#now you can thirst over a miniature

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOURS, MINES, OURS

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! nanami k. / m! reader

warnings — mentions of blood due to a minor injury, soft -> mean -> soft dom! nanamin, cucking ergo exhibition bc kuna def wants to fuck you, possessive! nanami, crybaby! vessel! reader, use and variations of the word slut, established dom/sub dynamic, hole inspection, light masochism, dacryphilia, shower sex, minor daddy / sir k., implied age gap n zero prep . ✦ . wc — 1.5k . ✦ . notes — less of a fic more of a lengthy thirst bc i'm still sick but i really wanted to deliver somethin for you guys so forgive me this once 💔 happy holidays 🎄

it’s 6:15 p.m. when nanami wanders into your garden, still clad in his work attire. the first two buttons of his shirt are undone, his tie hanging loosely around his collar, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. he’s somewhere in between tired and exhausted; dark circles rimming his almost sunken eyes but he’s not quite ready to pass out yet. he won’t give in to the heaviness of his eyes until he sees you.

and he does see you — you’re crouched in a corner, knees buried in a miniature mountain of soil, completely and utterly enthralled by the flowers in front of you.

orchids. a dark pink in the centre, although their petals are a light pink that fades into a pink-stained white colour. they vary in intensity but altogether, they’re beautiful and pink.

“they’re resilient little things, aren’t they?” he muses, his voice thick with drowsiness. which catches you entirely off-guard and has you flinching away, scraping the palm of your hand on a nearby rose bush in the process.

you wince, brows pulled together and lips jutting forward in a pout. nanami feels his heart drop, guilt settling in the pit of his stomach instantaneously.

“fuck,” he curses, a rough edge to his voice, “i’m sorry my love,” as he crouches beside you, cradling your injured hand in his much bigger, warmer palms. it’s not nearly as bad as it seemed at first; a singular scrape stretching across the expanse of your palm. but nanami does his due diligence, wiping away what little blood had appeared with his handkerchief.

“i should’ve made my—” he stops himself mid-sentence and lowers his gaze, arching a brow over the rounded rim of his glasses. “…presence known” he continues, staring pointedly at the tent in your shorts.

warmth creeps up your throat, spreading across the bridge of your nose to either cheek and the tips of your ears as you promptly cross your legs. to which nanami presses his lips together, blowing air through his nostrils.

“that — ” he starts, grimacing, “that must be uncomfortable,” as he takes a seat on the dirt floor of the greenhouse and pulls you into his lap. and you open your mouth to protest against it; he’s going to ruin his favourite slacks. but he presses a long, thick finger to your lips before you can get a word out.

he clicks his tongue, his tone morphing from the saccharine sweetness that you’re used to. nanami isn’t, by any means, harsh with you but his near-silent disapproval is enough to have you curling into yourself.

“i’m sorry,” the words tumble past your glossy lips before you even process them. and nanami responds immediately: “i’m sorry who?” his voice becomes more and more like a rumble as tiredness continues to pull at his sore muscles. but you humour him anyway, “i’m sorry sir,” which earns you a much more content-sounding rumble from the elder man.

“that’s my boy — now let’s get you taken care of inside where it’s warmer.”

skin–to–skin; nanami’s pressed firmly against you and you can’t keep your hands to yourself. cold fingers instinctively go to the curves and contours of his muscled torso; tracing the outline of it all while you chew on your lower lip. it’s hard to tell who’s more enamoured by the other but if you had to think about it (like really hard) you’d say nanami is.

“what are you thinking so hard about silly boy?”

your nose crinkles and a muscle in nanami’s jaw twitches at the sound of the third voice. it’s nothing like the silky-smooth voice that makes your heart flip-flop in your chest. but it has its appeal and is welcomed nevertheless.

“‘kuna i’m not —” you try but he interjects: “liar.” and you have half the mind to argue with him but nanami clears his throat, thick finger curling beneath your chin so that you’re made to meet his gaze.

he’s staring down at you, warm water from the shower overhead dripping from the edges of his hair. his gaze intent as he pushes you against the cold tiles on the wall. there’s a stark contrast between the two temperatures; one that makes goosebumps appear on your skin and provides a twisted sense of pleasure. but that too is welcomed.

“none of that,” and he clicks his tongue again, his distaste for the mouth that had appeared on the back of your palm as clear as day. sukuna, though, grits his teeth and you can’t help but think to yourself that the only thing they have in common is their distaste for each other.

“your blind devotion to a man who could never satiate you is beyond my comprehension,” sukuna smirks, “a slut like you needs a real man to fuck them right.”

a slut.

an onslaught of tears blurs your vision and nanami leans in, warm breath fanning your face. then he sucks in another breath, taking in the floral scent of your shampoo, before exhaling slowly. “did you hear that baby? ‘kuna thinks you’re a slut.” he whispers, emphasizing the nickname in the most condescending way he could. and you nod quietly, obediently in response. staring up at him with those big, innocent eyes of yours that looks the prettiest when it’s wet with unshed tears.

“i know my boy’s got a greedy hole on him,” he continues matter–of–factly, “i mean look at his cock, started leaking back in the greenhouse ‘cause of my voice and now it’s fully hard because you called him a slut.”  completely unbothered by the quiet whimper you let out. 

and silence — sukuna doesn’t say anything, lips pulled into a tight line. but this does little to discourage nanami who spins you around so that you’re pressed against the tiles, sensitive pecs to glazed clay and your back to him. then he’s pulling your legs apart, spreading your cheeks so that your winking hole is exposed to him.

“in fact, let’s both look at this slutty hole that i fill with my cum as often as i like because, if i recall correctly, you’re resigned to watching.”

quiet whimpers that bounce off of the tiles turn into sultry mewls. he’s being so mean, his voice dropping by an octave or two, and it makes your cock throb. he’s crouching behind you so that he’s at eye–level with your hole and you can’t help but gasp when a thick finger is pressed against it. then he pushes it in, it’s dry and it burns but it’s (like everything else) welcomed without complaint.

“do you see that?” nanami asks, it’s a rhetorical question and even then, not directed at you whatsoever but you find yourself nodding along to whatever he says anyway. “the way it winks at me? that’s because it missed me and the way that it stretches and clenches around me? that’s because i’m the only one who can touch him like this.”

 sultry mewls turn into pornographic sobs. the way that he describes everything has your stomach in knots. it’s no longer a want but rather a need. you need him inside of you but he’s taught you better than this — you need to use your words to get what you want.

so, you do, voice breathy as you try to form words in between needy cries. salty tears trickling down your warm cheeks as you string a sentence together. “i need you,” you croak, glancing over your shoulder at him, lips quivering.

and he coos at the sight of you, removing his finger before standing upright and cupping your cheeks. “that’s right, look at daddy, only i can make you feel better, hm?” to which you nod in response and his smile widens, “where do you need me, my love? show daddy.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as you nod again — immediately spreading yourself wide open with your fingers. presenting yourself like this to him, tears and all, is second nature to you. it comes naturally which he thoroughly enjoys.

and nanami groans at the sight of your hole as if it’s his first time seeing you like this and within seconds, he’s aligning the angry tip with your entrance. he brings his lips to your ears, his breath tickling the sensitive skin and sending warmth to your crotch. “it’s going to hurt a little,” he warns, leaning forward to press gentle kisses to your tear-stained cheeks as he pushes himself inside.

he was right, it does hurt. it hurts like a bitch and it takes some time for you to adjust. nanami’s just so big; he makes you feel so full. but after he bottoms out and slowly finds his rhythm you know you’re a goner. pain and pleasure — you don’t know where one ends and the other begins but it feels good nevertheless.

you’re content babbling as he pistons his hips, balls colliding with the curve of your ass every time he thrusts into you. it’s all you need and all it takes for your cock to begin spurting ropes of cum as he assaults your prostate.

[moondirti]

all the ways i can have you

pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 1.3k summary: he's hooked on making you feel good. warnings: naked female clothed male, edging, overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, squirting, unprotected p-in-v, blowjobs, hickeys, biting, cunnilingus, rimming, face sitting, this is so filthy don't look at me. notes: here's a little thirst i wrote in my down time. It's not affiliated with The Remedy in any way; i just really needed to get all my thoughts about our favourite beskar man out tbh because the slow burn with those two is killing me

The Mandalorian is absolutely filthy.

It’s not something you expect. He’s awkward at the best of times – pointedly avoiding any possibility of social interaction by the drawing of his blaster or an elongated silence. Honestly, for the first few months that you’d known him, you actually thought he hated you. Sure, you were never the unfortunate soul skewered onto his spear, nor had he ever threatened to throw you into his carbonite freezer, but he always had a handy excuse at the ready when you tried to make conversation. It was torture until you learnt not to take it personally; you figured he was probably used to being alone, and that’s no fault of yours. His lack of social skills could not be your burden to bear. So, eventually, when he gave nothing but a grunt to your occasional bizarre musing, you’d simply shrug it off and go back to playing with the kid. 

In hindsight, maybe you should have picked at the source of his reticence. It certainly wouldn’t have taken you as long to get to this point if you had. Because now, it occurs to you that he’d probably been so tense from withholding the desires that the two of you, in fact, shared.

It seems so obvious once the dam had lifted, but keen deduction has never been your strong suit. 

Back to the point, though. Mando is beyond borderline obscene once you manage to tease it out of him. Truly, he’d have never instigated things had you not been so uninhibited. But when his resolve shatters, it’s like his mind goes into overdrive of all the things he’d do to you. You actually think that, if given the opportunity, he’d lay you out for days on end to enact every fantasy he has. Because life has its way of intruding, though, he settles for the in-betweens of your day to day, taking you in the small gaps where it can just be the two of you.

You think he’s wild when he edges you the first time, his gloved hand palming your front while you stand in nothing but your towel. This is on you, he said, you little tease. It’s deliciously painful; his fingers find your clit with practised ease and he presses down on it, rubbing you in small, tight circles. With the way his hardened body presses into you from behind, clad fully in his armour – a stark contrast to your exposed frame – and his rough praise meets your ear, you almost cum from the miniature ministration alone. But he recognises what your quickening pants mean; he sees how your back arches into him like you’re trying to match the overwhelming pleasure his hands administer, and he pulls away at the last second, fingers returning only to give a sharp smack to your cunt. And of course it echoes – you’re soaked, for Maker’s sake – which only serves to make him repeat the action again and again until you’ve significantly darkened in shade. 

By the time you’re on the brink of collapse, Mando has you sitting between his legs, back to his chest, one leg hooked over a strong arm while you sob your pleas into the empty space of the hull. He fingers you fast and rough, delighting in your high-pitched wails and whiney begs, and forces your first orgasm out of you with an expert quirk of his fingers. It’s torturous relief, like white hot embers dancing upon frozen skin, and your vision blurs as you gush over his vambrace. But he doesn’t let up; he continues drawing them from your sopping core, turning in a complete 180 to overstimulate you until you literally have nothing else to give. 

He manages to serve you in a way no one ever has before – you're a complete, quivering mess by the end – so, you assume that’s the extent of it. But time with Mando proved that was the least he can come up with.

He revels in spreading your legs whenever he gets the chance, taking his time to pull your glistening lips apart and absorb the sight of your clenching hole. He says it amazes him – how such a tight thing is able to stretch over his length – then promptly digs his cock from within the confines of his pants. You find yourself agreeing with the wonder of how it fits; it’s by far the biggest you’ve taken – thick with throbbing veins that weave up to an angry, leaking tip – but his thumbs always dance in reassuring circles along your inner thighs when he presses it against you. And when he pushes in, you forget all about your worries, because the stretch is divine. Mando absolutely fills you up to the brink, the ridges of him catching along your inner walls, and he pounds into you with reckless abandon, like a man starved. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough as he reaches those hidden parts of you – that spongy tissue at the front, the wall of your cervix – and the sensation becomes absolutely addictive. You go cock-dumb without fail, drooling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and you think he might disappear someplace else as well, with the way his words pour unfiltered. Good girl. Beautiful. So fucking tight. Cum for me, I want to feel you. He turns reverent when he gets you this way, awkward fronts be damned. 

Funnily enough, he’s too impatient for you to go down on him. In the rare moments he forfeits, he has to hold himself back from pulling you up so he can just fuck you already. It’s not that you aren’t good at it, either – no, your tongue is enough to drive the strongest of men wild – but he just… doesn’t put as much priority in his pleasure as yours. It’s something different with you entirely. He doesn’t see sex as a means to relieve his mounting tensions, it’s not the same exchange he’s found in all those brothels. With you, Mando is overcome with the unshakeable urge to wring out every pleasure imaginable. He’s obsessed with the plump of your lips and the folds of your flesh. He dreams of every single part of you everywhere – under his hands, between his legs, in his mouth. 

So, he takes off his helmet to put his lips on yours. And you, who’s naive enough to again suppose that the last, world-ending orgasm was the scope of what he could do, experience it as he transforms into something else entirely. 

His kisses leave no area untouched. They find your neck, tightening as he sucks purple hickeys onto your skin, then pepper down to your chest, where he pecks your pebbled nipples and bites the swollen tissue underneath. Mando leaves a trail of spit and welts in his venture, and you moan under the calamity, combing through his soft curls with shaky fingers. And when he finds you soaked through your panties, your nails dig into his scalp, your tummy flushing with slight embarrassment. The pain sparks something in him, it seems, because he pushes your thighs up with a renewed vigour so he can press his nose onto your clothed cunt. My favourite, he groans between long inhales, before he rips off the cotton barrier that separates his tongue from your clit.

Mando eats you out like he’d rather be doing nothing else. He doesn’t. It’s his favourite pastime, solely for the way you mewl and squirm underneath him. He licks, sucks, drinks from you, uncovering every patch of skin with his warm tongue, which flicks over your bud until you cry and drives into you to collect the subsequent nectar. He spreads you on the floor like a meal, dominating in every way. He kneels before you on a chair, open as you rub his stubble into you. He even insists that you sit on his face: ‘I need to taste you more than I do air.’ You have no reason to doubt it, though. He fucks into his fist when you grind down on his chin, his free hand directing you forward until he can lap at your asshole as well. Mando wants you surging, spilling onto him; crying out his name, his real name, which he whispers to you as you come down from his onslaught.

Din, he beams. To you, mesh’la, it’s Din.

[violentkisses999]

preys and predators

summary: the story of preys and predators unfolds as you exchange numbers with wanda maximoff: a predator of nature your wedding planner.

pairing: fem!reader x wanda maximoff

cw: death of animal, light depiction of blood, (i'm an asshole when it comes to poetic metaphors, pls stick w me)

there was once a swampy bayou. humid breezes raked over soggy lumps of leaves. it was midday when a white swan gracefully flapped near the edges of peaceful waters. its webbed feet squelched into clay like mud as it ventured closer.

the bird's long neck bucked as it peered its head around: checking if the coast was clear. all that could be heard were screaming heaps of cicadas and the occasional yelp of a cricket. once the swan decided that it was safe to do so, it dipped its bumpy beak into the murky water.

the resting waters of the bayou rippled as the waterfowl sipped. its tired eyelids drooped as it drank. it hadn't seen the bubbles of air that emerged from the water.

as the bird's body grew heavier with relaxation, it was submerged further into the thick mud. so far to the point where it could feel its stomach rest against the soft land. unbeknownst to the pure creature, the ripples in the body of water redirected. instead of moving away from the bird's beak, they were flowing right towards it.

once the greedy swan had finally quenched its thirst, it lifted its dripping beak. its eyelids never opened as it ruffled its feathers. its body was graced with a warm gust of wind.

its eyelids fluttered as they peeled apart. though instead of the peaceful swamps it expected to see, the bird's eye view was met with gaping jaws ready to feast. the snout of the slick predator dripped as it lurked further open.

before the swan could retrieve its feet from the mud-

chomp

drops of blood flew to paint the sharp blades of grass. like water colors, the brownish water blended with the crimson substance.

the scene was terrifying, but so is nature. the tailed beast drew back into the murky swamp. the cicadas still screamed, and the crickets still yelped.

after so long, another greedy creature would naively sip from the forbidden bayou. that sneaky gator will be there too. patiently watching its prey fatten before striking. just another day in the wild.

the circle of l- "hey?" wanda repeated, "you okay?"

suddenly, the sounds of civilians chattering, and cars honking infiltrated your senses. busy gusts of wind fanned her fragrance right towards you. miniature bumps rose on your skin.

the tender rasp of her voice had your hands fumbling with your phone. your voice shook, "yeah- no, i'm all good, " you explained pathetically.

a moment of silence passed. though subtle, you managed to notice it. her green eyes sharply peered into yours. the space between her auburn brows creased as her head tilted in the slightest.

before you could further reassure her that you were present, her hands firmly clapped together. her matte lips pursing in disregard.

chomp

"anyways, now that you have my number, we can discuss cake tasting plans over the phone." her stating of the obvious was met with your dumb nodding. you'd be lying if you said that you'd been listening.

