#fic: the power of three

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 162

“So,” Danny drawled from where he was sitting, legs kicking slightly. Really, what a fun reincarnation. A world with heroes and villains where he didn’t have to do shit in and could just vibe with Ellie. 

“So,” Tim responded from where he was typing on his computer, mostly in civilian clothes save for his gauntlets and boots. The Red Robin outfit was haphazardly dropped across the couch and his pole leaning against the end. 

“Technically there’s proper procedures for clones…” Danny motioned to both himself and Ellie from where they sat on the counter, snacking on a plateful of scones. From Alfred, he was certain. 

“Technically, yes… but do we want to actually do that?” 

All three of them smiled, something almost feral in the motion. Of course not. They all had the same memories after all, and Bruce had just returned from the past, from exactly where and when Tim had said he was. Despite no one believing him, hence why they were in his boathouse, and not in the apartment or manor. 

“Think we can pull it off?” Ellie took a sip of tea, mischief swirling in her eyes. 

“Of course we can.” Both Danny and Tim spoke at once, one pulling up a new doc and the other pulling the whiteboard out from under a curtain. 

[shummthechumm]

“she’s not dead!”

a silly scenario for my rewrite (more info under cut)

some silly au thoughts ive had for a while. in my rewrite dove and ivy are born around eclipse/long shadows, mainly because it gives the story plenty of room to foreshadow dove being a prophecy cat (instead of holly). this scene would take place inbetween sunrise & TFA

truly a "kids say the darndest things!!" except lion blaze is deeply unsettled by this infant playing into his denial over holly's death.

[xenonsdoodles]

in which Claude drops a "hey bestie" on Dimitri and sets off multiple crises (from an as yet unwritten post-AM fic bouncing around in my head)

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing

[comic-sans-chan]

Fic I'll never write where Julian has a latent one-way telepath gene activated by some sci-fi nonsense and can suddenly hear everyone's thoughts. And he's like, "Shit, I don't remember there ever being any betazoid blood in the family. This must be connected to my augmentations. No! I have to fix this James Bond style." So while he's doing that, life goes on and he has to keep a straight face against the cacophony of noise from all his friends and patients.

With his patients, the telepathy actually ends up being pretty useful. He can hear everything they're too embarrassed or proud to say, so examinations go much smoother. Though he really could do without all the sudden "mmm sexy doctor" thoughts interrupting his professionalism. Especially when they cause him to bash his head on his own equipment out of pure, scandalized shock. Twice. 

With friends, the challenge is mainly in not responding to their thoughts, because they’re always interesting. His friends are incredible people and he's bursting at the seams to talk to them about their interests, hobbies and concerns. Then, of course, there are the occasional "Julian is annoying" thoughts. He always knew they were there, but actually hearing them sucks. He takes heart in the equal amount of "Julian is a sweetheart" thoughts that pop up, often shortly after the annoyed ones.

Then there's Garak, who Julian avoided for as long as he could because he knows Garak wouldn't appreciate having his thoughts heard. He was literally a spy. Julian listening in on his thoughts would be tantamount to bugging his quarters or something. It's not fair to him. Julian and Garak might lie to each other all the time, but that doesn't mean there isn't a trust there, and Julian doesn't want to break that. Maybe in the beginning, but not all these years later. Not now that they're close.

But ultimately, it's just (hopefully) one lunch, and if he avoids Garak for too long, he's going to hurt his feelings and he can't do that, either. Garak only has so many friends. And anyway, what's the worst that could happen? Julian finds out what Garak really thinks of a book? Maybe Garak's soup is too hot, but he won't admit it? Maybe he'll mentally shit-talk a Bajoran, and that'll suck to know about him, but it won't be shocking. Hell, he’ll flatter himself, maybe Garak will have a lustful thought or two about him. That wouldn't be any great revelation. He knows Garak's attracted to him, and he's attracted back, but fucking an ex-intelligence agent isn't a good idea for someone with a secret as big as Julian's. So, he might have to rub one out after lunch. He can deal with that. No harm done. He comes to lunch.

And it's a spectacular mistake. He should have made another excuse, any excuse. He should have known better. He knows who and what Garak is. He knows he's traumatized and hypervigilant and a little bit of a maniac. Garak's even hinted at sentiment being a particular weakness of his before. He should have anticipated Garak filing away every little thing he hears and sees like his life depends on it. He should have anticipated the checked violent instincts and guilt and depression. He should have anticipated Garak wondering what secret Julian's keeping and coming startlingly close to certain truths. He especially should have accounted for the possibility that Garak is more than just attracted to him. He's deeply in love with him.

He leaves lunch shaken and sick to his stomach. So much of it is unsurprising. Garak's life has been terrible. Is terrible. Julian has known that much ever since meeting Tain. Since Garak spat that he hated it on Deep Space Nine and he hated Julian specifically for being something he doesn't hate. He doesn't hate him at all, apparently, but he does resent him. He feels ashamed for wanting an alien so much, for feeling such a strong connection to something outside of the State. Something that Tain would punish him for. He punishes himself in Tain's absence. It's horrible, the cruel things he thinks so calmly about himself, like it's natural. Obvious.

Julian's always known Garak was miserable and he's done what he can to help him, but he admits there's been a part of him that thought being away from Cardassia and the Order was good for him. That the station hurt him so much because it was a remedy, and sometimes remedies feel like poison at first when you're so used to sickness. But of course it's more complicated than that, of course it runs deeper, and Julian should have done more. Should have invited him out. Should have dragged him into some tennis matches. Should have double-checked that his damn medication was still working after the number that implant did on his brain chemistry.

Shouldn't have gone to lunch, because now he knows Garak fantasizes about taking him back to Cardassia and enjoining with him and fucking him in fields of flowers and... adopting bloody war orphans together. That is not the sort of thing Julian should know without Garak's consent.

Even worse, now Garak is suspicious, and he pops into the infirmary the next day to "check on him after his hasty departure the other day." It's not even subtle. They both know Julian's hiding something, but Julian can't have this conversation without having about ten others that he has no idea how to have yet. And Garak won't stop thinking about running a soothing hand through his weird human hair and over his fucked up human eyebrows and - once when he makes the mistake of turning around - grabbing his ass. He doesn't even have an ass, but apparently that doesn't stop Garak. Bastard! Julian snaps that he's fine and rushes him out because he has work to do, thank you, my dear tailor. Garak jokes that this is the first time he's ever been forced out of the infirmary before, but he's thinking about hacking Julian's computer while he does it, so Julian growls at him and storms off to upgrade his security system. Again.

