James watches dazedly as she takes a step back, then another. Eventually, he finds his smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Evans.”

“You’d better.”

[vixenpen]

Can you do a KiriBaku smut imagine with a chubby black s/o

KiriBaku x (F)Thicc Black Reader NSFW

“Ugh! I need a vacation,” you groaned as you exhaled a stream of smoke.

“I need a baecation.” Kirishima replied, grabbing the joint from you.

“Haah? What the hell is that?” Bakugo chimed in, confused.

“It’s a vacation where you spend the whole time fucking.” You explained, laughingly.

“Tch. Isn’t that what vacations are for anyways?” He scoffed, beckoning to Kirishima for the joint next.

The three of you were relaxing at Katsuki’s massive apartment enjoying one of your rare days off together. Mellow music pumped through the surround sound system in his room and black lights cast a purple glow over everything.

The rotation matched the order you all were sitting in. Bakugo, sat against the headboard, your head resting in his lap, and Kirishima sat on the opposite side of you, massaging your feet. It felt amazing to be able to vibe with your best friends. Something that, since becoming pro-heroes, you all found yourselves with little time to do.

“Ya know, Katsu, not everyone turns into a horn dog the minute they step outside of a five mile radius of the gossip rags.” You laughed.

“Hey, if you idiots want the media dissecting your sex lives and splashing it all over the gossip rags that’s on you, but some of us actually give a fuck about our reputation as heroes.”

“Bro, at this point the whole internet knows you’ve got hoes in different area codes,” Kirishima chuckled. “You’re not foolin’ anybody.”

“Yeah, but can you name one name? No. Cuz the people I fuck with know how to keep their mouths shut when it counts.”

“You mean, you break ‘em off a fat check to keep them quiet.”

“Hey, it’s kept my name out of scandals. Can’t say the same for you Mr. Red Ran Through.”

You burst out laughing especially when you saw the baffled expression on Kirishima’s face.

“Ouch man! That was harsh.”

“But accurate.” You pointed out.

Kirishima definitely had a reputation in the hero world as a more of a lover than a fighter in every sense of the word. He was constantly courting a new hero, sidekick, or medical worker. But where as that type of philandering might hurt another hero’s reputation, Kirishima managed to come out of his multiple affairs relatively unscathed; as none of his former conquests had a negative word to say about him. You chalked it up to his charming and chivalrous personality.

“I may have been with a few of our colleagues-“

“A few?! Kiri, you’ve sucked and fucked your way through our entire agency. I think the only people you haven’t fucked in the hero world is us.”

“You, babe.” Bakugo chuckled blowing smoke in your face. “I’ve been there done that.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Yeah,” Kirishima laughed, “Bakugo was actually my first.”

“Wait, what?!” You shot up so fast, you almost knocked the joint from Bakugo’s hand. “I’m sorry, he was your what, when and where was I?!”

“Chill, thickums,” Bakugo smirked. “We were kids—still in high school. It was before we met you.”

You gaped back and forth between the two men in disbelief. Meanwhile they were trading the joint over you as if they hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of the year on you.

“Aww baby,” Kirishima tucked your chin, running his thumb over you bottom lip. “What’s with that pouty face? Are you really that upset?”

“Yes!” You crossed your arms. “We’re besties and neither of you assholes thought that might be valuable information for me to know?”

“I mean, not really.” Bakugo snorted. “What were you gonna do with it? Sell it to the gossip rags?”

“Or maybe she was gonna dream about it herself.” Kirishima winked. There was a wicked gleam in his ruby eyes that made you flush.

“Heyyy, I think you may have been on to something there shitty hair.” Bakugo pinched your round cheek. “She’s blushing.”

“No I’m not! Black girls don’t blush!”

“Baby, blushing is more than just a color on your cheeks, it’s a mood, and right now you’re totally giving me that mood.”

“W-whatever! I could care less that you two used to sleep together.”

“Used to?” Kirishima quirked a brow.

That statement earned an incredulous look from you.

“S-seriously?! You still...” A pang if envy shot through you at the idea of your best friends sharing something that you weren’t apart of. “You know what, I don’t even care.”

“Oh?” Bakugo quirked a brow. “Then you won’t care if I do this.”

He reached across you to grab Kirishima by the collar and plant a deep kiss on the man’s lips. The burly redhead melted into the kiss easily.

Simultaneous moans escaped your friends as the kiss deepened.

“Ahem! Y’all realize I’m still here right?” You snapped.

“How could we forget?” Bakugo smacked one of your chunky thighs, jiggling it a bit. “That little show was for you thickums.”

You wished you could look away, but there wasn’t much else to look at with two hot, shirtless, muscular men looming over you. You popped your lips and rolled your eyes.

“That little attitude ain’t scarin’ nobody pun’kin.” Kirishima pressed a soft kiss on your lips. “I know you liked it.”

“Hell yeah she did.” Bakugo added. He toked the joint one more time and held your gaze as he blew the smoke in your face. The predatory way he sized you up made you feel...exposed—vulnerable. “You know, as long as we’ve all been friends, I wonder why neither me or Shitty Hair never tried to fuck your fine ass yet. God knows it’s not like we aren’t both into you.”

“Better yet,” Kirishima said, turning you to face him by your chin, “it’s not like we aren’t all into each other.” He kissed you again. This one was much more commanding than the last and his tongue wrestled yours into submission.

“Oi!” Bakugo snapped. He grabbed your chin as well and pulled you towards him. “You not gone keep stealing all her affection from me, Shitty Hair.”

Bakugo bit your lip, making you gasp. He took full advantage of that opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

Is this really happening right now? What the hell?

“G-guys, wait...” You pulled away from Bakugo.

“What’s wrong, sweetness?” Kirishima asked, sliding your box braids aside to plant gentle kisses along your neck.

Between his soft lips and Bakugo’s strong, scarred hands sliding along your thick thighs, your sex was clenching desperately for stimulation.

“You don’t want this?”

“I-I’m not sayin that, I’m just saying...” what the hell were you saying? Because the way Bakugo was sucking the top of your breasts had you drawing blanks.

“Why don’t you stop pretending, y/n?” He smirked up at you, hooking a finger into the scooped collar of your tank top and yanking it down to free your full, round breasts.

He hummed. “Fuckin’ delicious.” He groaned.

Licking his lips, the ash blonde dove down to suck your hard, brown nipple into his mouth making you hiss in pleasure.

“You clearly want this, y/n.” Kirishima chuckled. The deep, rich sound rolled down your spine and made goosebumps rise on your skin.

His large hand slid around your side to squeeze your other breast. He rolled the pebbled nipple gently between his fingers.

“You want this and so do we.” He nipped at your ear. “So what’s up? Are we doing this or not, thickums?”

Before you could say anything, Kirishima’s hot mouth sucked your nipple into it.

“Oh god.” You sighed as shivers ran down your spine.

They ran their strong hands up your juicy thighs, squeezing and massaging them.

Each man worked either side of your body. Bakugo was now behind you, running his hands down your spine—mouth tasting your sweet skin, nipping along your spine. He dug his hands into your hips, caressing them lovingly.

Kirishima took care of the front. He sucked hickies onto your soft stomach and slowly worked your shorts down.

He groaned at the sight of your bare brown skin.

“Damn, that’s beautiful.” He grinned up at you, ruby eyes flashing once more. His mouth landed in an open mouth kiss against your clothed core, fingers exploring your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Ki-Kiri~” you sighed.

Bakugo bit your ear, making you yelp in surprise.

“Is Kiri the only one here, thickness?” He asked.

“N-no..” you stammered back.

He slid his hand down until he reached your pussy and toyed with your clit. Shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you.

“Then say my name too, Thickums.” He plunged two fingers into your heat, flexing them towards your gspot.

“Ahaaa, Katsu!” You cried out.

“Man, Katsuki, you gotta see how pretty this kitty is.”

“Does it look as good as it feels?” He asked, slipping a third finger into your gripping cunt.

“Mmhhm,” he hummed in response. His long tongue slithered out, joining Bakugo’s fingers in your juicy pussy.

The sensations had your head swimming and your nipples and cat tingling with excitement.

“Tastes just as good too.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugo slipped from behind you to join Kirishima’s side. He laced his fingers through the redhead’s long hair and forced a harsh kiss onto the man’s mouth. “Shit,” he muttered between kisses, “that is good. But I bet it’s better straight from the source.”

Soon Kirishima’s mouth and fingers were replaced with Katsuki’s. His fingers swam inside of you and he sucked at the sensitive button of your clit until your pleasured screams grew hoarse. Your cream soaked his face and hands. When he made way for Kirishima to join in, your moans only grew louder.

The two men seemed to be competing in who could bring you to ecstasy more times. They worked your sex until your legs shook and your toes curls. You dug your hands into their hair, and bucked your hips to meet their mouths, hungry for more of the overwhelming pleasure.

“Baku-Kiri, shit! Shit, shit, shiiiit! Oh my god!” You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t think.

“Cum for us, Princess,” Kirishima urged, “come for your daddies.”

And cum you did. Again, and again, and again, until everything went black.

(Art by: @deb_amm/Debby-San)

[robininthelabyrinth]

(Uh. You're bio says prompts are open but your ask button says prompts are closed? I'll send a prompt anyways, feel free to ignore me.) The Burial Mounds are not made for people. It's not willing to change this. So as people eat it's food, drink it's water, breathe it's air... /they/ change. They're still human, technically, probably, but they're... different

It affected the strongest first, Wen Qing found.

Strong was, of course, a relative definition – no one at the Burial Mounds was ‘stronger’ than Wei Wuxian, of course, but all his power was borrowed, not his own, not after what he’d done to his golden core. So rather than being considered the strongest, he was considered among the weakest, right up there with A-Yuan: the rest of them, despite being civilians, had at minimum been civilians in a cultivation sect, meaning that they either had golden cores or had made some progress in developing their qi.

Of them all, Wen Qing and Wen Ning had always been the best; it had been that which had made them Wen Ruohan’s favorites.

So, to no surprise, it affected them first.

It wasn’t that they didn’t know that the Burial Mounds was full of resentment: a battlefield so bitter that it had poisoned the earth and water and air, left without purification for years upon years, and eventually the resentment had solidified, turned into a rotten lump of it.

It was that they hadn’t realized that it had started resenting anyone who tried to change it, and that it instead sought to change them.

It was a little like Stygian Tiger Seal, Wen Qing reflected in those years where she had too much time to reflect. That had been a regular sword, once – some cultivator’s treasure, no doubt, right up until they stabbed it into the corrupted Xuanwu’s side as they did, leaving their mark on the beast even as it ended their life – but years and years of being near resentment had made it resentful itself.

Had given it power, but also – malice.

The Burial Mounds had malice to spare, and it did not like them when they were just – human.

When they were still cultivators, trying their best to purify what little evil they could before they planted their crops.

So it changed them.

Wen Qing was the strongest cultivator left alive from their Wen sect, but Wen Ning – Wen Ning was something else, of course. Literally, thanks to Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation.

Perhaps the Burial Mounds saw what he was – a fierce corpse, living and conscious and shot through with resentful energy, not needing to eat or drink or sleep, no ability to purify anything – and thought that it would be much happier if the rest of them were like that too.

Wen Qing was the strongest, and so it went for her first.

At first she thought it was her own strength showing through. She’d always refrained from meals when possible to allow her family to eat more, especially A-Yuan, because the amount they were able to buy or grow was simply not enough for all of them. But she’d closely monitored her inedia to ensure that she was not growing weak – that was equally unacceptable, someone had to protect them – and eventually she noticed that her ability to refrain from regular food had grown rather impressive, to the point that she barely ate a bowl of rice once every fortnight.

Meditating in a small cave seemed almost like it was enough.

It wasn’t until she was there, drawing in what she thought was natural qi, and something living came in – a bird of some sort, she though – that she began to realize that something was wrong.

Did realize.

It was hard not to, not with the way she had torn at the bird with her teeth and swallowed the heat of its blood down her throat, leaving it rich in meat but without any blood.

After that Wen Qing had quietly panicked – though of course she’d brought the bird back for the rest of her family to cook and eat the normal way – and she’d vowed that she would eat only rice and radishes, just the way the rest of them did, and not resort to her cultivation any longer.

It was too late, though. The rice tasted spoiled in her mouth, even though everyone else ate it easily; the radish made her gag even though it was fresh. She could not eat them.

Only blood was sufficient.

Wen Qing wasn’t sure what to do about it – she couldn’t just go and hunt all the time, there weren’t enough living things on the Burial Mounds to make that practical, there was a reason they’d tried growing food instead – but around that time Wei Wuxian got the idea of making a blood pool for his experiments.

She didn’t know where he got the blood or how he kept it fresh.

She didn’t ask.

In the beginning it was only a spoonful here and there, enough to keep her energized and healthy while she tried to force herself to live on human food again, but after a while she found that a single cup of blood each week was enough to sustain her entirely, meaning that her aunts and uncles and poor little A-Yuan could eat a little more.

(Wei Wuxian ate too much, just as much as he might if he were a normal human who had never practiced inedia or couldn’t because his core was gone, but he was their benefactor. Of course they had to feed him before all others, except maybe the growing A-Yuan.)

After a while, Wen Qing noticed some of the others – Fourth Uncle was first, but others weren’t far behind – also leaving food on their plates, unable to eat, only they were wasting away for lack of it. She should have let it happen, maybe, but they’d worked so hard to survive, gotten through so much together, and so she decided to slip them a little blood in their tea, just to see if it would help.

It did. It was like night and day, the way their faces filled with life again – animated and cheerful, the way she remembered them best.

So she kept doing it.

(She’d once had medical ethics that forbade experimenting on those who did not know or consent, she recalled vaguely. She’d thrown those ethics into Wen Ruohan’s face, refusing to do his bidding even if he killed her, and he’d rolled his eyes and given in, assigning her only to hospital work for his soldiers and a management position in a supervisory office – he’d been nasty and cruel, but also practical, at least when it came to members of his family; he preferred to boast of having an excellent doctor as part of his clan over yet another corpse in his Fire Palace, and she’d made it clear that was the choice.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t accepted her refusal, though, and once you decided there was something worth breaching your ethics one time, it made it so much easier to make the same decision again – and again – and again…)

And then, before she knew it, the end came.

Wen Ning struck down Jin Zixuan on Wei Wuxian’s sloppy, badly-designed orders – however unintentional it had been on either of their parts – and the Jin sect demanded blood, whether Wei Wuxian’s or theirs. And Wei Wuxian was their benefactor, and that meant it had to be them.

Wen Qing told the Fourth Uncle about what she’d been doing with the blood before she left, not wanting them to starve because she wasn’t there any longer, and then she went to Jinlin Tower to die, seething with resentment about the whole thing. And they took her brother away, and they killed her and scattered her ashes in the Burial Mounds, probably as a final fuck you to her.

They also killed the rest of her family.

She knows they did, because whatever they did to kill her, it didn’t quite – stick.

It was about a year before she fully reformed herself out of the ashes, piecing each ash together back into a physical body like they were all just puzzle-pieces, and crawled out of the ground. Her family was waiting for her: their bodies had been thrown into the blood pool, and the blood of the pool had interacted with the blood already in their bodies – the blood she’d fed them – and they hadn’t stayed dead, either.

“We’re going to need to be careful,” she warned them, settling into the role of leader as easily as always. “We’re living off resentment, now – I’m not quite sure if we’re mo or gui, depends on when we count it as having happened, but either way, we’re now the things that cultivators night-hunt. We can’t allow ourselves to become known, or we’ll be targets.”

Nods all around.

She looked around, reviewing the crowd. “…where’s A-Yuan?”

“I think he’s still alive,” Granny said. “I hid him away before the battle, and the place was empty when I checked it again. No corpse.”

“Good,” Wen Qing said. She hoped he stayed that way, alive, the way they weren’t. “I don’t know what happened with Wen Ning – they didn’t kill him along with me. Maybe we can try to find him, later.”

Maybe they could find A-Yuan, too.

Maybe they could finally make themselves the home they’d been trying to build for so long.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 11x05: Out of the Ashes - Details

Okay, let's talk details of 11x05.

 ***As always, spoilers abound below for 11x05. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

We start with Aaron's dream. First of all, there's the full moon. Remember that Still had a full moon at the beginning, and every time we saw Beta on the outside, such as singing or walking with walkers, it often showed a full moon. In Beta's case, it's probably because his nickname as a singer was Half Moon, but he also had a lot of Beth symbolism around him. I think it’s likely that the reason they gave the name Half Moon was to indicate Beth symbolism.

 Then, Aaron says to Gracie, "we’re almost home." Part of the home theme, and also kind of showed me that this was a dream. There's absolutely no reason why Aaron would randomly be outside the walls with Gracie at night. I don't have a whole lot more to add to the scene than what I said yesterday. I do believe it's a foreshadow of something happening with Gracie, but it also may be a foreshadow of other things that are coming, including stuff with Beth.

This is kind of a funny detail, but I have to say that I love the Jerry bit at the beginning. We see him tiptoeing over people, trying not to wake them on his way to the bathroom. So, we have an entire sequence that can be summed up as, "Jerry pees.” ;D

The next thing we saw was the Commonwealth video. The really cheesy one with Lance Hornsby that we saw in the trailer. Some of the symbols we saw in that video were interesting. Such as a bunny cake (rabbit theme), someone playing a guitar (Beth played a guitar in 5x09), 

ice cream (both Eugene and Stephanie talked about ice cream and it became sort of a Bethyl theme, especially because there were so much Bethyl symbolism around them during those conversations; also, Daryl had his “I never” about frozen yogurt in Still). We see a plaque that says, "The Great War,” (probably a reference to World War I, but also part of the Revolution/War theme).

There was also a blond, Beth-lookalike nurse in blue scrubs.  👀

I also noticed that the Commonwealth badge looks a lot like the UK flag. Not so much in its shape or design, but rather the colors. It's got the same red and blue shades as the United Kingdom flag. Remember that we saw the UK flag around Juliet Ormonde's character in the world beyond. So, we think it's a symbol of the war to come with the CRM.

When Yumiko goes into the bakery looking for her brother, there's a song playing called “Three Speed Girl.” It was just the three that caught my attention. (Look up lyrics). They all a lot of apples in the bakery. Not real apples but glass, decorative ones. Not only Apple theory, but specifically what apples represent.

I've theorized before that the apples could represent separation between loved ones. For example, in 6x14, we see Michonne and Rick wake up together in the room and they both eat an apple. I came to believe that was a foreshadow of Rick leaving in S9 and two of them being separated. @frangipanilove, however, explained it differently. She says that rather than them being separated, she thinks apples represent them coming back together. As then, a reunion after the separation.

I know that sounds like the opposite of what I explained, but really all amounts to the same thing. The kind of separation that I mentioned is what we see with Rick and Michonne being separated, Beth and Daryl being separated, perhaps even Carol and Zeke being separated (if he does, in fact, get a death fake out). And that's always going to result in a reunion down the road. So if we explain as a separation, it will always lead to a reunion. And if we explain as a reunion, it in order for reunion to take place, there must've been a separation first. See what I mean? You can explain it either way.