"text me later?" her eyebrows raised as she slightly raised her shoulders: physically begging for words. you cheeks warmed as if you had only just noticed your limited responses.

"absolutely!" you blurted out before your lips could stop. your eyelids squeezed shut, and your cheeks heated. your grip on your phone only slipped as sweat drew from your palms. "i mean, yes. i will text you, and i will give mark your number as well."

wanda's shoulders seemed to relax at the mention of your fiance. you wouldn't have noticed, you were too busy staring down other random pedestrians. anything to make this interaction feel more casual.

"well, you do that." with that, she zipped up her coat and drew back into the busy crowd.

and just like that, the chattering civilians and honking cars became real noise again. the autumn breeze still graced your skin. no more goosebumps. huh... weird..

anywho, you should really call mark. planning you guy's wedding has been driving you crazy.

about me main masterlist

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Everybody knows the iconic Godzilla. But, let’s explore the other campy Japanese Kaiju (Japanese genre of films and TV featuring giant monsters, or Kaiju can also refer to the monsters, themselves.)

We all enjoy a nice B movie monster in the world of tokusatsu, or “special effect filming” in Japanese. The term is short for a genre of live action films bursting with heavy handed special effects, and a slew of freaky, giant creatures.

Godzilla crossed over into the mainstream media and pop-culture of the Western world, but we missed out on the ones that didn’t. That’s Eiji Tsuburaya, a pioneer of special effects, and a master at making kaiju monsters.

Like Dada, a humanoid alien inspired by the post-WWI European art movement, Dada, that also spread to Japan by the 1920s.

Dada made appearances in the 1960s-70s TV show, Ultraman, with a thirst for world domination and a suit evocative of the art movement’s inspiration from African tribal art. He’s gone thru many face changes over the years. 

At one time, Tsuburaya was making a new monster a week. Let’s look at some of them. Several are really goofy, like Garamon, here, from the series “Ultra Q.” He emerged from a meteorite and emitted a strange clanking noise when he walked. 

Next, is Balloonga, also from “Ultra Q,” that adhered to a rocket on its return from Saturn. It absorbed the rocket's energy, causing it to crash into the sea, then it absorbed Tokyo’s energy leaving in constant darkness.

Alien Varduck from “Return of Ultraman.” That’s “ice breath” shooting out, b/c he’s also know as “Snow Boy.”

Henpai Sentai, the Molester of the Sea.

I feel so stupid, I never knew that Mothra was Godzilla’s wife. This is getting weird, now.

The Shobijin, two tiny priestesses or fairy twins, that speak for Mothra always fascinated me. Talk about weird. 

Would you believe that the flower blossom monster from the 1970s-80s Japanese TV show “Gosei Sentai Dairanger,”  was the basis for the American  Power Rangers? It fired a round of petals when attacked.

Check out this actor in half a Godzilla costume. It was so heavy, it could only be worn for a few minutes at a time.

They even have an action figure. 

Behind the scenes shots of tokusatsu monster movies show the delightfully miniature sets such suited monsters trampled.

fandom.com/wiki/    &    https://www.messynessychic.com/

[just-emis-blog]

OC Interview Tag~

Thank you to @agirlandherquill @leahnardo-da-veggieand @drchenquill for the triple threat tag! ✨🌻

I'll be using Cai Park (the youngest [but biggest] brother of Bernard) from Artificial Bonds

Were you named after anyone?

During the process of adopting us, mother encouraged us to choose names for ourselves, since we were going by serial numbers at the time. My siblings were enthused, but I thought the entire endeavor tedious and unnecessary, so in an effort to be done with it faster I spat out the first couple of letters from one of the objects in my line of vision. Mother was pleased, but Lysander and Bernard knew exactly what I had done and were disappointed and moronically amused respectively. Lysander, being the most sensible of the two as usual, convinced me to change the spelling and pronunciation as an exercise in expressing my opinion and creativity. To this day, however, Bernard still calls me "Cayenne Pepper" whenever he wants to get a rise out of me. It works.

When was the last time you cried?

I do not engage in such frivolous activities.

[It was when a mother duck was ushering one of her lagging babies across a busy highway]

Do you have any kids?

I do have one child. There are those who might mistakenly call her a pet, simply because of the unimportant fact that she is a Komodo Dragon named Jessica. But let me ask you this; would a mere pet have access to three floors of the apartment building that you own? Of course not. Now, I know some might have opinions about parents who provide housing or other monetary aid for their adult children. But to them I say the job market is not nearly as lucrative nor secure as it was for previous generations. Basic needs like gas and rusa deer are already set at astronomical prices! Are we expect our youth to be able to afford their own housing as well? There is no shame in supporting your kids until they can stand on their own feet.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I see no point in playing verbal games. So what you mean, or rot.

What is the first thing you notice about people?

Their readiness for battle. Mind, your average person does not display the typical tells of being an experienced fighter or if their armed, but it is the first thing I check for during any interaction.

What is your eye color?

Dark brown. Nothing to write home about.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings. They seem to be a prevalent theme in all of the Barbie and Magical Girl OVAs that I watch, and I enjoy those.

Any special talents?

I do...many of which I am not very proud of. The one talent I have cultivated outside of my...time...before I was adopted, is building miniature dollhouses and furniture. It is a both lucrative and enjoyable practice, and necessitates little to no violence.

Where were you born?

Born is the incorrect term. Regardless, I do not know the location. That time in my life is...blurry.

Do you have any pets?

No. But I do have a child. Please see the above question pertaining to children.

What sort of sports do you play?

Contact sports were too risky to indulge in, but I was on our school's competitive Hula Hooping team. We won two years in a row and during my last year of school we competed in the National Hula League. I am certain that it was due to all of our team's efforts, but my colleague's are convinced that we made it so far due to me being the first human being to ever look intimidating while hula hooping.

How tall are you?

6'4". A perfectly respectful, not comparable to any of the AoT Titans, height. Bernard.

What was your favorite subject in school?

Art class, specifically ceramics.

What is your dream job?

My dream job was anything as separated from fighting as physically possible. Not because I fear I will be overcome with a thirst for violence, or that I have no control over myself. If I or my loved ones are threatened I will act accordingly.

In the past I was told that fighting was all I would be capable of doing. So, I suppose I have always wanted my career to be the exact opposite of that out of spite.

And I cannot think of anything more opposite than selling a multitude of tiny wares specifically for hamsters on Etsy. Nor more satisfying.

Tagging for funsies: @dyrewrites @the-golden-comet @the-ellia-west @mr-orion

[thelastdiamondpiratealchemist]

The Little Escape Artist.

The Little Escape Artist.

Rated. G. Jazz has to babysit Spike and Carly's little girl, Penny. What could go wrong?

Jazz, the silver Autobot with a penchant for Earth music and a thirst for energon, found himself in an unfamiliar situation. Perched precariously on a miniature plastic chair was Spike and Carly's youngest child, Penny, at her small arts and crafts table as she drew with her crayons.

This was a far cry from the usual battlefield chaos Jazz was accustomed to. The table, usually a neat workspace for human-sized projects, was now a miniature explosion of color.

Once neatly sorted, crayons were scattered like fallen soldiers, their waxy tips leaving vibrant streaks across oversized sheets of paper.

"What are you drawin' kiddo?" Jazz asks.

"Mommy, Daddy, Daniel, and me!" Penny laughs, jabbing a bright blue crayon enthusiastically at the paper.

Jazz leaned in for a closer look. The picture was…abstract, to say the least. According to Penny's enthusiastic explanation, a giant yellow circle with a squiggly line on top represented the sun.

Below it, a red blob with even more squiggles was apparently Spike, wielding a big wrench (a detail Jazz secretly admired). A smaller, pink blob with a crown of what looked like orange scribbles was Carly, presumably holding a bouquet of flowers (although Jazz wasn't sure how he knew that).

Then came the exciting part. A small, silver rectangle with impossibly long arms and legs represented Penny herself. Next to it, towering over everyone else, was a magnificent creature, unlike anything Jazz had ever seen. It was a dazzling combination of mismatched shapes and colors, a testament to Penny's boundless imagination.

"And who's this big guy?" Jazz rumbled gently, gesturing at the colorful behemoth.

Penny's eyes sparkled.

"That's you, Jazzy-bot! You're my big, strong protector!" she announced before launching back into her artistic endeavors with renewed fervor.

"Aw, shucks." Jazz smiled, rubbing the back of his head.

"Mommy says when I'm older, I can join the Autobots like Daddy and Danny!" Penny throws her arms in the air, "Those meanies…Dece-Deceppii…”

"Decepticons?" Jazz laughs gently, the sound rumbling through the room like a distant subwoofer. "Yeah, those guys are no good. But hey, with me as your protector, they wouldn't dare mess with you, little artist." Jazz gently ruffled Penny's hair.

"Now stay here for a moment. I need to speak to ol' Ironhide for a moment," Jazz said.

"Kay!" Penny agreed, returning to her work. Jazz, ever the pragmatist, knew relying on a single "stay here" wouldn't hold a candle to Penny's boundless energy. He transformed with a whir and a puff of displaced air. In this form, he could weave through the corridors of the Autobot base with surprising agility, perfect for keeping a wayward toddler in sight.

He rolled past Ratchet, engrossed in repairs, the grumpy medic barely sparing him a glance.

"Just keeping an optic out for Spike's little Houdini," Jazz rumbled, his voice barely a whisper over the engine's purr. Ratchet grunted noncommittally, a stray wrench nearly clipping Jazz's fender.

Reaching the training room, Jazz skidded to a stop beside Ironhide, who was in the midst of target practice. The weathered old Autobot lowered his massive weapon, optics flickering with amusement.

"Need a hand wranglin' the ankle-biter, Jazz?" Ironhide rumbled, his voice a low growl.

"More like a four-wheel escort," Jazz admitted. "Seems the little artist has a talent for disappearing faster than a Decepticon spy."

"Tell me about it. Spike used to be the same way." Ironhide chuckled, like boulders tumbling, "Now, hand over your report and get your aft back to Penny."

Ironhide's gruff but playful demeanor warmed Jazz's circuits. Maybe babysitting duty wasn't just a chore but a chance to see the lighter side of their human allies. He chuckled, handing Ironhide a data chip containing a (slightly embellished) report of Decepticon activity. After all, a little distraction never hurt, especially when keeping Penny occupied.

"Consider it done, Jazz," Ironhide rumbled, optics gleaming with a mischievous glint that mirrored Jazz's own. "Just keep that energon-fueled tornado out of my training session. Wouldn't want collateral damage in the form of a crayon-wielding Picasso." Jazz transformed back with a playful salute.

"Fear not, Ironhide. Operation: Contain the Crayon Crusader is a go!" With a wink, he sped off down the corridor, his engine purring with renewed purpose.

He transforms back into robot mode where he left Penny; the only problem is…

She was gone!

"Penny?!" Jazz shouted, feeling his spark drop to his fuel intake, "Penn-"

Penny crawled out from underneath the desk; she dropped her pink and purple crayons and had to retrieve them after they rolled under the table.

Jazz knelt down, his metallic frame dwarfing the desk.

"Penny!" he exclaimed, his voice a sigh more than a shout. "You scared the energon out of me! Never disappear like that again, alright?"

Penny nodded.

"She was just underneath the desk…" Jazz thought, "What did Bee tell me about Penny liking to run off and play hide and seek again…?"

A memory flickered in Jazz's circuits, a snippet of a conversation with Bumblebee about Penny's favorite game. A sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, little artist," he rumbled playfully, "impressive hiding skills! But even the sneakiest Decepticon spy can't resist a good challenge, can they?"

"A challenge?" Penny's eyes widened with curiosity.

"That's right," Jazz continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "How about a game of hide-and-seek? I bet I can find you faster than you can find Bumblebee!"

Penny's face lit up.

"Hide-and-seek it is!" she squealed, scrambling from under the desk. "But you have to count really slow, Jazzy-bot! Like, super slow!"

Jazz chuckled, indulging her. "Alright, alright. It's super slow counting. You have ten seconds to hide… one Mississippi, two Mississippi…" His voice trailed off as Penny darted away in a flurry of pink and purple, her bright laughter echoing down the corridor.

Jazz pretended to count slowly, but his optics scanned the room efficiently. There weren't many hiding spots to check because of Penny's size for enclosed spaces.

He forgot one major thing: Penny was fast, especially for a little girl her age. While he covered his optics, Penny managed to sneak out of the area. "Okay! Ready or not, here I…." Jazz trailed off, and Penny was completely out of sight, "Oh, frag!"

Penny was nowhere to be seen. The corridor stretched out before him, empty. Panic clawed at his circuits, a far more terrifying sensation than facing down a Decepticon armada.

"Penny!" he boomed, echoing through the metallic halls. No response, only the faint hum of the Autobot base. Had he underestimated her speed? Had she wandered off further than he anticipated?

He transformed back into his vehicle mode, the shift a blur of motion fueled by a surge of adrenaline. He sped down the corridor, his engine whining in protest at the sharp turns. He had to find her, fast.

He sped by Ratchet's repair bay, where he slammed on his brakes and transformed back into his Autobot form. Bumblebee lay on his stomach as Ratchet welded the back of his left knee.

"Ow!" Bumblebee yelps, feeling the laser hit a sensitive part.

"What's the meaning of this racket, Jazz? Can't a mech get some peace and quiet around here?" Ratchet whirled around, his brow furrowed.

Jazz ignored the medic's grumbling, his optics scanning Bumblebee with urgency.

"Bee! Have you seen Penny?" he asked desperately.

"Penny? Not since earlier this morning. Why, what's wrong?" Bumblebee's engine revved in surprise. Dread pooled in Jazz's circuits. "She's missing. I left her for a klick – a moment, Bee – and now she's gone!"

Ratchet's grumbling ceased. He straightened, his optics gleaming with concern.

"Missing? In the Autobot base? Lockdown! We need a full lockdown!" he barked into his comm unit, "Penny is missing!"

The tension in the air crackled like energon. Ratchet's sharp order echoed through the metallic corridors, sending a flurry of activity into motion. Alarmed Autobots flooded out of their respective workstations, optics scanning for any sign of the missing human child.

As the Autobots ran around their base like a headless chicken, Penny managed to sneak outside the base. The sun shone brightly in the sky, and a few clouds moved in the gentle breeze.

The cool air washed over Penny, a stark contrast to the familiar hum of the Autobot base. Blinking in the sunlight, she gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. Everything outside seemed enormous – the towering trees, the endless stretch of green grass, the vastness of the sky. It was an entirely different world compared to the metallic corridors she knew.

A small butterfly with iridescent wings fluttered past her nose, momentarily captivating her attention. Penny raised a hand, giggling as the butterfly flitted out of reach. The urge to explore overwhelmed her. With a determination that rivaled any seasoned Autobot scout, she toddled off, following a winding dirt path that beckoned more profound into the unknown.