Time passes and Julian's losing his mind trying to solve this mind-reading problem and figure out what to do about Garak. Because of course he has feelings for the man, but he's avoided thinking too hard about that because Garak's never been a romantic option. Now he knows there's a very real possibility that Garak can be trusted, just like he’s always hoped. That Garak loves him to a degree that challenges his loyalties, and if Garak is loyal to Julian, then Julian doesn't have to worry about him using his augmentations against him. He could finally have a partner he doesn’t have to lie to, who might even understand and accept him. But the fact remains that Garak didn't want him to know that, and Julian feels guilty. And conflicted. And horny, because Garak's been spying on him in the promenade without knowing Julian can literally sense his stupid ass and every third lizard-brained thought is about how much he wants to lick him. There's a part of Julian that wants to just yank him into a changing room and hope that the healing power of sex will just solve everything.

Unfortunately, he knows there's no way out of Garak freaking out about Julian having heard his every crazy, paranoid and lovelorn thought. And Julian's savior-complex is going haywire. How do you comfort a man who won't allow himself to be comforted? How do you return a love someone hates themselves for feeling? Julian updates his medication, but there's only so much medication can do. Garak needs more than just Julian to kiss him. He needs things Julian doesn't know how to give.

In the end, Julian is able to deactivate the gene responsible for the telepathy, and things go back to normal. He has lunch with Garak, who is notably pouty, but Julian can only guess at the reason (probably because he couldn't hack into Julian's computer--ha), and it's a relief. They're back on even footing, Garak is an enigma once more, and all is right with the universe.

Except that everything has changed.

Julian can't tell him he could read his mind without concocting a lie about why he could suddenly read minds in the first place, because he can't tell him about Adigeon Prime. In the end, it's less about whether Garak can be trusted, and more about Julian's issues. It's selfish, but Julian's never told anyone before and he's not ready to now. It's too big. Too much. He couldn't stand it if Garak looked at him differently after. But to lie about it now, so baldly, after the profound vulnerabilities Garak's expressed without having any idea he's expressed them, feels wrong, too. 

So, Julian doesn't tell him a lie or the truth or anything at all. He doesn't tell him until they're in a prison camp, until Garak's told him Tain is his father, until the possibility of Garak being ordered to betray Julian is dead and they might die soon after and Julian needs Garak to know he was loved by someone. He needs Garak to know who Julian Bashir really was. A liar. An imposter. A coward. Someone who only ever wanted to heal, who didn’t ask to be a monster. And Garak will forgive him.

But for now, Julian is all those things, so instead of confessing his sins, he brushes his hand against Garak's. He squeezes his shoulder on his way to get a refill. He brings back a dessert for them to share. He argues and recommends terrible books and invites him out to shows and drags him to tennis matches. He encourages his friendship with Odo and Keiko and later Ziyal. He asks him to teach him Cardassian. He brings him fresh Red Leaf tea. He starts keeping a heated blanket in his quarters. When Garak falls asleep for seventeen minutes and fifty-two seconds while they're watching a holofilm, Julian pretends not to notice. Inwardly, he cheers.

In the absence of one type of honesty, another takes its place.

[dannyphannypack]

i’m very sorry, but you guys have got to properly label your ao3 fics because “bad parents jack and maddie fenton” is starting to really get on my nerves.

and if, in the middle of the fic, you decide to add a tag like that: PLEASE communicate that you’ve done so in the chapter notes. because i don’t recheck the tags after i’ve bookmarked something.

please. i don’t think it’s that big of an ask.

[fullmetalscullyy]

emma i would love to see u tackle royai and cooking for each other (or sharing in food). there's such a warmth and intimacy in making something for someone. it's whole purpose is to sustain life!!!

U R SO RIGHT. SO CORRECT.

so........ how about......... three wee royai moments where they're cooking together............. :)

here with me

read on ao3

summary: there was a reason // i collided into you // Roy and Riza cooking (providing for one another) throughout the years

rated: g | words: 2718 | tags: royai, cooking, young royai, post-canon, happy, childhood friends, sickfic, post promised day

Riza shuffled into the kitchen, following the smell of cooking, to find Roy standing over the hob, stirring something within a pot. And whatever it was, it smelled delicious. It was so flavoursome, it made her eyes water and caused her to break out into a coughing fit, announcing her presence.

And although it caused Roy to startle at the sudden, loud sound, he still grinned over at her.

He almost toppled off the chair onto the floor, in an endearing, hopeless, sort of way, but that was neither here nor there.

The reason he was currently kneeling on a chair though, was because he wasn’t quite tall enough to reach the hob to cook. Although in his teenage years, Roy’s growth spurt still hadn’t hit him yet (much to his dismay), so he’d taken a leaf out of Riza’s book and dragged a chair over from the table so he could see what he was doing. Bless his wee cotton socks too, because before Riza had interrupted and startled him, he’d looked so precious up there, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as his brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting back and forth between the pot and the piece of handwritten paper beside it, which presumably detailed the recipe of whatever he was cooking.

Riza tightened the blanket around her shoulders and wrinkled her nose in response to the sneeze which was threatening her. “What are you doing?”

Roy beamed at her. “Cooking.” He answered as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

He shrugged. “You’re ill. It was the least I could do. Plus, I wanted to.”

“You wanted to.” She blinked at him, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Roy nodded in cheerful agreement, nonplussed about her surprise.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Nope.” Roy even popped the ‘p’.

“Well. Let me help at least –” Riza reached forward to busy herself with assisting him, but Roy was having none of it.

“Ah. Ah!” He swatted at her playfully, brandishing his wooden spoon to keep her back and out of reach. “No. Go and sit down.”

Riza frowned. “Roy, no –”

“Riza, yes. Go and sit down. I’ll cook.”

Sensing she would get nowhere with him and too exhausted and shivery to argue she ambled over to sit at the kitchen table, like he directed.

Riza felt bad though, that he was doing all of this for her while she was ill. He was here to learn alchemy. He was a guest in her home. His family were paying her father to tutor him. And now he’d been left to cook for himself – and her – too? It was too much. Her ailing body failing her was no excuse, and yet, he would have none of her continued attempts to try and help him. Her offers were met with playfulness and patience, but a firm reply which said no. He could manage on his own.

Riza still didn’t feel safe enough to venture far from him and his cooking shenanigans though. He’d once shared how he’d almost burned his aunt’s house down when he cooked and Riza was still unsure if it was a joke or not.

So she watched him like a hawk while he chattered away. Probably to fill the silence, which made her feel even worse, because her ill brain could barely keep up with his train of thought and she felt as though she should offer him something, not just silence. But it was too much for her exhausted body and mind to comprehend.

It was… nice, though. To listen to him. To hear his voice. To hear his stories which he obviously enjoyed telling and sharing.