So, the apples make total sense in the scene. Yumiko has been separated from her brother for a long time. She said it's been years because the two of them were somewhat estranged, even before the apocalypse happened. And now, in this episode, we see a reunion. So, I think were spot on about the Apple symbolism.

As for Beth, we didn't actually see her eat an apple. I think that would've been too on-the-nose. But, given the Snow White symbolism, or template of her arm falling, remember that Snow White ate an apple, which was poisonous, just before we fell she fell and we saw her arm. So, if TWD is using the apple to represent separation, we didn't actually see Beth eat one, but her arm falling like that represents the Snow White template, and right after that, we see her separation from Daryl and the rest of TF. I think it lines up rather well.

When Eugene and Stephonie are walking around, we see a white horse drawing a mail truck. It's a combination of several very potent symbols. We talked about white horses before and how they represent Beth, and life. Then there's the mail or Communication theme. We've seen so many mailboxes on the show, and this was a horse drawing a mail truck. I’ll talk more about the mailbox theme in a few days. Just keep this in mind for now. They're very purposeful symbols and they do represent specific things in the show.

I also noticed that Stephonie is wearing red rimmed glasses. Remember how last week I talked about how Norman was wearing some funky glasses on TTD? Sorry to keep teasing but this is another thing I’ll post about later in the week. I was going to anyway, so seeing the glasses here jumped out at me. For now, just notice that Stephonie is wearing these and they’re red.

When Stephonie decides to help them talk on the radio, they go into the train station. Of course, there are no actual trains running, but the train is a very potent symbol. It's actually being used more as a civic building, and the group tries to be innocuous, though it's obvious they're up to something. Stephonie and Eugene walked calmly through the building while Princess and Zeke take up positions down in the common lobby area. Meanwhile, Mercer is watching them.

Princess tries to head him off and we have a humorous moment where she tries to flirt with him, and tells him he has beautiful eyelashes. It is not exactly the same thing as the eye theme, but I could almost see them going for the eye theme, but twisting it for the sake of humor, because, well, it's Princess. So, she goes with beautiful eyelashes.

 Eugene does manage to get on the radio with Rosita, who tells him the Whisper War is over. They only talk for a moment or two before they lose the feed. Once again, I think that was very purposeful on Commonwealth's part. I think they allowed him to connect with Rosita, but only for a short time before interrupting the feed and bursting into arrest him.

Meanwhile, back in Alexandria, I noticed that Judith asks, "Is he gone?" I sat and thought about this line for a little bit. Obviously, it's the “gone” theme. Usually, the way TWD always uses someone being "gone" to mean that they have disappeared for short time but will return. Very often they are presumed dead. That's why Daryl's, "she's just gone" about Beth is so important. Also, her line to him, "you're going to miss me so bad when I'm gone."

 In this case, I don't think either Judith or Rosita suspect that Eugene is actually dead. She just means did they lose him on the radio feed. And here's something that occurred to me what was thinking about this. It's actually very common when someone loses communication with someone else via radio or walkie-talkie to use the phrase, "get them back." So, something like, "see if you can get them back," or, "I'll get them back." In that context, it just means to raise them on the radio again and reestablish a connection so they can communicate.

The reason this is interesting is that Daryl has said this more than once about Beth or people who were kidnapped. In 5x06 when he was with Carol, he was talking about Beth and said they would observe Grady and then do whatever they needed to do to get her back. I know they also said something similar about Sasha when she was taken by the saviors, and Sasha had massive parallels to Beth during her death arc. So, that had never occurred to me before, but it's almost like they specifically took that line about “getting them back” from radio lingo and are applying it to Beth.

When talking about whether to go to Hilltop, Aaron mentioned that he didn't want to abandon ship. So, a water/ship reference, but it's also close to something Abraham said in 5x05 about going down with the ship.

When they get out Hilltop, I noticed that we have a shot of the water tower, which is now burnt. When they start questioning Keith, he says that Alpha is dead, and someone says that all that does is prove that “he has eyes.” Earlier in Alexandria, Aaron said, “Eyes open.” I know these are really small potatoes references, but there were a LOT of eye mentions in this episode.

A couple of things where Negan and Maggie are concerned. When they get to this house, the cars out front are really interesting. There's a red car out front, which reminded me a lot of the red car that was seen during the filming of the missing 17 days in season five. There are also just a lot of cars with doors or hatchbacks open, which represent the door being opened in 5x09, when Beth disappeared. The hatchback being open can represent the trunk being open. So, just kind of some interesting symbols.

I also thought it was cool that Judith is teaching other kids how to fight.

I think that’s it for Details. Anything I missed?

[radicalbillie]

Love at first bite

Pt 8.

An uneasy silence had cast itself over the squad, carrying all the weight of a death shroud. They moved briskly, and silently as possible down the forest path.

Eventually they emerged from the on looking and gnarled fingers of the tree branches to behold a stone bridge. Across the bridge the path led into beautiful hillsides, which normally would have been a picturesque sight to be sure.

Now however, the bountiful hills and planes were the unfortunate host of the end results of a gruesome clash.

The few ravens she had heard, were now many, along with a larger murder of crows. All of them squawking and cawing, too many for her to make out any words. She did notice that they seemed to be sticking to the air mostly though.

That either meant the flesh was too fresh for their tastes, or whatever had slaughtered it's way through here was still skulking around here somewhere.

Ashe grasped her bow in her left hand, holding the end of an arrow in her right.

"Let's move quietly, keep an eye out for anything that moves."

The other party members had drawn their weapons as well, as a precaution. They began to cross the cobblestone bridge, stopping near its end to see a wagon pushed up on the left side of it.

Nyla approached it, stopping to smell it carefully. She let out a groan to the other, however the Ranger could hear more than this. She made out the word 'sour'.

Astarion also groaned, placing a hand over his nose and mouth.

"Uck..." he muttered beneath his palm.

"What is it?" Shadowheart inquired.

"Its blood... alot of it, fresh caked on top of..." he stopped short trying not to gag.

"Rotting flesh, with fresh blood." He choked out.

"Interesting..." Ashe whispered, glancing in his direction.

Seemed vampires enjoyed the taste of blood, but only from living flesh.

"These people were just merchants..." Gale spoke dissheartened.

He stepped forward, crossing the bridge crossing the bridge completely.

The others followed hesitantly, until the Wizard stooped down over a body. Bloodied and broken, in a puddle of it's own blood.

"They didn't even have weapons the poor fools." Shadowhearts voice carried some disdain in it.

Gale immediately shot her a nasty look. Before words could be exchanged further, a loud groan came from the cat who marched forward.

Ahead of the party the striped beast stalked as low to the ground as she could make herself. Ashe instinctively crouched with her, fox stepping to her side.

"What is it?" The elf whispered, knocking her arrow.

"I know their stench." Nyla growled low in her throat. "The laughing ones."

Ashe's blood ran cold; "That's not possible, there are no hyenas in the region..."

"Hyenas? " Gale asked, standing up awkwardly.

"They're still here, eating the dead... Nyla can smell them."

"Keep moving." The tigress pressed.

With a flick of her tail she moved off of the path, disappearing over a hill.

Ashe was familiar with the tactic. Bracing herself for what had to be next, she moved down the path. They all did, quicker than before. The horrendous smell hanging in the air grew more offensive the further they went.

Until they came upon more dead. People and hyenas, limbs and viscera. Random odds of dead flesh and pools of blood, surrounding them amongst more wreckage.

"What the hells did that?" Astarion pointed to a dead hyena, the corpse looked as though something had exploded out of it.

"There must be Gnolls nearby." Gale readied his staff at the realization.

Astarion had no knowledge of Gnolls, but he could swear he had heard the word before. He only knew it was bad.

He turned to Ashe who had stopped, she was wearing a frightened look on her face. Standing still, looking ahead; trying to keep her composure. But he could see it in her eyes, that familiar glint of terror. He knew it well.

"Stay back." Shadowheart cried, sheild at the ready.

Two live hyenas were approaching, with the cackling that was often mistaken for laughter. They stepped forward cautiously, jumping back with their nervous cries every few steps.

Shadowheart pounded on her sheild, hoping to scare them off. They would back off, then move forward again, each time cackling more.

The Rangers hands were trembling too much to draw her arrow.

"Good flesh... intelligent flesh." One bellowed.

"We will devour you, strong flesh, we grow strong from this flesh!" The other squealed.

"The flesh of men and elves, best for the growth."

"Come tasty flesh, make us more!"

One of them lunged forward, toward the frozen wood elf. He didn't make it three steps, before a roar accompanied by a fast orange blur tackled him down, from out of a nearby bush. This caused the other to flee in the opposite direction.

The group looked on, as the pitiful creature cackled maniacally, unable to squirm away from the tigers jaws. Nyla's massive canines were deeply implanted in his spine.

"Let go- filthy flesh! Lesser creature! I will devour your flesh-all of you will become new flesh!" It writhed in a frenzied hysteria.

Screaming and panting, as it caused itself to only bleed out faster.

"An end to our misery." Nyla spat through a full mouth.

Her claws now gripping tightly into his skin, she pulled her head back. A guttural wail came from the creature's maw, as its tendons, skin and bone gave way under the cats teeth.

She, in one smooth action, had pulled its spine out through the back of its neck, killing it. Leaving only a visceral mess of bright red on her face.

"Oh- bravo!" Astarion applauded the tigress.

"Yes, good show." Gale looked down, away from the scene.

He was grateful to Nyla, but it was a nasty sight.

"What happened there?" Shadowheart pointed at Ashe with her blade. "I've never seen you freeze up like that before now.

"Its... nothing."

"No, that was dangerous, you could have gotten us killed."

"Let's not be over dramatic, there were only two of them darling." Astarion mused.

"But this could happen again. If she-"

"It won't." Ashe cut her off with a hiss in her voice.

"I wasn't expecting hyenas that's all. It threw me, it wont happen again. It's fine, I'm fine!" She was damn defensive.

"Okay, we've been walking all day, lets all just take a little break." Gale interjected trying to keep the peace.

"Fine." Ashe spat, stomping off away from the path.

They all watched her go, even Nyla. Fresh blood dripping off of her face. Astarion looked down quizzically at the cat...

"You know something we don't." He said with a flair of his wrist.

In response, she only shook herself off like a wer dog, getting blood everywhere, causing them all to back away with groans of disgust.

[clumsyclifford]

hello my dearest so i'm unsure if you're taking requests right now and if you're not (or just don't feel like writing this) feel absolutely free to ignore this!! anyway i would really really love to read about a spiderman kiss happening in the spiderman au 👀 i have absolutely no excuse for requesting this kinda silly thing except that i love spiderman kisses as a prompt/trope (? idk what the correct term is) and also spiderman au so bye love you loads -fiancee

hello !!! this was an absolutely inspired prompt so i am glad i finally got round to writing it thank you. also thank you @cringeycake for the editing/con crit/validation

better tags/info on ao3 but this takes place shortly after the end of the malum spidey fic and it does have a gun in it for a sec, is that something that needs a tw? well anyway now you know

read it here on ao3

-

Ashton and Calum are ten minutes from home when it starts to rain.

“Of course,” says Calum. Ashton quickly pockets his phone so it doesn’t get wet. “This is your fault.”

“How’s this my fault?”

“I don’t know, but it obviously is.” Calum’s just in a sour mood because Ashton had completely destroyed him in all three rounds of bowling. 

“Shut up,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes. The rain falls faster, cold and piercing through the thin fabric of Ashton’s t-shirt. It had been nice for most of the day, but it must have gotten overcast while they were inside. Predictably, neither of them had had the foresight to check the forecast.

“Whatever,” Ashton says. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

“A lot of rain,” Calum says. It is a lot of rain now, coming down in buckets. Naturally the sky would choose this moment to open up. 

“A lot of rain never hurt anyone either,” Ashton points out. Which is not true, but they’re not going to catch hypothermia or anything. Probably. And it’s only ten minutes. Eight if they really get a move on. 

Calum sighs. Still, when Ashton glances over at him to make sure he’s not really upset, he can tell it’s all for show. After all, it’s only rain. A lot or a little, there’s only so much harm that comes from being soaking wet. They’re on their way back to Ashton’s anyway, where Ashton will be gracious enough to lend him the usual Green Day t-shirt and whatever hoodie Ashton himself isn’t wearing. 

They make nonsense conversation as they walk, both curled into themselves to keep warm. Apart from the occasional passing car, nobody is out and about in this weather, just the two of them in a slowly darkening neighborhood. Unease prickles at the back of Ashton’s neck. Or maybe that’s just the rain.

“Hey, you kids. Hey!”

Ashton and Calum spin around and see two figures approaching them through the downpour. The uneasy feeling returns full-force, this time accompanied by Ashton’s heart ramming against his chest as a spike of anxiety — or adrenaline? — courses through him. Next to him, Calum mutters, “Fuck, fuck, Ashton, he has a gun,” and Ashton realizes with growing panic that the bigger of the two does, in fact, have thick fingers curled around a gun.

“Stop walking,” the armed guy commands. Ashton really, really doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t think they have another choice. Something tells him flight won’t get them far, and trying to fight will just get them both shot.

They come to a halt as the figures come closer, crowding them into the alley they’ve stopped outside. Better place to die, Ashton’s horrible mind supplies. The armed guy holds up the gun and Ashton’s heart stops mid-pulse. He can’t seem to come up with any coherent thoughts, nothing that will get them out of this situation or even postpone it. Helplessness floods every inch of him, and all he can think is how awful it would be to die feeling helpless.

“Money, valuables, whatever you got,” sneers the guy not holding the gun. “If you don’t want to cooperate —”

Ashton’s prepared to say something along the lines of we’ll give you anything you want, loath though he is to be that cliché, when the gun vanishes out of Armed Thug’s hands. There’s just enough time for all four of them to blink in bewildered surprise when a far more reassuring figure appears out of nowhere, flipping both thugs onto their backs on the pavement and swiftly knocking them out. For good measure, he webs their limbs to the ground, and then he turns back to Calum and Ashton, who both stare.

“Spiderman,” Ashton says breathlessly. Luke seems just as surprised to see them.

“Ashton?” He’s on them in a flash. “Calum? Holy fuck, I didn’t realize it was you guys. Are you okay? Did they take anything from you? Are either of you hurt?”

“We — we’re okay,” Calum says, looking a little dumbstruck. “Thanks.”

“What the fuck are you guys doing out right now?”

“Just walking home,” Ashton says defensively. “We went bowling.” He inhales deeply, trying to get his heart rate back to normal. The shock is still coursing through his veins, though the relief flooding him is helping him regain his balance. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, they didn’t do anything,” Ashton says. Shaken, but ultimately unhurt. “Uh, good thing you were here.” He quirks his lips. “Our hero.”

“Thank fucking God I was.” Luke shifts on his feet. “Well. Okay. If you’re sure you’re okay.” He shoots a web to the roof of one of the buildings enclosing the alley — how do those stick even in the rain? — and leaps up into the air like he’s going to go. Ashton frowns.

“Hey, don’t just leave,” he says. “I haven’t heard from you all day.”

Luke hangs from the web upside down, possibly flexing, and says, “Sorry, sorry, I know. Been very busy. Lots of crime. You know how it is.”

“Did you take any breaks?”

“Of course I did,” Luke says, offended. “I had a churro. It was delicious. Just didn’t have time to stop at home.”

He leaves his phone at home when he’s on patrol — that must be why he’s been MIA. Ashton really doesn’t like that, even if he understands. It’s just. He hates that something could happen to Luke and he’d have no way of knowing. They won’t let Ashton be on comms, even for moral support — Michael claims he’ll only be a distraction, and while Ashton’s not sure if that’s true, he’s definitely not practical enough to be helpful in any Spiderman-related situation. Unless Spiderman happened to encounter evil watercolors or something.

“Okay, well.” Ashton sighs. “I just. Worry.”

“Tell me about it,” Luke says, though from the smile in his voice, it’s clear he’s teasing. “There’s no room in your brain for anything else at this point.”

“Alright, don’t feel like you need to stay and chat, Spidey,” Ashton loudly announces, talking over Luke’s contagious giggles.

“Don’t be like that,” Luke says, reaching for Ashton. His fingers close around Ashton’s drenched shirt and Ashton allows himself to be pulled closer, as Luke tugs the bottom of the mask up so only his mouth and chin are visible. He’s stopped wearing the lip ring underneath it, much to Ashton’s chagrin.

As Luke tugs Ashton into a kiss, Ashton decides he can’t complain.

The rain makes their mouths slick, and it’s strange enough kissing someone who’s upside down that it’s a little difficult to get lost in it. Ashton’s smiling before he can stop himself, the taste of rainwater mixing with the familiar taste of Luke. He’s never really tasted rainwater. Or kissed anyone in the rain. His heart’s still beating hard, but now it’s for a different reason.

“Um? What the fuck is going on right now?”

Ashton breaks away from Luke, who flips over and lands on his feet. They both face Calum, who looks more confused than the time Ashton tried to teach him to draw three-dimensional shapes.

“Kissing my boyfriend,” Luke says. 

“Your? What? You — I thought?” 

Ashton takes in Calum’s face and tone of voice and puts two and two together. “Oh my God,” he says, wincing. “You didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Calum demands. “That you’re — what — I don’t even know what to think.” Although that quickly changes with his expression, which becomes more incredulous as he reaches a conclusion. “No, never mind. I’ve got it. If that’s not Luke under there, you and I are going to have a very serious talk.”

“It’s Luke, I’m Luke,” Luke says quickly, pulling the mask the rest of the way off — though not without a quick glance to each side. Upon reflection, he shoots a web towards each fallen thug, giving them both very fashionable web-masks that cover their eyes. “Though let’s maybe not throw my name around.”

Calum stands and stares. Ashton remembers when that had been his reaction.

“Don’t fucking expose yourself in public on my behalf,” Calum says finally, gesturing. “Put the mask back on, Christ. I’m not— I’m— I just need a minute.”

“I told Ashton he could tell you,” Luke says as he pulls the mask back on. “Ashton, you didn’t tell him?”

“I thought Michael would have!”

“You don't think if he had, I wouldn’t have immediately called you to make fun of you for spending weeks pining after both Luke and Spiderman only to find they were the same fucking person? And that, oh yeah, your boyfriend's fucking Spiderman?” In his indignance, Calum’s gotten louder.

“Shh,” Ashton says, glaring meaningfully. “I know he is. That’s a secret.”

“From me?”

“No, okay, I meant to tell you,” Ashton says, dragging a hand through sopping wet hair. “I was trying to figure out how, but then Luke said he told Michael and I we could tell you, and I thought Michael would do it. Because he’s your boyfriend and he’s known Luke way longer. And then, I don’t know.” 

Maybe a part of him had hoped Michael would tell Calum. If only to avoid the mockery Ashton knows he’ll be subject to in coming days regarding his emotional crisis over Luke and Spiderman. 

“I hate you more than I’ve ever hated you,” Calum informs Ashton, although he’s never really hated Ashton, so that’s not a very high bar. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes! I swear.”

“I thought you already knew,” Luke volunteers. “Damn, Ash, good thing I kissed you or Calum would never have found out.”

“Shut up,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes. “Look, Calum — I’m sorry. This was, uh, not a great way to find out.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Calum mutters. His lips pull upward in a smile far too dry for the weather, and finally he laughs. The hilarity of the whole situation catches up with all of them, and before long the three of them are howling with laughter as rain comes down in sheets, encasing them in a chill that Ashton barely feels.