Meanwhile, inside the base, pandemonium reigned. Ratchet's urgent command had sent the Autobots into a frenzy. Alarms blared, red lights strobed, and frantic voices filled the air. Jazz, his processor a tangled mess of worry, felt a surge of self-recrimination. How could he have been so careless? He was supposed to be the protector, not the one who let the little artist slip away.

"Jazz, calm down!" Bumblebee buzzed, his voice laced with concern despite his own throbbing knee. "We'll find her. Ratchet's already alerted everyone outside the base. We must retrace our steps and think where Penny might have gone."

As Bumblebee spoke with Jazz, the Autobots' worried shouts overlapped.

"Have you found her?!"

"What was she wearing?!"

"A 'Smurf' shirt…?!"

"What the scrap is a 'Smurf'?!" Jazz heard Grapple shouting.

The last question hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the vast communication gap between the Autobots and their human allies. Jazz winced internally. A "Smurf" was a character from a human cartoon, a detail that wouldn't have helped the frantic search. "Hold on!" Bumblebee shouted, his voice rising above the cacophony. "Jazz mentioned she was playing hide-and-seek before she disappeared."

A sliver of hope pierced Jazz's despair. "Maybe she's still hiding somewhere inside the base," he said, his voice regaining some of its usual confidence.

Ratchet, ever the pragmatist, shook his head. "Possible, but unlikely. Lockdown procedures have been initiated. Every corner of this base is being scanned."

Jazz felt a pang of helplessness. He couldn't rely on luck alone. He had to think like Penny, to see the world through her curious, boundless eyes. "Think, Bee," he urged. "Where would a little artist like Penny hide if she knew giant robots were looking for her?"

Bumblebee's engine whirred thoughtfully. "Hmm… maybe a small space, somewhere she could feel safe and enclosed?"

"Exactly!" Jazz exclaimed. "But where?"

Just then, a horrifying realization slammed into Jazz. The base was on lockdown, and the massive blast doors were shut. Penny wouldn't be hiding inside – she was gone. Outside.

Panic flooded his circuits. The Autobot base, nestled deep within a heavily guarded forest, wasn't a safe playground for a tiny human. Decepticon patrols prowled the area, and the surrounding wilderness teemed with unknown dangers.

"Penny's outside!" Jazz roared, his voice a thunderclap that silenced the room. The Autobots, already on high alert, froze in shock.

"Outside?!" Bumblebee sputtered, his engine whining in disbelief. The revelation that Penny was outside sent a fresh wave of terror through the Autobots. Even the hardened warriors, forged in countless battles, couldn't ignore the primal fear of a small child lost in the wild.

"I'll help you look, ooowww!" Bumblebee yelped, the pain in his knee throbbing; Ratchet shoved him back down onto the berth.

Ratchet, ever the medic, barked orders at Bumblebee.

"Stay put, and let me finish this repair. You'll be no use limping around the forest." His optics flickered with concern for the young human, their usual gruffness tinged with worry.

The Autobots scrambled into action. Lockdown procedures were temporarily overridden to allow Jazz access to the exterior. The massive blast doors hissed open, revealing the sprawling forest bathed in sunlight. Jazz didn't hesitate. He sped through the doorway, his powerful engine churning as he raced towards the treeline, his optics scanning for any sign of the missing child.

Meanwhile, outside the base, Penny skipped gleefully down the dirt path. Outside the familiar metallic corridors, the world was a wonderland of sights and sounds. Birds chirped in the trees, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and the scent of pine filled the air.

Distracted by a buzzing bumblebee, she strayed further and further from the base, her tiny legs carrying her deeper into the unknown.

Unaware of the frantic search underway, Penny giggled and chased butterflies, her innocence starkly contrasting the growing tension within the Autobot base.

Jazz weaved through the trees, his powerful form a blur of silver against the green backdrop. His optics scanned the forest floor, searching for any sign of a slight pink and purple blur. His internal compass whirred, displaying a perimeter around the Autobot base, the designated search area. But the vastness of the forest was a daunting prospect.

As Penny continues to play by herself, a Decepticon lurks in the shadows.

Penny, wholly absorbed in the playful chase, didn't notice the glint of red reflecting off something hidden in the bushes. A low, guttural growl sent shivers down her spine, a sound far different from the chirping birds and rustling leaves she'd grown accustomed to. Fear, cold and primal, replaced the innocent joy on her face. She froze, her tiny hand outstretched mid-air, the forgotten butterfly long gone.

From the bushes emerged a hulking figure, its body a twisted mass of black and red metal. Glowing red optics scanned Penny with a predatory gleam. It was Starscream, a Decepticon seeker notorious for his cunning and ambition. He towered over her, his sharp claws scraping against the forest floor with a menacing screech.

Penny whimpered, her big blue eyes welling up with tears. She remembered her father's stories about the Decepticons, the bad guys who wanted to conquer Earth. This terrifying creature was everything Spike had described and worse.

Starscream tilted his head, intrigued by this unexpected find. A human child, lost and alone in the heart of Autobot territory? This was a golden opportunity. He could use her as a bargaining chip, perhaps even lure the Autobots into a trap. A cruel smile twisted his metallic face.

"Well, well, well," he rasped, his voice like grinding gears. "What do we have here? A lost little Autobot hatchling?"

Penny shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“N-no,” she stammered. “I’m Penny. Spike’s daughter.”

"Spike Witwicky's offspring? Fascinating. Perhaps you can be of some use to me after all." Starscream scoffed; she was terrified.

Terror choked Penny's voice. Tears streamed down her face, blurring the menacing figure before her.

"Jazzy-bot…" she whimpered, the nickname a desperate plea for the Autobot who was supposed to protect her.

Meanwhile:

"I'm picking up a Decepticon signal!" Jazz realized, "It's Starscream!"

The news sent a jolt through Jazz's circuits. Starscream, here? And the Decepticon's presence could only mean one horrifying thing – Penny was in danger.

His engine roared as he increased his speed, and the trees blurred into streaks of green and brown. The Decepticon signal pulsed on his internal scanner, guiding him deeper into the forest.

In the clearing, Starscream tightened his grip around Penny's tiny arm. Her whimpers turned into choked sobs as the Decepticon loomed over her, his cruel smile widening.

"So, little Penny," Starscream's voice dripped with amusement, "tell me, where are all your precious Autobot protectors hiding?"

Penny sniffled, her gaze darting around frantically. "I… I don't know!" she cried.

Starscream's smile faltered. This was going differently than planned. He'd expected the child to be more forthcoming, perhaps leading him straight to the Autobot base. A flicker of annoyance crossed his optics.

"Useless child," he snarled, tightening his grip around her little body, holding her to his torso.

A primal roar echoed through the trees, shaking leaves loose from their branches. Starscream flinched, his grip loosening slightly on Penny. In the clearing stood Jazz, his silver form gleaming in the sunlight. His optics burned with a fury, unlike anything Starscream had ever witnessed.

"Let her go, Starscream," Jazz boomed, his metallic growl vibrating through the clearing. Now."

Starscream sneered.

"Ah, Jazz," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just the bot I was looking for. Didn't expect to find you playing babysitter today."

Sensing a glimmer of hope, Penny reached out a trembling hand towards Jazz.

"Starscream," Jazz repeated, ignoring the Decepticon's taunts. "This isn't your fight. This doesn't concern you."

Starscream let out a humorless chuckle. "Not my fight, you say? This little morsel can potentially lure the entire Autobot nest into the open! A far more valuable prize than any energon cube." He tightened his grip on Penny, his sharp claws digging into her arm. A fresh wave of terror washed over her face.

Jazz couldn't let this happen. He had to act fast. His processor raced, and he formulated a plan.

"Alright, Starscream," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"You want a fight? You got it. But let the girl go first. We settle this mano-a-mano like warriors."

Starscream's optics narrowed, suspicion flickering within their red depths. This was different from the Autobot's usual battle tactic.

Was it a trap?

Jazz held his breath, his processor whirring with calculations. He knew he was gambling, but it was his only chance.

"Very well, Autobot," Starscream sneered, amusement twisting his cruel smile. "But don't think this will be a fair fight. I enjoy a little… advantage."

With a sickening thud, Starscream tossed Penny aside. She landed with a whimper at the edge of the clearing, tears streaming down her face. Jazz's spark lurched, his entire being consumed by a primal urge to protect.

Fury surged through Jazz's circuits, a white-hot inferno threatening to consume his logic. But seeing Penny whimper on the ground fueled his determination. He couldn't succumb to rage, not yet. He had to play Starscream's game, at least for now.

"Advantage, huh?" Jazz rumbled, his voice deceptively calm. "Let's see what that little surprise of yours is."

Starscream cackled, a sound like twisted metal scraping against metal. He raised a clawed hand, and a holographic cage materialized around Penny from his wrist. The cage shimmered with an otherworldly energy, its bars crackling with an ominous hum.

"This," Starscream announced, his voice dripping with sadistic glee, "is a prototype null-field emitter. It disrupts any organic life form within its radius, rendering them weak and disoriented. Perfect for keeping your precious little human out of the way."

Jazz's optics narrowed. A null-field emitter. That explained Starscream's sudden confidence. With Penny neutralized, the Decepticon seeker held all the cards.

"Not so eager to fight now, are you, Jazz?" Starscream taunted, his smile widening. You should reconsider your offer. Maybe this little fleshling is worth more to you than your pride."

Jazz ignored the barbs. His mind raced, searching for a way out of this situation. A straight-up fight with the null-field emitter active would be suicide. He needed to get Penny out of that cage and fast.

Suddenly, a memory sparked in his circuits. On Cybertron, he'd witnessed Ratchet experimenting with a new type of EMP grenade – an electromagnetic pulse weapon designed to disrupt electronic systems. A desperate plan began to form in Jazz's processor. It was a risky gamble, but it was his only shot.

"Alright, Starscream," he said, his voice laced with a false bravado. "You win. This isn't a fair fight after all." He raised his hands placatingly.

Starscream's smile faltered slightly, suspicion flickering in his optics. Was this another Autobot trick?

"Good," Starscream sneered. "Perhaps you've finally learned some manners." He lowered his guard slightly, his attention shifting from Jazz to the whimpering Penny.

That was all the opening Jazz needed. With a lightning-fast movement, he reached into a hidden compartment on his arm and retrieved a small, spherical device.

"Don't move!" he roared, hurling the EMP grenade at Starscream's feet.

The Decepticon seeker reacted instinctively, leaping back with a startled yelp. The grenade landed with a dull thud and a burst of static. A wave of electromagnetic energy pulsed outwards, temporarily disrupting all electronic systems within its range.

The null-field emitter flickered and sputtered before shutting down completely. The holographic cage around Penny dissolved with a hiss, leaving her shaken but unharmed.

Starscream roared in frustration, his body momentarily flickering as his internal systems rebooted. Jazz seized the opportunity. In a blur of motion, he transformed into his vehicle mode and speeded towards Penny.

Scooping her up in his arms, he raced back towards the treeline, the deafening clang of Starscream's recovering systems echoing behind him.

"Jazz, you fragger!" Starscream shrieked, his voice distorted with rage. "You'll pay for that!"

But Jazz didn't dare look back. He focused on getting Penny back to safety, dodging between trees as Starscream's enraged shouts filled the air.

Back at the Autobot base, the lockdown was lifted. Relief washed over the Autobots as they spotted Jazz emerging from the treeline, a small pink and purple blur cradled protectively in his arms.

Bumblebee remained in the medical bay, his leg haltering into the air.

"Penny!" Bumblebee buzzed, relief flooding his circuits as the doors whooshed open, revealing Jazz and a tear-stained but otherwise unharmed Penny.

Spike and Carly, who had been pacing anxiously near the medbay with Ratchet (who, despite his gruff exterior, couldn't hide his own worry), rushed forward in a flurry of hugs and frantic questions. They had returned home after Optimus had contacted them about Penny.

"Oh, Penny!" Carly cried, her voice thick with relief. "You scared us half to death!"

Penny clung to her mother, burying her face in Carly's shoulder. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, a silent testament to her ordeal.

Jazz, his silver form dented and scratched from his encounter with Starscream, knelt beside them, his optics flickering with concern.

"Easy there, little artist," he rumbled gently, his voice softer than usual.

Ratchet bustled over, his gruffness momentarily replaced by a wave of relief. "Let's get you checked out, young one," he rumbled, gently ushering Penny toward a bio-scanner.

"What happened?" Spike asked Jazz, his voice tight with anger and relief.

Jazz sighed, recounting the events of the afternoon. He described his desperate hide-and-seek plan, the initial panic when Penny disappeared, and the terrifying encounter with Starscream. He didn't spare the details, wanting to impress Spike with the seriousness of the situation.

Spike listened intently, his face hardening as Jazz described Starscream's sadistic glee. His grip tightened around Carly's hand, a silent vow forming in his spark to protect his family at all costs.

Having finished his repairs courtesy of Ratchet's skilled hands, Bumblebee buzzed over, his engine revving with concern.

"So, Starscream, huh?" he said, optics flickering with a spark of defiance. "Sounds like Jazz showed him a thing or two about messing with Autobot families."

Jazz chuckled, a hint of his usual bravado returning. "More like a well-timed EMP grenade saved the day, Bee."

The tension in the room eased slightly, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared relief. After a clean bill of health from Ratchet, Penny was soon nestled comfortably in her parents' arms, a mug of warm of hot chocolate clutched in her tiny hands.

"Thank you, Jazz," Spike said, his voice sincere. "You saved our little girl."

Jazz nodded, a flicker of pride warming his circuits. "Just doing my job, Spike. Besides," he added with a wink, "someone's gotta keep an eye on your little escape artist."

Penny giggled, her earlier fear replaced by a newfound appreciation for her unlikely Autobot guardian.

News of Starscream's thwarted attempt to use Penny as leverage spread quickly through the Autobot base. Optimus Prime, the stoic leader of the Autobots, commended Jazz for his bravery and quick thinking.

"You did well, Jazz," Optimus rumbled, his voice deep and resonating. "Protecting those we care about is paramount in this war. You have shown admirable courage and resourcefulness today."

Jazz straightened under Optimus' praise, a small surge of satisfaction coursing through his circuits. He may have been a music-loving warrior, but today, he was a protector, which he realized was a role he wouldn't soon forget.

The Autobot base buzzed with a renewed sense of vigilance as the day drew close. The incident with Penny was a stark reminder of the constant threat the Decepticons posed, not just to them but to the human family they had sworn to protect.

[sino-glow12345]

8 inch triple wide glow bracelets

Triple the Fun, Triple the Glow: Exploring the World of 8 inch triple wide glow bracelets

Move over, single-stick glow worms! The world of luminescence has entered a new era, one where wristwear comes in triplicate and brightness is measured in watts, not flickers. Enter the realm of 8 inch triple wide glow bracelets , where your arms become canvases for vibrant constellations, pulsating beacons in the night, and miniature suns ready to ignite any party. But navigating this glowing galaxy requires a discerning eye and a thirst for luminous adventure. Fear not, glow-wielding warriors, for this guide will equip you with the knowledge to find the perfect triple-wide bracelets and unleash their electrifying potential.

Beyond the Double Dose:

Sure, standard glow sticks offer a touch of festive fun. But triple-wide bracelets crank the luminescence up to eleven. Here's a glimpse into the world of three-pronged brilliance:

Triple the Glow, Triple the Fun: Ditch the dim glow of single tubes! Triple-wide bracelets pack three times the luminescent punch, creating an explosion of vibrant color on your wrists. Imagine pulsating rainbows swirling around your arms, neon constellations illuminating your next rave, or campsite lanterns powered by the sheer force of tripled glow power.

Thicker, Stronger, Glowing Longer: These aren't your flimsy one-hit wonders. Triple-wide bracelets boast reinforced construction, often lasting two to three times longer than their single-tube counterparts. So, dance the night away, explore moonlit trails, or illuminate emergency situations with extended bursts of luminescence.