Secretly, Riza loved it.

It was nice to be doted on for once.

To be cared for.

They both sat down at the table together without incident a short time later. Her bowl of soup was presented to her with a flourish, complete with pristine presentation. One would have thought the young man was a professional cook.

Taking a cautious sip of her soup, Riza politely and gently ignored how Roy was waiting and watching for her reaction as she sampled his dish.

It was… good. Great, actually. Extremely tasty. She tried not to be too surprised at how good it was given how much he’d put himself down about his cooking abilities in the past, but this was delightful. Perfect for her sore throat, and delicious. Not too much for her tender stomach to put away either. It was just enough.

He’d created the perfect dish for her.

Riza swallowed it down and relished in how it soothed her aching throat. And immediately went back for another taste.

“Is it okay?”

Riza glanced up, noticing how nervous he looked, even as she almost started to devour and hoover up his homemade soup.

Still, her face flushed pink. “Yes,” she replied, not quite able to fully find her voice with his attention so directly upon her. It was because of her cold, for sure.

No other reason.

“It’s good. Very tasty.”

Her appraisal lit up his entire face. Roy sat up a little taller in his chair. His shoulders rolled back and his head perked up, but it was nothing compared to the pure joy which brightened his entire being, illuminating him from within.

“Good. I’m glad.” He looked extremely pleased with himself as he tucked into his own dinner.

*             *             *            *             *            *             *

“Riza?” Roy’s disembodied voice called out to her from the doorway to her home.

“In the kitchen.”

Roy entered the room a few seconds later, surprisingly. Riza hadn’t expected him to come straight through to see her. Snow still caked the edges of his boots and the shoulders of his thick winter coat, but he didn’t appear to be too bothered about it. Neither was she, honestly. A little water from melted snow would dry up quick enough, so it wasn’t a problem.

And when he did make his immediate appearance within the room, Roy was ruffling his hair to dislodge the snowflakes which had caught in his dark strands. And like always, Riza’s attention was drawn to him immediately.

As soon as he entered the room.

(It was really becoming a problem.)

Riza had turned to greet him, but the sight of him made her pause.

His hair was tousled, slightly wet from being out in the snow and curling at the ends due to the damp. Since he’d joined the military, he’d started to fill out within his own body with all the physical training they had him doing. His arms, which had been long and gangly as a teen, were now corded with muscle, same with his legs. And now, when he moved to dislodge those pesky snowflakes, his newly discovered biceps flexed. Quite nicely, too.

Not that Riza had been staring, of course.

Definitely not.

Nope.

Riza’s face flamed and she hastily turned back to the stove. “Did you get everything you needed?” She was grateful her voice remained steady as she spoke because on the inside it felt as if her entire being was quivering like a leaf, as it often did around her childhood friend nowadays.

A pesky new discovery, but one she would manage. Through sheer willpower alone.

Riza vowed she would not make Roy uncomfortable with the things which churned within her gut and her chest over him.

“Yep. I got a discount on the vegetables as well. I think the lady in the shop likes me,” Roy chuckled.

Riza felt her stomach twist and the bubbling, happy feeling which had been fizzing within her died.

Crumbled into ash.

“Oh?”

Riza buried it. Buried it deep and locked it down tight. Jealousy had no place here and she was too old, too mature, now, to even consider such a thing.

“Yeah. She was very sweet and kind.”

Roy was a friend. An old friend, who she loved dearly.

Nothing more.

Never mind the fact he’d called Riza and been on the first train back when he learned how her father’s health had taken a downturn. Riza had presumed it was to ask her father about flame alchemy while he still had the chance, but in response to voicing her assumptions to him, Roy’s gaze has hardened. His jaw had locked and he hadn’t looked happy about something. He’d even gone as far to leave the room and once he’d returned, a few hours later, he’d looked dejected, but resigned.

Riza still hadn’t figured out why he’d acted and looked that way. And their friendship felt slightly different because of it.

But perhaps it was simply Riza’s imagination.

“What’s wrong?”

Riza startled and suddenly, he was there. At her elbow. Roy even lifted a hand to grasp her elbow gently, initiating contact with his thumb and forefinger which made her stomach flutter with troublesome butterflies, as it always did.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes searched her face, his brow furrowed and face concerned. Riza just averted her gaze, turning back to dinner before Roy could see too much. Before he could figure anything out she’d rather keep hidden for the sake of their friendship.

Her one-sided affections were hers, and hers to deal with alone. She would not burden him with them.

“Huh.”

Riza didn’t dare look at him, but his sudden response confused her. “What?”

“Nothing.” Roy sounded so nonchalant, such a twist from how he’d looked just a moment ago, which brought Riza’s attention back to him. But Roy had already turned away and was walking over to the kitchen table to unpack his shopping bags.

Riza dropped it. She didn’t want to dwell for too long on what he’d meant by that innocent “nothing”. That sudden realisation which laced his tone.

Her poor heart had endured and suffered enough recently, and she didn’t want to add anymore pressure to it. She owed herself that much currently, at the very least.

Roy appeared by her elbow again, making Riza’s heart jump and stutter. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Um…” Her brain was scrambled. Disjointed after trying to make sense of what had just happened between them.

But Roy waited patiently for her brain to stop short circuiting and catch back up with the present.

“Actually… Yes. Would you mind mashing the potatoes?”

Roy beamed at her. “I would love nothing more, Riza,” he replied rather dramatically, equipped with a wink.

Her stomach tumbled again, but Riza forced her brain to reign it in. She reminded herself he was just being Roy. Playful and fun.

The complete opposite of her.

But… Riza was slowly learning. Thanks to him. Thanks to his influence.

She was grateful for that, at least.

Roy rolled up his sleeves, exposing his now toned forearms, and Riza quickly darted her gaze away, unable to linger on the sight for too long. She studied the stew within the pot before her as if her life depended upon it instead, ignoring the young man working methodically (muscles flexing and all) and humming quietly – while so at ease – by her side.

Side by side, they cooked. For each other. For themselves.

A small smile teased Riza’s lips at the domesticity of it all. It tugged at her heart strings. It brought her a sliver of dangerous hope. A childish vision of the future. It made her insides bunch up at the thought of him doing it with someone else… That lady in the shop perhaps, whoever she was…

Despite it all, Riza had never been happier in that moment.

Right now, he was here with her.

No one else.

That may be the case in the future – and that was okay. Riza could make peace with that, for his sake and his happiness. Her little, budding – but difficult – feelings for her friend would never be voiced or known.

And that was okay.

They’d disappear eventually, Riza was sure. If he found someone, it would be all right. Because in the end, Riza would still have him as a friend. She’d still have him in her life.

And that was enough.

She wasn’t brave enough to lose him.