“This is all so fucking insane,” Calum manages, wiping at his eyes. He’s still squinting through the rain. “I can’t believe I’ve been friends with Spiderman all this time. What the fuck is my life? What is our life? You’re dating Spiderman, Ashton. Do you know that?”

“What fucking part of secret identity do you not understand?” Ashton says. “Stop exposing all of his secrets.”

“You just kissed in the middle of the alley!”

That’s fair. They did just do that. In Ashton’s defense, though, Luke started it. Ashton is merely a victim to Luke’s whims. Shenanigans. Whatever. 

“I was just trying to save some lives,” Luke says, shaking his head ruefully. “My Spidey-sense was tingling.”

“I hate when you say that.”

“Spidey-Meter, would you prefer that? Spider Radar? Spider Scale?”

“Just call it intuition.”

“It’s more than intuition,” Luke insists. “You just don’t get it because you’ve never felt it.”

“Whatever you say, Spidey.”

“Well, I hate to cut this short, but it is raining a lot,” Calum says, like maybe they’ll have forgotten. “And considering I am going to see you” — with a significant look at Luke — “at school on Monday, I think we can probably catch up later.”

“Let me walk you home,” Luke says, ever the gentleman, or possibly protective. “It’s not far.”

“What are you going to do with these two?” Calum asks, jabbing a thumb at the thugs passed out in the mouth of the alley. “Leave them?”

“Uh,” Luke says. “Let me handle them. I’ll catch up to you.”

Calum tilts his head suspiciously. Ashton just starts walking, jerking his chin to get Calum to join him. “It’s fine. He’ll catch up.”

After a moment, Calum follows. They’re both soaked through, yet the rain is as relentless as ever. Calum falls into step as they start down the pavement.

“You really thought I already knew?” Calum says doubtfully. 

Ashton sighs. “Okay, I was a little tiny bit hoping that I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell you.” He inclines his head. “But I realize I dropped the ball here. I should have told you sooner. I would’ve eventually.”

Calum is quiet for a moment. “I mean, it’s fine,” he says defeatedly. “When did he even tell you?”

“Um, the day before Luke and I started dating,” Ashton says. “Originally we really were keeping it from you, but then Luke realized that wasn’t going to fly with, you know. How important you are in my life. And Michael’s, I guess.”

“Don’t try to flatter me into forgiveness,” Calum says. Ashton snorts.

“That’s literally what happened, though. And then I was trying to figure out what would be the best way to tell you, because, uh, it’s kind of insane? And then Luke told me that he told Michael that Michael could tell you — God, I feel like a twelve-year-old girl — and I kinda thought I would let Michael do it. Which was a bad move on my part. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Calum says again. “I don’t really care. Like, I get it. Yeah. It’s kind of insane. And I don’t know Luke as well as you or Michael, so.”

“But I’m glad you know now,” Ashton says firmly. “Sorry you had to find out like this, but I’m happy that you know. I’m sure I’d have said something stupid sooner or later and you would’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, this makes a lot of things make sense,” Calum says. He huffs a laugh. “My God, Ashton, I can’t believe you genuinely had a crush on the same boy twice without knowing it was the same boy. Your life.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Anything else you want to tell me while you’re at it? Anything you conveniently neglected to mention?”

“Yeah, actually, one thing. I’m also a superhero, completely forgot to say —”

“Oh, fuck off.”

 Ashton laughs, clapping a hand onto Calum’s shoulder. A wry smile overtakes Calum’s face, chuckling despite his best efforts, and Ashton knows they’re okay.

“Hey,” says Luke, dropping down beside the pair of them. 

Calum jerks. “Motherfucker. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Luke says. If it were just Luke as himself, Ashton would take his hand, but this Luke is still Spiderman, so Ashton dutifully keeps his hands to himself, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his fingers underneath his arms in hopes of preserving some warmth.

It doesn’t work. “You’re shivering,” Luke tells Ashton. 

“I know that,” Ashton says. “It’s cold. I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s raining.”

“If only we’d remembered to bring our supersuits from home,” Calum dryly contributes.

Luke makes a face at them both. “You guys are so funny, you know that?”

“Thank you,” Calum says. “You’re also funny. But, you know. Looks aren’t everything.”

A pause as Luke processes this. Finally: “Hey!”

Ashton laughs. “Just wait, he’ll make the same joke until you stop setting it up for him.” Something Ashton had learned the hard way.

They chat amicably until they reach Ashton’s building, at which point Luke says, “I better go.” It’d be nice to get a kiss goodbye, but Ashton figures they’ve already pushed their luck on the kissing front. Luke backs away from them, shooting a web up at the roof. “I’ll see you on Monday. Call you tonight, Ash.”

“You better.”

“And will you please tell Michael to call me as well?” Calum says, crossing his arms. “Unless he’s giving me the silent treatment.”

“No, he dropped his phone in the sink,” Luke snickers. “So it’s been in rice all day.”

Of course he did. For someone who’s virtually a genius, Michael sure does have an idiotic streak. He’s a lot like Calum in that way.

“Thanks for walking us home,” Ashton says, smiling fondly. “And, you know, saving our lives.”

“All in a day’s work,” Luke says, warmth bleeding into his voice. “See you guys later. Be safe. Stay warm. You know.”

 Between one blink and the next, he’s gone.

“‘Stay warm,’” Calum echoes disdainfully, looking up at the roof onto which Luke had disappeared. “Do you think he knows that human clothes don’t retain heat the way superhero suits do?”

Ashton laughs and follows Calum into the lobby.

[yandere-daydreams]

Hello void, I will happily surrender my remaining right if I can just have some bastard todoroki and protective Bakugo.

It’s really just their natural states of existence, and while there’s nothing I can do about that, they’re nothing I want to do about it, either. Chaotic is their default setting, and I don’t plan on questioning that.

TW: Slight Dehumanization, Learned Helplessness, Mentions of Death, and Imprisonment.

~

There was still a layer of frost coating Katsuki’s shoulder, if you looked closely.

You couldn’t tell if he was purposefully ignoring it, refusing to give Shoto the satisfaction of seeing him shiver, or if his body temperature was naturally high enough for him to ignore the remaining ice he’d been pelted with. It soaked into your hoodie as you clung to his arm (Katsuki’s hoodie, rather – you’d been forced into it as soon as the chaos had died down), attempting to hide behind his bicep, pulling your legs onto the loveseat when that failed to make you feel as small as you needed to. Usually, you didn’t try to be this… touchy, but it wasn’t like you had a choice, in this situation.

You could still feel his hand around your wrist, his eyes burning into you, his fingers bruising your skin as he refused to let you budge. It’d been after the fight, after Shoto made his discovery, before this ‘sit down’. He’d told you not to talk to Shoto, not to agree with Shoto, not to do so much as look at the intruder, not unless Katsuki said it was alright. A threat hadn’t been included, but it was implied. You’d been shut in that closet far too many times not to know what would happen if you disobeyed him.

But, your curiosity still got the best of you. Enough to listen when Shoto broke the frigid silence.

“So, collateral damage was the best thing you could think of?” Shoto’s tone was flat, unaffected, leaning back in his chair as he spoke. It was genuine, even if Katsuki’s discontent growing more evident at the comment. “I mean, Support Heroes die all the time in natural disasters. One dying in a terrorist attack they wouldn’t have even been called to just seems… fake, y’know? Like a conspiracy or something.” He scanned over you, briefly. “I guess it was, though.”

“I didn’t plan it, moron,” Katsuki disregarded, crossing his arms and stripping you of your defenses, leaving you to lean into his side for any kind of a shield. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see this idiot run head-first into falling rubble,” He explained, nodding in your direction. “And you didn’t have to reset the dislocated arm they got, afterward. You didn’t have to lug their unconscious body back to somewhere safe, either. Anyone would’ve done the same thing. I was just doing my job.”

Shoto nodded, understandingly. “It’s your job to kidnap injured Heroes, now?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ice-For-Brains.” Without warning, a hand shot out, dragging you into his lap and bringing you front-and-center, despite Katsuki’s prior warnings. You reacted off instinct, burying your face in his shirt and turning your back to Shoto, but it didn’t seem to matter. Even with your vision obscured, you could feel a tug to the metal collar around your neck. Katsuki was as intent on showing off as ever, even if he tried to act like he wasn’t. “It’s quirk-canceling, see? And I’ve got a nice set-up in the other room, safety-proofed and all that shit. I’m doing this so (Y/n) doesn’t get hurt again. We came close enough once, I ain’t risking it.” He paused, if only to throw a glare at his counterpart. “Even if I have to lock you up to make sure of that.”

“It won’t be necessary.” Shoto was still curt, standing as he brushed off the remaining ash on his clothes. There was a burn-mark on his sleeve, a bruise on his cheek, but you could recognize him, even if the connection wasn’t personal. Vaguely, vaguely, he looked familiar. The two of you hadn’t been close, and everything before your… relocation seemed blurry. You’d been there, but barely. Like it’d been someone else living through it. Still, his touch didn’t feel bad as thin fingers carded through your hair, drawing you out of your self-made shell gently. Katsuki was never gentle. He tried to be, but he wasn’t. Shoto didn’t seem as aggressive, even if the victory was a small one. “Share, and there won’t be a need for conflict. That’s fair, right?”

“Share?” The question was incredulous, utterly offended. He pulled you a little closer, but didn’t move to push Shoto away. “They aren’t a fucking toy–”

“You don’t want to go to jail, do you?” You couldn’t help but perk up, your attention shifting to Shoto as soon as the words left his lips, consequences be damned. But, Shoto wasn’t looking at you, anymore, his neutral expression now facing off against Katsuki’s scowl. “You’ll be arrested, (Y/n)’ll be taken in for rehab, and I’ll be the one to take responsibility, both for not noticing my friend’s crimes and for the victim of his paranoia. That, or you just give me a key to whatever I’ll need, and we never talk about this again. It’ll be easy for you, considering the alternative.” He stopped, for a moment, thinking. “I could kill you, too. I don’t want to, but I could.”

Katsuki opened his mouth, preparing to spit out something vile, but he was stopped by a knock at the door, muffled sirens finally making their way through the thick walls. “Fucking cops,” Katsuki mumbled, a frown ghosting over the corners of Shoto’s lips. “It’s probably about the noise, my neighbors are nosey motherfuckers. How do you feel about a bad break-up?”

Shoto didn’t hesitate, shrugging as he straightened his back. “Works for me. My agency’s already got every department in the prefecture under a non-disclosure agreement.”

There was a nod on Katsuki’s part and Shoto moved to answer the door, but Katsuki stopped him with an obvious cough, standing with you still in his arms. You knew better than to try to walk on your own, by now, just wrapping your arms around Katsuki’s neck. Shoto might let you walk, but you’d never ask. He might let you, but if he was anything like your pre-established captor, he’d wouldn’t take kindly to a well-meant suggestion. “I’ve gotta put ‘em away first, unless you want to have the same conversation with the guys outside, too.” Again, Shoto glanced at the entrance, but Katsuki didn’t give him time to answer it. This time, he seemed more nervous than anything, shifting awkwardly as he continued.

“You should come, check everything out. You’ll… you’ll have to see how it works eventually, right?”

[the-odd-job]

Up in Flames chapter 24 - Take Me, Although You Hate Me (Ashes Part 2)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron, Sideswipe, Original Character Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5540

Take me Although you hate me For in heaven There is no heartless madness Blind me Before the truth hurts Show me heaven I need your heartless madness

— Dynazty – Heartless Madness

( Previous )

The youngling was already waiting for them in their quarters that night, when they’d first gotten rid of damned Megatron, then cleaned themselves to be presentable, and lastly, on Sideswipe’s behest, said their hellos to everyone in the rec room. Or rather, Sideswipe did that, while Sunstreaker sat in sullen silence and tried to put on his best aura of “don’t talk to me”. It seemed to have worked, because only Onslaught had dared come speak with him, and the tactically minded tank was always unusually pleasant for conversation. He’d queried about their time at Shockwave’s compound, and further asked what brought them back now that the sparkling was very much out and their end of the deal was fulfilled. 

Sunstreaker had provided no direct answer, but he was pretty sure Onslaught had guessed anyway, being a smart mech and whatnot. Time would show it to all, anyway. No doubt Megatron would be rather victorious when announcing their… Decision. There was no way he wouldn’t gloat.

“How’d the tour go?” Sideswipe asked as they sat down on the berth on either side of the youngling, who was idly swinging his legs over the edge.

“Good,” it responded. “The symbiotes are nice. Soundwave is a little creepy, but no more so than Shockwave. And everything’s so… Bright.”

“Not near as bright as things are outside,” Sunstreaker rumbled, glancing at the lone, dim light in the ceiling of their room that didn’t do much to chase away the gloom permeating every inch of the ship. After the black of Shockwave’s compound, though, this had to be quite an improvement already. Pits, there was color and everything. 

“It’s very bright outside,” the youngling agreed, not sounding necessarily happy about that, but it would be just a matter of getting used to the way things were supposed to be—even on Cybertron, as much as their planet had been clad in eternal night far longer than the twins had been alive.

“What now?” the youngling continued, looking between them. “Did you and sire talk about something important? Ravage said you did.”

Sideswipe huffed a laugh even as Sunstreaker growled to himself. Was it just Ravage making a good guess, or Soundwave knowing too much for anyone’s good, again?  

Well, didn’t really matter. “We did,” Sunstreaker confirmed all the same. ‘Talk’ might’ve been a bit of a strong term for how things had gone down, but the youngling certainly didn’t need to know the intricacies of its creators’ relationship. 

“The symbiotes said you don’t belong to sire’s faction yet,” it said, frowning. Disapproving? Likely, after everything it had heard over the course of its ridiculously short life. Indeed, if the Autobots were such wicked wannabe murderers and general banes of Cybertron, why were the twins not sworn to oppose them? “You used to fight against him.”

“Just how much did the symbiotes talk?” Sideswipe laughed, flopping onto his back on the berth.

“A lot,” was all it said, unhelpfully not elaborating on how much it already knew and how much it was still in the dark on.

Sunstreaker sighed in an entirely exaggerated manner, drawing its attention back to himself. “We’ve made some mistakes in life, such as signing up with the Autobots when the war got underway—though, mind you, not by choice.”

“But you don’t fight for them anymore,” it pointed out, and this time it sounded more approving. “You had me with sire—Megatron.”

“And you are the reason we’re not stuck with the Autobots anymore,” Sideswipe piped in. The youngling squawked when Sideswipe stuck his claws somewhere between armor gaps, only to have his servo slapped away with a glare. Sideswipe, naturally, had no more to give than an unrepentant grin.

“Yeah, did we go and betray our old side a little bit by dallying with your sire? I think we did,” Sunstreaker said to some more chortling from Sideswipe. 

“But I was unplanned,” the youngling said, and clearly it knew quite a bit already. It would’ve been so nice if it had just said how much it knew, but it still didn’t seem very eager to do so—although at this point Sunstreaker almost got the feeling it was cross-referencing what it had heard with what their side of the story was. Smart thing, if that was the case. 

“You were entirely unplanned,” Sunstreaker confirmed. “If it wasn’t for you, the Autobots likely wouldn’t have found out about my… Liaisons with your sire quite so soon.”

“You never told them.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement the youngling made. “Sire did that for you when you refused to do it.”

“Oh yes.” Was that a bit of disgruntlement slipping into his voice? But he was still a little angry about that whole incident, so excuse him. Disgruntled or not, Sunstreaker continued, “He very effectively smoked me right out of the Autobots and proceeded to tell me exactly what I was to do about you.” Definitely disgruntled and growling by now. The youngling’s lips twitched into a straight up smile. Sunstreaker glared at it.

“So I was a good thing,” it concluded. “Because of me, sire forced you out of the Autobots, and now you don’t have to fight for them anymore.”

“Astute,” Sunstreaker commented with a roll of his optics. It sounded a lot like a small laugh the youngling made this time around, but it had more to say.

“Will you fight for sire now?" it asked. "Rumble and Frenzy said you could've left once I separated, but you didn't. Why?"

Ah, the million dollar question. Why?

Why indeed.

"That was what we talked about," Sunstreaker said, earning himself a curious look from the youngling. "As you know, your sire sent us to Cybertron to keep you safe, but now that you're no longer in harm's way quite the same, he wanted to know if we'd finally fight for him."

"What was your answer?"

"Yes."

It was definitely approval mixed with pleasure that burst in the youngling's field. Pits but it had opinions already, clearly, such as Autobot bad, Decepticon good. "Why now?" it wanted to know, though.

Sunstreaker ticked off their primary reasons with his digits, three as there were. "They tried to kill you, Optimus Prime is a soft-sparked idiot and a very bad bet for the future of Cybertron, and to secure your future—something you will not even have if the Autobots win the war."

"So you're mostly doing it for me," it frowned. "And because you think sire is right?"

Did they think Megatron was right? There were presently exactly two options for Cybertron's future leadership, and they didn't want to support Optimus. Did that make Megatron right, though, or only the lesser evil? "Well, for you, if nothing else," Sunstreaker said with a frown of his own. He wasn’t certain they were yet ready to decide on the other point. Their opinion on it wouldn’t markedly change their actions anyway, for now. Their other reasons were plenty enough.

“Do you think your sire’s right?” Sideswipe asked curiously. Sunstreaker looked at the youngling too, only to see it nod firmly.

"Based on what I know so far? Yes."

Well. That didn't take long. "Why?" Sunstreaker asked. He wasn't judging—after all it only seemed like natural progression for a mech Megatron was hoping to make the heir to his empire—but they were curious over where the certainty had come from. Pits, the youngling had barely even talked to Megatron. All it had to go off on were the stories of the Decepticons, though it had to be granted that it had heard things from quite a few vocalizers. It wasn't going off based on just one telling. 

“Everyone says he’s strong,” it said, intent on all strength—physical, emotional, mental, that of personality… Oh, Megatron had it all. Didn’t Sunstreaker know that much. “He’s never lost motivation or sight of his goals, despite how long the war has gone on for. He does what it takes, no matter what it takes. He doesn’t give up.”

“And what of what he’s like as an individual? You don’t actually know him yourself,” Sunstreaker pointed out.

“What does it matter?” the youngling shot back without hesitation. “That he’s a strong leader is what matters.

“Besides, you love him, so there has to be something to like.”

…Say what now? Sideswipe burst out into laughter until he was wheezing and Sunstreaker stared at the youngling, who stared right back without waver. It didn’t look like it was really registering having said anything off. If anything, it only seemed confused over Sideswipe’s reaction, and then raised its optical ridges at Sunstreaker for what he said next.

“I don’t love him,” Sunstreaker sneered the moment he managed to shove his surprise aside. The youngling was dissatisfyingly blase about that, just waving its servo in dismissal.

“Like him, whatever. You see something in him.”

“I hate him, that’s what I see in him,” Sunstreaker growled, reaching in one quick motion and wrapping his servo around the youngling’s throat—squeezing, warning. Sideswipe only laughed harder even as Sunstreaker knew his own field dripped with bale as he leaned towards the youngling, staring into its vaguely concerned, deep red optics. “And you would do well to remember that.”

