#yeah we’re being actively ship baited

[barren-heart]

[todomitoukei]

Okay, yeah, I didn’t contradict your interpretations with the intent to be rude, I was trying to actively forment discussion with someone who I think has an interesting interpretation of the characters, that perhaps might lead to even more in depth discussion of these issues and how they could play out not only within the story at hand, but by also examining the situation within several hypothetical spaces. Like, nature versus nurture, and what your takes perhaps are on how much that can affect a person’s sexuality, their openness and awareness, as well as freedom to explore themselves as opposed to feeling like they have to hide themselves. I didn’t make my own post, as it were, because a discussion of such issues is just that… a discussion. As someone who has an excellent bead on the character, as well as their own very clearly held takes, it was less about purposefully ‘disagreeing’ with you and far more in the interest of starting a dialogue. I simply stated my own take as a starting point, a place from which a discussion could go, as I was feeling curious about what led to your particular reading of Touya. Not everything that doesn’t agree with your own stated opinion is meant as a disavowment of that take or to antagonize or belittle your take on a character. I kinda thought people post and ask questions and such because we like talking about characters, exploring their dynamics, exploring the things about them we connect with, or the things we feel reflect ourselves. I could understand your ire if I had used rude language or was deliberately trying to bait you into an argument, but all I did was start with how I had personally seen Touya and then presented the question of seeing Touya through a different lens, how his possible development could have otherwise have happened, and explored that scenario. I also presented the question of what we can interpret of Fuyumi from the little we’re given of her, and how the Todo-kids seem to mostly eschew romantic pursuits in general, except notably, the one kid who received the least attention from their father. I simply thought it was an interesting point.

Maybe in the future just delete those questions you dislike rather than making earnest people, just interested in discussing the characters and the opinions of others, feel like total dicks just for being interested in what you have to say.

It seems you missed the part in my previous response where I said "I don't see the point in arguing with people's headcanons, especially when I didn't ask." - I'm still not asking. Me making posts or answering asks is not an invitation for other people to share their opinions. I did state that to me, Dabi and Shouto are aroace. Nowhere did I imply that I was interested in what other people think about this topic.

Headcanons are often very personal to people, especially when it comes to sexual/romantic/gender orientation because more often than not, people project their own identities onto characters, which is why it is so very frustrating that there is not a single post of someone interpreting a character as ace, aro, or aroace without there being at least one person saying "No, they're clearly something else" - again, there are many reasons as to why I find this problematic, starting with the lack of representation there is for aro/ace people. And even when people aren't outright disagreeing, then they're still often trying to "negotiate" so that their characters are still shippable. "Yeah, maybe they're ace, but they could still fall in love-" "They're ace, but then they meet THIS character and-" and many many more arguments that absolutely piss me off because yes, not every ace person is aro and both asexuality and aromanticism are spectrums, but people tend to make these arguments to justify completely ignoring the ace/aro aspect of the character and ship them with other characters, which is not the point of representation. So when I say "X character is aroace to me" and someone says "But-" it's an immediate red flag to me because I've seen this conversation too many times.

My headcanons aren't me trying to state facts. I'm not saying that either Dabi or Shouto is 100% aroace in the canon story. That is simply my personal headcanon and partially so because that is my identity and I relate to these characters in ways that I can't with other characters and that gives me comfort because it makes me feel less alone. And when someone tries to argue with my headcanon, it's just like people IRL dismissing my identity and that's not a fun experience. So whether or not it was your intention, it came across as rude and you don't get to argue with that unless you're actively trying to be an asshole.

Again, this is my headcanon. You can have a different one, but that's why I said make your own post. In that post, you could say "this is my take, what's yours?" and actively ask for people to share their opinions. But that's not what I did. In fact, there have been multiple occasions before, where I told people to make their own posts instead of arguing with my interpretations on my posts. Believe it or not, not everything people say online is an invitation for a discussion and if you disagree with someone, keep it to yourself or make a post without shoving your opinion down someone's throat.

What's more, when someone says that they didn't ask for someone else's opinion, the right thing to do is to just apologize and move on. Instead, you decided to send me another ask, claiming that I made you feel bad, whilst it's obviously you trying to make me feel bad for not humoring you.

For some reason, you were allowed to share your opinion on the matter without my consent, but now you claim that I am in the wrong and hurting your feelings? Then go find a blog that will just agree with everything you say, but this is not the blog. Never has, never will be.

"Maybe in the future just delete those questions" see, that's the thing with sending an ask, though. While me making a post isn't an invitation for other people to share their takes, sending an ask means you expect me to reply. But you don't get to choose what that reply is. This is my blog and if I don't like an ask, the tone someone uses with me, etc. I get to say and do whatever I want. You don't get to just walk into someone else's home, say "I don't like what you've done with this place" and then get offended with how they react. If you don't like people setting boundaries and whatnot, don't send asks. It's as simple as that. You don't get to be butthurt over this and I suggest you think a bit more about how you interact with people and that maybe it's you being the asshole and not the person you came to.

If you think you made an interesting point, make the post. But I don't care why Dabi is aroace. I don't think it matters if Endeavor hit the sexual and romantic attraction part right out of him, brainwashed him into being aroace to focus on becoming a hero, or whatever else you think happened here. The Dabi we see in the story with everything that has happened to him is the Dabi I'm talking about. Not a fanon version of him. In my interpretations, I focus on canon because I want to understand his character as best as possible, and thinking about fanon versions doesn't add anything to it because it's simply not relevant. It may be interesting to you, but it's not to me and that is something you simply have to deal with.

That being said, I kindly ask you to fuck off. Further asks will be deleted/blocked because I've said everything there is and if you still can't accept that or respect my boundaries, it's a you problem and I'm not gonna waste any more time on you.

[mc-lukanette]

do you have any lukanette ideas with chat/adrien salt? the newest episode reignited my annoyance towards him and his stans acting like he didn’t do anything wrong is not helping. i mean, flirting with ladybug while he’s dating kagami? getting excited over a possible akumatization?? and since i know that behavior won’t be addressed bc adrien is “perfect” and “the love square is endgame” therefore he gets a pass for any bad behavior, i was hoping for some fanmade salt (and lukanette is always a great addition to any story)

I can appreciate how starved you guys are to hear me salt on this blog.

But yeah, I came up with something considering that quite a bit of Chat’s behavior happens before Truth appears in “Lies.”

So hear me out--

Truth is a threat, considering that Luka is the only hero outside of Ladybug intended to be a planner. All others take orders directly from Ladybug herself, but Viperion could plan on his own.

This means that Truth realizes quickly that his strategy of asking for the heroes’ identities isn’t going to work because they’ll shout over him every time. He has to get creative and comes up with the idea to divide the heroes.

He comments on their teamwork, perhaps saying vaguely about how their teamwork can’t outmatch his and Pharo’s. Chat obviously takes the bait, talking on and on about how he and Ladybug are the best team and that they’re made for each other.

“Really?” Truth asks casually. “You’ve never done anything against her?”

Chat Noir responds, his white lips moving to say, “Of course I have!”

Ladybug gapes, and Chat looks calm for a second before his eyes immediately widen in panic.

He tries to say that it’s not what he means, but Truth’s power is active, so he just blurts out, “That’s exactly what I mean!”

He tries to cover his mouth with his non-Cataclysm hand, but gets shot by Pharo.

“I told Theo Barbot that we were dating and it got him akumatized!”

“You did what?!” Ladybug asks, having never heard this before.

Chat doesn’t stop - he can’t - and his mouth keeps moving. He admits that he sacrifices himself because he knows it won’t matter since Ladybug will fix it, and it means he’ll always leave an impression on her. He admits that he didn’t care when Nadja or Alya were egging on the LadyNoir ship because he feels like Ladybug will come around eventually. He admits that he doesn’t take her seriously when she goes off on him because “she’s cute when she’s angry.” He admits that he wanted an akuma to happen even though he knew Ladybug was busy, just because he wanted to spend time with her. He admits to telling his kwami he’d quit while Paris was underwater if he didn’t spill what Ladybug was hiding.

Honestly, even Truth at this point is like, “man I wanted to divide your teamwork, not your entire relationship.”

Ladybug eventually manages to snap out of her trance and deal with the whole situation (mostly by herself), but the damage is done. Even after the akuma has been purified and Truth turns back into Luka, Chat’s words linger and Ladybug ignores him.

“Are you okay, Luka?”

“Huh? Ah, yeah, thanks...”

Chat is awkwardly standing nearby, his tail in both hands as he fiddles with it. “So--ah... Bugaboo--”

“Don’t,” Ladybug cuts in, not even looking at him. “Is that why you use that nickname when I’m mad? To butter me up? Try to earn points? Do you think it’s funny?”

“No, no!” He waves his hands frantically. “It’s not--”

“See, the thing is that now I won’t know whether you’re lying or not,” she points out, the situation feeling all to familiar to when Tikki lied to her, only this was worse. She honestly wanted to trust Chat Noir; he was her partner, irreplaceable in the sense that he was there from the start.

But maybe not irreplaceable elsewhere.

“I wouldn’t lie to you!” he swears.

“But you’ll keep things from me,” she counters. She sighs, gently taking Luka’s hand and helping him stand, then addressing him as she says, “I’ll take you home, alright?”

Luka’s gaze briefly flickers between the two of them, but he asks no questions and nods. “Thank you.”

She guides him up the staircase to take him up to the balcony, Chat Noir rushing over to stand at the bottom of the steps.

“M’lady--!”

Ladybug turns to him with a silencing glare. “I really don’t want to be around you right now. We’ll talk later when I’m ready.”

(He’s going to be in for a long talk when they finally meet back up again, and suddenly, he isn’t so eager for an akuma to come rushing by to force them to come back together as a team.)

And with that, Ladybug goes up to the balcony, takes Luka in her arms, and leaves. Things are quiet at first, her taking in a few breaths of the night air as she tries to relax.

The past few days had been a mess, and that was putting it lightly. The kwami, dating, the akuma (that Chat Noir had apparently been soooo excited about), and now this big revelation. The stress must show on her face too, as she can occasionally feel Luka’s concerned gaze on her.

In a way, it’s nice, just having her boyfriend care like this, even when she’s in a mask. He’d put up with way more for her than she felt like he should’ve, and she knew that he’d disagree if she even dared to voice that thought.

Without really thinking, she starts talking to him. She talks about Ladybug, about everything; being thrown into this life that she didn’t ask for, and being happy to save Paris but sad at the emotional toll it takes. She tells him about all the friends who tease her for her lateness, and while it might’ve been funny at first - she was genuinely absent-minded at times - it doesn’t become as funny when knowing that it was something that couldn’t be helped.

“...I’m sorry you’re going through that,” Luka says in an offer of comfort. He sighs, not recoiling from her but it feels like he’s distant anyway. “I know it didn’t help that I was akumatized. I hope I didn’t do anything to Marinette.”

Her gaze softens; of course he’s thinking of her again. It’s Luka, she has no right to be surprised.

Chat Noir, meanwhile, was just thinking of himself.

“Actually,” she corrects, something occurring to her, “I think you might’ve helped in your own way.”

Luka tilts his head at her, puzzled.

She changes course just slightly, specifically to a spot not too far from the Liberty; one that is very familiar to both of them, and she can tell by the way his brows raise that he’s surprised by where she’s about to land.

Underneath the bridge, in the spot where he’d initially asked her - when she was Marinette - where she’d always been going, just before he got akumatized.

She sets him down, then paces around to try and clear her head.