(Just yet).

It would be too much for him to give up everything for her. Far too much. He had his goals and his dreams, and she was a quiet, lonesome man’s daughter. She had nothing at all to offer, but she could still be his friend. Throughout it all, without fail, she’d offer all the support she had for him to see everything he desired come to fruition.

Yeah…

That would be enough…

Riza supposed.

“Riza?”

“Hm?”

“For the record, the lady in the shop was in her seventies. Nothing to get jealous over.”

Riza whipped around and smacked him on the arm with carrot while he guffawed away to himself.

*             *             *            *             *            *             *

Riza knocked on the Colonel’s door. Hayate whined quietly by her side and sat in place patiently as he waited for his second favourite human to make an appearance.

It was adorable how he’d taken to him.

(Riza understood the feeling.)

“Lieutenant!” Roy’s smile was like a beacon in the dark. It transformed his entire face, and he perked up instantly as soon as he set eyes on her.

Again, Riza understood the feeling.

Intimately.

“Good evening, Colonel.”

He opened the door further and stepped aside, inviting them inside his home. “Come on in.”

Hayate was eager and was already tugging on the lead as he hurried towards the Colonel to jump around his shins.

He was a good dog. He never really bothered or pestered anyone – except her and Roy. As soon as he was around either of them, he begged for attention, eager for pets, and always wanted to be the centre of attention. Every time. He loved them both unconditionally and equally, it seemed.

Riza adored him for it.

Roy chuckled and crouched to pay attention to his adopted little dog while Riza walked inside and shed her coat. Ever the gentlemen, Roy raised from his crouch – much to Hayate’s vocal dismay – and offered to take her coat and hang it up.

“How are you today?”

Always asking after her. Always enquiring how she was doing.

“I’m fine, sir. And thank you for the invite. It was much appreciated, as always.” Riza turned to Hayate who was staring adoringly up at Roy. “Hayate missed you, so I’m sure he was grateful for the opportunity to visit.”

“Just Hayate?”

Riza narrowed her eyes at him, watching as his danced as a smile teased his lips.

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

Roy’s mouth parted in mock shock as he placed a hand upon his chest, over his heart, before breaking out into laughter.

He even stuck his tongue out at her.

Just like he did as a boy.

“Come in.” Roy gestured further into his home. “I know I promised a lovely, relaxing evening,” he winked, “but it seems I’m still having some trouble.”

Riza’s concern for him instantly flared as he lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers and inadvertently brandishing his scarred palms from the Promise Day.

“I could use a hand in the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind, Lieutenant,” he smiled sheepishly. “I tried already… with disastrous results.”

Riza opened her mouth to reply, only to be halted by a different smile, one which spread across Roy’s face and softened his features entirely. “I thought we could cook together. Just like old times.”

His sweet, boyish smile transported her back through the years, to all the times they’d done this before.

A million times before.

Some of the happiest moments of Riza’s life.

And Riza’s heart tugged at the nostalgia of it all. At how he’d remembered she’d once quietly admitted it was one of her favourite memories of her childhood with him – when they’d worked and cooked together. Provided for themselves and one another. At its basest, given each other the gift of care and sustenance.

And he’d remembered.

Riza rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan. The Colonel’s eyes sparkled with delight at her acceptance.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

Their age-old question to one another.

Something that was just theirs.

“Why yes, Riza, I do believe there is.”

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comments and kudos are always much appreciated!! 🥰🥰

[therealslimshady]

It's really funny the way Denji was thinking of going on the run with that little girl at the beginning of chainsawman man. The universe really said YOU ARE GOING TO BE A BIG BROTHER WHETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT and then just kept throwing kids at him until one of them stuck

[mihrsuri]

Tell us what the TV show trailer is like?

EEEE. This is THE BEST.

Season One

All happy endings have a beginning. To get to the heart of the ever after you have to go back to the once upon a time…

This is a henry voiceover - you flash between their statue, the three crowns, a baby in a cradle in a beautiful field of flowers and trees - lit by a spring sunrise - all soft gold and pinks. And then you go to Henry, saying he wants a divorce, KOA falling to the ground, Bessie Blount with Henry and then an image of Thomas on a ship with small!Gregory looking at the English shore, Anne in France.

“I need a son” - Henry, talking to Wolsey. “And the Queen can no longer give me one”

Thomas, waking from a nightmare.

Anne, reading City of Ladies and discussing it.

End tagline ‘the journey to a golden world starts with a choice’

I’m now imagining promo posters with different characters and it’s like:

Anne. ‘The Queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard’ and ‘Loving Mother. Beloved Queen. Political Genius’ oh also ‘she’s the intellectual powerhouse’ (Anne is wearing her crown and sitting on her throne, smiling dangerously)

Wolsey’s is actually essentially the same as it is for our Tudors (The Cardinal With A Lover).

Thomas Cromwell. ‘Proof That Fairy Tales Are True’ ‘The Commoner Who Became A King’ ‘He’s sleeping with the King…and with the Queen.’ (The first one is genuinely shot like a fairy tale ending disney movie and the second is one of the sexy shots with the three of them in bed, Thomas in the middle).

Henry. ‘Can The King Conquer His Own Demons?’ And listen there’s definitely a Taylor Swift song involved I know it.

[dwarvenchords]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Oscar Piastri/Logan Sargeant, oscar piastri/lily zneimer (mentioned) Characters: Oscar Piastri, Logan Sargeant, lily zneimer (mentioned) - Character Additional Tags: Angst, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Cheating, kind of, Hurt No Comfort, Smut, Qatar Grand Prix 2023, Established Relationship, between oscar and lily, Bad Ending, this is not a happy fic Summary:

“Come on Oscar, you have a girlfriend.” He hopes Oscar is as drunk as he is, and also unable to tell if his tone was as bitter as he expects it is, “She’d probably not want you dancing on people.”

“Nah, she’d be fine with it.” Oscar slurs.

or,

pretty girls by renee rapp, but make it loscar

[snakebites-and-ink]

Prev

CW: Deception/betrayal, internalized dehumanization, angsty dramatic irony

Everyone was ecstatic when Hero made it back largely unharmed.

They were a little worse for wear, of course. Hero had amassed a collection of bruises and abrasions. But considering they’d been in the hands of their nemesis, they’d gotten off easy. If Villain’d had Hero trapped well enough to hold them for that long, it was lucky enough they’d escaped in one piece, let alone without serious injury.

When they arrived at the hero agency’s base, there was a flurry of excitement and Hero’s colleagues and teammates were quickly fetched. Quite a few excited greetings were exchanged, and Hero was whisked off to the medical wing.