Beyond the Basic Trio: Innovation doesn't stop at tripled tubes! Discover options with customizable colors, flashing modes, and even sound-activated glow. Imagine interactive games where bracelet colors dictate actions, mesmerizing light shows choreographed to the beat, or mood-altering wristwear that reacts to your every move.

Safety First, Glow Always: Always prioritize non-toxic, CPSIA-compliant glow bracelets, especially if children will be involved. Remember, these are chemical reactions, not fairy lights.

Matching Your Luminescent Mission:

With so many dazzling options, finding the perfect triple-wide glow bracelets requires strategic planning. Consider these factors before embarking on your quest for ultimate wrist-bound brilliance:

Purpose and Duration: Are you planning a stadium-sized festival, a cozy backyard shindig, or simply seeking everyday wrist bling? Choose the brightness, quantity, and duration that fit your needs. Remember, triple-wide power comes with larger packs and storage considerations.

Party Powerhouse: Cater to every whim with variety packs. Think vibrant rainbows of assorted colors, flashing glow bracelets for interactive fun, and even packs offering a mix of features to suit every wrist and occasion. The possibilities are endless, and the glow, even more so!

Beyond the Celebration: The magic of triple-wide bracelets extends far beyond festive occasions. Think emergency preparedness kits, campsite illumination, and even creative marketing campaigns. These luminous marvels can add a touch of fun and practicality to almost any scenario.

Finding Your Glowing Star:

Now that you know what you're looking for, it's time to find your perfect triple-wide bracelet partner. Here are some tips to navigate the luminous landscape:

Shop Around: Explore various online retailers and local party stores. Compare prices, features, and reviews before committing. Remember, quality and safety should be your guiding lights!

Bulk Up the Brightness: Consider buying triple-wide glow bracelets in bulk, especially for large events or parties. You'll often get better deals and have plenty of glowing wrists to go around. Just remember, with great glow comes great storage responsibility!

Sustainability in the Spotlight: Embrace eco-friendly options! Look for suppliers offering triple-wide glow bracelets made from recycled materials or biodegradable alternatives. Light up your event while staying conscious of the planet.

Glowing Beyond the Wrist:

The magic of triple-wide glow bracelets extends far beyond their immediate radiance. Consider these dazzling possibilities:

Glow-in-the-Dark Décor: Unleash your inner artist and create glow-in-the-dark masterpieces! Use triple-wide bracelets to outline pathways, adorn walls, or even fashion whimsical glow mobiles. The multiplied luminescence adds an extra layer of depth and vibrancy to your creations.

Interactive Glow Games: Design games where bracelet colors dictate teams, challenges, or even character powers. Imagine glow-powered capture the flag, glowing scavenger hunts, or interactive stories unfolding through the changing hues of your triple-wide companions.

Community Glow: Spread the light with charitable initiatives. Donate triple-wide glow bracelets to local shelters, youth centers, or community events. You can illuminate lives and foster joyful connections, all powered by the vibrant force of tripled glow power.

Embrace the Glow:

8-inch triple-wide

[borntoocry]

𝐄𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲

warnings: eating disorder. 

p.s.: this is a mess of paragraphs i wrote to try to paste all of my thoughts down. i have been recovering greatly from my eating disorder and i wanted to let everything out so i won’t hold anything in anymore. eating disorders are painful and so difficult to be free from and now that i am finally letting go, i need a way to let everything inside go, too (corny alert omfg). 

__________________________________

When I was in the depths of my eating disorder, I was in complete misery. I was a malnourished animal crawling on three legs. I was so miserable that to make up for the pain, I would create competitive games that only required one person: ‘How long can you go without eating?,’ ‘How dizzy can you get before you faint?,’ ‘How slow can you eat a miniature pack of Goldfish?,’ or ‘How long can you eat oatmeal until the mush tastes just as nasty as it looks?’ I was a sick person creating sick games because I knew I was getting worse, but I was also losing weight. 

Before I began creating games, however, I was a normal teenage girl trying to lose weight. I was running, eating less junk, I drank more water, but I was also on social media more than I had ever been. The media I would usually consume consisted of random guys performing thirst traps online, but as I progressed in my weight loss journey, I saw less boys and more diet culture videos. I was only thirteen, turning fourteen at the time, and the videos titled “Lose 20 pounds in one month,” started tasting like chocolate. So there I was, trying every 800-calorie diet where I only drank black coffee, an egg, and one singular piece of toast. I might have tried a total of eight different diets in only two months, but it didn’t matter because I was losing weight. 

This is nothing to lie about; I was losing weight and really quickly, too. By the end of my eighth grade year, I was 200 pounds, but when I went into my yearly check-up at fourteen, I weighed 167. I was ecstatic, motivated to lose more, but I was slowly withering away like an dry plant. 

I lost my health in an attempt to be skinny. Nothing mattered to me besides being skinny. I was lost in my head with the calorie calculations and the food I was and wasn’t eating. I wasn’t eating rice, or chicken, or eggs, or bread, nor was I taking my vitamins either. I was eating oatmeal for every meal and substituting every possible food for something less tasteful but apparently more healthy. I took up black bean patties and I ate them albeit being the nastiest thing my taste buds ever tried. 

My workout regimen was somehow even worse than my eating habits. It controlled my days, my weeks, my hours, down to my seconds. I worked out twice a day, sometimes three. I worked out in two hour sessions. I was running three miles everyday, doing an hour of cardio, and when I wasn’t able to workout at home, I would do squats and Russian twists in a random bathroom. I wasn’t kidding about working out; it was what I breathed every single day. If I was forced to eat trash at a friends party, I asked my sister to pick me up early just so I could workout before bed. There was also one time when I visited Houston with my friend and because I was gone from home, I worked out in the shower. 

I was a girl just trying to be skinny. I was killing myself but I didn’t care–as long as I was skinny as I lied in my casket. 

I understand now that nothing I was doing was okay. No one normal is supposed to be terrified of food to the point where they cry in someone’s restroom over a piece of cheese. No one chews a piece of food to taste it only to spit it out into a trashcan. No one nibbles on food in the kitchen because they’re too scared to eat the entire thing. No one works out in bed, or in the restroom, or in the tub, or in someone’s bathroom. No one creates games to make anorexia seem fun. No one hates themself as much as I did when I was a fourteen year old girl craving validation. I was a killer with a plan to murder my own beautiful image. 

[orieriee]

More 3am thoughts for Sanji, Zoro, Law, and Luffy?

Random headcanons that I think about them at 3 AM ✮

Author's note: you bet! Sorry that it took so long >> these are very random as the ideas popped up in my mind from time to time so yeah, 3 AM thoughts but it's actually 12 PM at night. Also changing into a slightly new theme :D

Sanji:

Has a collection of makeup/wears mininum makeup for self care (y'know those men makeup)

Brings tampons/sanitary pads for the girl in case the girls get their period, people usually wonder why would a man carries around tampons/pad but he's doing it for feminism (men can carry tampons too for those who have their period)

Probably can turn instant ramen to 5 star Michelin food

Has a food tiktok account where he posts his cooking or about baratie's food and then has a second account to post his thirst trap or simping on ladies (respectfully)

Probably took ballet classes or gymnastics when he was younger because look at his legs!!

His favorite artist is probably Ariana Grande

Zoro:

Post those bicep muscles pic on ig story/snapchat because he works out religiously

Wanted to get a full back tattoo but worries he might not be able to donor blood again if he's inked (is that a fact?)

Protein shakes go brrrr 🥶 he has that all the time after brest chicken

Working as a gym instructor, he's the hot gym instructor you usually can find at your local gym

When the moms next door go out and needed to leave their children, usually they ask Zoro to watch over for them and Zoro takes good care of the children

Burns toasts/pancakes everytime he makes them

Law:

He may not seem like it, but he sleeps with some... Or maybe tons of plushies especially the polar bears stuffed animals

Can play the guitar/bass and people simp him for it (he used to play in a band)

Liked to wear eyeliner and is actually good at it but he rarely wears them now

The type to go to the cinemas alone to watch his favorite movie/show rather than going to the cinema with someone

Coffee person 24/7, sometimes all black but that depends on his mood and hours of sleep (he's also a *little* sleep deprived)

Enjoys nature photography, floras and faunas

Luffy:

Is lactose intolerant but still likes to eat dairy products

Watches anime, reads comics and his current favorite is jujutsu kaisen and his favorite characters are yuuji and gojo

Has a collection of pokemon cards and some miniatures but mostly are gone because he keeps forgetting where he puts them

Forces Zoro to go eat KFC with him every week

Afraid of needle injections so Ace and Sabo always have to hold him down whenever he gets a shot/vaccine

His handwriting is bad, he basically got a child's handwriting

© Published by crieosis 21/05/22

[fairyoftbz]

spring tenderness | l. sangyeon

🌱 word count: 2.1k 🌱 pairing: dad!sangyeon x mom!reader 🌱 genre: tooth-rotting fluff, dad!au, very domestic! au 🌱 tw: mention of food, past pregnancies and breastfeeding 🌱 synopsis: just a cosy morning where you spend some time with your husband and your two boys, Hyungseo and Youngjae. (yes i took kevin and eric’s korean names, don’t ask) 🌱 a/n: i’m not used to write this kind of au but it was so soft and domestic, i’m pretty sure that sangyeon will be a good dad one day 🥺🥺💖 i’m tagging @staywithmoon bc you wanted to read it and i can only thank you for that bub! <33

╰☆☆☆☆╮

You smiled when childish laughter erupted from the garden, the sound warming your heart at your son's joy. The curtains in the children's bedroom filtered the sunlight, generating a subdued and colourful atmosphere. Your son was in a deep sleep, his tiny shut fists resting delicately at the sides of his head, his pacifier moving to the rhythm of his breathing. With the back of your finger, you tenderly stroke his cheek, a joyful smile on your lips.

You sighed lightly, remembering your husband's reaction the day you announced the good news. When you first learned that you were going to be a mother, you weren't sure what to think. Sangyeon's potential bad reaction terrified you, having no idea how well he was going to take this news. The weight had come off your shoulders as he fell to his knees in front of you, eyes sparkling with happiness and excitement, you knew you wanted to live this experience with your boyfriend by your side.

Three years have passed since that wonderful event, and it's safe to say you've never been happier. A beautiful, healthy little boy had joined your pair, and Sangyeon had become an overprotective father, always ready and prepared to take care of his son by relying on the many readings and Internet researches that he had completed during your pregnancy. While you were feeding your son or resting, he would transform into a man-of-all-work and help around the house. It took a huge weight off your shoulders, just like when he woke up instead of you to soothe your child who was struggling to sleep through the night, allowing you to sleep and recharge your batteries. Your husband made a great daddy and loved you and your son to death, showering you both with unconditional love.

You announced your second pregnancy on his birthday, a few weeks after returning from your honeymoon. You stumbled across a video in which a woman was giving her husband baby clothes for his birthday on social media, and you decided that it was a creative idea and did the same.

During all these years of living together and this new experience as parents, Sangyeon had decided that you were the one with whom he wanted to settle in and share his life, proposing to you two years after your son's birth. The preparation for this fabulous event had brought you together a lot, and your skills in relationship communication had evolved exponentially.

Here you are now in a life of four, living in a house with a dog and a garden, a place your oldest son loved almost more than his bedroom and his toys. He spent most of his time there when the weather was nice and warm, having fun playing soccer with his father. He also loved making angels when the snow was in abundance, the smile that radiated on his face filled you with the greatest happiness in the world.

Taking your new born son in your arms, you rocked him gently against you, feeling his warm body all wrapped up in his pyjamas against your chest. He struggled to open his eyes and let his dummy fall against his chest. He was so cute that you couldn't suppress a smile, your son returning almost instantly the second his eyes met yours. The big brown orbs he got from his father held a lot of love, and his little feet wriggled in excitement when you kissed his forehead.

"Did you sleep well, my little angel?" Your thumb stroked his cheek, and he continued to gaze at you in awe, your heart softening with tenderness as he let out a gurgle to answer. Gently fixing his position in your arms as his cheek rolled against your chest, his eyes still misted with sleep bored into yours as he slowly emerged from his slumber.

Opening the patio door to the balcony, you tightened your cardigan around yourself as a light wind blew, creating a slight chill in the comforting morning heat of late spring. Your eldest son was chasing a foam ball, your husband standing in front of the miniature goal that reached his thigh, purposefully missing the ball for your son to score.

"Goaaaaaaaal!" Your other son threw his little arms in the air and ran around the garden, your dog following him with his tail wagging. Sangyeon shrugged but smiled, amused by your son's attitude and enthusiasm. You smiled too from your spot on the balcony, gently cradling your other son in your arms. "Good job, Hyungseo!" Your husband looked around the living room for a short moment, looking for you, but he gave you a smile you couldn't imagine brighter when he noticed you up there, congratulating your son for his accomplishment, but the latter didn't hear you.

Once he finally stopped, breathless, Sangyeon walked over to him while chuckling, bending down to be at the same level with him. You watched your husband whisper something into your son's ear, who almost immediately looked up at you. You gave him a little wave with a smile, and he came running up, locating himself just below the balcony, a huge smile on his face.

"Hi Mom! Hi Youngjae!" He moved his small hands from side to side, and you gave him a flying kiss, Sangyeon lifting him from behind to settle him on his shoulders. He laughed as he kept waving, sending him a playful wink in return as you couldn't reach him. 

Your husband grabbed Hyungseo's hands and started running around the garden, still with him on his shoulders, a crystal-clear laugh falling from their lips as they were brimming with energy already so early in the morning. You walked down to the garden, and they stopped when they saw you, Hyungseo touching the ground again. He ran to you as you sat in a lounge chair, watching his younger brother with attentive eyes.

"Are you going to feed him, Mommy?" He asked, and you nodded, making sure your new born was comfortably positioned in your arms. "Come on Hyungseo, let's go make some bread and jam, hm? Youngjae needs to be calm to eat. We can come back to them as soon as we prepared breakfast, okay?" Your husband explained to your child, whose face immediately lit up at the mention of food. “Yesssss!" Your son exclaimed and clapped his tiny hands, Sangyeon gently pushing him inside the house. You looked up smiling, closing your eyes for a quick second as he kissed your lips. "I'll be back in 5 minutes," his hand came to cradle your cheek, and you nodded, enjoying the tender gesture.He kissed your forehead before striding towards the kitchen, closing the sliding door behind him.

You took the opportunity to breastfeed your son, who had his tiny hand resting against your chest, trying to cling onto his food source as your two other boys bustled about and laughed in the kitchen. Your thumb stroked his chubby cheek and you beamed, the tightness you felt in your breast from the milk not being able to compete with the happiness that bloomed in your heart.

"Here you go Mommy," your son's frail voice reached your ears again as your gaze stared into space for a brief moment out of exhaustion, your hand still against your child's face. Hyungseo was holding a tall glass of juice with his two hands, Sangyeon appearing again, balancing three plates in his hands. He put two on his side and one at the other end of the table where Hyungseo usually sat. You kissed your son on the forehead as a thank you and took a few sips, feeling the sweet, pulpy liquid run down your neck and quench your thirst.

"Breakfast served for the best mom in the world," he handed you a plate with two slices of toasted bread spread with butter and honey cut into small squares, smiling at the fact that he had thought about you and your health. "Thank you very much honey," he kissed the top of your head and watched for a few moments Youngjae in your arms as he suckled quietly, his finger caressing his tiny, plump arm. "He's just as handsome as his mother," Sangyeon muttered before looking up at you, a tender smile on his face. You kissed him again, this time on the cheek, your heart going fuzzy at the notable sweetness and sincerity behind his words. 

Your husband sat down with Hyungseo and began to enjoy breakfast, chatting and exchanging looks with great affection. You had never been so complete, and you could only thank life for making your path cross with Sangyeon's. He gave you a wink and quickly wiped off the chocolate spread that decorated the corner of your son's mouth with his finger before bringing it to his own mouth, the latter asking a lot of questions about his little brother and his health. 