“...Like I said, I didn’t get a lot of choice in this,” she begins. “I tried to give my miraculous up once in the beginning, but there was so much pressure and everything was going wrong. Then, things would just--happen around me, things that I couldn’t really think of--and this is coming from me!” She turns to him dramatically, gesturing to herself. “I imagine things going wrong all the time and I still can’t predict when they actually do!”

Luka chuckles lightly at that, but otherwise stays quiet, unsure of where she’s going with this but giving her his full attention.

“Me becoming the new guardian of the miraculouses so out of nowhere... it was a lot, and suddenly I had a bunch of kwami around my room who all wanted to get into my stuff or mess around. I didn’t choose to let them out; it just happened when I was trying to see how the box with all the miraculouses worked.” She groans a bit, rubbing her forehead as she paces around again. “Then in came Shadow Moth and all the akuma showing up, and now I’m even busier. I can’t even make time for my boyfriend.”

There’s a flicker of emotion in Luka’s eyes at that, but he doesn’t say anything, though his fingers twitch slightly at his sides.

“Then--” She looks down. “--there’s Chat Noir. I didn’t choose him either; the old guardian chose him for me, and he wasn’t even fully trained. I was Chat’s partner and that was it; I didn’t get a choice to give up, it just... was, and I have to deal with whatever the relationship--” She makes a face at the word. “--we have is, because if something goes wrong then everything can go wrong, and then Paris is in danger.”

She shakes her head, realizing that she’s rambling. She continues staring quietly at the ground, then releases the tenseness in her shoulders.

“But...” She looks up to meet Luka’s gaze. “I did choose you, Luka. I finally got to choose something for me, and the only thing I regret about it is everything that I can’t choose. You chose me and I chose you and...” She almost laughs. “It’s weird that it’s that simple for once.”

He’s clearly pieced the puzzle together by now but hasn’t quite processed the result. She can see the whisper of her name on his lips and she smiles at him, taking a step back and spreading her arms wide.

“You’re my real partner, Luka. You get me, you care about me, and we’re similar but different and it’s great.” She swallows, feeling her nerves building a little but pushing forward enthusiastically nonetheless. “So I want to make a choice for us, because we trust each other and I want to give you something no one else has.”

Then, she closes her eyes, taking a breath and briefly tightening her hands into fists.

“Tikki, spots off.”

[wthtorke]

Can I get a human saving crucified predator and they escape together on the ship and live happily ever after?

You wouldn't die here. You refused to. Stuck with a group that would leave you behind as bait if the chance was there, no. You refused to.

As your group was chased yet again, everyone darting towards a general direction in hopes not to get murdered by the aliens, you took your chance. Running in the opposite direction, towards their camp, praying they were too busy with the others.

There was one of them in the camp. No, he was like them, but not one of them. You could tell the difference.

He was strapped to a pillar, arms painfully strained back as they held all his weight, breathing barely there. He looked sickly, skin too pale, muscles twitching, and face tiredly. You knew he wouldn't hurt you, not if you freed him.

Even then, being an alien, you couldn't help but feel for him. He looked ashamed, still enough fire in him to roar and snap at your group when you had approached, tusks flaring and tresses whipping in a way that told he wasn't dead, not only that but he was still dangerous.

Ignoring every instinct you had about this, you carefully made your way around the camp, spotting him in that same pillar, head jerking up when he heard your footsteps, growling as his tusks twitched. Warning.

You take a shaky breath and an even shakier step towards him, holding both of your hands up to show you meant no harm. -"Come on man, I mean-, well yeah, man? I think you're a dude, sorry if you're a lady," you said nervously approaching, "It must hurt a lot h-huh?" You stuttered as a particular louder growl made you jump a little bit, "B-Bet I could help" You gulped, staring at the fallen blade close to the pillar, "But let's agree on something first, y-yeah?", his growling took up at the mention of a bargain, spikey brows furrowing together in anger. -"I know, it sucks but we need each other, right? You're too...um...handsome to die here and I'm...well, I'm too fucking young," You said, picking up the blade, pointing it away from him.

-"I'm gonna take you out and we um, we flee I guess, yes? Fuck, I hope you can understand me, I didn't pay attention at school so if you speak Spanish I'm so sorry but I suck," You cleared your throat, "So, you, me, and ship?" You said, pointing at him, yourself, and then making a flying away motion with your free hand, "Forever, far away, yeah?" You continued, hand going further and further away, his eyes following your hand briefly before his gaze burned back into you.

You nodded, lifting the blade, watching for his reaction. When he didn't growl or flinch, you landed a hit against the shackles, the alien falling stiff onto the ground, limbs numb and painfully set to stone from being like that for days. 

You gasped as in a blink he was up again, grabbing you by your shirt and bringing your face close to his, tusks flaring as he growled, analyzing your face closely, the bottom tusks scraping against your throat ever so slightly, making you shiver, eyes widening as you tried not to move. 

He must have found whatever he was looking for as he let you go. Not shoving you back or pushing you down but simply releasing you, walking away to retrieve his cracked mask from the ground. Snapping it in place, you jerked back as his whole armor shone bright with electricity before the lights vanished completely. "Whoa ma-," You didn't get to finish your sentence as he grabbed you again, just in time for distant screaming to reach your ears.

The group. The aliens.

Your legs barely touched the ground as he all but hauled you with him, running towards an open clearing. Only to have you cursing as he pressed a few buttons into his wrist gauntlet, the ship's cloaking device turning off much to your relief and worry at the same time.

Losing no time, Crucified opened the gate, grabbing your arm and running in, sealing it closed behind him. Rushing to the main panel, Crucified set to work on getting the ship ready to go, not that he knew where to. Just away from death was good for now. He growled and pointed at one of the three oversized thrones that were set by the panels. “You got it, chief! No need to ask twice!” You sat down, pulling on the straps around your form, adjusting them to secure your smaller body, trying not to think which of the three space Michael Myers sat there before.

Thoughts were cut short when a victorious roar left Crucified’s mask, the ship quickly acting on its commands, lifting off the ground, your heart hammering against your ribcage as hard as the ship shook with power as it took off. Your smile lasted for three seconds until the panels went blood red and sirens started blaring, Crucified roaring in anger as he pressed many buttons at once, fingers moving fast and with purpose as a blue blast of energy hit the front window, making you scream in surprise and cling to your chair. They were trying to take the ship down.

Panicked screaming died in your throat as you panted looking at Crucified, ‘hurry’ and ‘do something!’ wouldn’t help now, and if you did survive, you surely did not want to be stuck with an angry alien for a whoever knows how long ride in space. You did scream again, however, as another blast whacked against the glass, a light blue shield lifting seconds after. 

Crucified growled as he kept fighting for control of the ship, accessing the main server of the ship, putting up his defenses to make it recognize Berserker’s trials to blow up the ship as a threat and not just a command from the ship’s owner. 

While still having to pilot the ship away from the reserve.

Crucified forced the stiffness away from his fingers as he finally won the battle for control, activating the space rift control, which lit up another two buttons before the other two chairs. Crucified roared at you, tresses whipping as he pressed the button in front of him while holding the shield up manually with his other hand.

Eyes widening, you slammed both hands onto the panels from the chair you were on, the button in front of you and the one almost too far off to reach turning green along with Crucified’s, a beam blasting from the ship and out into the sky, opening up a rift that led to an obscure somewhere in the galaxy. Crucified let go of the button, speeding the ship towards the rift as yet another canon blast hit the back of the ship. You closed your eyes as the ship neared the rift. All the sirens and noises suddenly ceasing seconds later. 

Panting hard, you only opened your eyes as you heard Crucified dropped down on the chair at your side, head snapping to look at him, whose chest was rising and falling just as fast as yours. You looked around, noticing that you were not in the reserve anymore. That instead of jungle and death, you were now surrounded by stars and -possible- death. The panel still looked red but in a soft glow, as if things were fine now.

You looked back at Crucified to find him looking back at you. Realization caught up as you started chuckling in relief, hand coming up to your forehead to wipe off the sweat of dread and panic. Chuckling evolved to a soft laugh soon enough, “You’re fucking genius, partner,” You said as he huffed, straightening up to mess with the panel again. 

-“I don’t know about you but-, I have no idea what to do now” You laughed nervously, Crucified stilling his movements as he considered this. He shook his head slightly.

He also didn’t.

-“Humans suck,” You started, Crucified huffed. “Your kind also sucks, apparently,” Crucified....couldn’t deny that. “What I see is that you don’t suck and I, well...I try not to suck, so-, what do you say we just-, watch each other’s backs for now, yeah? Just-, y’know, as friends? Partners?” You said, hopefully.

Crucified slowly turned to face you, the passive expression of the broken mask not giving you any hints of his actual expression, even if you could see a bit of his left eye through the hole in it.

-“Partners.” 

You sighed in relief, smiling brightly, “Partners! We’re gonna be best mates, you’ll see!”

After a year of living together on the ship, not only watching each other’s backs as it was first agreed but taking care of each other, a bond was fully formed. And a year after that, your prediction proved to be right, only that it was a different kind of ‘mates’ that you and Crucified would come to be.

Not that any of you complained, living your best life as best mates could. Together forever.

[all-hallows-evie]

Chapter 1: Marooned

Rating: T, for language, Canon Typical Violence/Action. Honestly, this chapter isn't that bad, the T rating is just in case I forgot about something lol

Wordcount: 3,776

Warnings: Canon typical violence and adventure, female OC with name × Tech slowburn, but not too slow lol, NOT BETA'D, because if I have to stare at this first chapter again I'm not going to post it.

A/N: HAPPY TECH TUESDAY, LOOK I'M FINALLY POSTING SOMETHING, WHEEEEEEEEEEE

There were bad ideas, really bad ideas and then there was this.

The ship hums under her feet as it trudges through the far corner of the mid rim, chugging along on it’s route without any sign of trouble or disruption from it’s preplanned course.

It should have been a routine pillaging, something she had placed firmly in the ‘great ideas’ list but instead it had turned into a routine mutiny and finished the day as a routine marooning. She sighs as she lays her head back against the seamless panel behind her.

Fucking pirates. 

She has been stranded on the old freighter for at least two moons, but it was hard to say with certainty. The droids that man the ship have no need to eat so more often than not they forget to pass along anything to keep her mounting hunger at bay, adding along to the lack of any kind of panel to the outside world, getting her bearings is proving to be more difficult than usual. 

She hisses a swear to drown out the low growl of her belly and focuses her gaze on the far corner of the room. Another day, another chance to count the diamond shaped tiles above her cell, she swears the number changes every other time she counts. She doesn’t get farther than eighteen when the door of the maintenance room blows open. 

The dust fills the room, hiding everything under its grimy shadow. The grit in the air crackles as it’s pushed against the red of the electron walls that keep her prisoner with the ships cooling coils and a water filtration unit that has calcified and has never been fixed.  

"Well look at that, we found it! Lucky break!"

"Luck had nothing to do with it, if you had studied the schematics of this cruiser like I had asked-"

"Yeah yeah yeah." The first figure, a hulking shadow in the doorway brushes off the smaller one as he stomps into the suddenly too tiny room.

"The memory core should be at the end of the-" the smaller of the two figures stops in front of her cell as the big one charges towards the end of the room without stopping. They launch themselves into the piles of junk thrown haphazardly inside, "That's concerning."

"Concerning? You see someone in a cage and you go with ‘concerning’?" She replies as she pulls herself up to standing. She takes in his armor, modified clone armor from the looks of it painted pale with a bright red stripe down his chest, his eyes slightly magnified by the goggles on his face, the rest hidden by the elongated helmet.

"According to the intel we were provided there weren't supposed to be life forms aboard." He seems irritated to see her.

"Good old Republic intel, still living up to its reputation."