After a second's hesitation, it nodded, as much as it could with his hold on its neck. “I’ll remember that.”

Sunstreaker studied it a moment longer for any trace of a lie, before he was satisfied the point had been driven home and released it. The youngling rubbed at its throat, but seemed very careful to not react otherwise despite the vague displeasure in its field. “Where did you get that idea from, anyway?” Sunstreaker asked.

“The symbiotes said as much,” it shrugged. “I thi– Thought it made sense.”

“After what you’ve seen of us, you thought it made sense?” he asked in disbelief. Those damn symbiotes. If Soundwave wouldn’t have slagged him if he rearranged their limbs for gossiping, he would’ve done that. Fraggers needed to learn to mind their own business and not corrupt his slagging creation.

“With what I know of you, yeah.” It looked a lot like it wanted to glare at him, but didn’t quite dare to do so when it glanced his way. Sunstreaker ground his denta together before he ran one rough servo down his faceplates, not even resisting the urge to let his engine rev, hard. Sideswipe, at least, said nothing to sway the situation in any direction, despite his chuckles having not yet died down entirely. Sunstreaker would’ve said something about not believing everything you hear, but it wasn’t as if the youngling had blindly listened to the symbiotes. Rather, it had compared things to what it knew, and then came to the entirely wrong conclusion that the symbiotes weren’t terribly mistaken. It had thought for itself, even if it hadn’t thought right.

“Anyway, you’ll fight for sire from now on. You’ll become real Decepticons,” the youngling said, returning back to their previous topic. “I think that’s good.”

“It kinda is, isn’t it?” Sideswipe agreed right before snatching the youngling and pulling it down with him. It growled at him, but when Sunstreaker reclined as well, it didn’t try to get back up and got comfortable in the space between them instead.

“You’re doing the right thing,” came its murmured opinion—and maybe they were.

For it, at least, they were.

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

Megatron didn’t waste much time announcing to all of the Decepticons what the twins had decided to do. Change their allegiance, wholly and officially. The following day had barely started when everyone not absolutely needed on duty was called to the throne room—because of course Megatron would have one, even on a spaceship. The twins knew what that was about. They got enough knowing looks that they could guess quite a few others had an idea of what it was likely to be about, too, even if there was also some confusion mixed in from those that didn’t catch on quite so quickly. 

But the truth remained that the twins were still here, despite the youngling’s rather damning presence clearly signaling their ties to Megatron had gotten severed. Was there really any other way than this that things could go down? Why would Megatron even agree to keep them around if they continued to be absolutely useless? 

Why would they have stuck around if they had no plans to change anything?

Things were changing. “My friends,” Megatron said in full grandeur once everyone had assembled. He was standing in front of his throne, Starscream on his right, Soundwave on his left, and where Soundwave was as impassive as ever, Starscream was sending some mean glares in the twins’ direction.

Sunstreaker glared right back even as he kept one audial on Megatron’s little speech. Sideswipe was listening with half a spark too, the youngling next to him, but much of his brother’s attention was also on the other Decepticons. So curious about their reactions. “Long have the Autobots locked us in a stalemate. We struck a blow to them when we relieved them of two of their frontliners,” oh, weren’t they getting lots of looks now, “and now I am pleased to announce we are about to have two frames join our ranks.”

Half of the occupants in the room flared in surprise, others with a sense of ‘I knew it’, and then a cacophony of noise. Cheers, whistles, and quite a few exclamations to the effect of, “Finally!” Someone clapped Sideswipe on the back, and when he turned to look, he could see Dirge grinning at him. He wasn’t the only one with the expression, either.

The overarching sentiment was definitely positive from the looks of things.

And then there was Starscream. “My liege, you can’t be serious!” the Seeker could be heard saying. “Their loyalties are questionable at best. They’re nothing more than Autobot liabilities!”

“And your loyalties are any better?” Megatron asked from his Second very pointedly. Sunstreaker smirked.

Starscream wasn’t wholly discouraged, though. “They’ve served their use, my Lord. You have the youngling. Exile them.” How come they hadn’t had this discussion in private, anyway? Or maybe they had and Starscream was just trying to turn the rank and file against them.

“Their prowess is unquestionable. I will have it at my disposal,” Megatron said, and without giving Starscream a chance to continue further, lifted his arms. The room fell silent again. “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, step forward.”

They did and Megatron sat down on his goddamn throne. He gestured them forward until they were at the bottom of the steps leading to it. There, they were given another order. “Kneel.”

Sunstreaker hesitated just for the length of one spark rotation and Sideswipe made no move before he did, but then, as one, they lowered themselves onto one knee and bowed their heads. Their spark fluttered with just a hint of nervousness. This was hardly a point of no return and they could always change their minds… Except, if they did after this, they were likely to have their helms cut off for personally slighting Megatron. 

So maybe it was a point of no return, anyway. 

“Will you fight your former comrades in my name?” Megatron asked, and Primus, the anticipation in the room. It was like everyone was hungry for their words, hungry to hear them submit themselves, to hear them become their comrades. No one said a thing, no one interrupted them—not even Starscream, despite the displeasure he broadcasted in his wide cast field. 

The stage was theirs, and they took it. “I will,” they said, ever together.

“Will you kill your former comrades in my name?”

“I will.”

“Do you swear fealty to me and your spark to the Decepticon cause?” 

Would they?  

Point of no return.

But they’d made their decision already.

“I do.”

The room broke into noise all over again—stomping, cheering, hooting, celebration. This was another victory over the Autobots, to turn one-two of them into Decepticons instead. The promise of a chance for things to change—that maybe, just maybe, something could be done about the deadlock the two sides were stuck in.

That maybe the twins could make enough of a difference.  

“Rise, Decepticons Sunstreaker and Sideswipe,” Megatron said over the roar of the room.

It felt quite a bit like a new beginning, and no doubt it was meant to feel as such with the fragging ritualistic elements involved in the whole thing. It was time to close one damned chapter of their life. In the past was their life as Autobots—and when they were back on their pedes and Soundwave approached them with their new insignias… Here was their new life, that they had flirted with for quite some time already, but never quite stepped into entirely.

Until now. 

Their scratched out Autobot insignias remained, and Sunstreaker got the feeling they would continue to do so as permanent marks of their past, changed allegiance, but Soundwave’s touch didn’t falter when he attached their new insignias below their Autobot ones. “Change your energy signatures,” the telepath advised them as their last step, and they did—switching their faction signature to that of a Decepticon.  

And then the deed was done. Soundwave nodded at them before stepping away, and after a nod from Megatron as well, the brothers turned around to face their new faction. Sideswipe, immediately, spread his arms to show himself off, following the move by a bow in flourish that earned him some laughter and cheers. Sunstreaker kept his expression as a firm frown, but his field… He could admit there was some pleasure in it. He had sat on the sidelines of the war for too long by now.

End to that. 

“I know words mean little. I expect you to prove their truth with your actions,” Megatron’s voice spoke up right behind them, and when they both glanced behind themselves, they could see him looming a step away. He wasn’t looking at them, though, but instead glaring off to the side at Starscream, who was tapping his pede impatiently, giving the impression that the two had some unfinished business to discuss. There was no question he was talking to them, though.

“So you do have some sense in that helm,” Sunstreaker huffed and Megatron’s glare transferred to him. Sunstreaker merely raised an optical ridge in return.

“Why, yes, I do have some sense,” Megatron snarled at him, grabbing him by the jaw and decidedly not letting go when Sunstreaker tried to jerk his helm away. Thus Sunstreaker returned the glare given to him. Megatron held his gaze with wicked optics for a good moment–

But that was all there was before he let go of him with a simple, “Go celebrate.”

“Aye aye, boss,” Sideswipe grinned with a salute before Sunstreaker could get a word in to make the situation a little worse. The look Megatron gave his brother was a smidge exasperated, but he turned away in time with Sideswipe grabbing Sunstreaker by the servo and dragging him into the midst of the gathered Decepticons eager to welcome them. 

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

There was indeed celebration. High grade didn’t flow, because frankly, the Decepticons couldn’t afford luxuries like that, but there was music and dancing, loud conversation and rambunctious laughter. Sunstreaker had sequestered himself against one wall of the rec room with Thundercracker, but Sideswipe, naturally, was right in the middle of the hubbub. Skywarp had accosted the youngling to teach it some dance moves from the looks of things, and while it didn’t necessarily look happy about it, it was putting in the effort to try. Its control over its frame had certainly improved, and a bit of dancing could only help.

“Was that amount of show really necessary?” Sunstreaker growled as he watched Skywarp’s impromptu dance lesson. From the corner of his optic, he could see Thundercracker raise his optical ridges at him.

“You seemed to take to it well,” the Seeker commented. “It’s good for morale.”

“It’s over the top,” he scoffed. “There can’t possibly be that amount of ceremony involved in it for everyone, either.”

“No, but notable defections are worth a little extra attention, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’m worth the extra attention, if nothing else.”

Thundercracker huffed a small laugh. “Of course you are.”

And if he was to be a morale booster while at it, well, was that really a bad thing even if it was completely ridiculous? He couldn’t really deny that the effect was rather… Obvious, on the other Decepticons. The mood had been lifted with their official introduction into the faction, as if the fact they had left Autobots in the first place hadn’t already done that to an extent.

The youngling had done its part, too, as a little hope for the future, despite most not really knowing how to react to it yet—which could probably be attributed to who its sire was. How were you supposed to treat the offspring of your sovereign leader? Few seemed to know the answer to that. Really only Skywarp, the symbiotes and Soundwave, as well as the Combiner team leaders seemed to be relaxed around it and treated it no differently than they treated anyone else. Granted, that could bite them in the aft yet, if either the youngling or Megatron decided “like everyone else” wasn’t an appropriate way to treat it. 

But if nothing else, the youngling didn’t seem to be about to start demanding undue amounts of respect. If you asked Sunstreaker, it hadn’t earned it yet, anyway. Lineage wasn’t enough for that; your own actions needed to speak for you. It wasn’t the youngling’s fault it hadn’t had the chances for actions like that yet, but until it did… It had a promise of a future few could dream of, but that was all. 

What kind of a creator would he be if he didn’t try to coach it in the right direction, though? The glory of bloodshed and battles awaited it, but for it to succeed in that violent field, it needed practice. That was what Sunstreaker proceeded to give it in the days to come—training, with himself, with Sideswipe, with those Decepticons that stood in the same size class as them. It hadn’t changed that its focus and determination were things to be admired as it practiced against different opponents. It didn’t stand a chance if those more experienced than it—that was to say, everyone—didn’t hold back, but it did its best and improved at a perfectly acceptable pace. For quite a while still, though, training was all it would get. It wasn’t anywhere near the point where it could actually take part in the war. 

The twins didn’t need to worry about details like that, but despite that, Megatron refused to deploy them. One battle went by, then another, and then a third one, and still the twins were forced to sit on the ship all pretty like, even as the amount of injuries the others came back with spoke of clear opposition provided by the Autobots.

After that third battle, Sunstreaker asked Soundwave for Megatron’s location, and once he got confirmation the warlord was in his quarters, that was where he headed. The only reason he didn’t barge in was the fact that the door was locked, so Sunstreaker pinged for entrance instead, as if he was the polite sort or something. 

Somewhat surprisingly, Megatron actually opened the door for him without any excessive delay, allowing Sunstreaker to stomp in. The warlord had just one look at him before sighing. “What is it now?”

“You,” Sunstreaker growled with the jab of a digit at Megatron. He was sitting at his desk, already looking aggravated.

Sunstreaker couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn about Megatron’s precious little feelings. “You’re not letting us fight,” he accused, coming to stand next to the tyrant and placing his hands on his hips.

And glaring. So much glaring. “I thought the whole fragging point of us defecting was to fight for you. What the slag gives?”

Megatron glared right back at him before his optics dropped to his chest. Before Sunstreaker could do anything about it, Megatron had reached and caught the side of his chassis, his thumb tracing his fresh insignia. Sunstreaker shivered despite himself, but swatted the servo away.

Or tried to. Megatron wouldn’t let himself be chased away quite so easily, and his hold merely tightened instead of going anywhere. Sunstreaker snarled some more, and tried to move his entire frame away next.

That didn’t work either, because Megatron’s servo only slipped lower, until he had a firm hold of his waist. “Should I remind you you are my subordinate and I choose when and how to use you?” the tyrant asked from him, meeting his gaze again.

Sunstreaker frowned at him. “So you want to defeat your own goddamn point?”

Megatron got to his pedes, effortlessly towering over him with just that single motion. True to form, Sunstreaker didn’t let himself be cowed in the slightest despite his need to crane his helm way back to even look at the warlord in the face anymore. “I hold no illusions as to your effectiveness,” Megatron said. “You will get results when I choose to use you.”

“Flattery?” Sunstreaker scoffed, again trying to move away and again not being allowed to do so. “The pit do you think that will get you?”

“Are you not the type to enjoy having your massive ego stroked?”

Sunstreaker snarled, and when he didn’t manage to put any space between them this time either, threw his arms up in utter frustration. “I just want answers! Fragging– Okay, let’s do it your way. Why are you choosing not to use us?”

The servo Megatron wasn’t holding him in place with came up to grasp him by the jaw. Of course trying to jerk his helm away did nothing, but Sunstreaker held onto his glare even as Megatron’s thumb brushed across his lower lip. “What, fantasizing about having me again?” he growled, because certainly provoking Megatron was forever the best course of action.

“Would you be opposed to that, Decepticon Sunstreaker?”

“Oh, so you’re getting your kicks off of having us on your side for real, now?”

“This is where you should be.”

Sunstreaker faltered just enough for Megatron to smirk. Mech was fragging maddening. Did he even slagging mean that, or was he just playing around? Sunstreaker kicked him in the shin for good measure, not that it got him any sort of reaction. “You think that’s what I want to hear?”

“What do I care what you want to hear?”

“So, what, you’re just stating the truth, no regard for what I think about it?”

“Quite. Or do you disagree? Would you rather still be with the Autobots?”

“I’d rather fight,” Sunstreaker growled. “Is that so hard to understand?” Megatron’s grip in his jaw tightened until it hurt and his growl morphed into a hiss, but Sunstreaker didn’t break his glare.

“You are a trump card,” Megatron said. Sunstreaker wanted to, again, accuse him of flattery, but Megatron continued before he could get a word in, “Can you blame me for wanting to make an impression with you?”

Sunstreaker frowned in confusion, hardly even remembering to snarl when Megatron’s thumb brushed against his lip again. Impression? “The pit’s that supposed to mean?” he grouched, tugging against the tyrant’s hold as ineffectually as every past time. That was getting rather tiresome, in all honesty. “And let the frag go of me while you’re at it,” Sunstreaker tacked on with another kick, wrapping his servo around Megatron’s wrist and digging his claws in.

Megatron? Didn’t react in any satisfying manner. Or at all, really. “Drama, my dear,” he just said, and Sunstreaker very much remembered to snarl out of his growing confusion. “You’re a lover of that, aren’t you?”

“Sure, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Presentation matters. It can demoralize. Certainly your switch in allegiance alone will do that, but…” 

Sunstreaker’s frown turned a little less confused. “Are you saying you want to do some sort of dramatic unveiling of us?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Well, hadn’t he thought Megatron would want to gloat about the whole thing? Maybe it wasn’t so far out there that the mech would be waiting for the perfect opportunity to show them off and make the biggest impression in letting the Prime and all the other Autobots see what they’d chosen—what Megatron had accomplished. Maybe he hadn’t set out to do it–

Or had he? “Was our defection your plan all along?” Sunstreaker had to ask, glaring anew when Megatron’s thumb applied enough force to part his lips. He snapped his denta, drawing an amused rumble from the warlord.

“No. I was hoping for it and I’m certainly not opposed to it, but I was ready to dispose of you once–”

“Once you got tired of fragging me, huh?”

“Hm.”

Wasn’t that comforting. Then again, who would ever doubt Megatron was capable of something like that? Picking a plaything for himself, then tossing that plaything to the smelters when he grew bored of it, or it became an inconvenience, or whatever would’ve been the tipping point for it. “The sparkling sort of messed up those plans, did it?”

“Your loyalty to the Autobots was frail to begin with.”

“So you think I might’ve opted to defect even without it?”

“You disagree?”

“…Not really.”

“There, you see,” Megatron rumbled, on this side of amused.

But he also spoke with the fire of conviction. “The Autobots were squandering you, keeping you chained and muzzled—weren’t you bound to recognize you deserve better?”

With the intensity and belief Megatron put behind his own words as he always did when this particular topic came up, it was hard not to agree. Sunstreaker’s frown didn’t leave, but he shifted his optics to the side, almost… Uncomfortable?

What for? Because Megatron insisted he had been misused for the entirety of the war?

Because he didn’t quite disagree with that assessment? Wasn’t that, chained and muzzled as Megatron put it, how he’d felt among the Autobots? Out of place in the midst of mecha that didn’t even speak the same language he did? Not verbally—verbally the words they used were the same across the board, with only the difference of dialects.

But verbal languages weren’t the only ones out there. It was the rest the Autobots had never understood, a cultural chasm no one had ever managed to bridge. Hadn’t they only gotten told that their view of life was wrong, simple as that? He couldn’t say no one had ever tried to understand their side of things, because certainly those individuals had existed too.

But they were just individuals, one or two mecha here and there. The faction as a whole wasn’t… Theirs. They had been a part of it, but they’d always felt out of place, like they didn’t really belong. They weren’t Northerners.

They were Kaonite, and the Autobots had never wanted to accept everything that meant, because what that meant was Decepticon.

“Your place in the Autobots was a mistake,” Megatron continued, drawing Sunstreaker’s optics back to him, “but that error has been rectified. I will let you fight, Sunstreaker, and I will not hold you back because I would fear what you can do.”

He resisted the urge to squirm, but only barely. Megatron studied him, and pits, Sunstreaker wasn’t the type to evade others, but now he had to fight with himself to not avert his optics—to instead meet Megatron’s gaze, even knowing his own had far more uncertainty in it than he ever would have liked. “Do you believe me?” Megatron asked.

Sunstreaker spoke with the truth before he could think better of it. “I do.” It was nigh impossible not to in the face of Megatron’s certainty, that only combined with his own past doubts and reservations to form what he wanted to believe—and did. He did.

He did believe Megatron was sincere in his disapproval over the Autobots’ treatment, use of him, and he did believe the tyrant fully intended to have him fight for him, and that he would be allowed to do so with the kind of brutality the Autobots shied away from but that came so naturally to him—that he had been trained into.

If anyone understood, Megatron did.

If anyone understood, the Decepticons did.

“You’re where you were always meant to be, Sunstreaker,” Megatron said, only driving that point home further, like he wanted to make sure there was no doubt in Sunstreaker’s mind over the truth of it. Sunstreaker tried to nod, found he couldn’t against Megatron’s grip, and huffed even as his field flared with his… Acceptance of that. 

They should have joined the Decepticons from the beginning. Were they given the choice in that at the time… 

There was no changing the past, but he could change his future, decide on his future—and he had.

“And make no mistake,” the tyrant started, prompting Sunstreaker to focus on him instead of his thoughts, “I quite prefer you here.”