He was indeed going through the phase when curiosity was the only thing on his mind, your husband sometimes losing patience as your son wondered about anything and everything. Fortunately, he hadn't yet been amazed at how he and his little brother were created and brought into the world, but it won't be long in coming.

"Mommy! Are you coming to play with Daddy and me?" Hyungseo ran to the rocking chair in which you always fed Youngjae, your eldest child stroking his little brother's skull with his hand. "No Hyungseo, leave Mommy alone, she needs some rest. Nourishing a child can get pretty exhausting for your mother, but she will come and play soon," Sangyeon explained as he carried the plates to the kitchen, his body in the glass doorway. He nodded to his son to follow him, and he obeyed, a sad pout decorating his lips. "Honey, I'll come and play with you after I put Youngjae to bed for a nap, okay?" Sorrow left your son's eyes almost immediately, beaming as he heard his father call him from the kitchen. "Come on, go help Daddy with the dishes. Mommy promises to take care of you as soon as possible," he trotted back to your chair and pressed his lips on your cheek in a slobbery kiss before running to the kitchen. 

You chuckled through your nose when you heard Sangyeon scold him for running around barefoot before shifting your attention back to your son, who was looking at you with a lot of admiration in the eyes. Giving him a lovely smile, your thumb came to caress his cheek again, a wave of relief flooding your chest as he finally let go of your breast. After you burped him, you were about to go upstairs to change his diapers, but Sangyeon emerged from the kitchen right at the same time, smiling at the sight of you cradling your son on your shoulder.

"It's okay, I'll take care of it," he winked at you before taking his son from your arms and kissing him on the forehead, Hyungseo walking up to you to hug you, his little arms struggling to wrap themselves around your thighs. "Come on, Hyungseo, let's brush our teeth and then we'll play, okay?" He nodded, still leaning against you, and you took his hand, leading him to the second floor, following the same path your husband had taken a few seconds ago. 

Being the big boy he wanted to be and in a hurry to get back to playing with his foam ball, your oldest awkwardly brushed his teeth on his own, putting toothpaste all over his face and fingers. You lowered yourself to his level and showed him the right movements he needed to do to brush his teeth properly. Sangyeon was in the corner of the room, a smile on his lips as he changed your son's diapers, moved by the attention you paid to your children's education. He gently wiped Youngjae clean and tickled his belly once he was done clipping the press studs of his bodysuit, your son immediately giggling at his father.

"Everything's good, you can go back to play, but don't run down the stairs," you ruffled your son's hair with a tender hand, Hyungseo dashing outside the bathroom. You were about to raise your voice, but you listened to him go down the stairs one by one with a content smile, satisfied that he obeyed you. "Thank you," you mumbled, wanting to take your son off the baby-changing table, but Sangyeon was quicker.

"You already carry him all day, let me relieved your back and take care of him," you rested his head on his shoulder as he hugged your son, feeling a hand cling to your cheek, making you laugh as Youngjae also wanted to participate in this moment of tenderness. "Come on, let's go downstairs before our other one gets all jealous," you chuckled before kissing your son then husband, letting him grab some sunglasses and a little hat for your son. 

Grazing the railing with your fingertips, you sighed with ease, feeling loved and cared for by the three men who lived in your house. You used to have many doubts and insecurities about motherhood, but your husband's help and support had erased them all. You were happy to be a mom, and nothing could change that.

[jgvfhl]

Tup’s in A Better Place

This is a one shot in some AU where Fives and Tup both survive?? Or like... the chip is never revealed?? Idk that’s not the point of the writing, the point of the writing is Murder Tup being adopted by Alpha-17. Enjoy!

The new ARCs would be back from training in a few days, according to the dispatch from Kamino. The usual excitement was already sweeping through the 501st barracks in anticipation of their brothers returning after so long away. The shinies in Torrent were being regaled almost every night with stories about Tup and Jesse before they returned. Rex had sat in on a few of these sessions for his own amusement. Fives and Kix certainly weren’t leaving details to the imagination, although Rex didn’t quite believe some of the numbers they were throwing around. Half a platoon of SBDs seemed like a stretch. Even someone like Rex would be hard-pressed to scrap that many clankers at once, though he had come close a few times.

His comm beeped, pulling him from his thoughts. “Yes?”

“There’s a transmission here from Kamino for you, sir. Do you want me to forward it to your personal device?”

Kamino? “Uh, yes, forward it. Thanks, Spot.”

There was a brief pause, then Rex saw the light on his holoprojector turn on. “Sent, sir.”

“Got it, thanks.”

He clicked his comm off and picked up the holoprojector to read the frequency. Oh… this didn’t look good. Why would Alpha-17 be sending him a transmission a few days from the end of ARC training? But, he had to answer.

“This is a bit of a surprise, sir,” he said carefully after the miniature hologram of the ARC trainer appeared in front of him.

“You’re captain of Torrent Company, right?” Alpha replied bluntly. “I’m talking about one of your promotions.”

Rex sat up a little straighter. Had something happened to Jesse or Tup? “Sir?”

“I have to report to you that your kid Tup isn’t coming back from ARC training with the others.”

“What?” he blurted before he could stop himself, very glad he was in his quarters and not somewhere more public. “Why--what happened? Is he hurt?” Injuries were part of ARC training. It wasn’t uncommon for troopers to come back from the program with new scars and stories. More… permanent issues were rare, but not impossible. If it was possible for cadets not to make it through basic training, it was possible for troopers not to make it through the more rigorous ARC program. But… Tup?

The way Alpha’s head moved implied an eye-roll. “Quit sobbing, Rex’ika, you’re a damn officer, not his mother. The kid’s in a better place now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, sir?” Rex demanded, bristling at the kiddie nickname.

“It means--” The trainer’s answer was cut short by a loud commotion in the background of the transmission. It was loud enough to carry to Rex’s ears.

“Take that, Hutt sludge! I’ve eaten kriffing bugs tougher than you, tooka brains!” This enraged outburst was followed by the unmistakable sounds of blaster fire and armored bodies hitting the ground. From what Rex recalled, it sounded like a training run--one with droids and obstacles and the like.

Alpha’s helmet was turned to watch whatever chaos was unfolding out of view. “Move it, kid!” he yelled, then turned back to Rex. “Anyway, he’s mine now.”

For what felt like way too long, Rex just stared at Alpha’s hologram, trying to put together what had happened. Those insults were characteristic of the 501st. And Rex had heard Tup use “tooka brains” on more than one occasion. So that was definitely Tup in the background. Which meant Alpha-17 really had been talking about Tup when he’d claimed him. But what… did that mean?

“Legally, I had to let you know,” Alpha went on when Rex’s stunned silence continued. “He’ll be staying with me a bit longer. The kid’s got a real spark, y’know, real thirst for blood--”

Against his better judgement, Rex interrupted him. “Sir, what do you mean Tup’s ‘yours?’ He’s part of Torrent; he’s under my command.” Then the second half of Alpha’s statement caught up to him. “And--thirst for blood?”

“Don’t interrupt me, soldier.”

Rex’s mouth snapped shut automatically. Then he opened it again because he still had a lot of questions, but Alpha inclined his head in just the way he only did when giving a death glare, and Rex shut his mouth again.

“As I was saying, Tup’s shown some real incentive during ARC training, and I think he’d benefit from a bit of a level up.”

“Level up?”

“Yes.”

Sorting through the small planet’s worth of questions in his mind, Rex settled on, “Will Tup ever be back with the 501st, sir?” Or are you stealing one of my ARCs from under my nose? his mind completed. He’d nominated Tup and Jesse for promotion because he’d expected to get both of them back.

Alpha was pensively quiet for a moment before replying, “Tell you what: when your boys in blue need some backup, he’ll be first in line for you.”

Rex blinked. “So, I have to find someone else to fill the position I assumed Tup would be able to fill?”

“You’ve got plenty of material, stop whining. You can still contact him. It’s not like he’s going undercover or into intelligence.”

“Oh, good, we can contact him in all that spare time you’re famous for giving your troopers,” Rex replied instantly, the shock of the conversation having shredded his normal verbal filters.

Alpha’s helmet tilted to one side. Before whatever biting retort came, however, Tup’s voice carried through again, sounding closer than before. “All set, sir.” And sounding a bit out of breath. “Accidently took the head off one of the training droids, but I set a new time record, so I’m calling it even.”

“Good work, kid,” the trainer said.

“Is that Captain Rex?”

Alpha handed the holoprojector over, and Tup’s figure replaced his in front of Rex. “Hey, Tup.”

Tup beamed, training helmet tucked under one arm. “Hi, Captain!” His bun was a frizzy mess from the session he’d just finished, and one of his cheeks looked like it was healing from a nasty bruise, but other than that, he was glowing.

“Do you know about this arrangement Alpha’s set up?” Rex asked, not caring if the trainer didn’t want to talk about it.

Tup’s expression turned a little sheepish. “Yeah… look, I know you wanted Jess and me back with the 501st, but I’m doing really good with this.”

Rex nodded, unable to resist a small smile. “Okay. As long as you’re on the same page.”

Tup perked back up. “Hey, maybe I can visit, though--”

“No.”

“No, but you said I wouldn’t be deployed all the time, so maybe instead of going on leave I can join some of their campaigns.” He looked to Alpha out of view, turning up what Torrent had affectionately named the Tuppy Eyes.

Rex almost snorted, but he did smirk. There was no way they would work on Alpha.

There was a long pause. Longer than it should have been. The smirk started slipping from Rex’s face.

“No.”

“Please?”

Another long pause. “I’ll have to ask General Skywalker.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Holy kriff.

Tags! @big1ron @im-x-winging-it @423rd-solar-legion @raf-loves-everything @sw-maddie @soclonely @mrfandomwars @sophaeltheangel @23-bears @padme--amygdala

[georgescatcafe]

and i will be alright

rating: g warning/s: none pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: fantasy au, knight sapnap, prince george, dragon dream word count: 2,560 summary:  The story goes like this: stolen away from the castle as a baby, the Prince had not been seen since, though everyone knew where he was—the tallest tower in the land, just outside kingdom borders. Guarded by the most powerful dragon in all the land, the Prince is trapped there, with little chance of escape. Countless knights have set off to rescue him, and not a single one has returned.

But Sapnap will.

+ao3

;;

The story goes like this: stolen away from the castle as a baby, the Prince had not been seen since, though everyone knew where he was—a tower, the tallest tower in the land, just outside kingdom borders. Guarded by the most powerful dragon in all the land, with scales that glint like emeralds in the sun, with fangs that shine like pearls when they catch the light, the Prince is trapped there, with little chance of escape. Countless knights have set off to rescue him, and not a single one has returned.

But Sapnap will. He heard the story young, started training as a knight not long after—seven years old, holding a wooden sword to a man’s throat, declaring his victory; eleven years old, walking alongside a gentlelady, her delicate hands curled into the nook of his elbow; fifteen years old, swearing his life to his king, the weight of the sword on his shoulders perhaps just as heavy as the crown on the man’s head. Now, he’s nineteen, and he’s given his chance.

“You are aware of what this means,” the King says. It’s not a question.

Sapnap nods anyway. “I swear to return to you.” He lifts his head, meets the man’s eyes. “With your son.”

The Queen makes a small noise, turns away. The King holds his gaze. “I wish you the best of luck, Sir Sapnap.”

“Thank you,” Sapnap goes back into his low bow, “Your Majesty.”

;;

The journey is long, arduous. More than once does Sapnap near fall out of a tree while falling asleep, despite the ropes he’d used to tie himself down. And more than once does he near fall down a ravine while running from monsters, despite his ability to kill and kill efficiently. But not every skeleton needs to be taken down, not every creeper needs to be decimated. He aims to save his strength, store it, up until he finally comes face to face with the fearsome dragon that holds the Prince captive.

Then, he’ll unleash all that energy, all that might, and defeat the dragon once and for all.

;;

He’s aching and weary by the time he reaches the tower. The promise he made the King weeks ago threatens to become a mere stain on his memory; his heart thirsts more for rest than for the Prince. Yet he still reaches the base of the tower. Still checks his sword, its sharpness, its strength. Still leans back on his heels, shields his eyes with a hand, surveys the skies above for the dragon that torments the Prince.

There is nothing.

Sapnap finds a handhold in the tower wall. A ledge for his foot to go, too. The sun has just begun to rise in the sky. Like it, Sapnap begins his ascent.

The day passes by slowly, each step up increasing the trembling that has started in Sapnap’s limbs. He refuses to be perturbed, however, determination swelling in his chest when he realizes how close he’s gotten to the single window at the top of the tower. It’s when he’s at his last burst of energy, haggard, shaking and sweaty, that he reaches up and his fingers curl around the window’s ledge. He lets out a breath, a rush of relief. Carefully, he peeks over the edge.

The room is empty.

Sapnap pulls himself up all the way, up and over the ledge. His feet are quiet when they touch the floor. He pushes off the ledge and comes to rest again the wall, catching his breath. It’s a moment greatly needed, unable to think, coming so close to immobilization. Once he’s gotten a hold of himself again, he looks around. The room looks cozy, lived-in. Across from him is a fireplace, within it, a fire. There’s a bed and a table and chairs. No main lighting, but lanterns rest in various locations, one on the table, one on a stool next to the bed. One on the desk at the other side of the window. A leather-bound book rests atop the desk too. Sapnap frowns. He moves away from the wall, making his steady way to the desk, staring down at the book. There’s a quill and inkwell, too, the ink liquid night. Sapnap lifts a hand, reaches for the book, when suddenly something pricks the center of his back, and a voice speaks low and dangerous in his ear: “What are you doing in my tower?”

Dragons don’t talk as far as Sapnap is aware. The witch is supposed to be dead.

Sapnap tries to turn, but the knife begins to dig into his back. His head snaps back forward. “Are you the Prince?”

“Are you a knight sent to rescue me?”

Sapnap’s hands have come to rest up near his ears. He keeps them raised as a pale hand reaches around him to open the book. Inside, there lay a list of names, all crossed out but one. It’s his own. Sapnap swallows.

“A hitlist?” he asks.

“Something like that,” the Prince replies.

Sapnap lowers his arms. The Prince lets him. “So all those knights sent here… you’ve killed them?”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” the Prince says, serious. “But my dragon is very, very territorial.”

“And you belong to the dragon?” Sapnap cautiously pivots. Again, the Prince allows the movement. Sapnap finds himself standing chest-to-chest with the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. A fresh layer of sweat starts from beneath his clothes, his armor.

“Just as much as the dragon belongs to me,” the Prince answers. “We have a mutualistic relationship. A friendship.”

“But the dragon is evil,” Sapnap says, staring earnestly into deep brown eyes, sweet and soft like melted chocolate, but bitterness in them too—exactly like chocolate. “How can you be friends with it?”

“Him,” the Prince corrects. And then he holds up a hand, and from his sleeve, a snake emerges, curling around a thin wrist. “He’s loyal, and he’s nice. Smart, too. He understands me.”

“And he’ll kill me?” Sapnap asks, uncertain of the snake that watches him with ruby red eyes.

The Prince studies him, gaze turning sharp, cutting Sapnap like the knife he had pressed into his back. “Do you plan to return me to the castle?”

“That’s the aim of this quest,” Sapnap says.

“But do you plan to return me to the castle?”

Sapnap swallows. It’d be ideal to return him. He’d like to return him.

There was a final part to the story, romantic but also the key to the ambition—whoever it is to rescue the Prince shall wed him, able to become a monarch alongside the Prince, gaining access to the riches and luxuries of a royal. Sapnap is not an entirely selfless man.

“No,” he says.

The Prince takes a step back. Another. And another. Sapnap watches the Prince, just as the Prince watches him. “So are you going to go?” the Prince asks. “Return to the castle, say you failed? Not return, become another nameless knight sent to save me, doomed from the start?”

Sapnap swallows. He moves towards the Prince, and the Prince goes to evade him. Sapnap grabs one of the chairs at the table. Pulls it out. Sits in it. “No,” he repeats. “You said the dragon is the only one that understands you. Is it because he doesn’t speak?”