The other clone approaches, he rips open the metal box in his hands and yanks out the core as if the casing was made of thick flimsy and nothing more, "I've got the thing, time to go!"

She watches, dumbstruck for a moment as her ticket out starts to head for the gaping maw that used to be a door, "Wait, you're taking the old database?" The two of them stop and turn, "It's not complete! It's missing pieces of the coordinates!" Firefek she didn't want to sound desperate but she was.

"Likely story-" The big one chuckles.

"I was trying to steal it too, I almost got all of it before my crew turned on me!"

"A mercenary or a pirate? No matter, I trust you even less now."

She had never wanted to punch anyone's face as hard as she wanted to punch his, "Check the core Goggles, I swear to you! It's missing pieces!" He hesitates and in that baited pause she knows she has him, "Please, just let me out and drop me off wherever you dock next. You can have my data chip. No harm, no foul, just get me out."

The one with the goggles glares at her, the yellow tinted transparisteel of his visor snapping downl before he turns to the bigger man. Klaxons ring all around as he scans the core with a handheld device, but it's taking up time they do not have.

The two clones share a look, silently deciding her fate.

The bigger one caves first, "Aww c'mon Tech, we can't leave her! You saw what's on this ship, she'll be a goner on some mining planet!"

"Under normal circumstances I might agree but she's caged for a purpose, and I'm disinclined to put any trust in her."

"How much damage can she do? She’s smaller than you are!" 

Tech, the one in the goggles, sighs before he turns back around to face her, "If we spring you, you play by our rules. You follow our orders, no complaints, no rebuttals and if you put one toe out of line-"

"Out the airlock, understood." She nods furiously, hands pressed against the panel as she watches Tech short out the electron wall holding her hostage, the panel shudders and then it spews sparks on to the ground as the red fades and she's finally able to step through. 

"Lets go shortie!" 

"Wait, let me just grab-" She scrambles to the other side of the wall, trying to pull at something from the top of a shelf. The bigger clone reaches over and tosses the crate to the floor. She throws open the top and snatches out a bantha leather bag and a helmet.

"Run!"

Tech doesn't have to tell her twice, the three of them bolt out of the door and into the corridor, the lights above flash in time with the klaxons. There is a low rumble that joins the hum of the hyperspace engine, as whatever security droids are on board begin to activate.

"Back to the ship, short stuff!" 

The three of them book it down the darkened halls, ducking behind walls and crates as the first cluster of security droids pass through.

She tosses her bag across her shoulder, slinging it against one side of her hip, clipping it into place with snaps sewn into her jacket. They watch three more droids pass them by before she speaks again, "My name's Nox, by the way." 

"Doesn't sound like a girl's name." The big one chuckles, so deep and rumbling it almost feels like a growl.

"Well it's the only name I've got. My parents named me a bit of a mouthful, Nox just works better."

"Clear." Tech calls out and they continue on their way heading to the service hangar where their ship hopefully was waiting for them.

"How'd you end up out here?" The big one asks, with every flash of light above them she can see more of the large scary face painted roughly on his helmet, lines thrown on haphazardly only to be scraped away by carbon scoring.

She is about to answer when she is shoved back into a corner by Tech. He slaps a hand over her mouth before she can yelp, the leather slightly singed, it smells of electricity and grease.

“Wait.”

"I'm getting tired of all this sneaking around, I say we blow our way outta here!" The big one growls.

"We’re almost there Wrecker, it would be pointless to try now."

She shoves Tech's Hand away, "Blow your way out of here, are you insane? With the amount of baby on board you'd blow us into the next dimension!"

There are a few beats of silence before both helmets turn towards her.

"Baby?" Wrecker repeats but is shushed by Tech.

"You don't mean baradium-"

"Bisulfate? I absolutely do! There were containers of the stuff in the holding bay."

"This Imperial ship is headed somewhere to mine thorilide?" He repeats, tone stressed over every syllable in the word ‘Imperial’.

"That or some unlucky planet is about to be wiped from existence."

"The location of the Republic thorilide mines have been kept under the utmost security for ages, not even the Jedi Council was ever advised of its location."

"Can’t say I blame them, I barely trust them with those glowy sticks of death." She murmurs, making lightsaber sounds with her mouth as Wrecker snickers.

"Stop that. Do you know where this ship was heading? Do you have a copy of the manifest?"

"What, your amazing Republic recce didn't get you that information shiny?" He glares back at her, brows pinching together behind the dark frames of his goggles, "Maker! Did those cloners take your sense of humor? Yes, I know where this ship is going."

"Bet Cid’s contact would pay more for that bit of info." Wrecker’s grin can be heard even through the plastoid of his helmet.

Tech meanwhile has typed something to a com on his wrist, "Hunter, there's been a complication."

"What kind of complication?"

"There is more on board this ship than just the republic database-"

"What do you mean?"

"This ship is a mining vessel, out to mine thorilide."

Tech’s wrist comm goes silent, just quiet static while the voice on the other line thinks, "Ordinance?"

Both clones look at her, she nods emphatically, "Ordinance, med supplies, if there was coaxium on board I wouldn't be surprised, this place is the motherlode."

"Quite a bit of supplies on board, it would seem."

The comm goes quiet again for a few moments, "We don't have time for this, it's only a matter of time before they realize that your cruiser is stolen. Grab what you went in for and leave."

Tech shakes his head, it's so tiny and quick that if she wasn't looking at him in that moment she would have missed it, "Where is it being kept?" 

"Up, five or so floors unless I've miscounted."

"Tech, Wrecker, Get out of there, now!" The voice on the other end grows more and more irritable as they stand around in silence.

"We'll be out as soon as possible." Tech replies curtly as he cuts the comm. He makes it sound so easy like they were stopping by the nearest market to pick up fruit, instead of about to hijack high quality explosives from Imperial custody, "Lead the way."

"What? Just like that?"

"Are there, or are there not these items on board?"

"Yes." 

"You swear?" Wrecker leans in close, hovering over her.

"Yeah."

Tech nods, "Vital signs are stable, no signs of heightened stress-"

"What if I'm just a really good liar?"

"You can try all you want my dear, but the data doesn't lie."

"Does he do this to you too? I'm finding it a bit creepy-" She asks Wrecker as her eyebrow raises.

"You get used to it."

"Weird, so weird…" she mutters to herself as she turns and peeks around the corner. She looks around for anything that is familiar, when she sees a maintenance lift at the very end of the hall to the right. She motions them forward, and silently they sneak their way closer to the lift. She turns her attention to her side as she digs in her bag, her fingers grasp at the odd collection of junk in her pockets until her hand finally wraps around the cool metal of her code cylinder and she can finally stop holding her breath.

Tech's hand on her shoulder pulls her back to the task on hand as he drags her back a few steps. The catwalk above them from here to the lift is no more than a shoddy looking set of grates that creak as a group of security droids march along their patrol, oblivious to the three of them below. 

“The maintenance lift?" Tech sniffs as they come to a stop at its doors. He raises hand to push his goggles back into place, "Perhaps you have failed to notice but none of us are maintenance droids, the moment you try to access that panel they will -”

“They’ll what?” She asks as she jams the cylinder into the port, the lift clicks open silently and she steps inside. 

“The alarms-”

“What alarms? According to this," she snaps her code cylinder from the panel and drops it back into her bag, lost again to the chaos of the random junk held within, "I'm a maintenance droid doing routine inspections. How stupid do you think I am?”

"Hey hey, this one's pretty smart huh Tech?!" Wrecker is thrilled.

"Pirate." She reminds, "You don't see many my age that aren't intelligent and I'll give you one guess as to why."

The doors silently click open and before they can step out a team of at least half a dozen well armed sentry droids roll past. 

They all leap from the inside of the lift and fall into a crouch behind a stack of supply crates. They wait for a few moments before Tech quickly peeks over, "They don't seem to have spotted us."

"Fuck, there weren't this many when we tried this the first time." She swears a few more times under her breath.

"We should do this my way." Wrecker offers.

"What's that mean, what does he mean?!" Nox looks nervously over to Tech, "He doesn't mean-?"

"Explosives and violence? He absolutely does," Tech sighs, “ and I'm afraid we are running low on options and even lower on time. Wrecker, what does your ordinance look like?"

“But you said I couldn't bring any?”

“Yes, and when was the last time you actually listened?”

Wrecker, the fun if not absolutely homicidal one, pulls out a couple of detonators, a roll of plastic tape, a half dozen hand grenades and three droid poppers.

“Great, nice to know you could have turned us into a small sun if I hadn't told you about the baby on board.”

"Everything save for the poppers is far too dangerous to use around those crates." Tech hisses, "Any more of those brilliant pirate ideas floating around in your head?"

She chews on her lip for a moment, wracking her brain for anything else that might be useful as she ignores Tech's sarcastic tone. Apart from the crates on this floor littered with treasure, there didn't seem to be anything of any use...except for the busted water filter. “How big of a distraction do you think it would take to get all those sentries away from the haul?”

“It would need to be something quite large or destructive enough to threaten the integrity of the ship.”

“The water filtration system on board is completely calcified, I don't think it was ever fixed since there are only droids on board. If you could flood that with enough pressure the entire pipe should burst-”

“And flood the entire floor, along with the engine room, that might just do it.” He’s on his data pad before the words are even out of his mouth, he scans the room all around and matches it with the wireframe schematics on his screen. He stalks his way backwards until he finds the panel he is looking for. He pops it open easily and then begins to slice into the mainframe of the ship, “On my count, take Wrecker to wherever the baby is, let him handle it. You get your hands on as much of the medical supplies as you can, the security onboard is a little tighter than I would have preferred so I will have to stay here and continue to flood the filter.”

“Oh, easy.”

“Think you can handle all that tiny?” Wrecker’s thundering chuckle threatens to give away their location even with the steady moan of the alarms overhead.

She grins, Wrecker is back to being the fun one, “Try and keep up.”

There is a sound of roaring water all around them as tech funnels every liquid on the ship into the filter, then a sound like an explosion a couple of feet below them rocks the ship like a lightning strike. 

The sound of the alarm overhead changes as every droid on the floor turns away and heads to a lowering platform, all instructed to assist with the burst pipe.

“That’s our cue!” 

She shoves Wrecker forward playfully before they both break into a sprint toward the storage rooms where their bounty is being held. She points to one of the rooms as they approach, "This one's your big boy!"

The door is sealed shut, but not for long. Wrecker doesn't slow, instead he hunches low, bringing his shoulders down and tucking his chin into the collar of his armor before he barrels straight through, punching a hole through the doors with enough force to make even her teeth rattle.

She dips into the storage room across the hall, thanking the stars that her haul wasn't locked away like his was. She rips open any crate within arms reach, tossing open the tops and letting them scatter around the room wherever they land. She snatches bacta patches and hypos by the handful and packs the crate as full as she can, slamming her entire body weight against it to get it to close. She drags it out into the hall, placing it by the door before she bolts into the room right beside the one Wrecker is standing in. 

Wrecker watches her disappear into the room, the four small crates of explosives tucked carefully under his arms, “Wait, where are you-”

His question is answered as another crate hits the floor beside him. She comes running out of the room, grabbing this second crate by the handle and yanking it along, “Perfect! Not a single explosion! Love that for me!”

Wrecker bends down to offer her a hand but she has already snatched up the first trunk and is flying down the hall with them. She's faster than Wrecker would have believed she would be capable of with the two crates almost her height. She almost trips over herself as she stops and with a swift kick, the second crate lands at Tech's feet, “Come on 20/20, cut her loose, let's go!”

“What’s in that- I specifically ordered you to only carry medical supplies.”

“Yeah well, it sounds like you are used to not being listened to so, ship. Now!”