Oh, now he was admitting to it. Sunstreaker smirked. “Kiss me.”

Megatron growled, but leaned down and complied.

[miswaken]

excerpts from House of Leaves that I just think are neat + inform my portrayal of Alice

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

      Of course, [Will] Navidson’s pastoral take on his family’s move hardly reflects the far more complicated and significant impetus behind the project -- namely his foundering relationship with longtime companion Karen Green. While both have been perfectly content not to marry, Navidson’s constant assignments abroad have lead to increased alienation and untold personal difficulties. After nearly eleven years of constant departures and brief returns, Karen has made it clear that Navidson must either give up his professional habits or lose his family. Ultimately unable to make this choice, he compromises by turning reconciliation into a subject for documentation.

      None of this, however, is immediately apparent. In fact it requires some willful amnesia of the more compelling sequences ahead, if we are to detect the subtle valences operating between Will and Karen; or as Donna York phrased it, “the way they talk to each other, they way they look after each other, and of course the way they don’t.”

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

      In the living room, Navidson discovers the echoes emanating from a dark doorless hallway whish has appeared out of nowhere in the west wall. Without hesitating, Navidson plunges in after them. Unfortunately the living room Hi 8 cannot follow him nor for that matter can Karen. She freezes on the threshold, unable to push herself into the darkness towards the faint flicker of light within...

      This is the first sign of Karen’s chronic disability. Up until now there has never been even the slightest indication that she suffers from crippling claustrophobia. By the time Navidson and the two children are safe and sound in the living room, Karen is drenched in sweat.

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

      Navidson was no longer around, except of course Karen still saw him every day and in a way she had never seen him before -- not as a projection of her own insecurities and demons but just as Will Navidson, in flickering light, flung up by a 16mm projector on a paint-white wall.

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

      Leslie Stern, M.D.: More importantly Karen, what does it mean to you?

      Funny how out of this impressive array of modern day theorists, scientists, writers, and others, it is Karen’s therapist who asks, or rather forces, the most significant question. Thanks to her, Karen goes on to fashion another short piece in which she, surprisingly enough, never mentions the house, let alone any of the comments made by the glitterati.

      It is an extraordinary twist. Not once are those multiplying hallways ever addressed. Not once does Karen dwell on their darkness and cold. She produces six minutes of film that has absolutely nothing to do with that place. Instead her eye (and her heart) turn to what matters most to her about Ash Tree Lane; what in her own words... “that wicked place stole from me.”

      ...Karen gives her piece the somewhat faltering title A Brief History Of Who I Love...

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

      There are only 8,160 frames in Karen’s film and yet they serve as a perfect counterpoint to that infinite stretch of hallways, rooms and stairs. The house is empty, her piece is full. The house is dark, her film glows. A growl haunts that place, her place is blessed by Charlie Parker. On Ash Tree Lane stands a house of darkness, cold, and emptiness. In 16mm stands a house of light, love, and colour.

      By following her heart, Karen made sense of what that place was not. She also discovered what she needed more than anything else. She stopped seeing Fowler, cut off questionable liaisons with other suitors, and while her mother talked of breaking up, selling the house, and settlements, Karen began to prepare herself for reconciliations.

      Of course she had no idea what that would entail.

      Or how far she would have to go.

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

      “He’s still alive,” she tells Reston over the phone. “I heard him last night. I couldn’t understand what he said. But I know I heard his voice.”

      Reston arrives the next day and stays until midnight, never hearing a thing. He seems more than a little concerned about Karen’s mental health.

      “If he is still in there Karen,” Reston says quietly. “He’s been there for over a month. I can’t see how there’s any way he could survive.”

      But a few hours after Reston leaves, Karen smiles again, apparently catching somewhere inside her the faint voice of Navidson. This happens over and over again, whether late at night or in the middle of the day. Sometimes Karen calls out to him, sometimes she just wanders from room to room, pushing her ear against walls or floors. Then on the afternoon of May 10th, she finds in the children’s bedroom, born out of nowhere, Navidson’s clothes, remnants of his pack and sleeping bag, and scattered across the floor, from corner to corner, cartridges of film, boxes of 16mm, and easily a dozen video tapes.

      She immediately calls Reston and tells him what has happened, asking him to drive over as soon as he can. Then she locates an AC adapter, plugs in a Hi 8 and begins rewinding one of the newly discovered tapes.

      The angle from the room mounted camcorder does not provide a view of her Hi 8 screen. Only Karen’s face is visible. Unfortunately, for some reason, she is also slightly out of focus. In fact the only thing in focus is the wall behind her where some of Daisy and Chad’s drawings still hang. The shot lasts an uncomfortable fifteen seconds, until abruptly that immutable surface disappears. In less than a blink, the white wall along with the drawings secured with yellowing scotch tape vanishes into an inky black.

      Since Karen faces the opposite direction, she fails to notice the change. Instead her attention remains fixed on the Hi 8 which has just finished rewinding the tape. But even as she pushes play, the yawn of dark does not waver. In fact it almost seems to be waiting for her, for the moment when she will finally divert her attention from the tiny screen and catch sight of the horror looming up behind her, which is of course exactly what she does when she finds out that the video tape shows...

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

      nothing more now than the mere dark. The tape is blank.

      Finally when Karen does turn around to discover the real emptiness waiting behind her, she does not scream. Instead her chest heaves, powerless for a moment to take anything in or expel anything out. Oddly enough as she starts to retreat from the children’s bedroom, it almost looks as if something catchers her attention. A few minutes later, she returns with a halogen flashlight and steps towards the edge.

      Hanan Jabara suggests Karen heard something, though there is nothing even remotely like a sound on the Hi 8. Carlos Ellsberg agrees with Jabara: “Karen stops because of something she hears.” Only he qualifies this statement by adding, “the sound is obviously imagined. Another example of how the mind, any mind, consistently seeks to impose itself upon the abyss.”

      As everyone knows, Karen stands there on the brink for several minutes, pointing her flashlight into the darkness and calling out for Navidson. When she finally does step inside, she takes no deep breath and makes no announcement. She just steps forward and disappears behind the black curtain. A second later that cold hollow disappears too, replaced by the wall, exactly as it was before, except for one thing: all the children’s drawings are gone.

      Karen’s action inspired Paul Auster to conjure up a short internal monologue tracing the directions of her thoughts. Donna Tartt also wrote an inventive portrayal of Karen’s dilemma. Except in Tartt’s version, instead of stepping into darkness, Karen returns to New York and marries a wealthy magazine publisher. Purportedly there even exists an opera based on The Navidson Record, written from Karen’s perspective, with this last step into the void serving as the subject for the final aria. 

      Whatever ultimately allows Karen to overcome her fears, there is little doubt her love for Navidson is the primary catalyst. Her desire to embrace him as she has never done before defeats the memories of that dark well... In this moment, she displays the restorative power of what Erich Fromm terms the development of “symbiotic relationships” through personal courage.

      Critic Guyon Keller argues that the role of vision is integral to Karen’s success:

I believe Karen could never have crossed that line had she not first made those two remarkable cinematic moment: What Some Have Thought and A Brief History Of Who I Love. By relearning to see Navidson, she saw what he wasn’t and consequently began to see herself much more clearly.

      Esteemed Italian translator Sophia Blynn takes Keller’s comments a little further:

The most important light Karen carried into that place was the memory of Navidson. And Navidson was no different. Though it’s commonly assumed his last [recorded] word was “care” or the start of “careful,” I would argue differently. I believe this utterance is really just the first syllable of the very name on which his mind and his heart had finally come to rest. His only hope, his only meaning: “Karen.”

      Regardless of what finally enabled her to walk across that threshold, forty-nine minutes later a neighbor saw Karen crying on the front lawn, a pink ribbon in her hair, Navidson cradled in her lap.

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

      As to what happened after Karen disappeared from view, the only existing account comes from a short interview conducted by a college journalist from William & Mary:

Karen: As soon as I walked in there, I started shivering. It was so cold and dark. I turned around to see where I was but where I’d come from was gone. I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die. But somehow I managed to keep moving. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I found him.

Q: You knew he was there?

Karen: No, but that’s what I was thinking. And then he was there, right at my feet, no clothes on and all curled up. His hand was white as ice. [She holds back the tears.] When I saw him like that it didn’t matter anymore where I was. I’d never felt that, well, free before.

[Long pause]

Q: What happened then?

Karen: I held him. He was alive. He made a sound when I cradled his head in my arms. I couldn’t understand what he was saying at first but then I realized the flashlight was hurting his eyes. So I turned it off and held him in the darkness.

[Another long pause]

Q: How did you get him out of the house?

Karen: It just dissolved.

Q: Dissolved? What do you mean?

Karen: Like a ad dream. We were in pitch blackness and then I saw, no... actually my eyes were closed. I felt this warm, sweet air on my face, and then I opened my eyes and I could see trees and grass. I thought to myself, “We’ve died. We’ve died and this is where you go after you die.” But it turned out to be just our front yard.

Q: You’re saying the house dissolved?

Karen: [No response]

Q: How’s that possible? It’s still there, isn’t it?

END OF INTERVIEW

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

      In Passion for Pity and Other Recipes For Disaster (London: Greenhill Books, 1996) Helmut Muir cried: “They both live. They even get married. It’s a happy ending.”

      Which is true. Both Karen and Will Navidson survive their ordeal and they do exchange conjugal vows in Vermont. Of course, is it really possible to look at Navidson’s ravaged face, the patch covering his left eye, the absence of a hand, the crutch wedged under his armpit, and call it a “happy” ending? Even putting aside the physical cost, what about the unseen emotional trauma which Muir so casually dismisses?

      The Navidsons may have left the house, they may have even left Virginia, but they will never be able to leave the memory of that place.

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Ｗｈａｔ ｗｅｒｅ ｙｏｕｒ ｌａｓｔ ｗｏｒｄｓ?

Ashley Butterfly’s final last words would be her doing everything in her power to protect and stop whoever is a treat for her team and friends. That risks her turning into her full demonic self with Cale’s help. She gets large demon butterfly wings that gives her all the power that Cale can use and even beyond.

However, it has the coast of draining her life force every hour. He told her never use this unless it’s like the whole world was in danger or something really serious as a last resort. She gave her life for others to not die as he would hold her body that changes into a demon cocoon. True, she would never leave this little shell but he will bury her in the earth so her ashes can help become one with the plants.

Or

And

To Vivi, death is something she’s used to every day seeing so many innocent lives and evil ones leaving the world to the others. Even the demonic ones being taken to the different dimensions. If she had to her final words it could be either of these three. That results in her offering off the biggest sacrifice for her teammates.  If she became a demon fully, she wouldn’t suffer much but their is a greater far more dangerous power beyond that even using one each of  Nagi and Orochi’s own personal weapons that was not ready for her till she became more stronger. Both tells her about it but at the cost of such power, she would die as soon as she changes back when using them. Her body wouldn’t be able to move as she lays where she is dying as they say.

She knew her friends would cry over her as she was dying but all she would do is show a gentle smile that’s never been shown before by her. Tears would roll down her eyes to say how blessed she was to have Jinx and the other girls, along with her friends being by her side. Even at her death, her spirit will be taken by Orochi and Nagi so they can make it a seal resting place within either one.

Or

Now, finally for Melinda. She always had a heavy heart for every death she’s seen so far in her life. Thinking it’s all her fault resulting in never fully forgiving herself. Even the ones of her fallen friends that always looked at her as close family. If she had any final words, it would be these. Why? She’s always had self doubt on herself because she always thinks everyone she cared for died or figures she was in the way. This time, she would change that. She would do everything in her power to protect the ones she loves. She would give it her all including taking every blow to be sure they got away. That includes taking a serious blow while bleeding to death for them. Even if she was seriously in danger to dying, she would smile and cry knowing they were safe then begs them to run away and never look back. She’s already had close encounters in the past resulting in so many scars all over her body.

For a final resort, she would tap into her power sealed within herself with both of her telekinesis and flames when she would feel her body become 100% times stronger where she’s engulfed in a telekenesis flames. Even with this power, she draws herself closer to death because it’s burning her from the inside out at the cost of this power while using it. When she did finish what she could, she would die laying there. Even if they were crying begging her not to, she accepts her death either way. She would be able to join her friends that was taken from her and rest in peace with her friends. Even if they told her to live your life, she’s willing to give that up for everyone too.

tagged by: @demon-blood-youths​

Tagging: @the-archetype-of-civilization​ @outcastredhair​ @princessofbalance​ @damian-the-prince-of-demons​ and others that wishes to give this a shot or steal it. I don’t mind.

[blackbutterfliescal]

My Heroine

A Poly!Cashton One Shot

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Calum Hood x Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Rating: Explicit

Requested by: @sexgodashton Thank you, Lau 😘 I hope I did it justice!!

Content: second person POV, gender neutral reader insert, swearing, oral  (male receiving), unprotected sex, marking (scratching/biting)

A/N: This is my first time writing angst and trying my hand at gender neutral smut. This is part of my “5SOS as The Maine” prompts based on My Heroine.

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———

Your body rocked to the beat of the deafening club music, sandwiched between the most beautiful men you’d ever met. After you realized they’d been watching you dance all night, you had decided to make your move. Now things were heavy and moving quickly as you realized you hadn’t even gotten their names above the roar of the speakers, but you were having too much fun to care. The smaller brunette behind you trailed up and down your neck where he was sure to be leaving marks as you scratched your nails across the skin at the back of his hairline. You could feel his arms flex around your sides as his hands pressed into your hips. The tall, dark, and handsome type in front of you held a drink in one hand as he pulled your face to his with the other.

His kiss was rough and fueled only by lust. As he tugged at your bottom lip and his partner pinched the skin on your neck between his teeth, you couldn’t help the whine that escaped your lips. It was loud enough on the dance floor that only the three of you could hear as both men let out low groans in response. You looked up at the man in front of you as he pulled away. The movement of laser lights around you made it hard to focus on his features as he spoke.

“Why don’t we continue this somewhere a little more private?” Both men had pulled away, awaiting your response. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m that easy?” you teased. You scanned the dance floor quickly to find the friends you’d come with. When you caught their attention, you pulled your phone out and waved it at them, motioning that you were leaving before receiving a thumbs up from half the group. You brought your attention back to the faces on either side of you. “You’d be right,” you winked. They shared a small smirk before the shorter man wrapped his arm around you and guided you to the front door as his partner followed behind.

You waited just outside for your ride to arrive. You took this opportunity to ask their names, now that you could hear them. You learned that the man who had led you outside was Ashton and his boyfriend was named Calum. Ashton’s hold around you never dropped as you shivered from the change in temperature outside. Luckily, your ride was quick to arrive and the three of you piled into the backseat together with you in the middle. Calum draped his arm across the seat behind you, his fingers brushing his boyfriend's shoulders lightly. He leaned closer and his lips worked their way across your shoulder and up the already forming bruises Ashton had left on your neck. Ashton’s hand moved from where it rested on your knee to trace along your inner thigh with a feather-light touch Goosebumps raced across your skin and you bit your lip in an attempt to stifle the moan in your throat when you glanced up to meet your driver’s disapproving glance in the rearview mirror. You rolled your eyes and threw your middle finger in the air, earning a laugh from Ashton as the driver focused their gaze back on the road.

The ride to their home was short and you couldn’t get in the door fast enough once you arrived. Calum had opened the door and Ashton pulled you into him as soon as you cleared the threshold. Your lips crashed with his and you pushed him back against the wall behind him, pulling frantically to get his jacket off his shoulders. You felt Calum tug at the fabric against your waist. You pulled away from Ashton and your outfit found a new home on the floor somewhere on the other side of the living room. Both of their shirts soon joined your outfit. You couldn’t help but marvel at their toned chests. You wanted to run your hands and mouth over every inch of skin. Ashton pulled Calum into a kiss over your shoulder and you shifted to place kisses over the tattoos on his broad chest.

You quickly trailed your way down Calum’s stomach, kneeling in front of him as you undid his belt and dropped his pants to the floor. He moaned into Ashton’s mouth, causing them to pull away and look down at you, your eyes blown wide at Calum’s erection in front of you. “Fuck, we didn’t even make it beyond the hallway,” Ashton laughed darkly as he discarded the only clothes left on his body. You situated yourself between their cocks and reached up to wrap a hand around both of them. You pulled Calum into your mouth first and heard a sharp inhale hiss between his teeth. Your other hand pumped up and down Ashton’s length while you teased Calum’s head under your tongue. Every time he called you a tease between profanities, it only aroused you more.

Once you had him exactly where you wanted, you pulled your head back and wasted no time moving your attention to Ashton’s blushing tip. This time though, in an attempt to tease Calum, you immediately took in as much of Ashton’s cock as you could and you stroked Calum’s length with your hand. Hollowing out your cheeks, you moved your head back as slow as possible, earning a string of curses and disciplinary threats from both men.

“Such a fucking tease, baby, fuck,” Calum breathed. “I think we should cruise clubs more often, hm, Ash?” Hearing them talk about you as if you weren’t there made you buck your hips under you. There was something about the slight degradation in Calum’s tone that turned you on even more and the smirk on his face was criminal. You bobbed your head up and down Ashton quickly, pulling away as he choked out a moan. Determined to show just how much of a tease you could be, you grinned up at Calum, meeting his dark eyes and flattening your tongue over the vein under the base of his shaft. Even slower than you’d worked Ashton, you dragged your tongue up to his tip, unable to help the smile on your face. His rough hand landed under your chin and pulled you up to your feet. “You think you’re cute, huh? I’m going to wipe that smirk off your pretty little lips.”

Two can play at this game, you thought. “I’d like to see you try.”

“We’re going to take care of that attitude first.” You’d been so fixed on Calum’s gaze that you were surprised by Ashton’s voice behind you as he gripped your hips, digging his fingers into your skin. Sure, two could play, but three sounded like much more fun.

“Two against one sounds pretty unfair,” you pouted. “Do you think you both can handle it?” The smirk reappeared on your face and Calum tightened his grip and set his jaw as a warning. Ashton’s hands snaked forward from your hips to where you were already dripping with arousal. A whine fell out of your mouth as your hands moved to cover his and you pushed your hips backwards into his. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you’d become and the feeling of his large hands was overwhelming. Calum pulled your wrists away from Ashton’s with a firm grip. “Not such a mouthy little brat now, are you?” Calum’s voice came out as a growl and his intense stare was unwavering as you squirmed under Ashton’s touch. “Do you like the way my boyfriend makes you feel?” When you hesitated to answer, Ashton bit down hard on your shoulder, drawing a quick “yes, sir” from your lips. Calum looked pleased with your response as he continued to watch Ashton build your orgasm.

Just as you were about to reach your high, Ashton slowly removed his hands, leaving a painful ache in your core. You could not believe the state these men had you in. Ashton placed a soft kiss over the bite mark on your shoulder and Calum brought your hands to his face to place small kisses with a smile. You were completely at a loss for words as you let Calum lead you to their bedroom, Ashton trailing half a step behind you.