Medic welcomed them and a team member explained that Hero had just escaped from Villain and needed their injuries checked.

Medic looked over them. There were a few abrasions and a number of bruises in various stages of healing. Most of the abrasions looked like they were from not-so-gentle restraints holding the hero; most of the bruises looked like they were directly inflicted by Villain themself.

Not a comfortable thing to go through, but it could have been so much worse.

Medic conversed with them as they worked. Hero expressed how glad they were to be back. Something in the way they answered didn’t really sound like the usual Hero, but Medic supposed they couldn’t expect them to be quite themself after being held captive by their enemy.

Medic asked them questions about what they’d gone through, partially to find out what they needed to treat, partially to check in on them emotionally. Hero told them about the treatment they’d gotten from Villain. Maybe it was because they didn’t want to talk about the unpleasant experience, but the details were a bit vague. Medic gave them a scrutinizing look.

The more the two talked, the more Medic could tell there was something Hero wasn’t telling them.

They were a doctor, used to respecting patient privacy, and they worked with heroes, so Medic could respect that some things had to be kept secret. They weren’t going to force Hero to tell them whatever it was they wanted to keep to themself, especially not right after they got home from the clutches of their enemy, but… “I just need to know whatever it is you’re not sharing won’t put anyone in danger.”

Hero smiled. Somehow it didn’t seem quite real. “Of course not. Have I ever been a danger?”

The heroes had accepted the weapon’s cover completely, just as Villain had predicted. They welcomed it in as a friend and ally and showed no signs of suspecting what it really was. The doctor seemed to have some doubts but ultimately let it go.

When night had fallen, the majority of the heroes had gone to bed, and the excitement had died down enough for it to escape their attention, the weapon contacted its owner. It sent the preestablished signal that would broadcast its location to Villain, leading them to the hero agency.

Then it moved on to its next task.

Villain’s weapon went down to the basement level of the hero agency’s base. It didn’t look like much, but it was vital to the building’s structural integrity. The perfect place to target for maximum damage with minimum cost.

491 found the structural support piece it was looking for. Well built, but everything had that one special frequency that was perfectly tuned to shatter it. And one of the weapon’s abilities was finding such a frequency with minimal effort. It was well-attuned with sound.

It summoned soundwaves between its fingers at the exact right frequency, then sent the vibrations through the support piece, rasing the intensity until it broke. 

The building groaned and tremors started running through it. With the job done, the weapon knew it had to get out of there quickly to make it back to its owner in one piece. It dashed back up to ground level, dodging falling rubble and new cracks on its way to the nearest exit.

The hero team fled the building too. They met up outside, watching the building falling apart in horror.

The team was devastated. They’d all made it without major injuries, but their home and sanctuary was ruined. Distressed cries and exclamations of “What went wrong?” sounded around the group.

But it wasn’t over yet, which none of them were prepared for. They were expecting this to be an attack in and of itself. They didn’t realize it was only to make them vulnerable to the enemy’s real move.

Called by the signal, Villain arrived, and caught the lot of them with far more ease than the villain could have hoped for before.

Tagging: @whumpsoda

[swashbucklery]

"I want to keep this draft under 45k" GUESS WHO DID THAT WITH A WHOPPING 128 WORDS TO SPARE WOOOOOOOOO.

[peaches2217]

Okay, who kickstarted the return of the Mareach baby fever? Because I logically shouldn’t post even more Expectant/Parent Mareach when I literally just posted one such fic two days ago but DAMMIT NOW I’M IN A MOOD.

…in my defense, for all the crap I’ve posted, I still haven’t given my fankid a name. 😅

[queenofmoons67]

Could you write a fic where Thunderclan is attacked and Brambleclaw and/or Squirrelflight has to protect Lion/Holly/Jay as little kits in the nursery? Thank you!!

WARNING for graphic (though canon-typical) depictions of violence, blood, and gore.

Brambleclaw paced the stone floor of the hollow, checking on various last-second battle preparations around camp. A WindClan patrol had been spotted crossing the border, and though ThunderClan had little time to prepare, they were taking advantage of every second it took for WindClan to reach them. 

Firestar had taken Brightheart, Cloudtail, Stormfur, and Ashfur with him to protect the main tunnel. While just five cats, they had both experience and the narrow tunnel itself. The dirt tunnel had been entrusted to Thornclaw, with Spiderleg, Mousepaw, Brook, and Whitewing by his side.

Brambleclaw had also asked Whitewing to look after Berrypaw for him. She was still young, but she was as even-tempered as her mother and as sassy as her father; she would handle Berrypaw’s joking personality just fine while also keeping him safe.

With his apprentice taken care of, Brambleclaw was free to focus on the clan as a whole.

Dustpelt and Brackenfur pressed extra thorns and vines around the nursery, and Dustpelt only took the time once to press his cheek to Ferncloud’s—they had no time for a longer moment, even though the she-cat had only just learned she was pregnant again.

For that reason, she was stationed at the nursery entrance with Sorreltail, who had entrusted her five-moons old kits to Daisy. The tortoiseshell shot frequent looks and mews over her shoulder, though she didn’t break from her station, and only took a single moment to lick her own mate’s cheek.

Brambleclaw didn’t know how she could stand it, being so close to her kits and yet so far with danger on the way. It would have been one thing if Brackenfur had been with the kits, but to have both parents just feet away…

Brambleclaw let his gaze linger on the nursery entrance for one beat—two—and then forced himself to turn towards the opposite end of camp.

Neither he nor Squirrelflight were with their kits, and that was fine. Squirrelflight was out hunting with Sandstorm, getting some mother-daughter time and stretching her legs, but they would be home as soon as Birchfall told them about the attack. And Brambleclaw—Brambleclaw was taking care of the clan, just like he should be. The kits were with Daisy. Safe in the nursery, guarded by Sorreltail and Ferncloud. Their stomachs were no longer round with milk, and though they were still small enough that even an apprentice would find it easy to bat them around, they didn’t need Brambleclaw beside them.

He’d already been to visit them anyway. He’d stolen just a few moments with them after he and Firestar had sorted everyone into their positions, wound his tail around them to pull them tight against his stomach, till Lionkit and Hollykit scrunched up their little pink noses at a face-full of his fur and Jaykit tried to fight his way out with tiny kitten claws.

Then Brambleclaw had bent down to nose at them one by one and to inhale their scents before leaving for battle. Lionkit’s fur had spiked up, making him look even bigger than usual. Jaykit had leaned into his touch, ears flat against his head. And Hollykit had looked at him with wide green eyes before asking what would happen if WindClan broke into the nursery.

Brambleclaw had only been able to say, “It will be ok. They’d have to go through me.” Then he’d had to stand and leave them there, to go be deputy for their clan, and only the knowledge that he would never leave if he looked back had kept him looking forward.