Wrecker races past, hopping off of the side and down to the level below, the halls are empty as all hands are called to help with the floor that is flooding. 

Nox peeks over the side, she watches as Wrecker sets the small boxes of baby down beside him, "Toss your crate!" He calls up. She nods and yanks the crates handle, flipping it up and off of the edge with a nudge from Tech. 

She helps him in turn, as they gingerly haul the crate full of ordinance over the edge before tossing it below. 

Wrecker sets the crates to one side before turning back to catch Nox, but she's already climbing down. Her fingers dig into spots on the wall where she should not be able to have any grip. She finds her own way down and with a little hop, lands right beside Wrecker as Tech lands beside her. The clang of his boots echoes down the empty hallway. "We'll need to make our way through the flooded floor of the ship in order to get back to the hangar." Tech types away at his data pad again before picking up the side of his crate.

Nox follows close beside the two clones, tossing the crate up onto her back to avoid making any unnecessary scraping sounds as they get closer to the flooded area, the sound of pouring water gets louder and louder with every floor. The next floor they walk through has the water barely deep enough to wash over the toes of their boots, but it rises rapidly after that. By the time they are on the same floor as the hangar, the water has risen up to their knees and Nox has a harder time trying to distract her mind from where all of this stagnant water has been hiding this whole time.

“Holding out ok over there tiny?” Wrecker chuckles. 

She turns to answer, when everything becomes...not alright. Her next step slips out from under her and she goes flying forward, crashing face first into the dark disgusting water, the crate on her back keeping her under the surface as she struggles to pull herself back up to standing. 

A hand at the back of her collar pulls her back up into fresh air, slimy water pours from her mouth and nose as she gags. She doesn't need to clear the water from her eyes to know what the dark figures that are starting to line the hallway are. Tech and Wrecker are on either side of her, blasters raised as the sentry droids file in.   

“I'm hoping you can fight better than you can swim.” Tech calls over as Wrecker leaps over them both and charges straight into one of the sentries.  Tech keeps a few of the others at bay, clipping them with bright bolts from his twin deecees, but it's not enough. She rubs the slime from her face and charges right behind Wrecker, using her entire body to check a droid in her path, she grabs the blaster from its hands as it goes tumbling backwards and into the water. Techs shots ring out around her as he stays behind, watching over the crates behind him. Wrecker tears through any droids that get within reach, sparks flying on to the water before they sizzle and die. She concentrates her fire on any droids Tech misses until the hall is clear.

"There'll be a second platoon on their way, we better get a move on." Tech calls back to them, she tosses the almost empty blaster into the water beside her.

"Are you always just, you know?" She makes growling and ripping sounds at Wrecker.

He laughs, "Not often enough." 

She stifles her laughter behind her hand as she walks back to where Tech is to retrieve the case of medical supplies, for a brief moment the last couple of days are forgotten and even the slime on her skin is the last thing on her mind. For a brief moment she was back with her men, waiting for that score of a lifetime, but when she grabs the handle of the crate and looks back it’s the clone armor that reminds her she is in fact alone. The sudden quiet of sadness doesnt last long as the doors behind them open and a new series of drods begin their march towards them. 

“Incoming!”

-----

Tag list: @themarvelbunch @agentwhiskeysdarlin @pascalisthepunkest @ashotofspotchka

[shih-coulda-had-it]

193 for... maybe nanahiko? Really just do whatever ship you feel like :D

193. "Are you crazy? The kid is upstairs!" | VestigesTorino [Yes. OT8. The orgies are fantastic, and Torino is Holder bait, 8th and 9th exempt.] | WC: 2,222 of an OFA!VampireCoven!AU except op has taken liberties with worldbuilding.

TW: Blood-drinking. Outrageous flirting. Mildly spicy!

//

“Vampires,” Sorahiko echoes blankly.

He looks from left to right, trying to spot the differences between himself and the six adult men and one adult woman sitting at this round table. Most atypical appearances can be attributed to the strange and wondrous natures of Quirks, so Sorahiko could excuse the fourteen red eyes (every iris the identical shade) as a matter of Quirk heritage. However, none of the Shigarakis resemble the other.

They still might be pulling his leg.

The leader of the household (presumably) leans his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “Torino-san,” he says in a gentle voice, “we greatly appreciate your timely rescue of our youngest. And believe me when I say I would have preferred you stay ignorant of my coven’s true nature.”

“But the boy wants to be a professional hero,” one of the men interrupts. His arms are crossed, and his hair sticks up in rakish angles. An X-shaped scar has been carved over the bridge of his nose, just missing the eyes.

He sounds dismissive of the kid’s dream.

Fair. When Sorahiko had stepped onto the moonlit scene, the kid was frantically scrabbling at a thick-skinned villain’s hand, trying to save his bag from being rummaged. The villain had planted a knee in the kid’s stomach in an attempt to menace him into silence.

Sorahiko pounced on the villain, called in the location to pick up the too-heavy bastard, and escorted the boy home. He fielded questions about heroics and U.A. High for half an hour before they finally reached the Shigaraki compound.

And now he is here, trapped in a gigantic dining room, being told about vampires.

“We agreed to let him try,” says the singular woman sharply.

“If you three hadn’t filled his head about saving the world,” a man with a spiky ponytail shoots back, “then we wouldn’t have this problem. And you too, Yoichi.”

“Nevertheless,” the leader says. His red eyes gleam in the low light, and Sorahiko feels his skin prickling at the attention.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Ah, who hasn’t heard of the toughest teacher of U.A.?” another man asks, sly and teasing. His voice is soft like the leader’s, but perceptibly younger. His coloring is similar to the woman’s, but he’s lean where she’s muscular. “Yoichi believes we should give you a head’s up. Toshinori is a good child, but even he will slip from time to time, and that will draw undue attention to himself.”

Sorahiko considers these seven faces. Slowly, he says, “You think he’ll be accepted into U.A.”

“Three of us are active pro-heroes, and we’ve been training him when we can,” the woman informs him. “I’d say he’s got a headstart compared to all of your first years.”

“My students have always been terrible. That’s what schooling is for.”

She flashes a smile at him, toothy and amused; his throat works through a sudden dry spell. Belatedly, Sorahiko realizes that every adult in this kitchen is eyeing him with intense interest. Even the ones that haven’t spoken yet.

Yoichi speaks again. “He’s smart, and he’ll be strong. U.A. will accept him. I ask you for your discretion and help, Gran Torino.”

He could refuse, but Sorahiko assumes they’ll simply kill him. Being blackmailed is a low possibility; Sorahiko doesn’t have much to be blackmailed about. And pro-heroes disappear all the time. No one really knows why. Principal Shi might demand an investigation on Gran Torino’s behalf (and possibly at the behest of Recovery Girl, who grudgingly acknowledges Torino’s efforts to raise the survival rate of U.A.’s graduates), but otherwise…

Still. Vampires. Another subset of humanity, among the Quirked and Quirkless. It’s weird enough to be true.

“Is this a verbal agreement?” Sorahiko asks.

A bark of laughter from the square-jawed man in the leather jacket, who leans forward and grins like a shark at Sorahiko. The light glints off the yellow lenses of his goggles, and the play of light and shadow highlights the muscle definition of the man’s shirtless chest. In a rich, low voice, he says, “We’ve got something better. A contract.”

“Using what?” Sorahiko bites back. “Paper and ink?”

“Skin and teeth, teach’.”

“Daigoro’s correct,” says Yoichi mildly, snatching Sorahiko’s attention away. “Torino-san, allow me to introduce my coven. I am Shigaraki Yoichi, second of my line. In the order of which my coven grew: Kenzo, Sanjuro, Hikage, Daigoro, En, Nana, and you’ve met our Toshinori.” As he speaks, he points to each person in turn.

He wonders when the kid got folded into this group. The kid’s affection for his home had been sincere, and he greeted the adults (well, Hikage had only come out of the forested grounds at Daigoro’s call) with merry cheer.

Is Toshinori even a vampire? U.A. conducts its business in the daytime.

Sorahiko nods in acknowledgement and doesn’t offer his full name in return. Instead, he says, “If I accept this contract, will you tell me whatever I want to know? About anything I ask?”

“Even vampires aren’t omniscient,” Yoichi answers.

Rolling his eyes, Sorahiko clarifies, “If the kid’s going to develop vampirism over the course of high school, then I need to know things. Like whether or not he’ll go feral over spilled blood. Or if sunlight’s going to be an issue.”

Yoichi’s smile is kind, and surprisingly not patronizing. “What we can tell, we will. The contract will have a mutual hold on us all.”

“What could break it?”

“A different coven, not that you should seek one out,” says Nana. “Trust us, we’re as nice as you get in the supernatural world.”

Sorahiko does not have many options. He hates the idea of agreeing to this without a safety net or a contingency plan. How can this woman ask him to trust them immediately? He’d have to be a gullible idiot, or a fool in lust, or...

He exhales. Sighing in resignation, Sorahiko tips his head to Yoichi and says, wry, “I accept the contract. Don’t kill me if your kid comes crying home about how mean I am.”

Yoichi shrugs, casual as anything. “Toshinori’s quite brave for his age, and stubborn, too. You’ll have your hands full training him.” He then stands from his chair; in measured, unhesitating steps, Yoichi approaches where Sorahiko sits at the opposite side of the round table. What he orders, Sorahiko complies with. “Take your cape off, Torino-san. Your gloves as well.”

“You may have to unzip the top half of your suit,” advises Hikage. “You won’t want the signatures to overlap.”

“Signatures,” Sorahiko repeats, pausing.

One glove’s already off. The flight suit’s sleeves extend up to his wrists, and they don’t have a lot of give. Similarly, the collar is skin-tight and provides ample coverage.

Daigoro playfully snaps his teeth at Sorahiko, once, twice. He says, “Paper and ink, skin and teeth. You forget already?”

The man barely flinches at the snarl directed his way. Seven pairs of eyes are honing in on the exposed flesh; Sorahiko shoves his self-conscious thoughts away. He focuses on the sheer outrage of being asked to strip by strangers, hissing, “Are you crazy? The kid is upstairs!”

“I’ll make sure he stays in his room,” Nana volunteers. She winks at Sorahiko. “We’ll be quick, Torino-san. You just have to keep quiet.”

“You—!”

She slips from her chair and darts off, exiting the dining room and ascending the stairs, floating off the floor. Sorahiko glares after her but snaps to attention as Yoichi stops by his chair, hip resting against the table, red eyes expectant.

Grudgingly, Sorahiko works off the second glove. As he does, Yoichi continues to lecture.

“The signatures can be made in two ways. A lighter bite will result in less pain, but will fade sooner. And I’d like for this arrangement to stand for several years, Torino-san. A lighter bite necessitates more renewals. Possibly, seven bites every two weeks.”

“And a stronger bite?”

“Seven every month.”

He scowls at the thought. The only silver lining he can see is that his suit will cover the marks, which will save him from his colleagues’ gossiping tongues. “Monthly, then. Are you drinking my blood? I don’t think I’ve got enough to cover seven appetites.”

Yoichi offers him a gentle smile. “A mouthful will suffice.”

Sorahiko works his jaw, and then he reaches backwards for the hidden zipper. It’s incongruously loud in the dining room; Sorahiko feels his face burning as he hurriedly rips his arms free of the sausage casing sleeves, letting the slackening front of the suit crumple to his lap. He hears an appreciative whistle.

“Daigoro, he can give you a run for your money,” Sanjuro jokes.

“He’s softer,” Daigoro deems, and Sorahiko bristles. “Must be the suit, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he snaps. “And proper hydration, asshole.”

“I’m not complaining!”