Calum took a seat on the side of the bed and pulled you onto his lap. His calloused hands came up to land on either side of your face as he pulled your mouth to his. His tongue met yours in a sloppy, needy mess before he moved to placing wet kisses along your jaw and throat. One of your hands found a home in his hair as the other scratched down his chest, leaving small pink lines. You opened your eyes and looked over Calum’s shoulder to see Ashton kneeling on the bed behind him, alternating kisses and hickeys along his boyfriend’s neck. Ashton’s hands were wrapped around Calum’s stomach, using his short nails to mimic the pink lines you’d left on his chest.

The chorus of moans only stopped when Calum leaned back to look in your eyes. “I want you to fuck Ash.” You shot a quick glance to Ashton and matched his affirmative nod. Standing from Calum’s lap, you stepped to the side and reached for Ashton's face, bringing him to you in a rough kiss. He pulled you onto the bed, shifting so you could lay under him. You pushed your body up into him and rolled him over, pinning him to the bed as you sat across hips. “He said he wants me to fuck you.”

A sinister grin stretched across your face at Ashton’s bewilderment. His hands moved to guide your hips as you position him against your hole. As you took him in, you both groaned loudly. After you gave yourself a moment to adjust to him, you began to rock your hips up and down slowly, gaining speed and letting his hands guide your movement. Once you found a rhythm with Ashton, you looked over for Calum and found him stroking himself as he watched the two of you. You raked your eyes over him and tried to force down the moan caught in your throat. Feeling Ashton inside you and watching Calum masturbate just out of reach was more of a tease than you could handle after everything else. “Why don’t you let me?” you said as you reached toward him. Ashton was keeping your hips steady as Calum moved within reach, climbing onto the bed on his knees. You rolled your hips forward, bringing a few select words out of Ashton, and leaned down to take Calum into your mouth as far as you could, using your hand to work what you couldn’t reach.

As you brought your head back and pulled your mouth off Calum’s dick with a pop, he stopped you and ran his thumb across your lips. “Fuck, baby. Will you let me fuck that pretty mouth?” You responded with a simple “yes, sir” before bringing your mouth back down to him. His hands held onto both sides of your face as he pushed gently himself between your lips until he felt himself hit the back of your throat. Your eyes began to sting as the tears threatened to fall. Calum slowly picked up speed and it felt like he hit impossibly deeper with every thrust. It was heavenly as Ashton bucked his hips up into you and Calum matched his pace. All the nerves in your body were on fire and it didn’t take long for you to fall over the edge, clenching around Ashton’s dick and moaning around Calum, causing them to both reach their own highs moments apart.

After coming back down, Calum brought your lips to his for a soft kiss and then you bent down to meet Ashton’s smiling kiss before carefully climbing off of him. The three of you stayed in a blissful quiet as you all got cleaned up, trading off kisses with whoever was in reach. You made your way back to the living room to find the outfit you had shown up in tonight. Both men frowned at you as they watched you put your shoes back on.

“You can just stay the night if you want. It’s late and I’m sure we can find something more comfortable for you to sleep in!” Ashton piped up, not expecting you to leave so soon. You gave him a half-hearted smile as you shook your head. “I don’t make a habit of staying over after one-night stands, but you’re sweet.” You made your way to Ashton and kissed his pout with a chuckle before moving to kiss Calum goodbye. “At least let me give you my number so I can know you get home safe. And you’d have it in case you change your mind,” Calum chimed in.

“Really, guys. I’m not looking for anything more and I’ll be fine to make it home. I promise. This was fun tonight but that’s all!” you shrugged. You checked to make sure you had everything you came with and started toward the door to let yourself out, throwing a small wave and smile in their direction as you disappeared from their view. They were both too dumbfounded to chase you as they shared a confused and disappointed look. They stared at the corner where you disappeared from their lives, hoping maybe you’d come back to stay with them. Calum dipped his head down to place a kiss on Ashton’s lips and then his forehead. “That was more than a one-night stand,” Ashton said as he looked up at Calum with pleading eyes.

———

taglist:  @easierlftv @haikucal @kingcals @youngblood199456 @calumbroutledge​ @atlcalm @another-lonely-heart​ @ashtonsos​ @castaway-cashton​ @itsjen223​ @bloodyoathcal​ @vapor5sos​

[randomoranges]

the other day i lost the friendly wagerino and @allbeendonebefore was like hey i want 70s stuff but maybe also make it not shitty?

idk if i delivered. i had this idea after she herself made an art and showed it to me revolving around the 70s. i figured id use it. it has a point of hope at the end? maybe it’s the origin story we all needed lamao

also please enjoy the repeated pattern of ed and ét forever saving the other a seat/making room for the other. 

also the running gag is how vague can i keep things about the 70s when also writing a fic about the 70s lewl

vague references to many things being made here

Empire of Ash Somewhere between 1971 and 1975

 He doesn’t know why he bothers – doesn’t know why he’s here. There’s no longer a point to any of this anymore. He feels the shift – feels it in the way the others look at him – the way they don’t look at him and it makes his blood boil.

 He used to run this show. Would walk in, grace the others with his presence, and they would fawn over him – trip themselves trying to be him. That or they would seethe behind their jealousy. They either wanted to be him or be with him and Étienne had always been willing to oblige. He understood their envy. Understood their want. He couldn’t really blame them. The proverbial world seemed to revolve around him and he’d reigned it with such ease and grace.

 It wasn’t always peaches and cream, naturally. He’d struggled – his people had struggled – they still struggled, but – overall, he’d been the example to follow – the one people wanted to emulate. Innovating. Exciting. The place to go – the one to be. An icon. He’d loved it. Loved the attention and the praise. The ease of it.

 It had only amplified when he’d been awarded the world exposition. It’d been a last minute decision, sure, but he’d thrived. He’d given them all a show they would never forget. Had put himself on the map for good. For years and decades to come, they would talk about Expo 67. This, would be a Moment never to forget. People would exchange anecdotes about what they had seen – what they had done. About how great and innovative it had been. How wonderful and spectacular. It was, after all, the type of work he loved – bettering his image and his city – thinking ahead. Planning. Putting on a show. Entertaining.

 He was very good at entertaining.

 He could entertain in so many different ways.

 Everyone had looked at him during Expo. Everyone had wanted him then. The stroke to his ego had been enormous. Had been satisfying. So satisfying. It had never been a dull moment. One giant party that had never ended for days and weeks and months. The afterglow had lasted – had pushed him through one winter and then the next. He’d drifted on his high – on his cloud, basking in it for days after, already a fond nostalgia settling in for the long run. The rose tinted glasses and such.

 And then it had skittered to a halt. Had come to an abrupt end. The proverbial rug had been pulled from under his feet without warning, leaving him with whiplash that had left a bitter taste in his mouth – that still lingered and rippled. Crept into his body and settled in; poisoned every last remaining good memory. Destroyed and shattered all his hard work.

 His empire had crumbled before his very eyes, leaving him with nothing but a pile of ash. Everything he had carefully built, everything he had worked for, gone, in a blink. Because, apparently, they could no longer trust him and there was now too much instability over some political variation of ideology. Because the people in a province that never felt like it cared for him wanted more. Because people dared to want to be recognised and had – taken – action.

 Years of loyal service discarded.

 It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t called the shots. He was a victim. A victim of the system. Yet, he bore the lasting consequences of them all.

 It was ironic, in a sense, that after years of feeling the oppression of religion, after fighting to break from it – after starting to find his true voice in this world, it was all being taken away and he was being pushed back – returning to a nobody.

 However, now he has a chance – another one, to prove to them that he’s still relevant – that they’re all wrong – have been wrong to cast him aside. This will be his redeeming arc. This has to be his redemption. He has no choice. No cards left to play, his deck long ago discarded.

 On a good day, he pours every ounce of energy and time into the plans for the Olympics. It’s touch and go; not as flawless and easy as Expo was. He tries to find that same magic, but it seems as though it’s one problem after the next. If it’s not some delay in construction, there’s a strike. If it’s not a strike, there’s a delay. As the calendar ticks on, his anxiety builds and his passion for the project dissipates.

 And then of course, everyone is kind enough to remind him that he’s nothing but a has-been – that there’s nothing left to him. His light has shined and now dulled, time be shelved and replaced.

  So he decides to stick to what he’s good at. Stick to what everyone wants. What everyone expects him to do. Put his moniker to good use. He knows how to play up his part, after all. He’s never even liked his obligatory job. Never saw the point to the meetings he’s obliged to attend. In his opinion, they run too long. He’s always found them boring, but at least, before, he was able to go and have a good time. Everyone had wanted his opinion. Everyone had wanted him. Because he was the best. He was somebody.

 Was.

 He is no one now.

 In any event. There’s no point to it anymore. He’s found better and more lucrative ways to spend his time. Better ways to chase the thrill of before – to feel alive where there is nothing but decay and rot. He’s found a way to feel wanted, even if for a little while. He knows where to put his skills to good use and make some cash while doing it as well. It’s more than could be said about these sorry meetings.

 The best part about his side hustle is that it makes his mayor mad. Makes the tiny bald man seethe and rage. But it makes Étienne grin. He loves that it enrages his mayor. Loves that he can keep finding ways to tarnish his plans of “cleaning up the city.” Étienne no longer is the wide-eyed-bushy-tailed naïve man who had blindly followed him. He’s grown since Expo. (It is a shame though; they’d mostly gotten along then – he’d enjoyed chatting up the man about his vision for the city. He misses the camaraderie, if anything. They may have not always gotten along, but – the man had vision – had helped him make a name of himself. This, however, he disagreed on.)

 With Expo, he’d – broadened his repertoire, so to say. Gotten a taste for the more delightful sinful pleasures of life – the full range and experience – had really let loose. It had been thrilling, what with everything else going on from the change in fashion to the freedoms the rest of his people were finally allowing themselves to experience without the fear of God breathing down their necks. His little personal discoveries had proven to be useful now that he needed an extra escapism and a different way to earn his living. The face his mayor had made had been worth it.

 Étienne wouldn’t have bothered showing his face to this meeting; would have flipped everyone off and returned to his new life, but his sister had insisted. Had reminded him that with the Olympics looming forward, he had to get his act together. Look presentable. Make an appearance. Remind everyone of what they were. It was all bullshit. He was tired of the hypocrites – the ones who’d died to have his opinion who’d now turned their backs on him. Tired of the fake airs everyone gave themselves at these meetings. The redundancy of them and the lack of anything ever getting done. He could be spending his time in so many other better ways.

 But. Élyse had begged and insisted. So he’d gone.

 Except now, he itches to get out of the place and get some air. The cigarettes he’s been smoking nearly nonstop since he’s gotten here have done nothing to calm his nerves and even though he knows he could go for something a little stronger to help, he also knows that with these stuck-ups they would have a conniption and keep passing their snide remarks. He tells himself he’s doing it for Élyse. She’s been through enough and – he doesn’t want to make it harder on her. Yet, he feels like he’s either vibrating out of his skin or that suddenly his body is too big, or too small for the ricochet of thoughts in his head. He needs air, a distraction, a hit of something, before he causes a scene, and luckily – miraculously – a break is called just as he’s about to bolt out.

 He lights up another cigarette as he looks for somewhere to wait out the break and scowls when all the benches are taken. There are spots left, but the last thing he’s in the mood for is polite small talk. It may have been his forte once, but the idea of it now makes him want to hurl. Étienne considers taking a walk and maybe finding something better to do for the afternoon, but the sight of a familiar sulking figure draws him close.

 He recognises Edward after a beat and only feels slightly relieved. Edward is his friend, sure, but they’ve sort of lost touch over the past few years. There’d been a frenzy of letter exchange after Expo and even before that, but – he can’t be bothered to remember whose turn it had been to write back. Then again, Étienne’s got a lot going on in his life at the moment and Edward feels as though he’s part of his old life.

 Still, he supposes that Edward hasn’t been unkind to him even if they haven’t sat down to have a heart to heart and at the moment, it’s better than the sneering and jeering. However, the idea of sitting down with someone he knows and having an actual conversation makes him want to set the world on fire. He considers getting out of here again, but just as he’s about to turn on his heels, Edward seems to notice him as well and moves his bag over so that Étienne can sit if he so desires.

 He’s ever so thankful when Edward leaves him to his moody thoughts and Étienne is able to breathe a little easier for the first time all day. It might almost seem like companionable silence, but he knows better and takes it for what it’s worth.

 Étienne smokes quietly as he lets his thoughts wander for a bit. He reflects on his strange friendship with Edward and how unlikely they came to be. He’d honestly never thought that his own ennui back home would have pushed him to set off exploring the Great West only to stumble upon another lost soul who would turn to be a friend – a confidant really.

 He’d – never expected Edward to take him up on it, back then – when he’d told him to keep in touch and write to him. He’d jotted down the address, given it to his friend and then had headed off, not thinking of the hassles Edward might have with finding an actual post office. Yet, eventually, when he’d nearly forgotten about it, a letter had appeared from Edward and Étienne had been more than surprised, even if he’d been delighted.

 He’d taken to writing to Edward frequently – or as frequently as was possible at the time. Sometimes, he would run back to the post office to add more to his already long letter, always having more to say to his friend and over the years and decades, he and Edward had built a steady if bizarre friendship through their writing.

 It’d been – easy to write to Edward. Easier than it’d ever been to say things out loud, anyways and he’d opened up about many aspects of his life he’d kept close to his heart with the years. In his opinion, Edward knew a lot more about him than Emma and even Élyse – not that he’d let them know. Yet, despite being able to write to his friend about everything that had ever bothered him, this time, he wants to keep his new secret to himself. He’s rather proud of this one anyways and he’s – not sure Edward would understand. Not entirely, anyways.

 He sighs and takes another drag of his cigarette. It’s a complicated mess and he’s lost so much already – doesn’t want to chance this at the moment. In case.

 It’s strange to think that even though he feels as though he’s found some sort of kinship with the new people he hangs around with, he feels even more alone than before. He’s – different from them. It comes with his status and the fact that despite his appearances, he is not like them – not really human in the full sense and there are certain hurdles he’s gone through that he cannot simply open up about to them.

 His musings are brought to a halt when he hears exasperated grumbling from his side. He’s about to scoff and tell Edward to quit it, but then turns to find the other man patting his pockets looking for something. Étienne overhears the words “cigarette” and “forgot” and figures out that Edward must have left his pack inside. He watches the little tantrum unfold for a moment, taking pleasure in seeing someone else frustrated for a while, before it gets on his nerves.

 He has enough to deal with as it is. He doesn’t need Edward’s complaining on top of it. With another sigh, Étienne fishes out his own pack and takes a cigarette out before he can reconsider and before Edward can get into a real fit.

 He wordlessly hands it over and waits for his friend to realise that there’s an offering being made.

 It takes Edward a moment and Étienne gets to the point where he’s afraid he’s going to have to jab the other man’s arm to get his attention, but before that has a chance to happen, Edward sees the cigarette and accepts it with a grumbled thanks. Étienne is about to take out his lighter, in case, but Edward already has it in his hand and lights up his cigarette without much trouble.

 It’s the extent of their conversation for the time being and for that, Étienne is grateful. He’s in no mood for talking and he appreciates that Edward keeps to himself. For the first time since the start of the day, Étienne feels slightly less alone and even though they don’t do much, he appreciated the presence of Edward. It’s – familiar, in a sense, even though they haven’t spent all that much time together.

 He can probably count on one or two hands the number of times they’ve legitimately hung out together – or even seen each other in the last century, but despite that, Étienne has considered Edward to be one of his closest friends for years now. Yet, somehow or other, even though the live miles apart, they’ve – clicked and bonded and somehow or other stuck around each other.

 He supposes, not for the first time, that it must count for something. Maybe.

 He’s not sure he wants it to, but as he finishes his own cigarette, Étienne finds himself with the same sense of ennui from before. The idea of sitting though another few hours of meetings still makes him want to hurl and the appeal of getting the hell out whispers soothingly in his ear.

 He spares Edward another glance and takes in his friend’s own sour look and discontented face. He figures that maybe – just maybe, Edward might not want to be here too and might want an excuse to get out.

 “Hey,” He says, finally breaking the silence between them. “Wanna get out of here? I think I saw a diner worth the detour on my way over.” It’s as good as an offers as he’s ready to make, but Edward, after a moment’s hesitation, carefully nods and stands up.

 They walk towards the street and fall into step together, as Étienne thinks that maybe there’s an analogy to be made about misery loving company, but he’d rather hope that instead, maybe he and Edward have more in common than he thought they originally did.

 FIN

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas: Puppydog Tails

Also on AO3!

TL;DR: 

Izuku manifests his quirk, and watches his old life burn in front of him in a matter of months. Scared the villains that killed his mother will come after him, he uses his shape-shifting quirk to hide in plain sight as Katsuki's dog. They keep each other safe and sane throughout the years, a duo people become uses to seeing as they jog down the sidewalk each morning.

Izuku doesn't just use his quirk to help Katuski. His heroic spirit can't be crushed so easily. In his wanderings, he meets and helps countless people, from heroes to Katsuki's future classmates.

Let's just say Katsuki's first day of school is a wild one.

basically, izuku is a shapeshifter, but can only change into different mammals. he needs to know their internal organ structure perfectly or he's in trouble too.

he manifests his quirk and quickly goes about learning some common but practical animals like a small cat, greyhound, mouse, bat and rabbit

he and bakugo are friends

his good times dont last long though, his mother is killed for a connection to a villain she didnt know she had (probably dad for one) and the villain group is after izuku as well

they don't know his quirk, he honestly hadn't gotten it registered yet

inko tells izuku to run, hide and be safe, right before shes practically cremated where she stands by a powerful fire quirk. izuku runs, shifts into a small dog and goes the only place he can think: the park he and bakugo play in

now, mitsuki is frantic bc inko's house is on fire and they can't find inko or izuku

katsuki doesn't know whats happening though, and she sends him off to the park in case they start pulling bodies out of the building. katsuki is happy to go, asks if he can bring izuku. mitsuki says izukuis busy

katsuki goes to the park and hears a soft whining sound, he finds izuku, hidden behind a tree, smelling like ash

izuku shifts back to a human and explains that villains hurt his mama and they want to hurt him too

katsuki, crying, tells him to change back into a dog. he'll keep him safe from the villains. izuku agrees, only if he can look after katsuki in turn.

they don't tell mitsuki. izuku is worried she'll get hurt, and part of his is also worried she knew about the villains and said nothing.