Brambleclaw hissed in frustration, but forced himself to keep his body language composed as he turned to Mousefur and Longtail. The two cats nodded to him from their position just inside the elder’s den; while technically elders, they were the feistiest elders Brambleclaw had ever known, and he knew they were prepared to fight for the lives of not just themselves, but any other cats.

Brambleclaw nodded back, took a breath—and almost jumped when a tail tapped his shoulder.

“Yes, Hazelpaw?” he asked, looking down. The apprentice had been running messages since the first report of a fast approaching WindClan patrol, but still had the energy to shift from paw to paw, claws already out and scraping against the stone.

“They’re here!” she said.

Brambleclaw tensed, his own claws unsheathing, and whirled to face the tunnel entrance. Two caterwauls rose through the air, one high and thready, the other low and long: Onestar and Firestar.

“Go to Dustpelt,” he told Hazelpaw, and she darted away. Her, Dustpelt, Brackenfur, and Brambleclaw himself were responsible for the inner hollow, making sure that if any WindClan cat slipped past the tunnels, they didn’t have a free shot at the nursery or elders.

Brambleclaw stalked around the hollow, ears swiveling, tail swinging low, searching for any sign of trouble. He could make out fighting from both tunnels now, angry screeches and pained yowls, but no calls for help.

The sharp scrape of claws on rock made him look up—but it was just Leafpool, peering out of the healer’s den towards the nursery. She startled when she saw him looking, and he twitched his tail at her. He wished he could do more to calm her, but his entire body was tense from nose to tail tip. She twitched her ears back at him, though, and then turned back into her den. Probably checking on herbs and other supplies. He didn’t know how she could stand waiting for the battle to end before doing anything when just waiting as the rear guard put him on edge.

Another scraping sound came, this time from the opposite direction, and Brambleclaw whirled around, stomach dropping at Dustpelt’s angry yowl: “They’re coming down the sides!”

Whitetail and Weaselfur bared their fangs at them, even almost upside down as they were, claws dug into the stone walls and tails carefully balanced, and then jumped the last fox-length into the hollow. More WindClan fangs glinted above them, but Brambleclaw didn’t bother paying attention to them—he’d already leapt at Weaselfur, crashing into the orange-and-white tom. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Hazelpaw lashing out at Whitetail, only for her to be sent rolling by a spiteful paw to the head.

“Fight someone your own age,” the deceptively small she-cat hissed.

In retaliation, Dustpelt yowled and barreled shoulder-first into Whitetail.

The sounds of battle, once limited to the tunnels, filled the hollow. Claws threw torn tufts of fur into the air, and blood spattered against the stone. Bodies writhed around one another, rolling and standing and falling, all the fur patterns blending into one another until it was hard to tell one cat from another, ThunderClan from WindClan, though Brambleclaw did see the distinctive sight of Cloudtail and Whitewing fighting back to back, father and daughter a mirror image of one another with their long-furred white pelts, Berrypaw a fluff ball of cream beside them.

Cloudtail was supposed to be with Firestar. Whitewing and Berrypaw were supposed to be with Thornclaw. Were any cats left in the tunnels, Brambleclaw wondered, or were they all in the hollow? Had ThunderClan retreated, or had they run to the rescue when Brambleclaw’s patrol was overwhelmed?

Was there any difference, when the end result was the same: ThunderClan once again fighting for their camp, while the camp itself stood hard and unmoving, stone walls pressing in on them.

Blood dripped from scratches and claw marks along Brambleclaw’s body where cats had gotten past his guard. The wounds throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his lungs worked overtime to try and catch his breath even when there was no time to rest.

For the countless time, Brambleclaw’s gaze slid past the cat he was fighting to the nursery entrance. Ferncloud and Sorreltail still stood strong, backs to each other and facing out, dappled gray beside tortoiseshell—but even as Brambleclaw watched, they slid apart just enough to leave a space between their hind quarters, a small space, but big enough for a lean WindClan cat to slip through.

Tornear latched on to Brambleclaw’s shoulder with his fangs, but Brambleclaw barely felt it, tearing himself free, uncaring of the way that ripped the wound and made it larger, focused more on the beat of stone beneath his paws as he launched himself across the hollow, between the two queens, into the nursery, and—

Conflicting instincts hit Brambleclaw all at once. All six kits—Honeykit, Poppykit, Cinderkit, Lionkit, Hollykit, and Jaykit—were squeezed into one nest in the corner. Daisy stood in front of them with her hackles raised, fangs bared, and fur fluffed to twice its usual size. The usually gentle queen looked ready to send dogs yelping for their twolegs.

And before Daisy, half-turned back towards Brambleclaw and calm as death, stood Crowfeather. The same cat who Brambleclaw had traveled with for moons, braving thunderpaths and teasing each other on long walks. Huddling together in the cold, the thick-furred Brambleclaw, Tawnypelt, Stormfur, and Feathertail on the outside while Squirrelpaw smothered the lone short-furred Crowpaw in the middle. Fishing each other out of rivers when the RiverClan cats tried to teach them how to fish. All the arguments, and all the times they had shared food and tongues.

Brambleclaw had been happy to make it back to the old forest, but he had mourned the little family they had created together.

And now Crowfeather faced him in ThunderClan’s nursery, Brambleclaw’s own kits hiding in the corner, and Brambleclaw’s heart longed to share tongues again, to ask how his old friend was doing, while knowing neither of them would sheathe their claws.

Not while Crowfeather stood between Brambleclaw and his kits.

“Why are you here?” Brambleclaw rasped. He took a step to the side, trying to get between Crowfeather and Daisy, but the other tom stayed put, cocking his head to the side.

“My clan is attacking yours.”

“No,” Brambleclaw growled. He swiped a paw across the ground, claws scoring through the soft dirt. “Why are you here? In the nursery?” He could think of only two reasons a warrior would invade the nursery, and he couldn’t believe Onestar would stoop so low. Couldn’t believe Crowfeather would go through with it. But—

Crowfeather straightened, tail twitching. “Too few kits have been born since we arrived at the Lake. But ThunderClan is strong.” His gaze turned towards the kits, and Brambleclaw didn’t wait for him to turn back.

He leapt on Crowfeather, bowling the smaller cat over and rolling him away from the kits. Daisy’s cream-colored legs darted about in his peripheral vision, but Brambleclaw focused on the narrowed, cool blue eyes a single claw’s length from his face, on the furious hiss that cut off when Crowfeather snapped at him, missing only when Brambleclaw pushed himself free to stand, finally, between Crowfeather and the kits.