“At ease,” says Yoichi, calm, and that’s when Nana makes her reappearance. She swings back into the dining room, expression confident and content, until she spies Sorahiko’s half-naked appearance.

“Are we going in order?” she questions Yoichi, even as her eyes are trained on Sorahiko’s.

“That’s how it works, Nana,” Kenzo answers for their leader. “How’s Toshinori?”

“Watching his martial arts dramas. We’re good for like, fifty minutes.”

“You said you’ll be quick,” Sorahiko rasps, and his hands are clenching into fists, anticipatory and anxious. This is all so incredibly weird. “You all need more than five minutes to bite me?”

Yoichi laughs. It’s a bright sound, attractive and human and not at all like something that should be coming out of a self-proclaimed bloodsucker. When Yoichi moves, pushing off the table, Sorahiko nervelessly allows himself to be pinned to the back of his chair. One hand cards through his hair and lightly tugs; the other hand settles at his shoulder and presses it down.

His throat is exposed. Though Yoichi bends close, Sorahiko knows it isn’t the jugular he’s aiming for.

“Torino-san will need a moment to recuperate,” Yoichi whispers, and Sorahiko shivers, swallows past the apprehension, and spends half a second regretting his decision to let this happen. Yoichi adds, “We will not harm you, and you will not harm us. Your help, in exchange for ours. Let it be so.”

Teeth sink into the join of Sorahiko’s neck and shoulder, sharp and surprisingly hot. Sorahiko chokes out a garbled sound and jerks in his seat, until Yoichi’s bite goes deeper, deeper, and then Sorahiko gasps. Adrenaline bursts to life in his system; his Quirk sputters a reflexive Jet through his boots, but Yoichi’s slender frame hides an unseen strength.

He holds Sorahiko down.

He draws blood from the wound. Sorahiko barely feels the drain, fixated he is on the pressure exerted against him. Every single one of them is going to have the capacity to do this. If Yoichi, whose frame is most similar to En’s, can keep Sorahiko from bolting—Sorahiko arches his back, an involuntary moan escaping him.

It feels good. It feels really, really good.

Yoichi hums against his skin, pleased as punch, and his teeth retract. Sorahiko feels the tongue lap over the mark, heavy with spit. As Yoichi rears back, Yoichi rolls his neck lazily, licking his lips like a cat full from its meal.

“The saliva is a coagulant,” he explains idly, watching Sorahiko slump back against the chair, lungs still stuttering. A faint sweat has broken across his forehead, and Sorahiko distantly suspects that he’s going to need all the time he can get before the kid grows bored of his dramas.

“Oh, he already looks wrecked,” En observes. His awed tone elicits a laugh and encouraging clap to his shoulder from Daigoro, the latter of which requires En to brace against.

“You think he’ll last seven bites?”

“To be fair,” Hikage says, “that is a common erogenous zone. We’ll focus on less stimulating areas.”

Sorahiko, somewhat nettled at the implication that he won’t last (and what the hell does that mean? That he’ll back out? Start begging for mercy?) all seven signatures, musters his strength and shoves himself upright. He scoffs exaggeratedly, masking a shaky exhale with it. He challenges the coven, “Do your fucking worst.”

Yoichi blinks. Behind him, Kenzo is leaving his seat and stalking towards Sorahiko’s, red eyes gleaming. Before Kenzo can dive at Sorahiko and probably tear an artery out, Yoichi holds him back with one placating hand.

“Do not,” Yoichi warns. “We’re not trying to induce a thrall, do you all hear me?”

“Yoichi,” says Sanjuro, “if the man gets off, he gets off.”

A sigh leaves Yoichi. “Be that as it may. Please try not to leave him resentful for the months ahead.” He pats Kenzo’s collarbone; Kenzo catches the thin-boned hand and raises it to his lips.

“Understood, Yoichi,” Kenzo murmurs into the knuckles. He lets go, and Yoichi moves aside, now more fond than exasperated. A safety net, maybe.

In any case, Sorahiko gazes up at number two, who studies him back.

“The shoulder?” suggests Sorahiko, half-heartedly offering the right one up to sacrifice.

Kenzo inclines his head. “Just above the bicep will work,” and he goes on to prove his point, keeping Sorahiko locked in position, unable to do anything but wriggle and fail to contain strangled moans.

This is going to be a long hour.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (43) || atz

It’s a fine day once more.

The morning sun shines down upon the Treasure, its golden rays touching your cheeks as you glance up at the sky. It’s been peaceful the last few days, and you’ve heard from Yeosang that your captain has begun considering sailing back to Nassau so that Seonghwa can visit his childhood friends Seohyun and Soobin.

The cook’s been in a much more cheerful mood for the last few days after hearing those words, excited about seeing how their baby is coming along. He can’t stop gushing to you in the kitchen about how cute he thinks the baby is going to be, worrying endlessly whether they’re going to be alright, to the point that you’ve resorted to stuffing bread rolls in his mouth to keep him quiet so that he can focus on his cooking.

You don’t him to end up with two less fingers like Soobin.

After preparing breakfast with Seonghwa, you’re now seated in the rigging swaying back on forth with the wind, letting the sun warm your face as you prepare for another day ahead.

“I can’t wait to get back onto dry land.” Yunho comments with a groan from above you on the main mast, hanging upside down from the ropes. You glance up at him with a smile, shielding your eyes against the sun.

“I’m sure Jongho could always throw you overboard if you’re sick of being on the ship.”

High pitched laughter comes from beside you and you turn to see Wooyoung swinging over from the mizzen mast, grinning as he steps over to you, expertly keeping his balance on the yardarm. He’s surprisingly steady on his feet, considering the last time you’d seen him yesterday, he was screaming drunken insults about Yunho’s apparent pea sized brain for not understanding how the mizzen mast was the better of the two. He bows mockingly, gesturing to the sparkling ocean far below you.

“Maybe you’d like to go for a swim, your majesty?” Wooyoung jibes, barely able to keep the snicker out of his voice. The lookout tosses his shoe at his friend and Wooyoung ducks easily, catching it in his hand.

“Be silent, you knave.” Yunho grumbles, now missing a shoe. Reclining against the ropes, he gazes at the horizon with a steady eye, body bobbing up and down with the pitch and roll of the ship. “I still haven’t forgotten the last time you pushed me off the yardarm to save your own ass and I fell into the sea because of you.”

You raise your eyebrows as you glance at a shamelessly grinning Wooyoung, who is neither denying nor confirming it. Knowing the head gunner, however, it’s probably… no, definitely true. “How did that happen?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to answer, but before the silver tongued charmer can say another word, Yunho cuts in, obviously knowing full well Wooyoung is going to twist the story upside down to his own advantage.

“We were on the main mast, arguing about how the main mast is obviously the better mast,” Yunho begins with a haughty tone, ignoring Wooyoung’s cry of indignation. “When San was at the wheel he stupidly beached the Treasure on the shore and the whole ship jerked. I, being the better rigging monkey, caught my balance, but Wooyoung-”

You unconsciously grip the ropes beneath you a little tighter, suddenly wary of falling off the mast yourself. Ahh. So that’s why no one on the ship trusts San with the wheel. You sometimes wonder how they even trusted him with their injuries in the first place.

“I’m a better rigging monkey than you!” Wooyoung splutters in outrage, but Yunho flat out pays no attention to him, continuing with his tale. “As I was saying, I caught my balance but Wooyoung fell. I was reaching down to save him, but then he grabbed my arm-”

“I didn’t need any saving-”

“And I fell off instead! It’s twice as bad because he stayed on the mast and I didn’t!”

“I was perfectly capable on staying on the mast myself, thank you very much.” Wooyoung grumbles, but Yunho isn’t listening to him in the slightest. In fact, he’s so pumped up with ranting that he’s starting to wave his long arms around like a windmill, complaints spilling from his mouth completely unchecked.

“And do you know what else he did? During a battle at sea, he even jumped onto the main mast on purpose! My precious main mast! The crow’s nest got blown off, you know? That’s like the head of the mast!’

You’re starting to lose Yunho to this silly argument, having no idea where this is going.

“Why is it Wooyoung’s fault the main mast got hit?”

Yunho stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because he’s so ugly everyone tries to shoot him.”

“What did you say, Yun Hoe?” Wooyoung screeches in the background like an offended pigeon. “Haven’t you forgotten that time you grabbed onto the mizzenmast sail and ended up tearing a huge hole in it? You defiled my beautiful mizzenmast and exposed her for everyone to see!”

You’re utterly lost from this conversation now, baffled as to why any of this matters in the first place. “Come on, guys…”

“You blew the mainmast’s head off!”

“You shamed the mizzenmast in front of the whole crew! The disgrace, Yun Hoe, the disgrace-”

“Oh yeah?” Yunho actually looks furious now, drawing his cutlass from his side. Panicking, you turn to Wooyoung, expecting him to use that glib tongue of his to somehow worm his way out of the antsy situation, but you’re shocked to see that he’s drawn his own blade as well, looking every bit ready to fight Yunho.

“Come at me, Yun Hoe!”

“It’s on, Poo Young!”

Sighing at their antics and the sheer stupidity of it all, you turn around to glance at the sea before you. It’s the same as before, an endless expanse of shimmering, deep blue as clouds drift past the horizon, sun shining-

Wait.

Frowning, you block out the sounds of Wooyoung and Yunho’s ridiculous squabbling, leaning forward to squint at the delicate line separating the ocean from the sky. Puffs of white clouds are rolling across the blue sky, but there seems to be a patch of white moving in a different direction from the others.

“What’s that?” The words leave your lips in a mutter, but Yunho hears it even over his argument with Wooyoung. His eyes narrow warily even as he sheathes his cutlass, stepping over to you.

“What is it?” He asks you and you point far into the distance, trying to understand how that one white shape is moving towards you instead of away from you, like the rest of the clouds are.

“That cloud is acting weird.” You tell him, feeling Wooyoung step towards you from behind, curious as to what is happening.

Suddenly, Yunho stiffens next to you, staring at the white shape. Frowning, you turn to ask him exactly what has gotten him to tense, but Wooyoung seems to realise it as well, fingers tightening on your shoulder unconsciously, all traces of his argument with Yunho vanishing in sight of the odd cloud.

“That’s not what I think it is, am I right?”

Yunho chews on his lower lip. “But why would any of ship be out here?”

You finally realise it now. The white shape that’s growing in size is actually a sail, starkly contrasting against the blue sky behind it. A chill runs down your back as you lean forward unconsciously, trying to catch a better glimpse of it, but Wooyoung pulls you back before you can fall over.

“Wouldn’t want you taking a dip now.” Wooyoung tries to smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s obvious that he’s worried at what the sight of this white sail could mean, considering it could be a simple merchant ship or even a Royal Navy frigate.

The three of you wait with baited breath as the ship grows in size.

Then suddenly, as if they can read each other’s minds, Wooyoung and Yunho both freeze at the same time, the very tension in the air sends a shiver down your entire body. You turn to glance at the two of them, confused as to why they’re acting this way.

“What is it?”

“It’s them.” Yunho spits as he stares at the horizon, seeing the snowy white sails crest the waves. You frown, unable to see as clearly, leaning forward and squinting to see what exactly could be causing your two fellow rigging monkeys so much distress.

Wooyoung curses, baring his teeth as he leaps to the ropes as fast as he can. “I’m going to tell Captain.” With that, he slides to the main deck with an urgency you’ve rarely seen in him, in such contrast to his usually easy-going and cheerful self.

But then you catch sight of it and your own eyes widen in horror.

On the sails fluttering in the wind is a red shape, starkly contrasting against the snow white background.