“He speaks,” the Prince replies. “He’s smart. He can do it.” When he holds out a hand, the snake is still curled up around his wrist. The snake’s scales glint like emeralds. When he hisses at Sapnap, his fangs shine like pearls. And then he glows, the light faint then growing stronger and stronger, till both Sapnap and the Prince are turned away. When the light has dimmed down, something of a miniature dragon rests along the Prince’s shoulders.

“He can change his size?” Sapnap asks.

“And he can speak.” The words come out slightly breathy, the s in speak elongated. “What do you want with George?”

“The Prince,” Sapnap corrects. “And I wanted to rescue him. They say you’re keeping him trapped here.”

The dragon wheezes out a laugh. “Trapped? George could leave whenever he wants. It’s telling enough he’s still here.”

“Why?” Sapnap asks. He looks to the Prince—to George. “Isn’t the castle better?”

“How could the castle be better?” George finally takes a seat across from Sapnap, and the dragon scuttles from his shoulders to curl up in the center of the table, watching Sapnap with eyes narrowed in what can only be seen as suspicion. “Sure, the wealth is nice, but Dream is fierce and can get me whatever I want. He does get me whatever I want.” At that, the dragon, Dream, straightens up, looking way too haughty when he’s currently, at best, a glorified snake. “And I don’t have the responsibilities of being the Prince. I can sleep easy knowing everyday will be one where I can live how I want.”

“But what about your family?” Sapnap asks. “Your people?”

“I’ve been missing since I was a baby,” George replies. “To them, I’m nothing more than a fairytale.”

“And you like being that,” Sapnap concludes. “So you don’t need to be rescued?”

“No,” George says, easy. “And I don’t want to go back to the castle.”

Sapnap sits there for a second, taking in the small room, realizing that his initial observations were right—this is more than a tower; it’s lived-in, cozy. It’s a home. George’s home.

“And Dream really isn’t holding you hostage?”

“He can be possessive,” George admits, a hand reaching out to run down Dream’s back, “but he knows he could never hold me against my will.”

Sapnap touches his fingers to his back, where George had pressed the knife into him. That’s fair.

“And you’re perfectly sane?” He had to ask. Just to be sure. Just in case.

George isn’t amused. “I’m perfectly sane, and if I wasn’t, wouldn’t it be better for me not to return to the throne?”

Damn. He’s right.

Sapnap doesn’t dignify him with a verbal response, instead merely shrugging and looking to the dragon. “He gets bigger, right?” Dream nods, so does George. Sapnap drums his fingers against the table before looking to George. “I can become another nameless night, doomed from the start. But I can’t leave.” He meets the Prince’s eyes. “I don’t want to leave.”

“What,” George starts, dry, “are you in love with me?”

“No,” Sapnap says, and George tilts his head, “but I think one day I’ll be.”

George sits up ramrod straight; Dream’s head swivels around to look at the Prince. The two of them completely ignore Sapnap, seeming to have a conversation through their eyes alone. Sapnap swallows, suddenly feeling like a boy asking for a lady’s hand in marriage, receiving the blessing from her father. He glances away when Dream and George look over at him.

“I don’t like you,” George announces. “Knights are annoying at best, the bane of my existence at worst. You’re at worst.” He makes a frustrated noise. Sapnap dares to look over at him. George sits with furrowed brows, frown clear on his face. “Yet I won’t kill you, and I won’t let Dream kill you.”

“Thank you,” Sapnap says. “But….”

“There’s no but,” Dream says, and Sapnap’s gaze drops to meet his. “You can stay. I would do anything for George, but we suppose—we suppose —some new company could be nice.”

“And the falling in love thing?” Sapnap asks, cheeks beginning to heat.

Luckily, George’s cheeks have also begun to flush. “You’re terrible,” George tells him, “but, like, not that bad to look at. I guess.”

Sapnap sits up, eyes wide. “Really?”

George glares down at the table. “It doesn’t mean anything. Just an observation.”

“Well,” Sapnap swallows, “I think you’re gorgeous.”

It’s George’s turn to have wide eyes, staring at the other in shock.

Sapnap offers a smile. “I won’t try to rescue you. You’re right; you don’t need to be. But I would like to stay with you. You can have your dragon,” his smile widens, and his heart lifts in his chest when he catches the small smile starting to spread on George’s lips, “and you can have your knight.”

“You were knighted under the King,” George says. “Not me.”

Sapnap rises, moving to take his sword off his person. Immediately, he offers it to George. “Then knight me.” He kneels, bowing his head.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say,” the words come out as a laugh. Sapnap grins at the ground.

“Make something up.”

So George says some nonsense before tapping Sapnap’s shoulders. There is no crown on George’s head. When Sapnap lifts his gaze, George smiles down at him. Dream has climbed up to curl around his shoulders. Sapnap looks to him, and the dragon bows his head. Sapnap bows his own in response.

“I think you’ll be the only knight under me,” George tells him when he stands.

“I’m perfectly alright with that,” Sapnap replies. He holds an arm out; George places a hand on it before rising, and Sapnap ends up pulling him closer when he brings his arm down to his side. “Do you ever leave the tower?”

The words break whatever happy haze the trio had found themselves in, Dream immediately growing alert in suspicion, George frowning at him, moving as if to step away.

“I’m not going to take you back to the castle,” Sapnap says, exasperated. “It’s because I’d really like somewhere to sleep or something, and there’s no way I’m climbing back down. I think I’d die.”

George and Dream share a look before George gives a tug to Sapnap’s arm and takes him over to the single bed in the room. “You can rest here for now. I don’t mind. Dream can go and get the materials for another bed.” He looks to the roof, and so does Sapnap, and that’s when he realizes there’s levers and wheels, cogs and rope, all allowing the roof to open. George pulls his arm free of Sapnap’s grip and goes to tug one of the ropes. Dream climbs off his shoulders onto a ledge in the wall. Sapnap takes a seat on the bed. The roof finally opens entirely, and Dream shoots off into the sky, now a deep indigo littered with stars, and George and Sapnap watch him go.

“He’ll return his actual size I bet,” George tells him, releasing the rope and letting the roof close once again. “He loves showing off.”

Sapnap gives a laugh before collapsing back on the bed. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m just… wow. I’m actually really tired.”

“Adrenaline got you up here?” George asks.

Sapnap nods. “And through our entire conversation.”

George gives a quiet laugh. Sapnap wishes he could trap it in a music box, turn a knob and hear it over and over again.

“I’d marry you,” Sapnap admits. “Without the money. The power. I’d marry you.”

“You’re not even in love with me,” George says. It comes out on the tail of a laugh. Sapnap lets it wash over him.

“Not yet,” Sapnap replies.

He feels George’s gaze on him before there’s footsteps and a hand brushing through his bangs. “You really are the bane of my existence.” His fingers are gentle in Sapnap’s hair. “Get some rest, Sapnap. You can fall in love with me in the morning.”

[unsteadygalaxy]

all is soft inside chapter 8

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on ao3 at:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/67835227

previous | next

8. you cannot kill what we are

Bloodhound sits cross-legged on the top of the Epicenter tower, still and silent, hands folded in their lap. Their Kraber lays next to them, easily within grabbing distance. In their hands, they hold a small silver case, and Elliott can’t see what’s inside it. Maybe a picture of a boyfriend or girlfriend? Or partner? Elliott thinks, and a spiky flicker of jealousy rolls through his chest. Bloodhound was free to have any life they wanted, of course. Elliott just wished they would tell him more about who they were. They were so secretive and so private it made him crazy, but he wanted to respect their choices. He would settle for any small bit of information they gave him, and last night’s discussion only proved to make him more interested in them.

It strikes Elliott that it looks as though Bloodhound might be praying. Or meditating. He can’t really tell the difference, because of their mask, and it’s not like he would know the difference if he could see them. Elliott had never been a religious man. Putting hope and faith in some imaginary person never seemed logical for him. But he had to admire Bloodhound’s devotion to their Allfather. They remain still, and their breath through the respirator is even and quiet. He wonders what they’re praying about. He wonders, for the millionth time, why they are so closed off, and why they need the mask. God, he wants to ask so bad, but he won’t. He can’t.

Makoa crouches across from them, watching the hill between Overlook and their current position. He occasionally aims down the sights of his G7 to observe faraway battles and update them on who still remains. Elliott hasn’t ever met someone like Makoa- he was so accepting and supportive of every person around him, which was something Elliott was very grateful for. Anytime he needed a little energy boost, he knew to strike up a casual conversation with him. He was almost like another brother.

His heart clenches at the thought of his brothers, probably dead out in the universe somewhere. It had been so long since he’d seen or heard from any of them, and part of him gave up hope a long time ago. Pain and discomfort begin to creep their way in, and his first instinct is to block it out. But he remembers again what Bloodhound had said to him. You are allowed to feel the pain you bear. 

So he lets it come. 

It washes through him like hot syrup, clinging on to the bruised and broken parts of him as it passes. It hurts horribly for a few awful moments, but begins to subside faster than he thought possible. Huh. That’s not so bad, he thinks. But then it surges up in a fury, grabbing him by the throat and closing his windpipe off. Pain clogs his lungs and cements his airway, making it impossible to breathe. Water floods his chest, but he tries to acknowledge it, to let it reside there. Uh… just… feel it. Try to feel it.

Time slows to a crawl, and it squeezes Elliott in its static-filled fingers. A thick, buzzing substance descends upon his shoulders and draws all of the air out of his lungs, replacing it with some toxic chemical that numbs his insides on the way down. Oh, god. This is horrible. This fucking sucks, he thinks. He holds himself a little tighter, trying to shake himself out of whatever the hell this is.

“You doing okay, bruddah?” 

Elliott jerks his head up and sees that Makoa has his eyes trained on him, the bigger man’s face full of concern. It’s only then that Elliott realizes he’s not breathing, and he gasps, sucking in air like he’s a man dying of thirst. The static fog around his head subsides somewhat, but stubbornly remains. Nevertheless, he does feel a little better- at least the grief isn’t swallowing him in waves anymore.

“Oh, yeah, I’m great!” he replies, plastering a smile on his face. He gives Makoa a thumbs up. “Don’t worry about me, I was just d- devis- coming up with a battle plan for how we’re gonna win this thing.”

“If you say so,” Gibraltar says, but he doesn’t look altogether convinced. He chuckles and turns back to his sights.

“Remember to breathe, Elliott,” Bloodhound murmurs, not turning to face him. They’re still sitting quietly across the way, their head bowed, the case still resting in their hands. His name on their lips makes a brief flash of excitement zap through him, one which he promptly suppresses. How the hell did they know? he thinks, amazed by them as always. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries not to stare at them. He doesn’t really want to sit with these emotions right now, but he does it anyway. The grief is still there, yes, but it’s subsiding, and Elliott can’t be more grateful. A brief surge of embarrassment makes an appearance, and he pushes it away. Old habits die hard, he thinks.

Makoa whistles, sharp and low, and Bloodhound is at his side in an instant. They cradle the Kraber in their hands reverently, and aim down the sights. Mirage pops to his feet, charging up his Holo emitters. Two squads are running down the hill from Overlook, and a third squad is running in from their left. Bloodhound lets out a small sound that can only be a laugh, and Elliott’s stomach jumps sharply. Not now, he thinks, berating himself. He can’t afford to get distracted by them today.

The sound of two Kraber shots ricochets in the air, and Bloodhound jerks back a bit, displaced by the recoil. Right before Elliott’s eyes, two members of one squad drop to the ground, bleeding out. The third member of their squad is quickly taken out by the squad behind them, leaving two squads milling about, about to face off. No- another squad is running in from the right, which means every remaining team must be here.  Elliott’s heart begins to pump hard, and he knows that his squad will soon have to jump into the fight. The sound of rapid gunfire fills the air, and electricity shoots through his veins, amping him up, readying him for the struggle ahead, all thoughts of his brothers forgotten.

Mirage pulls out his Wingman, makes sure it’s fully loaded, and spins it around in his grip. He looks over to Gibraltar and Bloodhound. “What’s the plan?” he asks. 

Gibraltar laughs at him. “I thought you had it all figured out, bruddah.” There was no malice in his eyes, just a sense of relentless teasing that makes Elliott relieved.

“Uh…” Elliott’s thoughts are a scramble. He looks over to Bloodhound helplessly, but they only shake their head and cross their arms. God, he hopes they’re smiling. He has no choice but to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Um, how about this? Once they’re all a little closer, let’s get Bloodhound on the ground to scan and see who’s nearby. If there’s a bunch of enemies around, then Gibraltar, you can throw your Ultimate down. Some of the missiles might hit the tower, but it will give us enough of a smokescreen to run around and take some suckers out, since Bloodhound can see through smoke and we’ve all got digital threat optics.” The words tumble from his mouth, and even he is surprised by how coherent the plan seems to be. Huh. Would you look at that?

“Well planned, vinur minn,” Bloodhound affirms, a note of amusement in their voice. A giddy sense of pride surges through him, and he’s determined to let that feeling stay as long as it wants.

“You got it, Mirage,” Gibraltar says, clapping him heartily on the back. All of his breath exits his chest in a whoosh, and he stumbles forward, coughing weakly. He can hear gunfire beating a wild tattoo against his ears, and he knows it’s almost time to join the fight.

Makoa tosses his Ultimate canister up and down in his hand, an infectious smile splitting his face. Bloodhound looks over to Elliott, and even through the goggles, their gaze makes him want to blush. Instead, he gives them a cheeky grin and a thumbs up. Bloodhound nods to them, and turns to the balcony under the zipline. They stretch their arms upwards, and then roll their neck, bouncing on the balls of their feet. The hunter takes a brief moment to bow their head once more. They open the service panel on their wrist gear to press a few quick buttons, and Mirage glances down at the squads fighting below. 

They really don’t know what they’re in for, he thinks. 

He watches in awe as Bloodhound takes a running leap off the Epicenter tower and howls into the sky, the familiar red hue glowing around them as they plummet to the ground. Their jump pack boosts them just enough so they don’t destroy their knees, and when they hit the snow, they immediately activate their scanner. Nine orangey-red figures highlight through the structures and ice around their team, and Bloodhound yells over the comms, “Gibraltar, now!”

Makoa follows suit, hurling his Ultimate canister down between the warring teams. The familiar hum fills the air, and a barrage of missiles scream through the sky. Thick gray smoke descends upon the landscape, and the missiles beat against the ground, creating miniature craters where they explode. “Two down!” Gibraltar announces, examining the scene through the digital sights of his Prowler. “Go get ‘em, Mirage! I’ll be right behind you.”

Mirage hops up and down on the balls of his feet, just like Bloodhound did, and snaps his goggles on. “It’s dupes o’clock!” he says, grinning like a little kid. The adrenaline was really kicking in now, and he feels powerful and confident, for once. He leaps off the tower after Bloodhound and hits the icy ground hard. His knees wobble and his feet ache, but this is no time for hesitation. It’s time to help his team. 

Immediately he takes advantage of the smoke that’s still clouding the air, and sends a decoy running straight through it. He follows it and releases every clone he has. Even though he’s running blind, he trusts himself, because he knows the contour of the area like the back of his hand. Gunfire begins to ring out, and the churning sound of a Devotion greets his ears. Dread threatens to flood his stomach for a brief second, but he acknowledges it and lets it pass, surprised at how quickly it leaves. Three of his decoys are shot down, and Elliott has to smile. Bamboozling his opponents never got old.

A sinister, skeletal shape looms out of the smoke and Elliott cringes. Why did it have to be the damn murderbot? he laments internally. He raises his Wingman, aiming through the sights. Revenant turns to him, highlighted in red, his mechanical hand splitting in two to reveal the silencer. Mirage dodges the huge fiery projectile just barely, and his heart pounds harder than ever before. He aims again and two shots from his pistol connect with Revenant’s chest just as the robot levels his Hemlok. To Elliott’s horror, Revenant disappears in a flash of orange light, no doubt summoned back to his death totem. 