Except he was too close, Brambleclaw realized. His back paws brushed against the feathers and moss of Daisy’s nest, and Daisy herself stood by the nursery entrance.

Brambleclaw had gotten where he wanted to be, but Daisy had been forced to move. They’d just switched places.

Brambleclaw crouched lower, readying himself for whatever Crowfeather’s next move would be, and his tail fur brushed against soft kitten ears. Lionkit mewed, quieter than he had ever heard him, and the noise burrowed into Brambleclaw’s heart. All his aches and pains faded away.

His kits were only three moons old; they shouldn’t have to hear the sounds of battle yet.

“Coward,” he spat, and leapt upon Crowfeather again.

The lean cat jumped to the side and out of the way of Brambleclaw’s bulk. He lashed out with a front paw, but Brambleclaw’s side was only exposed for a moment before he whirled around, putting himself back in-between Crowfeather and the kits.

On the journey to and from the sun-drown place, all the cats had sparred with each other—both to complete Crowpaw and Squirrelpaw’s teachings, and to keep their own fighting instincts intact. Brambleclaw was well-used to Crowfeather’s strategies and weaknesses.

That also meant Crowfeather was used to his.

Brambleclaw took one step to the side to get a better look at Daisy and the nursery entrance, gaze sliding past Crowfeather, and the WindClan warrior pounced, battering his face with an outstretched front paw twice before Brambleclaw blocked the third strike with his own paw.

The move put all his front weight on the side of his injured shoulder, and Brambleclaw staggered at the sudden pain. Instead of being able to retaliate, he opened himself back up to another strike from Crowfeather.

Brambleclaw swore he saw stars before he shook it off. He couldn’t give Crowfeather the chance to get the advantage. Couldn’t give the other warrior time to plot.

Brambleclaw reared up on his hindlegs, revealing his soft belly but taking the weight off his injured shoulder, and hit Crowfeather upside the head, knocking him to the ground. He loomed over him, eyes narrowed to slits and fangs bared in a snarl.

“You really thought we’d just let you take our kits? Use them as hostages, raise them as your own—”

Pain split through Brambleclaw’s stomach, and he let out a cry and staggered. Only the worried shriek of his name from his kits let him keep his feet to face Crowfeather, who had rolled over and found his own feet again, one back paw gleaming.

Brambleclaw knew that even though he couldn’t see the blood against the black fur, that Crowfeather had ripped into his stomach with a single strong blow.

Despite being the cat to do it, Crowfeather’s gaze seemed almost sorrowful, ears tipped back and tail low—and then Daisy crashed into his back in one giant, hissing, spitting puffed up ball of fur. Crowfeather hissed back, and his claws scrabbled in the dirt, but Daisy was set firmly out of his reach, claws dug into his shoulders and haunches.

For a moment, Brambleclaw thought that might be how he died: Braced on shaky legs, blood dripping from his stomach, watching his old friend be torn apart by a furious queen. He wanted to move, to do something, anything, so that they could all live—him and his kits, Daisy and Crowfeather—but he was barely keeping his feet while standing still. He wasn’t sure he even had the energy left to do more than just breathe.

Then the thistle boundary rattled, and Sorreltail and Ferncloud burst into the nursery. Crowfeather crashed to his side, hurling Daisy to the ground, and then tore himself loose to dart between Sorreltail and Ferncloud once more and out into the center of camp.

None of the queens bothered chasing him. Ferncloud ran right to Brambleclaw and shoved her shoulder under his, while Daisy staggered past him, breath shaky, toward the kits. Sorreltail ran out of the nursery, but Brambleclaw could hear her calling for Leafpool.

“WindClan?” Brambleclaw asked. One of his paws slipped, but he caught himself. “Are they—?”

“Gone,” Ferncloud said. “That tom was the last. Lay down, Brambleclaw, it’s alright.”

Brambleclaw started to nod, but his vision blurred, so he settled for just following her directions instead. His legs folded over themselves, clumsy as a newborn kit, but with Ferncloud’s help he didn’t just fall down. She had even, he marveled at the softness, landed him in a nest. He inhaled the scent of lichen, poppyseeds, and oak.

“Squirrelflight will be upset her nest is bloody,” he said, but couldn’t stop himself from purring. He was in his mate’s nest, and his kits were—his kits were safe, right?

Brambleclaw fought to get his paws underneath himself again, when three little bundles hurtled into his chest one after another.

“Your kits are right here,” Ferncloud said. “Stay still. Leafpool! He’s right here.”

Pawsteps hurried his way, but not even the following flash of pain from pressure on his stomach could bring Brambleclaw to open his eyes. When had he closed them? Maybe—maybe when he laid down?

“Will Brambleclaw be alright?” a tiny voice asked. Hollykit.

Another voice scoffed. “He’ll be fine. The WindClan cat is gone, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Jaykit. Unsure, no matter how firm he tried to be.

“He’ll be fine,” a third voice echoed, more firmly than the second. Lionkit.

And then—“Brambleclaw?!” a fourth voice cried, and pawsteps thudded in the dirt beside him. “Kits?!” Squirrelflight.

Brambleclaw sighed, and the last of his fear left him as he slid into sleep.

<line break>

“I’m sorry,” Squirrelflight whispered. “I should have been here.”

<line break>

Cold seeped into his bones, and bodies pressed into his. Brambleclaw curled into himself, chin tucked around three kitten-sized pockets of warmth.

<line break>

A paw slipped wet moss into his mouth, and someone nosed his forehead. “Thank you,” they breathed. “Thank you.”

<line break>

Brambleclaw’s chin shifted up and down in a steady rhythm, and when he opened his eyes and looked down, a rusty purr rumbled through him. A pile of orange-gray-black kittens slept against him, their little stomachs rising and falling with each synchronized breath. Occasionally, Lionkit would let out a snort, joining in the chorus of Jaykit’s snores and Hollykit’s whistles.

An orange muzzle speckled with white freckles leaned into his view. Brambleclaw looked up into forest-green eyes, and he leaned up to meet his mate’s nuzzle with one of his own. The simple move drained him of more of his strength than he expected, but he didn’t regret it. Not when Squirrelflight laid down in front of him so they could stay eye-to-eye.

Not when she repeated, “I’m sorry. I should have been here,” and he could finally reply:

“You’re here now.”

Not when he fell asleep again with his family safe around him, and knew they would still be there when he woke again.

<line break>

He didn’t know that through the forest and across the moor, Crowfeather lay alone. Thinking not of his own kit and mate in the nursery, but of a different litter. Of one kit with his black fur, and one with his long legs, and one with Leafpool’s golden stripes. Of an old friend bleeding into the dirt to protect them.

Of his own leader demanding he prove his loyalty.