The same sigil decorating the shoulders of the coat you had woken up with.

The symbol on the red wax seals of Lucio’s letters.

The emblem of a crimson rose.

Your heart sinks in your chest.

It’s the Royal Navy.

“Damnit.” Yunho curses under his breath, fingers tightening on the handle of his cutlass. He’s afraid of what this might mean, for the crew and for him. How did they find you here? Was it simply by chance? Or have they been tracking you somehow? “We’re going to get into a huge battle again. I hope you’re ready for a fight, Chin Hae.”

“Is it stupid to hope that they’re not here to kill us?” You mumble under your breath but Yunho snorts, shaking his head.

“We literally all have bounties stamped on us. There are rewards of up to five hundred gold pieces for our captain’s head. Fifty for each crew mate. Two hundred for San. Two hundred fifty for Jongho and I. Three hundred for Mingi and Wooyoung.” He exhales shakily, staring as the blood red rose grows ever closer. “If they don’t want to kill us, I’ll eat my own shoe… and Wooyoung’s at that.”

You laugh nervously, trembling fingers seeking his and gripping tight as you watch your impending doom. “Want to raise the stakes?”

“I’ll even admit the mizzenmast is better.” Yunho mumbles uneasily under his breath. Just as he says those words, the sound of a iron bar being struck repeatedly rings throughout the air and the deck floods with activity, the crew swarming to the bulwarks to search for the impending threat. He pushes you lightly to the ropes. “You should go. San will want you with him when the action starts.”

Nerves rise up in you, but you force it down and slide down the rigging, careful not to burn your hands on the ropes from friction. You drop onto the deck, making your way to the quarterdeck where you had last seen your master.

To your surprise, Yeosang is there as well, Mingi at the stairs bellowing orders to the crew to ready the cannons and prepare for battle. You hear the sound of the cannon carriages being wheeled to their spots, the powder monkeys running about in organised drills to ferry the gunpowder to their guns. All of the crew are readying their weapons for battle, suiting up and loading their muskets.

Tension runs high in the air and adrenaline in your veins as you step to the railing, where Yeosang and San are. Wooyoung must have headed to the gunwales to handle his powerful cannons, the long nine and the 42 pounder, the two most deadly and lethal weapons on the Treasure. San reaches for your hand nervously, squeezing it tight.

“Are you scared?” He asks, and you don’t bother lying to him.

“Yes.”

You hate the way your voice cracks even though you’ve been in battle twice already, once with the Royal Navy before and the other on Nassau. You wish you were braver than this, but you can’t stare death in the eye without the slightest whit of fear like your captain and Yunho and Jongho can.

Yeosang takes your other hand, and even though his face is ashen and pale, he still pats your hand comfortingly.

“Don’t worry.”

You’re reminded of the first time you had been attacked by a Royal Navy ship near Tortuga, Yeosang too, had taken your hand and told you not to worry. The difference this time though, was that you were no longer just a amnesiac girl who had to be protected by Jongho, but a person reasonably well versed with the cutlass and musket, who had experienced dangers and could help people around her with her healing ability.

You just hoped it would be enough.

“Yeosang-ah, can you tell anything about the ship?” Your captain calls from this wheel, his voice eerily calm as if they aren’t on the verge of a massive battle.  Yeosang leans forward a little, squinting as he tries to make out distinctive features of the ship.

“It looks like a standard Navy ship, about fifteen cannons down each side on the upper deck. A three masted frigate with no battering ram and it relies on sail power, not on rowers. But…” Yeosang’s voice trails off in shock and you glance at him in worry.

“But?”

You had thought that Yeosang was already pale from fear, but then all at once every drop of blood seems to drain from his face, leaving him white and bloodless. His fingers tighten on the railing of the ship, mouth falling open in horror and pupils dilating in fear as he stares at the approaching ship in shock.

Concern floods you. “Yeosang-oppa?”

“The flag they’re flying…” Yeosang breathes, barely above a whisper. “It’s a black crow.”

San stiffens.

“What?”

Hongjoong somehow manages to hear that over all the noise coming from the main deck, because he whirls around in shock to look at the ship coming from the stern, instructing Mingi to take the wheel. His boots click on the deck as he makes his way over to the three of you, his one green eye narrowing in fury as he stares at the approaching dark shape. His anger radiates him like some sort of black miasma that’s poisonous to the touch, the very air around him almost acrid with sour rage.

“How dare he…” You captain seethes, before turning to Yeosang. “Yeosang, are you alright?”

But the navigator only continues to stare at the ship in shock, unresponsive to his captain except a mumbled ‘yeah, I’m fine’ that no one believes.

You’re confused as to why this ship seems to have such a massive psychological impact on Yeosang, but then San tugs on your hand lightly, his usually bright eyes grim.

“That’s the ship Yeosang’s father captains.”

Memories rush back to you, from that night you had decided to heal Yeosang with your very life force. An officer with a single, golden monocle, thin lips pulled into a permanent scowl, a white scar above his brow bone, golden patches on his shoulders.

Commander Kang. Captain of the Royal Navy ship the Black Crow. Yeosang’s father.

The man who’d abandoned his only son to bloodthirsty pirates and had left him for dead.

“Oh shit.” You mumble under your breath, realising the gravity of this situation now, how it not only crosses the physical boundaries but also the emotional and psychological. You take Yeosang’s hand in both of yours and clasp it tightly, hoping to offer some comfort, but he doesn’t seem to register it, eyes still fixed on the ship.

Then something catches your eye that makes your heart stop in your chest.

“Are they… are they seriously hoisting a white flag? A parley flag?” You spit out in shock, and your captain stares at the Black Crow, utterly furious at the sight and yet completely bewildered by this abrupt change of events from what he’s used to. A Royal Navy ship offering to parley with the Caribbean Sea’s most wanted pirates? That was wholly unheard of in the whole of maritime history.

“Are they mocking us?” You hear San growl under his breath, obviously incensed, but you must have gone a little crazy from the mixture of shock and terror, because an unsteady little giggle leaves your mouth, your hands trembling from both suspense and trepidation.

Your master glances at you, obviously concerned. “Chin Hae? Chin Hae, are you alright?”

Another near deranged chuckle spills from you as you shake your head, mind as blank as the parley flag being hoisted from the foremast.

“Oh no…” You begin, unsure what to say, every thought fleeing from your mind as the dark shape almost looms over you in your imagination. “It’s just that…”

Another uncontrollable laugh escapes you.

“Yunho needs to eat Wooyoung’s shoe now.”

[lazarus-lazuli]

Loki and Sylvie aren’t endgame and here’s why:

(SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 4 OBVIOUSLY)

The TL;DR version: The director herself confirmed that their relationship is not going to be romantic. I could literally just leave it at that. Please calm down and stop clogging the tag with outraged posts about something that’s not even happening, thank you.

But I also want to argue that the episode itself makes it ABUNDANTLY CLEAR that they’re not gonna be a couple. Hit the read more to learn why I think that. Or don’t, honestly the fact the director confirmed this should be enough to assuage you, I’m just actively choosing to be annoying at this point.

If you pay attention to the text of the episode, it’s pretty clear that no, Loki and Sylvie aren’t getting together. Heteronormativity in media may have corrupted us enough to jump to that conclusion (because in most shows a man and woman interacting for five or more minutes in a meaningful way = romance), but I don’t think that was the writers’ intention. Hell, if anything, the episode makes a stronger argument for Mobius and Loki getting together which I’ll touch on a bit as well. And while I do ship them I don’t think they’ll be endgame either since Disney is incredibly fucking homophobic and we’re lucky we even got bi Loki; the Pacific Ocean will be a desert before we get to see him with another man. 

So a few ways the episode told us that Sylvie and Loki aren’t gonna get together:

1) Ravonna and Mobius have a VERY important conversation in her office, not just in the sense of Mobius realizing “Oh shit I’ve been lied to”, but in the sense that she talks about their relationship. She makes a point to define their relationship as a friendship several times, while also making it clear that they have a deep emotional connection to each other - one that transcends time and space. It’s a type of relationship that often gets skewed as romantic when we’re talking about tropes, but no, in their case it’s set in stone that their relationship is completely platonic. Character wise the whole thing gets thrown away since she was very much onto him and proceeds to stab him in the back minutes later, but writing wise it was a very important point they were trying to make to the audience. Like, it was important both in universe and for the audience but for different reasons, if that makes sense. Since they established this strong connection between Loki and Sylvie at the very beginning of the episode - strong enough to cause a fucking Nexus Event - they also wanted to sprinkle in the idea that a strong connection does not necessarily equal a romantic one.

2) The main thing people took away from the conversation between Loki and Mobius was that Mobius was jealous - which, yeah, that’s valid and I agree. I mean he was deadass acting like a scorned boyfriend who just caught his partner cheating on him. But another big takeaway that people need was not only did the show itself confirm that Sylvie x Loki is gross (I mean for God’s sake they’re the exact same person; Sylvie was literally confirmed to just be the AFAB version of him IN THE COLD OPENING), but the whole idea of them being together all came from Mobius. All we know is that Loki cares for her - the feelings he’s experiencing are confusing for him because he’s a loner who hasn’t had any friends at all until Mobius and her came along. The one who’s defining those feelings by insisting they must be romantic is Mobius. This is to get under Loki’s skin because he is jealous. Loki never once gives into the idea of their relationship being romantic, even when Mobius lies about Sylvie being pruned just to get a reaction. Loki may not know EXACTLY how he feels since it’s all new to him, but even he’s not obtuse enough to think that he’s actually falling in love with himself. Mobius is just angry at Loki in this scene for multiple reasons, thus all of the romantic interpretation falls on his shoulders. He’s literally just jumping to conclusions. 

Also when he says Sylvie got pruned Loki just gets visibly upset for a moment, but when Mobius himself gets pruned Loki CRIES and is fucked up about it to the point that even Sylvie picks up on it. So make of that what you will (I will make of that that Loki and Mobius are IN LOVE). 

3) Final point: people got REALLY IN THEIR FEELINGS about the scene where Loki tries to confess to Sylvie. And yeah at first glance, it is somewhat set up like a romantic scene - someone actually posted “what in the Y/N x Loki is this” and honestly I had to laugh at that one because I agree it kind of has that vibe, especially since he starts the whole thing off by saying he’s new to feeling the way he does. But based on everything we know about them and everything that happened up until that point of the episode, LOKI IS VERY MUCH NOT ABOUT TO CONFESS HIS UNDYING LOVE FOR HER. His feelings for sure, but not necessarily romantic ones. He even has his hands on her shoulders - a gesture of affection, but not one that can be read as exclusively romantic. He’s just grabbing her attention, holding her there (since she does seem freaked out - maybe in her mind she thinks he’s about to confess his love, which is actually pretty funny). While there may be a misunderstanding on the part of the characters, I think the text itself makes it pretty clear that no, Loki is not in love with this woman. He ultimately just wants to tell her he cares about her and wants to stick with her through whatever happens; that they’ll make it through together. If you’re cynical you can be like “It was at the very least set up to LOOK romantic to bait the audience” and yeah, I see it too. That’s completely possible. Granted, instead of baiting people with a “OOO, what’s he gonna say?!”, it more so rubbed salt in the wounds of the people who have been queerbaited by TV shows in the past because all they could see was “Bi Man Falls for His Female Self Then Dies” which is bad so I can’t blame them for being upset. But given the context of the show it’s also very much not what happened. 