Katsuki and dog!izuku run back to the house, only finding charred bones where his mother had been

they both sob

mitsuki finds her son, sobbing as he clutches a tiny dog to his chest, seeing a sight so horrific she herself wants to throw up. when he asks if they can keep the puppy later that night, it's not even a question in her mind. of course they can. Anything to keep that broken expression off her son’s face.

katsuki changes after that. his best friend and friends mother apparently dead, he gets angry, but he's scared to go out where there are lots of people. he's scared of the villains that killed izuku's mum, scared they'll hurt them like they hurt inko

he goes to therapy. they quickly work out the dog is helping him cope, so izuku is trained as a therapy dog. he does astoundingly well, unsurprisingly.

katsuki ends up bullied for his service dog, but the amount they help each other is enough for him to be willing to put up and shut up

the only time he ever explodes is when someone hurts his dog, 'deku' and it's not like izuku sits idly by while katsuki gets hurt either

anyway, izuku likes to wander, whenever katsuki doesn't have school or is feeling particularly good, he'll go on an adventure, normally as a different animal

every animal he shifts into is green, so katsuki sometimes sees him when he's out and smiles

izuku's heroic spirit is undying, even as an animal, which kinda leads to him sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and helping out kids he thinks need the help.

he hears shouting and crying from the foster home down the road, sees a child muzzled

he goes hero watching as a kitten, sees the small child standing too stoic on the front lines as endeavour fights. he follows him home, whistling songs to the kid when he cries, perching on his shoulder when he sees him

ochako remembers the fluffy puppy with its massive paws showing up at her door when the power went out during winter, keeping her warm with its curly green-black fur

aizawa knows of the kitten that ages too slowly and keeps bringing troubled children to him

iida remembers the rabbit that used to race him on the tracks. without his quirk its was honestly a challenge

kirishima knows about a dark colour fawn that would always come over to him when he was upset and let him bury his face in its fur and cry

mina remembers the little green bat that nested in her hair and clumsily copied her as she danced, its colour making her feel better about her own

Tsuyu would often see a little green and black tanuki when she’d take her siblings out. It always kept them safe and out of danger and never failed to make her smile on a bad day.

he earns shinsou's trust as a too-small kitten, along with aizawa's (just out of school, learning to be an underground hero) , until he can drag aizawa to the house during the shouting. shinsou gets out, aizawa gains a son

shouto's best memories from his childhood are of the little cat that always showed up when he felt his worst, who purred like an engine in his arms and was never afraid of him

he also remembers seeing it the day he dyes his hair. its licks his nose

Even heroes know about the little green dog that watches from the sidelines. They’ve seen it drag civilians from danger, look for people in buried rubble and comfort crying children. It doesn’t often approach them, but it tends to do a little happy dance if they pet it, wagging its tail 1000 miles an hour if a hero so much as looks at it.

They call it little green, seeing him basically becomes a good luck charm. Even All Might feels a little better when he sees the little dog catching from the crowd, knowing it’ll keep some too-brave civilians safe from attacks and falling rubble.

When Katsuki applies for UA, his class doesn’t cheer him on. They whisper about the kid so angry, unstable and scared he brings a puppy to class. Izuku leans against Katsuki’s leg in support, unable to do anything for his friend. The teacher pays it no mind.

He’s told not to apply. He’s not normal or sane enough to be any help to anyone, they say. Katsuki flips them off and puts UA in all three slots on his form.

He takes Izuku with him on the day of the entrance exam. He tells himself it’s so Izuku can see the school at least once, if he doesn’t get in. Deep down he knows it’s because he’s scared and doesn’t want to be alone. Izuku doesn’t mind either way, he’s just excited to cheer on his best friend and get to look at some heroes.

He does leave Izuku with the teachers. He can take care of himself, but the idea of dragging him into a situation where he might accidentally burn his only friend? It makes him feel sick. Izuku understands. He’d do anything for Katsuki, but he was still scared to enter the exam location. He never did get over his fear of fire.

Izuku ends up in the monitor room. The teachers are trying not to coo over the too smart, too nice puppy. It’s All Might that recognises him.

“Is that, is that little green? The dog who always shows up at hero fights?”

Nemuri is ecstatic

“It totally is! I love that little guy! Hey little cutie, did you know you were famous? All the heroes around here love you!”

Aizawa, Nezu and Present Mic all separately notice that the dog honestly… he honestly looks flustered. Excited, yes, but almost sheepish. Aizawa draws some internal connections to the green and overly brave ‘stray’ kitten he’s seen his whole career. Nezu looks at the fur colour and thinks “quirked, like me. But was he always an animal?”. Present Mic sees the humanity in those eyes.

All three of them say nothing, filling the information away for later.

Katsuki ends up in the arena with Iida and Uraraka. He recognises both of them from Izuku’s whisper descriptions in the rare moments he let himself slip into human form.

Tall, broad, clearly the younger brother of Ingenium; that’s the stiff boy Izuku raced as a rabbit, trying to get him to loosen up and connect with those around him.

Round-faced, bright cheeks, fierce eyes and a body a little too thin from too many hungry nights? That’s the girl Izuku looked for when it got too cold, just to make sure he heating was working. She’d moved away from home, apparently. Izuku had found her new house and gave it a once over – if he figured it was safe, Katsuki would believe him. Izuku was the most paranoid person he’d ever met.

He almost went to say something. But Iida’s stern glare curdled his nerves. He shot back a snarl and focused on getting ready.

Back in the viewing room, Nemuri and Yagi are not so subtly fighting over Izuku. They are both trying to call him over, offer little bits of food, give him a good pat. It’s a little funny for Aizawa to watch as the poor pup ties himself in knots trying to please the both of them. He notes vaguely that he doesn’t take the food bribes from either of them.

Yagi is winning slightly, on virtue of being All Might, but Nemuri is not above begging a dog. It works shockingly well, with Izuku not wanting to upset a hero. She sends smug look’s All Might’s way as she triumphantly pats Izuku.

Mic yells start, the student's flood into the arena. Katsuki makes short work of the robots, racking up a score of 50 in almost record time. The teachers watch as ‘Deku’ clearly tracks his charge across the screen, whining softly when he pushes himself a little too far or gets a little too close to the robots.

Then the zero pointer is released and all hell breaks loose.

Katsuki sees Uraraka, trapped. He can’t leave her; not one of Izuku’s people. He’d never forgive himself for letting someone important to Izuku get hurt ever again.

He doesn’t realise Izuku couldn’t stand seeing him hurt, either.

He blasts the rubble apart, shielding Uraraka with his body, preventing her from being hailed with slivers of rubble. Uraraka sees not another student, but a hero, saving her when she thought she might die, selflessly giving up time to save someone he didn’t know. She vows to make it up to him, somehow.

It’s not enough, the robot looms too close. Bracing himself as best he can, Katsuki lets out the largest explosion he can muster, uncaring of the damage it may do to his wrists. If he gets crushed, his wrists hardly matter, do they?

The robot shakes, then topples backwards, overbalanced by the blast. Katsuki drops to his knees, both wrists dislocated. He’s hissing swears under his breath.

Uraraka sees a lump of rock flying to him as he sits there, prone from the attack that saved her life. She leaps towards it, leaving it weightless before it can hit him. The action leaves her hand red raw from the force of the rock.

Time is called. They both collapse.

Izuku is off of the door the second the explosion sounds. It’s so big it rattles the monitors in their room. Nemuri tries to stop him, reaching for his collar, but his collar doesn’t fit a mouse. He shifts into the smaller form, scampering out the door upon where he shifts into a greyhound.

He takes off full tilt towards his friend's exam arena. He's panicked and scared – the flash of fire and the pained look in Katsuki’s eyes have totally fried his nerves.

The doors aren’t open yet. He doesn’t care, shifting into a bat until he can clear them, diving down as fast as he can. He shifts again into a greyhound, racing though the robots – broken and sparking.

He sees Katsuki, jaw grit tightly as he fights back tears of pain, and Izuku lets out a pathetic whine, running full tilt towards his best friend, before lingering nervously in front of him, unwilling to touch him lest he hurt him.

“Oh get over here, Deku.” There are tears in Katsuki’s eyes still, but he’s smiling softly. Izuku shifts once more, into the softest dog he can, pressing against his friend as his tail wags like mad.

Present Mic calls time. If he was a solid 30 seconds late as he tried to process the whirlwind of chaos that little,,, dog? Left, well no one was going to notice. Other than Nezu, obviously, but the maybe-rat seemed just a confused as him.

Uraraka turns to her hero, only to see the little dog that would warm her on cold nights. She turns to him, wide-eyed. Izuku sticks his head over Katsuki’s shoulder, making happy yips at her.

Iida stumbles over, confused as to how a dog got in, confuses as to how he clearly saw it change between two distinct dog breeds in its quest to reach the prickly boy he’d seen at the entrance, who had just seriously injured himself to save a stranger.

The dog looks at him, then perks up. It gives a quick snuggle into its owner's hair before trotting over to him. It wags its tail. Iida looks on, confused.

Before his eyes, he watches the dog shift into what is unmistakably the rabbit he remembers from his earlier childhood, the one that would race him around tracks until it’s little legs couldn’t race anymore and would bound over to him as happily was a rabbit could.

He stares.

Katsuki watches this and laughs.

“I see you’ve both met Deku.”

[pricklerick]

so, i’m such a slut for the “presumed dead” trope

Because I am all about that emotional rollercoaster drama bs. Anyhoo, here’s a fic idea that I will never write.

So, remember Prince Nebulon of the Zigerions? He was just a prince, right? Who is Queen of the Zigerions? Let’s call her Queen Z. Queen Z is pissed off that Rick blew her kiddo to smithereens, and she’s out for vengeance. It takes her a while to find Rick, though, because... well, they never did get that concentrated dark matter recipe, did they?

Alright, so Rick and Morty off on some planet, right? Where totally doesn’t matter, because I’m too lazy to create any legit plot for this. But wherever they are, Morty’s got this bad gut feeling, and Rick is sort of half exasperated/half affectionately blowing him off. Because Morty is always a little drama queen, and half the multiverse is pissed off at Rick for some reason or other. Jeezus, Morty, calm your tits.

Maybe they get separated for a bit. Maybe Morty storms off in a huff. But for whatever reason, Morty is gonna find some evidence of a huge Zigerion conspiracy against Rick. Maybe he overhears part of the plot, or sees some files laying around, or whatever. Again, it doesn’t matter. Morty is horrified at what he discovers, and now he’s doing his absolute damnedest to find Rick and warn him.

Queen Z’s plan is to kill Morty and capture Rick. She’s done her research, okay. She doesn’t care about the concentrated dark matter recipe anymore, she just wants Rick to suffer the way she suffered. She knows that Rick’s got one weakness - well, one weakness aside from crippling ETOH withdrawals.

Morty.

The Zigerions stage it so that Morty is on some platform somewhere, or a ship, or a balcony. Somewhere elevated. Morty is there, and Rick knows that he’s there, and hell, maybe Rick at this point is actively looking for Morty, or maybe he’s starting to have some misgivings himself. Either way, this platform, this elevated place... it just fucking explodes. Like huge massive cataclysm, ash and viscera littering the atmosphere, no survivors kind of explosion.

And Morty was on this platform.

(except, duh, he wasn’t. he was busy trying to get to rick)

But Rick’s gonna go nuts, right? He’s just watched Morty die, and fuck, somebody is gonna pay dearly. Many somebodies. No holds barred, teeth bared, sword flashing, blood and bits repayment. Rick is like a thing possessed, kicking ass and taking no names and absolutely wrecking shit... until he’s darted in the neck by an assassin with a tranq gun.

Meanwhile, Morty is terrified, cowering beneath or behind something, watching all of this happen.

Rick’s body is dragged away, and Morty is lost, right? Let’s cut Morty a break and say they took the ship to get here, but still... these guys have Rick. We know that Morty has the ship, but Rick has the portal gun. Rick has everything.

What is Morty without Rick?

And man, here’s another trope that I just go nuts for - anxious, codependent, terrified Morty trying to hack it in a world without Rick. We’ve seen Morty grow a lot throughout the show, but what if we stranded him with limited resources on an alien planet? Like, long term. We know he’s a little badass (it’s my personal headcanon that Morty really isn’t all that stupid, either). He’s got a quarter of Rick’s DNA, none of Rick’s chemical dependancies, and a guilt complex the size of Seattle. Morty is exactly the kind of fucked up that would assume that he owes Rick enough to devote his entire life to rescuing him.

(also, morty just watched rick go ape-shit in response to his ‘death.’ that kind of visceral, emotional reaction from rick would probably awaken something fierce in morty)

I want this to go to dark places. I want Morty to have to learn the hard way how to survive in a universe that has very little regard for a half-grown human. I want him hurting and hungry and hunted. I want him forced to compromise his morals, but never his drive. I want to see what reality spits out when it chews up Morty. Most of all, I want to see how Morty is the same, but also how he is fundamentally different from Rick. Not just a difference in innocence and experiences like the show suggests, but in the substance of their souls. Where does Morty draw the line? Where won’t he?

Also, hot damn, I want to see Morty modify or improve on some of Rick’s gadgets. Maybe he’s not the innovative genius that Rick Sanchez is, but he’s no moron, and he’s helped Rick through enough shit that he can pick things apart and cobble them back together. Trial and error (mostly error) is a good teacher.

Meanwhile, Rick is held hostage on the Zigerion home world, or maybe on a station that orbits it. I don’t know and I don’t care. Basically, Rick’s stuck in suspended animation - a simulation within a simulation.  Queen Z is forcing Rick to relive the day he lost Morty, over and over and over again. It’s like this nasty, really fucked up groundhog day experience. No matter what Rick does, he fights with Morty that morning. And no matter what Rick does, he ends up losing Morty in the most horrific ways. Every fucking time.

This goes on for years, okay? Maybe even a decade. Long enough that Morty can hardly even remember the sound of Rick’s voice or the smell of the booze on his breath, he just knows that his whole purpose in life is to rescue Rick.

And he manages it one day, finally. Morty dispatches the guards, waltzes into the high security chamber, and sure as shit, there’s Rick, lying there as if he’s just sleeping. Time hasn’t touched him. He hasn’t aged a day. After Morty has sacrificed his whole life to get to this point, it sure seems anticlimactic.

He wakes Rick up, disconnects him from the machines, but it’s not an instant thing, right? Think Han Solo recovering from carbonite. Rick’s not used to a physical body anymore, even though the suspended animation has left him intact. Morty is like massaging his arms and legs and talking to him in this low voice.

And for Rick, shit, that’s disorienting. Like, say Zigerions don’t really have a sense of smell or something, like they can’t replicate it perfectly or whatever. So imagine Rick waking up slowly from this awful nightmare and suddenly being bombarded with senses that he hasn’t experienced in a decade. Is this real? What is real?

And, naturally, once his brain boots back online, Rick’s not gonna recognize Morty.

Now, Rick’s smart. He knows he’s been captured and trapped in a simulation, but he’s not sure for how long. The last real memory he has (and you better sure as shit believe that Rick has held on to that last memory) is of Morty going up in a ball of flame and the carnage that occurred afterward. Rick got jabbed in the jugular with a huge needle while in the middle of a full blown cognitive meltdown, and now he wakes up to some fuckwad running his callused stinking hands all down his thighs.

Rick’s pissed. He’s gonna come up swinging.

So I want this blood-rage fueled fight between disoriented!Rick and badass mofo!Morty, in which Rick thinks he’s fighting for his life, and Morty is just trying his best not to die (and also, not to kill Rick). And man, it’s awkward. Morty has mad skills, but he’s handicapped in that he is also trying to protect his opponent. And Rick is all adrenaline and cybernetic modification, but blinded by bright lights and bitterness, and held back by this shaky, shitty, wrung out body. It’s gritty and intense, and also, there’s this looming threat of they are still in the belly of the enemy’s ship.

I don’t know how Morty is going to get through to Rick that he’s being rescued, that it’s been ten years, that ‘hey, remember me, i’m you’re dweeb grandson.’ Honestly, I think Morty is just gonna have to incapacitate Rick, sling him over his back, and hope for the best.

They get out, Morty hauls Rick back to whatever bolt hole he’s crawled out of, and then... then the real work starts.

Convincing Rick is probably gonna be hard in itself. This man has lived in a simulation for ten years. But never in his wildest dreams (or darkest nightmares) would Morty have survived and thrived... without him.

There’s a reckoning here for Rick. Learning to trust this stranger, this capable stranger who says he’s Morty all grown up but acts like the survivor of a nuclear apocalypse... it’s an insane sort of cognitive dissonance. Rick is going to be forced to recognize Morty for who he is, to know him by the substance of his soul, and that realization (though obviously not in those words) is huge for Rick. Morty has changed, but really, not all that much. There are some physical similarities - under all the scars and facial hair, Rick recognizes the set and shade of Morty’s eyes, maybe the expression he makes when he’s annoyed or thinking hard. But it’s more than that. Physically, there are infinite Morties. Somewhere along the way, Rick comes to recognize his Morty.

And with this is gonna come a truckload of self-loathing and resentment. Morty is independent now. He grew up. He doesn’t need Rick anymore. The dynamic of their relationship has shifted irrevocably. That’s gonna leave Rick reeling.

And Morty? Fuck, Morty is gutted. This man that he’s devoted his entire life to, the object of all of his pain and sacrifice and hero-worship... is really just an embittered, drunken asswipe. There’s really nothing holding them together anymore... Well, nothing but just one thing.

Rick and Morty both need vengeance on Queen Z.

Finding her, taking her down, it becomes Morty’s new ambition. Morty is the kind of man who always needs a higher purpose, and he finds his in retribution. Rick is just petty enough not to take this shit lying down. Not by a long shot.

Working together is hard. Rick is eaten up with guilt (he’s watched this kid, this stuttering, useless, ridiculous kid that he - gag - loved, die over and over again). Morty would do anything for Rick, would have always done anything for Rick, and Rick still can’t manage to make things right between them. Morty has to accept the fact that really, he’s more disappointed in himself than he is in Rick anyway. He’d idolized this man for all of the wrong reasons.

But fuck, I want these two to reinvent themselves. This is a relationship of equals now, or damn near it. Halves that complement a whole. I want Rick to map all of Morty’s scars, scars that Morty earned for him. I want Rick to nitpick the modifications Morty made to his portal gun, and to (secretly) be a little impressed. I want Morty saving Rick’s ass, over and over again, and Rick (finally) getting a chance to get even and ribbing on Morty for it. I want drunken confessions and knife fights and sloppy emotions. I want these two to find common ground again as strangers, as comrades, and then,fucking finally, I want them to reconcile their past with the present. Rick has always needed Morty, has always cared for Morty, and Morty has always, always, always been completely and unquestionably devoted to Rick. Time and distance could never annihilate the bond that started this whole mess to begin with - Rick and Morty, forever and ever, for a hundred years.

That’s all, folks. That’s all I want.

Oh, and I also want a fuck-ton of smut.

[venmomejoy]

The Lucky Ones- pt. 3

ugh writing is so hard sometimes why do i do it

hope you guys are liking the fic so far! feel free to drop any comments, i love hearing from you all :)

part one / part two / part four

read it on AO3 here !!

The studio was huge.

Neil expected it to be big, but this was incomprehensible. It would take him days to map this place out. It made Neil nervous; his mother always took care to keep them away from large buildings- there are too many places for someone to hide in a big space, too many nooks and crannies he might not know about where someone could lurk. Smaller places were far easier, where you could check the entire space for attackers in a matter of minutes, where no one can sneak up on you, or catch you by surprise. He tried to absorb as much of the layout as possible, retracing every turn they've taken until the building starts to take form in his head, vague and nondescript as it may be.

Neil couldn't figure out how to hold onto his bag without raising any more suspicion than he already had in the car, so when Dan showed him to his trailer, he took care to hide it in the safest place he could find. Given, that was the cupboard underneath the bathroom sink, so Neil didn't exactly feel secure in his location of choice. He made sure to lock the door on his way out, but the thin metal sticks in his bag reminded him that locks can easily be picked. He was reluctant to leave when Dan beckoned him on, deciding they had spent time enough on the trailer and that they needed to move on if they wanted to see the whole studio before midnight, but he relented before anyone could notice his hesitance. Throughout the whole tour, every set and editing room and lounge, Neil felt the faint thrum of anxiety never leaving his skin, even as he focused on all the new information he was receiving.