“Dammit!” he yells, and he feels a peppering of bullets smatter against his head and chest. His shields are dangerously low, and as he turns to see his attacker, a hazy red and brown shape flashes past him. Bloodhound sprints across the battlefield, raises their Spitfire and shoots down an unfamiliar face in a matter of seconds. Must be one of the new hopefuls, Elliott thinks wildly, fighting the urge to just stand back and watch Bloodhound dominate the field. They run off behind another glacier in search of their prey.

He shakes his head and continues on.

By his count, there should only be six other people left- two of the previous nine had been taken down by Gibraltar’s Ultimate, and Bloodhound had just finished the third of that squad. He’s not sure who’s left, but he also knows there’s a big chance Revenant’s squad is still intact. His totem tended to complicate things, so Elliott hated trying to win against him. He’s not sure which he prefers- losing to Bloodhound or fighting against a squad of shadows.

The ring was getting closer by the second, and Elliott could almost hear it humming. “We’d better make this quick, guys,” he says over comms. “I like pork chops but I definitely don’t want to become them!”

“Come to me, félagi fighters,” Bloodhound replies, their voice raspy and deep because of their Ultimate. The sound of it electrifies Elliott’s insides in an instant, and he has to fight every weakness he’s got as his knees turn to jelly. 

He rounds the corner and ducks into the room below the tower, fidgeting with his Wingman. Gibraltar jogs in with them, his Prowler smoking slightly. “Downed another one, but I think they had a gold knockdown. They’re probably up and running again.”

“It is no matter,” Bloodhound replies, and Elliott is sad to hear their Ultimate fading away. “We have the means to vinna.” They kneel on the ground quickly, regaining their balance from the rush. He places a hand on their shoulder.

“You all right?” he asks them. 

Bloodhound stiffens, almost shying away from his touch. “Yes. Do not forget to recharge your shields. We have need of your skill.”

A weird sense of awkwardness sparkles in his ribcage, and he retracts his hand. “Oh, right.” He takes a moment to swing his backpack from his shoulders and to his feet. The familiar hiss and sting of the shield battery jolts through his veins, and soon enough he is fully charged again. “How many are left? Six?

“Four,” Bloodhound pants. “I killed two opponents before assisting you, so there should be four remaining, assuming the one with the gold shield evaded death. Who was it?”

“Don’t know,” Gibraltar says, popping a shield cell. “Didn’t get a good look at them. Might’ve been Dr. Nox.”

Bloodhound nods, and reloads their Spitfire. Gunfire echoes around them again, too close for comfort. Mirage darts to the other doorway and peeks out. Sure enough, the remaining squads are battling it out by the respawn beacon. Revenant and Lifeline are shooting at Wraith and Wattson from the hill, pinning the two women between them and Elliott’s squad. A blue-black void portal is hidden expertly among the rocks, no doubt leading to a safer location. 

“It’s a two on two out there,” Elliott yells back to his team. “Lifeline and Murderbot against Wraith and Wattson. I don’t know what happened to their thirds, so keep an eye out.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Gibraltar says. “Wraith will be able to tell if we’re aiming at her, thanks to those voices of hers. Bloodhound, how about you take her portal while they’re distracted and wait for them to come through? Give us scans when you’re charged up. Mirage, you send a few decoys out as you get them. I’ll circle around to the side and try to gain ground on the two up the hill.”

“Hey, sounds good,” Mirage replies, just as Bloodhound nods their agreement. “Almost as good as my plan, but you know, you’ll get there!”

Gibraltar just shakes his head at him in amused exasperation. “You keep telling yourself that. You two ready?”

Mirage grabs an arc star from his bag. “Ready.”

“Ready.” Bloodhound’s voice is smooth and even, free from the heavy breathing from before. 

“Go!”

Elliott runs through the door with no hesitation, sending a decoy in the direction of the gunfire. He lobs the arc star high and far, hoping to land it right between the squads. Bloodhound is close behind him, and they run straight to Wraith’s portal. Gibraltar jogs up the hill, pulling out his G7. Bloodhound disappears into Wraith’s portal in a flash of white light, and Elliott starts firing at Wattson with his R-99. About half of the bullets miss, whizzing over Wattson’s head when she ducks. Wraith disappears from his peripheral, slipping into the void. Elliott can only hope she’s gone after Gibraltar and isn’t sneaking around behind him.

Bloodhound suddenly cries out in pain over the comms, and Elliott’s heart twists itself into knots. 

“What’s wrong?” he yells, his fingers fumbling as he ducks and reloads his R-99.

The hunter reappears beside him, heaving and groaning in pain. “Do not go through the portal!” they gasp. “Wraith left the other end outside the ring!” Bloodhound runs off to take cover, pulling a med kit from their backpack as they go. 

Wattson fires her Flatline straight at Elliott’s head, and a dangerous amount of bullets make contact. His shields instantly vaporize, and his helmet is barely holding on. He knows it's now or never, so he takes a deep breath and fires his R-99 at her. His friend hits the ground almost instantly, and Elliott feels a twinge of sorrow. Wattson was one of his favorite Legends to be around, and he always felt this weird sense of guilt when he beat her in the Games, even though they’re here to repeatedly kill each other. “Sorry, Nat!”

“It- It’s fine,” she groans weakly, pressing a hand to her neck as the blood gushes from between her fingertips. “I’ll get you next time!”

He lingers for a moment, not really wanting to finish her off, but more bullets fly in his direction. He doesn’t really have a choice, so he fires a few more bullets at her, and her body goes limp. 

A large, orange, sparkling something hits Elliott squarely in the chest, and he realizes too late that Revenant has hit him with his silencer. “Shit, shit, shit!” he mutters, diving out of the way. He ducks behind a pillar and pulls out a shield battery, willing it to charge faster. Bullets smack into the ground near his feet, and he scoots away from them. 

“Wraith is down!” Gibraltar yells over the comms. 

“Wattson’s out too,” Mirage replies, breathing hard. “It should just be Revenant and Lifeline, right?” Fully healed, he discards the battery and peeks precariously around the pillar. 

A web of orangey-red energy sweeps the area, highlighting three enemy figures.

To his horror, a shadowy Revenant, Lifeline, and Caustic are running down the hill at full-tilt. Caustic raises an arm back, holding a large, cylindrical object in his hand, and Elliott is familiar with the sight. Still silenced, he can’t do much else besides run, so he darts away from the respawn beacon structure and back towards the imposing ring. It has closed just shy of the space under the tower, so he throws himself back in and waits for his abilities to return. “Bloodhound, where are you?”

Just as the words leave his mouth, Caustic rushes around the corner, still holding the canister in his hands. Elliott immediately sends a decoy in his direction, but he is not fooled- he steps aside and throws the canister right at Elliott’s feet. Caustic fires a round of ammo from his Havoc right into Elliott’s chest. Elliott throws himself backwards, but his right elbow smashes against the doorframe, and he feels it fracture. Mirage falls through the doorway just as clouds of green gas spew straight at his face. 

“Fuck, shit-” he gasps, breathing in gas and crawling frantically away. He was so close to death, and his blood is pumping white-hot terror through his veins. Pain funnels into his lungs and into his entire body, radiating from his arm. 

“Failure after failure,” Caustic seethes through the mask, slamming his foot on Mirage’s chest just as the effects of Revenant’s totem leave him. He reloads his Peacekeeper and presses the muzzle into Elliott’s forehead. 

Same damn place I was just a few days ago, Elliott thinks, his chest seizing in agony. All this fighting, and for what? He grabs around frantically, trying to find something, anything to help him out.

His left hand brushes across the handle of his Wingman.

Three ear-splitting shots ring out, and Caustic crashes to the ground, three bullet holes in his forehead. 

Elliott scrambles to his feet and instantly falls right back over, hacking his lungs out. He roots through his backpack in a panic, trying to find a med kit and a shield battery. To his dismay, he only finds two syringes and a shield cell. 

“Caustic’s down! Hey, I could use some shields here!” he coughs, leaning against the wall and taking the syringes. He feels his arm heat up uncomfortably, and the fracture heals itself, but still aches.

“Give me a sec!” Gibraltar yells. “Lifeline’s low, but so am I!”

“Revenant has downed me,” Bloodhound calls, their voice thick with what Elliott can only assume to be blood. 

This is bad, Elliott thinks as he pops a shield cell. His chest is tight with pain and fear, and all he wants to do is scramble to his feet and find Bloodhound. Gibraltar sprints around the glacier, throws down his dome, and drops a shield battery, which Elliott scoops up and uses as fast as he physically can. “Bloodhound, where are you?”

“Near the respawn beacon!”

“Shit,” he hisses. Bloodhound had to be right between them and Revenant, and Revenant had to be coming for them. “Gibraltar, did you finish Lifeline off?” 

“Yup,” he says, reloading his Prowler. “Anyone got some heavy ammo?”

But his words fall on deaf ears, because Elliott takes off towards Bloodhound’s indicator.

Another fiery orange projectile hits Elliott squarely in the chest, and he yells in frustration. “Hold on, Bloodhound, I’m coming for you!”

“No, Elliott, finish the match!” they yell weakly. “Leave me!”

“But-”

“Go!” 

“No!” Elliott protests. “I’m not leaving you behind, so shut up!” He slides across the ground to Bloodhound’s shaking form and plunges the revival syringe straight into their chest. They gasp hard, and their body convulses for a brief moment. “Come on, stay with me,” he murmurs. His hand goes to theirs and hovers over it for just a moment, but he thinks better of it. Now’s not the time.

A fiery orange projectile hits the ground only a few feet away from them, just as Elliott is pulling Bloodhound to their feet. “You good?” he asks them.

“Yes. Now go!”

Elliott pops to his feet and grabs a stray syringe from the ground, plunging it into his wrist as he runs. His Wingman is almost out of ammo, and he only has a couple clips of his R-99 left. “Gibraltar, you good?”

“Right behind you!” he replies. “But I’m low on health!”

Revenant’s skeletal form comes into view once more as Elliott runs up the hill towards Refinery. He’s kneeling over Lifeline’s body, attempting to revive her. 

Elliott fires the last two Wingman shots he has at Revenant, but to his dismay, only one of them connects. It collides with his shoulder, and he jumps to his feet, leaving Lifeline behind. Good, Elliott thinks. Now she can’t back him up. He switches to his R-99 and sprints harder, trying to catch up with him.

Elliott rounds the corner and promptly ducks as he sees another of Revenant’s silencers flying towards his head. He shoots another decoy forward, trying to give Revenant something else to focus on. Gibraltar gets hit with the silencer and grunts in frustration. Elliott pursues Revenant relentlessly, determined to get revenge on the bastard. 

Finally the robot comes into view, and Elliott raises his gun at him. Most of the mag hits his target, and Revenant has to be close to dead. 

“Mirage!” Gibby yells. “Get behind me!”

“Wh-”

“Just do it!”

Elliott shakes his head in disbelief but he does as Gibraltar says. “I don’t know what you’re planning but I hope it’s good.”

“Trust me,” Gibraltar says, raising what’s left of his gun shield. Elliott reloads his R-99, and in front of them, Revenant fires back with a few well-placed Eva-8 shots, obliterating Gibraltar’s gun shield. Gibby falls to the ground, his arm and gut bleeding profusely.

“Dude, what the hell-”

“Just finish him!” Gibraltar coughs, blood spattering onto the ice. 

Elliott looks up in alarm. Revenant is almost upon him, and he’s leveling his R-301. The too-familiar panic settles in, but Elliott takes a deep breath, allowing it to remain inside him.

Everything goes quiet and still. 

His R-99 moves seemingly of its own accord, locking onto Revenant’s head with ease. His fingers pull the trigger, and the stream of bullets shoots out like a laser, deadly accurate. Every single bullet connects to its target. Revenant is knocked backward by the force of it all, and he slumps to the ground, dead. 

The R-99 falls out of Elliott’s hands. 

His eyes sting and his knees give out.

“Attention. Winner decided.”

[nightofthemeteor]

Falconry/Bonsai

(Also here on AO3)

“Tobirama, can you come help me with something?”

“What?” came the disgruntled answer from down the hall.

Hashirama stuck his head out the door. “I need you to take a picture for my Instagram!”

He could hear his little brother stomping down the hallway, so Hashirama returned to his table and picked up a pair of pruning shears, considering the lighting in the room and the best angle to take a photo. A moment later, Tobirama walked into the room, saw Hashirama, and immediately turned around and walked out.

“Hey! Come back!”

“No way,” said Tobirama, without turning around. “I am not taking a picture of you in your underwear.”

“I’m not in only my underwear!” Hashirama protested. “I’m wearing a shirt!” Granted, it was the shortest shirt he owned, and it did leave a substantial strip of skin bare, but still.

“Can I ask,” Tobirama said witheringly, stopped in the doorway but without turning around, “Why you’re posing for a half-naked picture to put on your gardening blog? Don’t tell me you’re that desperate for exposure.” He was forced to turn around for this last part, because he had to raise his eyebrows at Hashirama to make sure he got the double entendre.

“Very funny, Tobirama. No, it’s not for more followers.” Although that could be a nice side effect, come to think of it. “It’s a…” Hashirama knew there was a word for this, if only he could remember – “Thirst trap!” he announced, proud of himself for getting the terminology right.

Tobirama wrinkled his nose. “Please never say that again, Anija. Do I know the person you’re posting this for?”

“Nah – I just met him yesterday! I ran into him on the subway as I was bringing home this very bonsai.” Hashirama affectionately patted the pot containing his newest leafy charge, a lovely boxwood tree rescued from the back shelves of a garden store on the other side of town. “I’m telling you, Tobirama, this tree is good luck!”

“Are you out of your mind, Anija? You gave your Instagram handle to some random stranger on the subway, and now you’re posting – ” Tobirama made a vague, sort of circular gesture to encompass Hashirama’s general state of undress “ – for him to see? I’m begging you to have just a shred of common sense.”

“No, this guy is fine, I promise! I have excellent judgement about this sort of thing.” Tobirama crossed his arms and gave him a flat look that said, Your judgement is terrible and we both know it. Hashirama sighed. “If you help me, I’ll buy you that expensive, iced coffee you like,” he wheedled.

“Two coffees,” Tobirama snapped. “And when you end up with some creepy stalker, I’m not going to help you.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Hashirama shoved his phone into Tobirama’s hands before he could change his mind and struck a pose next to the boxwood, shears in hand. He’d just finished pruning the tree, in fact – this picture was to show off his handiwork with the bonsai, too. The guy on the subway - Madara, he'd said his name was - had asked about it, after all. “Is the shape of the tree still good from that angle?”

“It’s fine,” Tobirama sighed in exasperation, and then, apparently resigned to his role, added: “Maybe turn it clockwise a little.”

Hashirama complied, spending a few more seconds arranging the miniature branches. “Did you get your exam marks back yet?” he asked, to keep Tobirama occupied while he fussed with the tree.

“Just got my mark for organic chem,” his brother replied, lips pressed together in an angry pout. “One point away from perfect. I swear, that TA was just trying to find some excuse to take marks away; he was a huge asshole to me all semester, just because I pointed out his synthesis problems had more than one correct solution.”

That explained why Tobirama was even grumpier than usual. “Well, you must have done an excellent job, if this TA could only find one point to take away,” Hashirama tried, in an attempt to mollify him; Tobirama’s stony expression remained unchanged. “Plus, the year is over, so you’ll never have to deal with him again!”

That got a grudging half-smile out of Tobirama. “Yeah – at least there’s that. Are you ready, Anija? I want to get this over with.”

---

The picture was…it was…different from the majority of Hashirama’s posts. Madara had been stalking his Instagram for the past half hour – was it really stalking if the guy had given him his handle and invited him to look for updates on the bonsai he’d been carrying? Probably not, right? – Madara had been looking at his Instagram for the past half hour, and it was all innocent pictures of trees, flowers, and houseplants, meticulously cared for and clearly thriving. Occasionally, Hashirama’s smiling face appeared in the background of a photo, or his hand showed up in a close-up to showcase some clippings, but there was nothing like…that. Broad shoulders in a loosely draped shirt; smooth skin over taut muscle at his stomach; sharp hipbones leading down to –

“What are you looking at, Nii-san?”