And hey, I’m just as affected by queerbaiting - I was a Magician’s fan for fuck’s sake. I know queerbaiting when I see it and as far as I’m concerned, if there’s any queerbaiting in this show, it is NOT coming from the interpretation of Loki literally wanting to fuck himself. We will be donning our clown wigs and big red noses for a different reason (that reason involving Disney being Disney). If you’re choosing to be optimistic about the possibility of Loki and Mobius getting together, I fucking commend you and hope you’re right. It would be really amazing and satisfying if they did. I’m not holding my breath, though. Sadly just because Loki x Sylvie won’t be a thing doesn’t mean Loki x Mobius will be, either.

Anyway, I hope this explanation helped to clear up the fact that no, Marvel is not advocating for selfcest and never was. This isn’t Johnny Test. I think it’s good to be critical of Disney and Marvel because they’re both very flawed, but that requires actually watching the content instead of making surface level assumptions based on what you saw at first glance, you know?

[rhmg-au]

Prequel part 2.

Man this was sitting here uncompleted for around, I don’t know, a month? Really need to get better at this.

This AU belongs to @rhmg-au . Please follow them, reblog their art, give them fanart, support them in any way possible, etc.

TW: Mentions of emotional manipulation, blood and gore

Mod Swanno: Read more due to length and content! :]

———

This isn’t right. None of this is okay.

Those were Charles’s first thoughts when he found out what happened to Right Hand- Green.

No amount of counterarguments can ever change his mind on one fact, that being that he never, ever deserved this. It’s not okay, they stripped him from who he used to be and turned him into a puppet, making him dance to their strings without realizing it.

But he never dared to approach the general about it.

He would get overpowered easily and he can guilt-trip him into going along with what he believes, though it never lasts long thankfully. He doesn’t know what could happen if he was under his influence permanently.

He would always say things like “it’s for the world’s own good” or “it’s in the name of the law”, but none of this feels like it. This is utterly wrong in every form.

He may be naive, but not that naive as most thought. Even when it gets to him sometimes.

Everyday he had been trying to help Green out from his brainwashed state, he wanted to help, no, he needed to help. He couldn’t let this go any further.

But he doesn’t want to die either. If he dies, he can’t help anymore.

Days after days of planning, strategizing, ways he can help the cyborg out of this while also still hanging onto his privilege of life.

There has to be a way, there has to be. There’s always one right?

———

“We have to find him! He has to be out there somewhere!” Charles practically begged, concern written all over his face, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

He had been at it for couple minutes at most, or was it hours even? He couldn’t remember, the argument felt like it lasted an eternity but it also had the feeling of quickness to it simultaneously. It’s just been a few hours and he noticed that there was something wrong with Rupert, he couldn’t find him anywhere on the premises. He called him multiple times, and all he hears is a voice message saying that he should call back later. None of his co-workers haven’t seen him either, or aren’t concerned whatsoever. It’s like he vanished off from the face of the earth entirely.

Galeforce shook his head, the pilot doesn’t know if the pity on his face was genuine or another facade made by him to play with his emotions. It was definitely the latter possibility, or maybe it isn’t. Maybe he really did care for the soldiers. “Charlie, even if there’s a chance he’s still alive, we’re not going to go and try to find him, heartless I know, but it’s for the better good.”

“Better good?!” The male let the water stuck in his irises escape when he blinked, the bubbles streaming down his cheeks as his voice raised. “He’s one of your best soldiers and you’re not concerned with him missing?!”

“Charlie, if you still think he’s just missing, then how do you explain this?” The general held up a hat with the emblem that signifies someone’s position in the government, but there was a difference to it - it was covered in dried stains of blood.

Charles felt his body stiffen, almost unmoving like a statue. “N-no, are you sure it’s just from his struggling?” He refused to believe this, he refused to, he refused to! This can’t be happening…

Galeforce sighed, still holding the bloodied hat out for him to see. “Unfortunately, a possibility like that is impossible to consider as long as this is still around.” His expression held guilt, genuine or not, it doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is the safety of his co-worker.

But is he still alive?

That’s one question he desperately wanted to seek for.

“We, we can’t determine his condition based on one thing!” He protested, more tears were shed as rage boiled inside of him to a dangerous degree.

Galeforce’s stare never left him, it was almost - actually no, unsettling. “There’s nothing we can do, Charlie. This hat is irrefutable proof that he’s no longer here with us…I’m sorry.”

“He has to be alive…”

“I said it once, and I’ll say it again, you need to let it go. He’s not coming back. I’ll leave you be to think about what I said.” The general then left, taking the blood stained and ruined hat along with him, leaving the pilot by himself and his tears and emotions.

Impulsively, he squeezed his elbow with one hand so hard he was surprised no blood came out from the amount of force he was putting on his limb. Was Galeforce this heartless to not care about his soldier? Would he go as far as that?

What happened to the caring one he knew?

Why had it come to this?

Why…

———

Charles doesn’t know anything anymore.

Okay, maybe not anything, but he felt like he lost so much purpose  for not being able to help Green…

…or him.

The only times he can truly feel at peace is when he flies around in his helicopter. In the sky, all of his troubles fade away. The clouds give him some form of hope that somehow, someway, he’ll find a solution to this.

He always liked the sky, no one can hurt him up there.

Anyways, the air isn’t what’s bothering him at the moment.

Something horrible happened just yesterday.

The Toppats attacked the government to get Green back.

Now, under normal circumstances, he would’ve been relieved, as this gives Green a way to escape the government’s grasp and return to his former self.

But what occurred wasn’t what he would call “normal circumstances.”

Henry Stickmin, the leader of the Toppats, was captured.

Galeforce intended to use him as bait to get his right hand lady to initiate another attack so he can get both of them and ship them off to the Wall, as part of a deal he had with the warden, Dmitri Petrov, he believed that was his name.

Henry hadn’t said much since his capture, which is most likely because of Green. The distraught look he had when he heard and seen what had become of his former friend…it reminded him of when he heard that Rupert’s dead (he still doubts this, but he’s starting to believe it with every passing day).

Charles’s determination to save Green have increased since this event, he couldn’t afford to endanger anymore lives due to his fear of getting killed, he couldn’t…he was supposed to be someone who protects the helpless right? And at this very moment in time, the Toppats are the ones who are helpless.

The pilot headed to where the cells are located, nodding to the two soldiers who were put on guard duty to let them know he’s trustworthy, and allowed him to pass.

These cells used to contain Toppats, he remembered every one of their faces, how utterly defeated they looked, every little word he managed to pick up…now these confined places no longer have them. Executed for not obliging with the interrogations. By their own friend no less.

How many lives were ruined or taken away because of Galeforce’s actions?

Countless, that’s the only word he can find to describe it.

Charles stopped at the cell that contains the leader, sitting on the bed provided in the small and cramped confines, facing away from him and by the looks of it, he was fiddling with a piece of clothing, the collar of his shirt if he glances at him in the right angle. “Hey, Henry.”

Said man slowly turned around to get a glimpse of his new visitor, then whipped back to lock his gaze on the wall again, like it somehow became more important than anything else in the world. “What do you want?”

Can’t back out now. Charles reminded himself. You asked for this. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This isn’t Galeforce or Dr. V or anyone who’s scary, he’s okay, it’s just Henry.

“I wanted to let you know that…you’re not alone.” No one’s listening, it’s them both alone.

His words prompted Henry to turn back around, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re joking right?” He asked with a scoff. Apparently he hasn’t believed him yet, understandable.

Charles masked his face with a look of determination, hoping that it would be enough to let the leader understand his intentions. “No, I’m completely serious about this.” His tone was firm, if his expression wasn’t the key, then his voice should be the nail in the coffin.

Silence reigned for while, sitting on its throne as the two males stared blankly at each other, every now and again the pilot broke eye contact to see if anyone was in the hallway or listening in on them, and thankfully neither of those had been activated yet.

Eventually, the silence was kicked off the chair of power when Henry spoke.

“I knew you weren’t under his control after all.”

Charles smiled softly, to of which the other returned. “I couldn’t stand by and watch, none of this is right. I’ll get you and Right out of here.” It felt weird to call Green by his old name, but it felt reliving too.

Henry nodded, standing up from the bed and walked over to him, or at least, as close as he could get when he’s behind bars. “You’ll help us?”

“You have my word.”

“How’s it going to go?”

“I actually haven’t figured that out yet.” Charles said sheepishly, playing with the fluff the encircled his jacket. “I just needed to let you know you’re not alone here.”

Henry’s smile never faltered. “How about we develop one now?”

Charles took one more glance around, making sure to cover everywhere in the hallway of cells before nodding. “Yeah, it feels good to work with you again Henry.”

“Likewise.”

———

Two days now, and nothing of the sorts have happened.

The plan has to be flawless, if executed in a poor manner, there’s no second chances or redos.

Which is why the plan is taking two days, maybe even more if nothing has been figured out today.

“Is there any potential escape routes we can take?” Henry asked, a scrap of paper in one hand and a pen in another, Charles had given him those so they can keep track of the progress they’re making and the possibilities they have to consider.

“My helicopter is one option, but I’ll have to hide you and Right inside, which’ll be difficult since even during the nights and early mornings, soldiers would be patrolling the area, and I’m pretty sure most of them aren’t on our side.” The pilot responded, racking his brain for another way to transport them out of the base before the raid could commence. His right hand lady would be planning it, and Henry wants to minimize as much damage done to the Toppats as possible.

“You think you can get me some military clothing and disguise me as a soldier to take me along with you undetected?” Henry proposed next, scribbling on the piece of paper he was given to rule out the option he wrote.

“Then I’ll have to take someone here with me, knock them out, and put their clothes on you. And how are you going to get your belongings out with you?” Charles questioned, this can’t go wrong, if it does he’ll never forgive himself ever.

“I’ll…figure it out.” The leader said, drawing something on the paper.

“So we’re going along with this, you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Henry glanced up from drawing, eyes widening with fear. “Watch out!”

“Huh?” Charles didn’t react in time and was smacked on the head, collapsing against the steel bars of the cell and slumping onto the ground, black teasing around the edges of his eyes.

Before he could get a chance to get up, he was picked up and thrown to the wall, his fighting spirit fading fast as the darkness was overwhelming.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was Henry’s distressed face, and an evil grin of someone he used to look up to.

[lnc2]

tongue tied (1/?)

Summary: Chat Noir’s podcast is a viral success.

A/N: This is for @labyrinthofchaos  who wanted to see my dumbass idea fleshed out into a full story.  Thank you for being patient with me <3 I hope it was worth the wait.

AO3

It started with a black envelope on her balcony.

You’ve been cordially invited to paw-ticipate in Le PodChat…

Marinette rolled her eyes, checked the box marked No, thank you and doodled a sad kitten in the corner before resealing the envelope and leaving it tucked under one of her plants.

She knew the invitation was imminent.  Ladybug may have refused to be a part of his little side project in a permanent or official capacity but that didn’t mean that Chat Noir didn’t talk her ears off about future episodes all the same.

“Think about it, bug!  Akuma victims coming forward to share their stories– what it was like, what Hawkmoth said, how it felt when they ultimately and inevitably fell at the hands of their favorite heroes.” Here he waggled his eyebrows as he leaned forward on his baton.  “How awesome would that be?”

Ladybug smiled, pushing back her eager partner with the pad of her finger.  “I think you’ll find people are less willing to come forward about being akumatized than you anticipate, minou.  Most people would rather forget the whole thing, not broadcast it to strangers.”

“Exactly!  But think about the good it could do if we got people talking about it?” He was all hands in his excitement, frantic waving that nearly managed to catch her in the face.  “People like Chloe Bourgeois won’t be able to shame people into being reakumatized if we can just normalize the experience right?”

“But it isn’t normal, Chat.” She sighed.  “At least it shouldn’t be.”