The tour took more than a few hours, Dan and Matt talking extensively on every area they stopped at. Seth and Allison hadn't acknowledged Neil much, besides the casual glares Seth threw at him, too wrapped up in each other. Renee had the occasional soft-spoken comment, but for the most part left the talking to Dan and Matt. Neil appreciated all of the tips, a mix of things he already knew and things he made sure to store for when they began filming, but the influx of information was a little overwhelming. Throughout it all, a thought kept pressing his way to the front of his mind- his mother would be so disappointed in him.

Not just disappointed. No, she would be livid. She dedicated her entire life to keeping him safe, and he had thrown it all away. In all their years on the run, she had always put his safety first, had always made the hard decisions to keep him protected. Even when she was fatally shot, she kept pushing for his sake, not even letting on how grave her injury was until they had gotten to safety. But by then, it was too late. And all of the promises he had made her as she took her last breaths, all of the promises he had made to himself as he threw a match in the old car and watched it burn into ashes, taking her body with it, were destroyed. She had given up her life to keep him safe, and he answered her sacrifice with disrespect, practically spurning the freedom she fought so hard to give him.

Neil could feel his throat closing in. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he panted, willing his hands to stop shaking. Neil quickly excused himself as he rushed to the restroom, but not before he saw the concerned faces of his castmates. He would have to deal with their prying questions later, but right now all he could think about was his mother, how she would hate him, how he couldn't breath-

Neil braced his knees on either side of the toilet as soon as the stall closed behind him, the restroom blissfully empty. His stomach heaved, but he couldn't throw up food he never ate, so Neil sat and heaved and gasped until his heart stopped racing, until his breathing became even again. He didn't have time to panic. Panic left you vulnerable, and wasted precious minutes. So he pulled himself up and rinsed his mouth out in the sink, even though no bile had come up, expertly avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

When he left the bathroom he walked straight into his castmates, almost bumping directly into Matt's chest. It looked as if he had interrupted their deliberation session on whether to come in and check on him. He's glad they didn't. He doesn't need his new coworkers to see him like that after knowing him for one day. Neil pulls on his calm and collected face, though he's sure the remnants of his breakdown are still visible. Let them come to their own conclusion about what went on in there.

"Neil, are you okay, man?" Matt asked, the concern on his face mirrored by all the others, excluding Seth. But it wasn't just concern- there was pity there too. Neil didn't know how much Wymack had shared with them of the little he knew himself, but if his backstory was set in context to this, he was making a sorry first impression.

"I'm fine. Sorry for stopping up the tour." Whether they believe him or not, he can't tell, but his hard face leaves no room for inquiry.

"Don't apologize, Neil," Renee says. Neil's stomach turns at her saccharine tone.

"This was the last stop anyways. We can head home now, if you're ready," Dan notes, a look of understanding on her face. He almost laughs. There's no possible way she could understand.

"Sure, I just need to get my stuff from my trailer."

The group goes back the way they came, with significantly less talking this time, and the others wait patiently while Neil retrieves his bag, his trailer mercifully untouched.

The trip to the parking lot was filled with excited chatter, his castmates telling him about how excited they were for their character's plot this season, which couples they thought would make it to the end of the season and which would hit the chopping block, old scandals amongst the crew. Neil tried to contribute when he could, but the conversation seemed to go largely over his head, so he was content just to listen.

Matt addressed him after a while. "So, Neil, you've met the Monsters?" When Neil tilted his head in confusion at the name, he clarified. "Andrew, Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron. We call their group the Monsters, because those four are tyrants."

"Oh." After years of running from people who want him dead, Neil thought he had a pretty good radar for people that are threatening. He could understand the name for the twins, but Nicky didn't seem the aggressive type at all, and Kevin while seemed like a hardass, but he would probably roll over at the first sign of real conflict. "Yeah, I talked to them a little. Kevin and Andrew came with Wymack to pick me up, and I spoke with Nicky and Aaron for a few minutes right before I met you guys."

It was Allison who spoke up this time, the first real thing she'd said to Neil all day. "What a way to start your first job. You're scrappy-looking, but I'm still surprised that group didn't run you straight out the door."

Matt was inclined to agree. "Yeah, if I'd met Andrew on my first day, I never would have started acting. I have a good amount of experience and he still makes me question my career choice every day."

"Kevin, too," Dan says. "He's not as outwardly aggressive as Andrew, but with how hard he pushes us? I don't think I would have lasted a day if it was my first."

Renee glanced back over at him. "They're not that bad, Neil, don't let them scare you."

He was tempted to ask her if he looked scared to her. Andrew didn't frighten him, definitely not as much as he probably should. He knew Andrew's medication made him a little crazy, if not borderline psychotic. Andrew's medication was court-mandated, a sentence that, coupled with extensive therapy, allowed him to avoid jail time after he had almost beat four men to death when he caught them attacking Nicky. Neil knew Andrew probably had no qualms about hurting him, but he had far larger threats to worry about, and he had always had a hard time reconciling threat level with age. Even if he knew a younger man was dangerous, he didn't feel very frightened because he had been so conditioned to fear older men, like his father. In the same way, even obviously harmless middle-aged men put Neil's every muscle on edge.

They reconvened with Andrew's group as they made their way to the row of cars. "So, what did you think of our humble abode?" Nicky asks.

"It's huge."

"Yeah, it's easy to get lost in there for the first couple of weeks, but eventually you'll know this place like the back of your hand. We spend too much time here not to."

Neil looks back over at the building, wondering how long it would take for him to feel comfortable here. He was inclined to believe he never would. Glancing back, Neil catches Andrew's heavy gaze. Gone was the sarcastic humor and thinly veiled contempt, replaced with... nothing. Andrew wasn't glaring at Neil, but the look definitely wasn't friendly; he was just staring. Andrew's face was empty, void of any emotion at all. He must be coming down.

Without a word, Andrew turns and pulls himself into the driver's seat of an expensive black car. Turning towards the group, Neil asks, "Are we going to the cast house?"

"Yeah, it's only about a ten minute drive from here. Perfect for when your dead-tired leaving set at 4 am." Matt says. "You came with Wymack?"

"Yeah. Does he stay there too?"

They all chuckle a little. "God, no," Matt says. "He'd kill us if he had to spend that much time with us. He has his own place, but it's pretty close by."

"Oh, okay." That lifted a weight off of Neil's shoulders. He would never be able to relax if he was under the same roof as Wymack.

A honk draws their attention back to Andrew, the rest of the monsters going to join him in the car. When Neil just looks at Andrew through the windshield, he cocks an eyebrow at him silent demand. Neil knew better than to protest. "I guess I'll see you guys in a few?"

Matt and Dan both sent him disapproving looks. "Are you sure? There's space in Matt's truck," Dan says, sending a searching look towards the Andrew's car, as if she were trying to figure out why they were interested in Neil. He wouldn't mind knowing himself.  

"I already told them I'd go with them. It'll be fine."

Matt shrugged. "Whatever you say, man. But that group is psycho. If they go too far, just let me know. I have no problem with kicking Kevin's ass if you need me to." He smiles warmly at him.

Neil shoots him a puzzled stare. Matt just met him, why would he be offering to stand up for him? He has no attachment to Neil. "I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

Matt looks unconvinced. "Okay, well, the offer still stands as long as you're here, alright?"

"Okay." Neil inclines his head at the two before stalking over to Andrew's car, sliding into the backseat next to Aaron and Nicky. Andrew peels out of the lot before Neil can even buckle his seatbelt.

Kevin and Nicky fill the short car ride with idle conversation, asking Neil about what he saw in the tour and what he thought of the sets. Nicky shares all kinds of stories from when they shot the earlier seasons when Kevin begins speaking in rapid French to someone over the phone. Neil was competent in French, but not fluent, and Kevin was speaking too fast for Neil to understand anything, so he focused on what Nicky was saying instead. Neil didn't mind Nicky dominating the conversation; he didn't have much to say anyway, and he was feeling tired after spending so many hours wandering around the studio

As Andrew swung the car into the driveway, Neil admired the house from the his window. It was huge, at least three stories, with sweeping windows and a spacious lawn; the porch alone was the size of some of Neil's old homes. The blend of brick and stone made the house feel classy and elegant. Neil's gawking was cut off as Andrew drove into the garage. Nicky practically pulled him out of the car, insisting on giving him a tour of the place. The door from the garage opens into a small hallway, with a break that leads to a laundry room before opening up into the kitchen. Kevin and Aaron follow them, but Andrew disappeared somewhere along the way. "Where did Andrew go?"

"He went to dose up," Kevin answers. "If he didn't take his medication soon, he'd be bent over a toilet somewhere."

"He'll be up in the clouds when he comes back," Nicky says, a little sadly. "That's the cycle: mania and apathy."

Neil didn't know what to say, so he turned back towards the kitchen, running his fingers along the marble countertops. Nicky's phone pinged, and he glanced at it before addressing them. "Matt says their going to pick up dinner. Chinese okay with you, Neil?"

He nods, and Nicky quickly types his response before pulling a smile on again, resuming Neil's tour. The inside of the house was as luxurious as the outside, fit with plush carpet and expensive-looking paintings. The lower level seems to have an open floor plan, the living and dining rooms visible from the kitchen. A large flatscreen TV sat across from a red couch that could easily seat five people. Two armchairs bracketed the couch, a plethora of throw pillows adorning all three. The extravagance made Neil uneasy; this much money just poured into fanciful items... he couldn't fathom it. There had never been time for him to buy anything for himself. They had limited resources, his mother always reminded him. They could not afford to buy things they didn't absolutely need.

"There are two bedrooms on the bottom floor. This one's Kevin's," Nicky said, pointing between two closed doors, "and the other is shared by Renee and Allison."

"Allison doesn't stay with Seth?"

"It's like Matt said earlier, those two are really on-again, off-again. When they fight, they can't even stand to look at each other, let alone sleep next to each other. They argue so often we thought it'd be easiest to just give them separate rooms, so Allison stays with Renee when she's on the rocks with Seth, and when they're doing well, she stays with him."

Neil's head already hurt trying to understand their dynamic. "Sounds complicated."

"Just wait until you see it for yourself. Their screaming matches are legendary." Nicky chuckles.

The four of them go up the first flight of stairs, which opens into a large sitting room, two twin hallways branching from it. Down one is Nicky and Aaron's shared room, and down the other is Seth's, as well as Dan and Matt's room. Fans of The Foxes loved Dan and Matt's relationship. The two met on set during season one, Matt playing Dan's love interest, and their romance quickly evolved off-screen.

"We tried to put the two couples as far away from the rest of us as possible," Nicky informs him.

"Not far enough," Aaron grumbles. "I don't know how it's possible for Allison and Seth to be that fucking loud."

"Oh, come on, Aaron, no tolerance for young love? I'm sure Neil knows how to make a girl scream," Nicky jokes, nudging Neil's shoulder.

Neil froze. "What?" There's no way they know who his father is, now way they meant it like that-

"Unless you swing, like me, which is totally cool. Makes my job easier, anyhow." Nicky winks at him.

Aaron groans. "Jesus, Nicky, can you not be a fucking creep for one second?"

"Hey, I didn't do anything! I'm just saying that if Neil was interested-"

"He just got here, and you have a boyfriend."

"You know Erik doesn't mind-"

This conversation was giving Neil a headache. "I don't swing."

"Damnit, you like girls?"

"I don't like anything. Can we keep moving?"

They grudgingly obliged. The layout of the third floor was pretty similar to that of the second, a large lounge opening into two hallways. One held Andrew's room, the other his. Nicky led him down Andrew's hallway, showing him to space, the door firmly closed. But as they turned to move towards his room, the door swung open, a doped-up Andrew standing on the threshold.

"Oh, joy, my favorite people coming to pay me a visit! Sorry, but I'm not in the mood. Do stop by another time!" Andrew grins.

"Sorry, Andrew, I was just showing Neil around. We're heading to his room next."

"Lucky for you, I know exactly where that is! If I cared more, perhaps I'd take you there. Unfortunately, I don't." Andrew threw his head back in laughter, pushing past them as he bounds downstairs. One look at the others' face and Neil can tell this behavior is commonplace.

Neil follows Nicky into the opposite hallway, Kevin keeping pace with them while Aaron hangs behind. Kevin had been abnormally quiet during this tour; Neil felt like he was gauging his reaction to everything, trying to feel him out. He refused to balk under his scrutiny.

Nicky paused dramatically with his hand on the doorknob, as if bracing them all for a great reveal, which was just a bedroom. Admittedly, it was easily the nicest bedroom he'd ever laid eyes on, but he imagined the others were used to the luxury by now.

Neil's eyes widened as he took in the huge space, the deep wood of the four-poster bed, the dresser that was far too large for the eight outfits he owned. A door opened to an en suite bathroom with a walk-in shower. It was the nicest place Neil had stayed in his entire life.

"It's good that you are the only addition to the main cast this season, since this was the last free bedroom we have. If there were any others, they'd have to stay in the pool house." Nicky joked. A quick peek from his window confirmed that, yes, there was a pool, clear blue water glinting in the setting sun. It was large, surrounded by lounge chairs and what looked to be a volleyball pit off the side.

"How do you guys afford this place?" He had been concerned about wasting his resources on housing before, but this was worse than he imagined. The house had to be millions of dollars, especially considering Los Angeles's real estate prices. He could not afford to spend this much money, since he still had a lifetime on the run to finance after his stay here.

Kevin finally spoke up. "You'd be surprised how large a salary is for a core actor on a show this popular."

"How much do we all pay for rent?"

"None," Nicky laughed. "Allison is practically an heiress. She has so much money it's stupid. She bought the house back when we first started the show, and she pays for the whole place."

Neil tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she has money to blow, so why not?" Nicky's smile faded a little as he took in Neil’s expression.

Kevin interrupted their conversation. "Dan and the others should be back soon. Let's head to the living room to wait for them."

They found Andrew on the couch, mindlessly surfing through channels, his focus anywhere but on the TV. When he saw them approaching, he tossed the remote unceremoniously onto the cushion next to him. "Back so soon?" Andrew gibes. "There's nothing good to watch, but it seems the universe has answered my plea for entertainment! Neil, tell me some of your deep, dark secrets."

Neil was tired of Andrew's taunting. "Leave me alone, Andrew."

"Oh, come on, Neil, don't be such a downer! Tell me, which one of your parents hits you, your mom or your dad?

"Christ, Andrew," Nicky groans.

"Could be both, I suppose," Andrew surmised. Neil simply fixed him with a glare, but Andrew was unfazed. "Your old director mentioned that you liked to wait until everyone left the theater to change out of your costume, said that a lot of times he gave you the keys and let you lock up. He thought you might be sleeping there. I'll admit, the duffel bag does add to his case, but why would you need to hide your body unless someone was hurting you? And I saw you leave that night, so you obviously had somewhere to go. So who is it?”

Neil gritted his teeth. He didn't need Andrew paying this much attention to him. "Stop trying to solve me."

"You can try to keep your secrets, Neil, but I'll figure you out soon."

"I'm not a toy."

"Oh, but you are," he smiled. "I've been needing something new to amuse myself with, though I doubt you'll last long."

"I mean it, Andrew. Don't mess with me."

"Ooh, the scary face!" Andrew laughs. "Yours gives Kevin a run for his money."

The doorbell saves Neil from answering. "I'll get it," he grumbles, eyes still boring into Andrew's. He strides towards the doorway to let the others in, a few of them presumably bringing the food in while Matt parks, but the cousins start talking before Neil is out of earshot, making every bone in his body seize. It isn't the words that alarm him; no, it's the language. Because Nicky was currently speaking in German.

Neil didn't know how they could know he spoke German. His mother had taken them across the world in an effort to confuse his father enough to lose their trail. Neil spent years living in German-speaking countries, namely Switzerland, Austria, and Germany itself, and as such, became fluent in German. Neil felt frozen to the spot, his every instinct telling him to get out of there, that they know,but as he listens to what Nicky is saying, it becomes apparent that they are not addressing him at all.  

"What did you and Kevin say to him before he got here? When I showed him his room there was pure panic on his face. I thought he was going to make a run for it."

Andrew only shrugged. Aaron spoke instead. "Yeah, did you see his face when he finished touring the studio? He was practically green," he scoffed. "He's not going to last a week here."

They had no idea he understood them. Neil loosed a breath of relief, resuming his journey to the door. The whole encounter hadn't lasted more than thirty seconds, but it felt like thirty years to Neil. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. If they didn't know he understood German, he wasn't going to tell them. He needed every advantage he could find, and if they thought they could have private conversations right under everyone's noses, Neil would play along.

He swung the door open, ushering Dan and Seth in, their arms full of bags of food. Everyone made their way into the kitchen as they dumped the food down on the table, Matt hanging the keys on a small hook as they came in from the garage.

After a few moments of everyone shoving food in their mouths, Kevin addressed the group. "Neil needs to familiarize himself with the previous seasons, so starting tonight, we are all going to rewatch the past episodes together. We need to finish all of the episodes before the table read, so we're going to have to start right away,"

The proposition is met with a series of groans from the cast. They probably all have better ways to spend their limited free time before the rigorous filming schedule overtakes their lives. "You guys don't have to watch it with me, I'll be fine on my own," Neil says.

"No, we all need to review the past plot anyways," Kevin says. "You should always review what has already occurred before you start a new season to ensure you are as prepared as you can be. Not only is it possible you have forgotten little details or nuances of the characters, but being explicitly reminded of your characters' backstory, personality, and motives helps you slip back into your role after so many months. So we're all watching the show, from the beginning."

Seth shot Neil a glare, muttering something that sounded like "fucking rookies."

When all the plates had been cleared, the group settled themselves in the living room. Dan and her group settled onto the couch together, while Andrew claimed one armchair, Neil the other. Aaron and Nicky sat on the floor, their backs pressed against the coffee table. As they dimmed the lights and started up the TV, Neil found himself completely engrossed in the show. He had always loved television, had always been able to completely lose himself as he watched these characters' lives unfold. Three episodes flew by, and Neil almost wanted to protest as Kevin shut the TV off, telling them all to get some sleep. They had to be up at the studio by 10 for their session with Abby, and it was already 1 am.

Neil felt too roused to sleep, excitement from watching the show and anxiety for his meeting with Abby tomorrow keeping him alert, so he decides to go for a quick run. Slipping into his running clothes, Neil stashed his bag in the dresser and takes off down the stairs, pushing the front door open and going on his way. Neil takes this time to familiarize himself with the neighborhood, although the darkness makes it hard to discern the details. All of the houses in this neighborhood are enormous, with neatly trimmed grass and tall columns on their porches. Neil makes his way around a few blocks before turning back the way he came. He's barely sweating when he reaches the house, so he opts out of a shower, ready to collapse on his bed from fatigue. Neil had barely slept last night, and had been walking almost all day.

But when he pulled out his duffel bag to change into some sleep clothes, he stopped cold. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like nothing was amiss. But Neil knew better. Neil always folded the tags on his clothes, and as he inspected them now, every single one was flat.

Someone had been through his things.