Madara jumped, fumbled his phone, and dropped it onto his chest. “Izuna! How many times do I have to tell you to knock?”

“Oh, it was porn? Sorry,” said Izuna, sticking his face obnoxiously through the crack between Madara’s bedroom door and the wall.

“It wasn’t porn,” Madara replied reflexively, before realizing that not only was he now going to have to provide an explanation, but he sort of had been looking at porn. Almost. “It’s this guy I met yesterday,” Madara mumbled at his phone. “I'm on his Instagram.”

“You met someone?!” Izuna exclaimed in delight. Madara sighed – there was no keeping his little brother out of his business now. Sure enough, Izuna threw open his door the rest of the way and bounded over to sit next to Madara on the bed. “How did this miracle occur?”

“It was…kind of accidental.” Madara wasn’t exactly the sociable type, and he certainly didn’t strike up conversations with strangers on public transit – in fact, he usually did his best to maintain a menacing aura so that people didn’t talk to him. But yesterday, after staring for probably a solid five minutes at the impressively muscled forearms of the guy standing in front of him, Madara had realized even those muscles might get tired of holding an entire bonsai tree, and he should probably offer the guy his seat. The man had accepted the offer with a very genuine-sounding thanks, and then had proceeded to flash Madara an implausibly sunny grin, gesture to the bonsai in his lap, and say, “Trees-ed to meet you!”. The line was so terrible Madara hadn't been able to let it go without comment, and before he knew what was happening, he’d been talking to the guy for twenty minutes and had acquired his Instagram handle.

“Well, can I see a picture?” Izuna demanded.

Madara winced, rapidly weighed his options, and reluctantly unlocked his phone to show Izuna the picture he’d been looking at. Izuna, shockingly, didn’t comment on the nature of the photo, but squinted down at it and said, “Hm…I think I know that guy.”

“You do?”

“I’m pretty sure I met him on campus one time, when I was waiting for your lab to finish. He was waiting for someone too, so we chatted for a few minutes. Nice guy.”

With sudden, dawning horror, Madara asked, “Was he hitting on you?”

“No, no! Nothing like that. I think he’s just a friendly type of person.”

Well, a man who flirted with anything that moved – or worse, Izuna – would have been a crushing disappointment, but a ‘friendly type of person’ was nearly as bad. Hashirama had given him his Instagram handle and told him to watch for a post with an update on ‘his’ bonsai, and said bonsai update had included a half-naked Hashirama. Madara had nearly dared to interpret that as interest…but if Hashirama was just a ‘friendly type of person,’ Madara could have been reading the cues entirely wrong. Perhaps their conversation yesterday had just been a fun way to pass the time, and the photo was intended for somebody else.

As if reading his mind, Izuna said, “You should ask him out for drinks or something.”

“I followed his Instagram,” Madara announced, “And that is exactly the number of moves I am willing to make. I’m busy, you know – I can’t go chasing all the time like you.” Just one of many excellent reasons to save that picture for his fantasies and never meet the real person ever again.

“You just finished marking all your exams,” Izuna countered. “I know you’re not that busy. Come on, Nii-san, be reasonable: when are you ever going to get another chance like this again?”

“Thanks for that, Izuna,” Madara muttered. Who said he was even interested in dating, anyways? Relationships were messy, confusing, and time-consuming; not at all worth the hassle –

Madara’s phone buzzed. Instagram message from Hashirama: Hey, sorry if this is presumptuous, but do you want to meet up for drinks sometime?

Madara stared at his screen. Then, disbelieving, he held out the phone for Izuna to read. A stunned moment of silence, and then Izuna shrieked, “You have to go!”

Well, maybe this wasn’t quite as complicated as Madara had feared. Izuna was right; he wasn’t that busy. Pursing his lips in concentration, Madara typed out a reply.

---

Tobirama had been completely wrong, as it turned out: Madara was neither a creep nor a stalker. He was a grad student with an acerbic tongue, passionate opinions, and a lovely embarrassed blush. Hashirama had become so absorbed in the conversation he’d completely forgotten to order more drinks, which was seriously unlike him – although, since he’d made up his mind to pay for the date, it was probably for the best.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Madara remarked abruptly, somewhere around hour three or four.

“You mean existentially?”

“Literally here, in a bar, having drinks with you,” Madara clarified. “I mean – my younger brother is convinced I’m incapable of socializing. He was probably planning to set me up with one of his friends from…art school…” He leveled a suspicious glare at Hashirama as he said these last few words. “He didn’t put you up to this, did he? What’s he paying you?”

“It wasn’t your brother,” said Hashirama seriously. “It was the bonsai.”

“The bonsai paid you to take me out for drinks?”

“The bonsai brought us together.” Hashirama raised his glass; Madara followed suit, looking a little bemused but playing along, nonetheless. “To the bonsai!” Hashirama announced. He drained his glass, surreptitiously watched the way Madara’s throat moved as he drank, and thought. Tobirama would definitely judge him for thinking it, but though Hashirama barely knew Madara, he felt an immediate connection to him. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

“Madara,” he said. Madara looked at him with his dark, expressive eyes, shadows from his hair falling across his face, and Hashirama bit his lip. Careful, he thought. “I really am glad you’re here, in this bar, having drinks with me.”

Madara flushed again, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red; Hashirama wondered if he could make Madara flush anywhere else. “I’m glad, too,” he said, low and a little shaky, as though he was unused to saying things like that.

Hashirama immediately abandoned his caution of just a moment before and said, “Do you want to get out of here? We can go to my place – my brother won’t be home.”

“Yes,” said Madara. “Yes, definitely.”

---

Hashirama had the bonsai – Madara’s bonsai, the one he’d toasted that evening – set up in pride of place in his bedroom. That should have prompted Madara to suspect Hashirama had planned for this to happen, and make him annoyed at Hashirama’s confidence. He should also have been a lot more panicked when he looked at Hashirama’s face, sleepy and content, with his previously immaculate hair tangled on the pillow, and felt a tug somewhere under his sternum. Instead, he looked at that bonsai on his way out of the room and thought, Thanks.

Hashirama’s apartment wasn’t very large, considering it housed two people, but it was still annoying to search for the bathroom in an unfamiliar place. Madara had been sure Hashirama had told him it was down the hall on the left, but now he was in the entranceway. He was about to retrace his steps and try again when he heard a key jingling in the door.

“Hey, Anija, I just came back for – ” The man in the doorway spotted Madara and froze. Madara, too, had frozen in horror, because even in the dim light he’d immediately recognized Hashirama’s brother.

“You!” yelped Senju Tobirama.

“No,” Madara said, backing up a step. “Absolutely not.”

Tobirama pointed an accusing finger at him. “I was supposed to be done with you!” he hissed. “You took off that one mark on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Oh, because you think all your solutions are perfect, do you?” He’d certainly acted that way all through that torturous organic chemistry class.

“Tobirama?” came Hashirama’s concerned voice from the hallway.

“Tell me you’re not sleeping with my TA, Anija!” Tobirama practically wailed, and suddenly, Madara’s annoyance at the appearance of his least favourite student was replaced with pure schadenfreude.

“I’m afraid he very much is,” he said, before Hashirama could reply. “So you’d better get used to seeing a lot of me.” And to his great satisfaction, he watched Hashirama’s face brighten in delight, and Tobirama’s drop in utter horror.

[elizabethplaid]

daily notes, july 12, 2021

First good news is that the results from my last exam were fine. Second good news is that the ultrasound went well. A far more pleasant experience than my last appointment. I think I could see the unusual tissue on the screen (they had a big one on the wall for patients to view, yay). It was like a big dark spot, compared to everything else.

Bad news is only mildly bad. More like “I just want to bitch, because I’m exhausted.” So that goes beneath the cut. I’ll add some more good stuff at the end of the list.

Overall, today was good. (Pertinent info bolded for easier reading.)

1) I think Walmart has phased out the “Just My Size” brand. No fitting room attendants, so I couldn’t try on the other pants I found. Considering they had a size larger than what I wear, I know I’ll be okay if I have to get a different size. (Plus size clothing is notoriously tough to find the right fit with.)

2) Barbie (and all toys) section was thinner than last time! I grabbed another Roxy outfit and some miniature shoes. (Idk why it’s $14 something on the site, as it was only $4 in the store.) They did have the newer pigtails Barbie Extra doll, but not the pink-blue hair one I wanted. (Guess they all ended up in Australia?)

3) This was our first shopping adventure since the plastic bag ban. I only brought 2 of my reusable bags, and it was nowhere near enough for all the groceries we got. Dad just threw the non-frozen stuff in the back. Frozen food stayed in the cab with us, as we forgot to bring a cooler. (It’s a 1-hour drive between here and Ellsworth, mind you.)

3.5) I do have more reusable bags, but they’ve been in storage. Got ‘em as gifts over the years, but the bag ban only started July 1st. (Delayed a year, due to the plague.)

4) I got another fancy drink from Dunkin Donuts, but I forgot to load up on water first, so I couldn’t savor it. Gotta drink the water first, to quench my thirst. Then I can indulge with the nice stuff afterwards. (It was still really good.)

5) As we waited in line, we talked to Neighbor-G on dad’s cell. (We went to trivia night with her, back in 2020.) Dad apologized for the previous call cutting out, as his signal was bad in the hospital. So he explained that I was there for an ultrasound but didn’t say what kind. He’s like, “I’ll have her explain it,” then handed the phone to me.

So I’m like, “Yeah, just unusual tissue on a place where... I probably shouldn’t say it right now, because we’re in public. But it’s nothing to wor-” and dad half-shouts “LADY PARTS!” in the background. Like, dude. You couldn’t say that to her on the phone, but you’re gonna shout it in public? Are you possessed my mom’s ghost today? Wtf.

Idek if Neighbor-G heard him. A minute later, I said, “Oh I didn’t even tell you the best part. They had to call in a second-opinion for that first exam!” And I didn’t think I said it that loud, but one of the other people nearby kinda made eye contact with me. So I told G that I shouldn’t say more. “Everything’s fine, but I’m in public right now.” Even mentioned how I’ve been practicing on holding back on info-dumping and blurting, so this felt like my effort was wasted. (Obviously it wasn’t, but it still feels like a kick in the pants after I was so proud of myself earlier. I used to be sooo bad about over-sharing with medical professionals.)

Dad apologized after the call. I wouldn’t have minded if we were at home or at a smaller venue. It’s just that it’s friggen Walmart and people can hear. They don’t need to know about that stuff.

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

Back to good stuff, we got a cardboard cat cottage, and I put it together right away. Wampus investigated right after I sprinkled the cat nip. Moscow was in there, last I looked.

I definitely think it’d be a good display on a shelf, with the side-door feature. The printed floor faces inside the cottage, which is separate from the scratch board pieces. If I got a 2nd cottage, I could just keep the scratch boards as replacements for the 1st cottage.

Got some other good things, like a new computer mouse and some cat brushes. Found more mandarin orange gel cups from Dole and more bags of frozen fruit.

[pitch-pearl-void]

Small thing I wrote in response to this sketch and our thirst for soft pitch pearl in the discord server

How far away are you? Danny sent before looking up from his phone. A quick look at the skies through the floor-to-ceiling window proved his elusive boyfriend wasn't flying toward the theater, though of course that wasn't a certainty. Ghosts were tricky about being seen despite glowing like miniature satellites.

He sighed and turned away from the windows, reentering the crowd gathered around the concession stand. He may as well get their snacks while he waited. There was no telling how long Phantom would take. He could be fighting a ghost right now. For that matter, a ghost could appear halfway through the movie, putting an unpleasant end to their date.

A few people in line glanced back at him, something about his face drawing their attention, but they inevitably lost interest when they realized he 1) only resembled Phantom, wasn't the Ghost Boy himself, and 2) was alone.

Danny's phone pinged. He looked back down and read, Closer than you think.

"Wow," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "That's not at all helpful, Phantom, thanks."

"I thought it plenty helpful," a disembodied voice whispered in his ear.

Danny gasped, jumping in place.

Phantom laughed. His arms wrapped around Danny's shoulders and pulled him backward, against Phantom's chest. His legs rose to bracket Danny's waist, and whereas normally that would leave Danny bearing his weight, the ghost had yet to release his control over gravity, leaving Phantom free to hug Danny from behind and nuzzle his face into the crook of Danny's neck. It also meant Danny felt himself growing weightless as well, seconds away from his heels lifting off the tiled floor.

Although that could have been more due to the rapid pounding of his heart and the rising giddiness in his stomach...

Danny's tongue, rendered once more useless by Phantom's newest quirk, fumbled his retort into incoherent babble. The person in line in front of Danny looked over his shoulder, annoyed, but froze with his mouth formed around an unvoiced word.

That was Danny's first warning that Phantom hadn't bothered turning invisible, but he had to look down at Phantom's knees before he could confirm it for himself. Danny's already warm face grew even hotter.

"Phantom," he gasped out weakly. "You can't just--just--"

"Hug my boyfriend?" Phantom asked innocently.

"You're going to get us mobbed!" Danny objected.

A cell phone flashed to their right, but for Danny's peace of mind, he pretended the excited babbling of the girls was due to them taking selfies with the lifesize cutout in the corner.

"Don't be so dramatic, there aren't enough people here to mob us," Phantom pointed out.

"It's sort of terrifying how confident you are about that."

"I try my best. The line is moving, by the way." When neither Danny nor the man in front of them moved, Phantom repeated, louder, "The line is moving."

The man, probably no older than Jazz, jolted, his eyes widening. "Oh!" He stumbled forward the several spaces that had grown between him and the rest of the line.

Danny followed after, feeling slightly awkward as Phantom clung to his back instead of letting go. It wasn't unpleasant. Phantom didn't weigh anything like this, Danny actually enjoyed feeling his boyfriend's arms around him, his ghost so near he could feel the thrumming of his core against his shoulder blade, but it was strange having him so close when Danny was walking instead of sleeping. He had only just gotten used to snuggling together beneath the blankets! Where was all the hugging coming from?

Danny reached up and pressed his hand to Phantom's forearm, unsure what else to do with his hands. He kept his head down, afraid to look up and see so many people staring at them.

Phantom kissed his ear and whispered, "I can let go if this is making you uncomfortable."

Danny bit his lip, reluctant to end something Phantom clearly wanted, given how tightly the ghost was hugging him. "Is this a ghost thing?" he asked instead.

"I think it is a 'me' thing." Phantom lowered his head, the crown of his skull pressing against Danny's cheek. "I love holding you like this. It's very comforting."

Well...Danny definitely wasn't going to object now. "Alright," he conceded, following the line as they crept closer to the cashier. "But you have to be the little spoon tonight."

The man in front of them choked.

Phantom laughed and lifted his head to rub his cheek against Danny's. "Deal."

"And you're getting your own popcorn."

"Danny," Phantom whined, "sharing the same popcorn is part of the experience!"

"You keep stealing the extra buttery ones!"

"I like the butter..."

The man in front of them ordered his snacks with a distracted air, his head half turned toward them. The cashiers were gawking at them too.

"What about the drinks?" Phantom asked.

"We each get our own?"

"At least we're on the same page there." Phantom huffed. "I love you, Danny, but you have terrible backwash."

"Stop eating and drinking from my shit and that won't be a problem."

"Stop getting the stuff I like then."

"How about you just get your own all the time?"

"It's not as much fun."

Danny rolled his eyes. "You just want whatever I'm having because it's mine."

"Well...yes."

The simple acceptance startled a laugh out of Danny. By the time it was their turn to order, Danny's confidence had returned and he was able to look the cashier in the eye, conscious of his boyfriend's presence at his back and the stares directed at them, but what did it matter? Phantom loved him. They were on a date to the movies, and nothing was going to ruin it.