Crowfeather squeezed his eyes shut, and knew no harm would come to his kits.

Not if he or Brambleclaw had any say in it.

<end fic>

We're all going to ignore I just wrote another fic where I gave Brambleclaw a gaping stomach wound, right? Right?

Anyway, I loved writing this mix of hurt Brambleclaw and Bramble!Dad kitten fluff (and blatant "the queens are BAMF" propaganda), and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it! Please comment and/or reblog if you did!

Also, just a general celebration: This fic pushes me over 50k words in my "Tumblr Prompt/Ask Box Fill" series! I posted the first fic more than four years ago, though I didn't really pick up speed on the series until 2020. Still, this is a major achievement for me, and I appreciate everyone who has ever given me a prompt--I've loved filling them, giving back to the fandom community, and practicing my writing all at once. Thank you!

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Casey/RJ playlist!

Up next on my Power Rangers playlists is Casey/RJ!

Now I'm a little shocked going back and realizing how popular this fic got! I'm rather proud of the character development in it, but to find out that it's the most viewed&kudosed Casey/RJ fic on ao3? Was a bit of a shock. I'm so grateful for everyone that's read or enjoyed it- this playlist is for y'all!

@skyland2703 @madhare0512 @khruschevshoe @liveinalovelyway @disastardly @augment-techs

[rosalind-hawkins]

Mastershipping Musings ft. Pegasus

Pegasus is obviously a point of contention between Duke and Kaiba.

Pegasus and Kaiba still have to be business partners after Duelist Kingdom in anime canon, and that's the primary canon I follow because I'm still working on the manga. (side-note: Pegasus probably makes Kaiba pay through the nose for BEWD royalty rights, don't ya think?) Anytime they encounter each other, in business meetings and gaming conventions and tournaments, they have to play (mostly) polite in front of the cameras, but Kaiba can't stand him. That said, he's built his entire company based on Duel Monsters, so he has no choice but to put up with him. I imagine that Kaiba keeps Mokuba away from Pegasus as much as possible, to the point of making sure they're never ever in the same room together and trying to just never mention Pegasus to Mokuba if he can help it. Mokuba doesn't act outwardly traumatized after DK, but he's not taking any risks and not putting his brother in harm's way. Pegasus is a dangerous man, and Kaiba learned that lesson the hard way.

{Long post, rest under cut}

Duke idolized Pegasus as an artist and creator, and was basically the sole inspiration for Dungeon Dice Monsters. Once he finds out about what Pegasus did to the Kaibros in Duelist Kingdom, he's going to feel so conflicted. I think the internet's been around for long enough that we've all had a creator that we liked get outed for something awful they've done (I feel like it's happened a lot) and then we have that uncomfortable feeling afterwards of "but their art/content is so good" "but I shouldn't support them" "but you can separate the art from the artist" "but not when consuming the art is giving them money." Duke is gonna have a whole crisis about it when he finds out. When.

I don't think Kaiba feels a need to explain to Duke what Pegasus did, as he really doesn't come up too often as a topic of conversation between them, but also because he doesn't want to deal with the memory of it.

This gets a little bit into something that's fun for me: the different histories that Duke and Ryou have with Kaiba. Ryou experienced Duelist Kingdom (complete with the Kaiba bros getting their souls stolen by Pegasus) and Duke knows nothing about that. There's no reason for anybody in the friend group to tell Duke about what Pegasus did to Kaiba, or that Pegasus even had a Millennium Item (I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that never even comes up around Duke in season four). Ryou has no reason to talk to him about Pegasus because Ryou never thinks about Pegasus. Just forgets about the dude most of the time. And it also slips his mind that Duke doesn't know about that.

On the flip side, Ryou knows nothing about the Noah Kaiba virtual world adventure (I imagine Duke calls it the Battle City Bonus Round) because he was in the Shadow Realm, so he doesn't know about the KaibaCorp missiles that still exist btw (that's something important from that arc that I think it's easy to forget about, but yeah, Kaiba still owns all the weapons that KC had when he took over) and he didn't meet Noah or Gozaburo or find out how screwed up the Kaiba family is from that. He gets told or finds out later that Seto and Mokuba are adopted, but that's about it.

It's also entirely possible that at some point these three—Pegasus, Duke, and Kaiba—will sit down to a business meeting together because of the deals between their three companies. Just imagine Duke going into this meeting with no idea of the personal history between Pegasus and the Kaibas, all he knows is the professional stuff between their companies, and he assumes that they're on friendly terms with each other. Boy oh boy, is he in for a surprise (yes, this is a scene that I have planned for Power of Three). Duke goes in clueless with his boyfriend and the artist he adores, and then they're both going for the jugular, and he's just in shock. One of the few things that can leave Duke truly speechless, but he's got words for Kaiba after the meeting, you can count on that!

Power of Three snippet/preview below, because this scene won't be getting published for a looooong time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You were so much cuter when we first met," Pegasus sighed. "Fifteen and full of hope, and so terribly naïve."

"You've always been an opportunist,” Kaiba scoffed. “I wasn't nearly as naïve as you thought I was."

"You were naïve enough, dear boy. After all, you trusted me."

"At least you admit that you're untrustworthy."

Pegasus smiled.

Again, Duke was at a loss.

"Have you seen the pictures of when we first met?" Pegasus asked Duke, his smile smooth and charming. "He was downright adorable."

The way he stressed that last word made Seto's skin crawl.

"I'm not sure that's relevant to the topic of royalties," was Duke's tactful response. Seto had told him to keep the conversation on-topic; he’d thought Seto meant for him not to get distracted, not to keep the other two on track.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm not the one luring children to my private island in international waters,” Kaiba sneered, and Duke couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him look so angry.

"Children are delightful, and they have such vivid imaginations." Pegasus laughed, his relaxed posture a sharp contrast to Kaiba's tension. "I can only imagine what Mokuba invented about his visit with me that makes you so resentful."

"You call that a visit?"

"Of course it was a visit. He even had his own little room." Pegasus's single brown eye twinkled. "And so did you, for that matter."

Kaiba stood sharply, glaring down at Pegasus, who simply leaned back in his chair and met his gaze. Duke held his breath, too confused to know what to say at this point. The silence stretched out, the clock on the wall audibly ticking down every second that passed.

"You're a damn lucky man that I can't cut ties with you," Seto finally said, releasing the fists that had been clenched at his sides.

"I'm a damn clever man for making things that way."

The air felt heavy in Duke's lungs and on his shoulders as he looked between the man he loved and the man he idolized.

"As long as you're damned, I'm content." Kaiba carefully sat back down.

"You're never content, but that's alright. I like you that way." Pegasus leaned forward again. "Back to the contracts?"

"Yes."