“And we’re working on that, my lady.” He said, his voice gentle.  “I just think this might be another way to help out. Ease the emotional pressure cooker everyone is under.”

After that, there was really no arguing with him.  After all, Chat Noir wasn’t wrong and any and all help that they could provide to prevent future akuma attacks would make their jobs easier in the long run.  What had started out as a biweekly way to blow off steam quickly transformed into something Bigger. Marinette couldn’t say she was surprised– everything Chat touched seemed to spiral into more.

When he first broached the idea about starting a podcast hosted by the Ladyblogger Ladybug had laughed.  They’d brainstormed silly ideas throughout patrol only for her to realize her partner had been entirely serious.  In the end she’d capitulated to his kitten eyes on the condition that this was his thing.

“I have enough on my plate as it is, Chat.  I can’t promise to be on every episode with you.”

His eyes sparkled when he bowed over her hand.  “Any time you can spare is perfect, as always.”

What Ladybug hadn’t anticipated (although really she should have) was just how successful this particular scheme would be.  Calling Le PodChat an overnight sensation did a disservice to how quickly the premier episode managed to crash the Ladyblog’s servers.

Alya was over the moon.

“I don’t know whose ass I kissed in a past life to get this lucky but you won’t find any regrets here.” She squealed the following day at school.  “How many journalists can say they have literal superheroes dropping by on a semi-weekly basis to shoot the shit? Nadja Chamack  wishes  she had so much exposure.”

That much at least was true.  She’d heard it from the cat himself who had been more than a little frazzled by how much attention his little side project generated.  That evening on patrol he’d been a nervous, twitching agitated wreck as not one but  two  news outlets had reached out offering to be the “legitimate” homes for the podcast.

“I’d never move it of course,” He said, tail waving with his hands as Ladybug watched him in amusement. “I couldn’t do that to Alya. But the fact that they even offered…!”

It was his good-natured nervous Q&A on the fourth episode that ultimately brought her aboard.

  “Okay, last one.” Alya said, clearing her throat. “Cattheclysm87 wants to know, are you guys always Ladybug and Chat Noir or do you have lives outside of the mask?”

There was a pause, longer than the previous ones.  Chat Noir tapped his claws against a hard surface.

“Chat?” Alya prompted.  He laughed and Ladybug could practically see him shaking his head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about what my lady would say.  What she’d  want  me to say.”

“And?”

Chat Noir sighed.  “Probably something about keeping our identities a secret.  And something about how our lives outside the mask are something that makes Paris worth protecting.”

“Do you agree?”

“Naturally.” He said.  Even if she couldn’t hear it in his voice, Ladybug knew he was shrugging here. “But I think my life inside the mask is just as important to me.  Some days even moreso.”

Alya pressed him.  “Oh?”

If she hoped to glean more however Chat Noir wasn’t going to cooperate.  At least not today.

“Of course!  I don’t know of anyone in Paris who wouldn’t give their left foot to spend time with Ladybug.”

Alya laughed. “She can come by and collect mine any time.  I’ll be waiting.”

 Ladybug’s first appearance on Le PodChat the following week landed them at #1 on French Twitter’s trending topics something that she regretted almost immediately when #ladynoir hit #3.

  “Good luck beating cataclysm with a fork.” Chat Noir’s sneered.

Ladybug laughed. “If you don’t think I could fork you up you have another thing coming.”

“I’m just saying, my lady.  There’s not much good your lucky charm can do if it’s in ashes.”

“And  I’m just saying it will be pretty hard for you to destroy anything when I’ve got you all tied up.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Is that a promise?”

 Alya had been insufferable for weeks after that.

“God can’t they just date already?”

Her frustrated wails were muffled by her pillow but Marinette heard the familiar lament all too well. She rolled her eyes and continued fidgeting with her sewing machine.  At this point she knew it was a waste of breath to point out that no matter how often Chat Noir flirted with Ladybug there was nothing at all romantic between Paris’ superheroes.  Her best friend had shipping goggles and nothing Ladybug  or  Marinette could say about it would dissuade her otherwise.

“Like, seriously,” Alya continued, propping her chin up with her elbow and waving frantically with her free hand.  “The UST between them is just unbearable.”

“Then why do you bear it?”

Marinette’s dry remark was met with a pillow thrown to the back of her head.  She turned and scowled at her best friend who scowled right back.

“The only thing worse than witnessing their obliviousness would be not being able to see it at all.”

She giggled. “Of course.”

Alya ignored her.  “Besides, Le PodChat is fucking killing it in ratings.  The Ladyblog hasn’t seen this much traffic since I posted that picture of them kissing after Nino and I were akumatized.”

Marinette valiantly squashed her waspish retort at  that  reminder and said, “Activity has been pretty high lately.”

“Try  astronomical.” Alya shot her a sly smile.  “And just imagine, you could be a part of it all.”

Marinette groaned.

She knew this was coming.  After she’d rejected Chat Noir’s invitation to come on the show and talk about her experience working with “Paris’ Best and Bravest” during Nathaniel’s akumatization, her partner had been a cauldron bubbling with curiosity.

“Why do you think she said no?” He’d asked Ladybug on patrols, after akuma attacks, before one of her occasional drop ins on the podcast recordings.

Ladybug could only shrug.  “Maybe she’s shy.”

Alya laughed.  “Nah, there’s only one thing in this world that Marinette’s shy about and public speaking isn’t it.”

“Oh?” Chat said, looking ready to dive into what Ladybug knew would be a too revealing conversation.  Fortunately Alya didn’t take the bait and merely waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it.  I’ll get her to agree.”

Silently, Ladybug laughed.

Because if there was one thing Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not going to do it was agree to be a guest on her crime-fighting partner’s internet radio show.  Not when her alter ego was also a frequent guest on said podcast. She didn’t know how much of her identity was protected by the miraculous but she wasn’t willing to test it to appease Chat Noir’s whims.

It would only take one perceptive binge listener (or an overly eager feline partner) to notice that Ladybug and Marinette’s voices  sure do sound alike …

Pfft.  Yeah, no.

“Not gonna happen, Als.”

“But whyyyyyyy,” Alya whined, sitting up from her prone position on the chaise to shoot her best friend her patented puppy dog eyes.  They were nearly as devastating as Chat Noir’s. Marinette was unmoved.

“I’m not embarrassing Nathaniel like that.”

She pouted.  “But he’s with Marc now.  I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Even if he said he didn’t, the answer is no.”

Thankfully Alya knew when to drop the subject.  

Unfortunately for Marinette, 

Chat Noir did not.

[phynali]

more spn discussions, just skip this post y’all

 @queerbluebird​ thanks so much for engaging with my post/reply! i really enjoyed reading your response and i have a long reply here.

i’m responding to your post/reply here rather than reblogging it because honestly that thread is - so long. so very long. 

so first - 

i agree there is a difference between entitlement and what i would call, not promise, but instead “narrative follow-through”. A story that completely lacks narrative follow-through does end up feeling disappointing, or frustrating, or rage-inducing, depending on what’s happened. to me there’s a fundamental difference between critiquing a story based on follow-through and bad storytelling (which your post aims to do), versus say, creating hashtag campaigns about a character being silenced because and spreading conspiracy theories about a bad dub (among other things honestly).

and also - queerbaiting totally sucks, we definitely do agree on that.

where we disagree, i think are these two core points:

i do not see the narrative build-up that demands a follow-through. i do not see supernatural as having built up to the story that many destiel shippers seem to think was there, and no one has ever been able to point out to me any actual textual reasons that do craft that narrative build-up  

i fundamentally do not believe that destiel was ever a queerbait. queerbait involves active intent on the part of creators to tease a ship or queer representation in order to draw in $ from queer audiences without ever making it canon, so as not to alienate straight audiences. so, refering to point 1., i do not see the canon text as having laid the groundwork for a queerbait and those romantic tropes, at least not at any point in the past 7 years. and beyond the canon, the writers and producers and jensen ackles all indicated dean was straight, and that they were not writing a romance. if anyone queerbaited the fans, it was misha collins who kept teasing the possibility, and personally i would argue that was irresponsible of him. but that’s a different discussion altogether and tends to piss people off when it’s framed as such, because misha means a lot to them and it hurts to see the man who validated their feelings get criticized for the manner in which he validated them. so i’m gonna leave that aside.

beyond that, I want to engage with some of your specific quotes:

Supernatural loves to say “wait for it.” And I don’t think it’s entitled to feel betrayed if an author uses their story to say “wait for it” in order to convince you to stick with their story and then delivers the opposite after you do.

May i ask, where was the “wait for it” with destiel? this ties in directly to the queerbaiting. i indicated in my post/reply that while i see it from cas, there’s been little to no hint of any reciprocation of feelings from dean, and if anything the past 7 or so years have driven the point home that it isn’t happening. i personally am not able to see the “Wait for it” and that was the point of my question. without the “Wait for it”, i also can’t see the queerbait. 

I asked for specifics and while i totally get not having the spoons, you provided a few:

(off the top of my head for Dean though, the mixtape, his response to Cas’ death at the end of 12, subsequent grief arc, and reaction to Cas’ return in the front half of 13 rank highly. His reaction to Lucifer’s prank call in 15x19 might rate, but maybe just because it’s so recent.)

not trying to be unkind here, but i quite genuinely don’t see any of these examples as framing cas and dean in a romantic light, or as hinting at a “what if”. the mixtape is like.... okay, maybe. i had read that as being symbolic of something else, but i can see wanting to read it from a shipping lens. (i don’t however think i’d read it as baiting or “what if” - it was quite textually not framed that way. shipping, 100%, but canon build-up, not for me).

for the other examples -- grieving for someone you consider family? and being happy when they come back? that’s not shippy to me. i mean - contrast the grief he showed over cas’s death compared to his grief over, say, mary? or, less extreme, charlie? and nothing compared to how off the rails he goes when sam is dead or he thinks sam is. so i -- i just can’t see those as creating a narrative that demands a follow-through. and when your friend who is dead calls your phone? of course you hop to the door - i don’t know what is romantic about that. sam would’ve hopped just as quick if “cass” had called his phone instead.

and look - i see what is fun to ship about all that. if i shipped it, i’d be happily collecting these moments with a smile and grinning to myself about how cute they are and much they mean. but shipping it vs. it being romantically framed in the canon are two fundamentally different things. shipping doesn’t imply narrative buy-in or deliberation from the creator.

moving on, you also spoke at length about 15x18:

15x18 made the sort of statement that drew back even people who did exactly what OP said they should do, turning off the TV years ago. It wasn’t a quiet “if you’re still watching, keep waiting,” so much as a shouted “hey we’re gonna do this thing, watch this!”

i guess destiel fans vs. those of us who don’t ship it really see this as fundamentally different. because you discuss that moment as one which requires follow-through, and say that if this were heteronormative m/f love declaration, there would be that expectation of follow-through. not necessarily reciprocity, but more - more conversation, more acknowledgment, more something.

(i mean - if there was more, but that more was “hey i love you too but only platonically, sorry man” would that be better?)

but no - i actually just... disagree with your point on that front. i can see why you feel the way you do and i acknowledge that it can be read as the start of a conversation. to me though -- and clearly, now that the finale is out, how the writers saw it -- that was actually the end of a conversation. the end of, like you pointed out, 12 years. a 12-year conversation that ends in a gorgeous declaration of love, and specifically how love isn’t about being together, it’s simply about being - it’s about the fact that you love someone, and that feeling alone is the most beautiful thing in existence.

to me, that declaration can only be written and interpreted as an ending.  a sacrifice, a declaration, and a goodbye. so - while i kind of expected seeing more people in episode 20 and realize that didn’t happen largely due to covid - i’m not disappointed we didn’t see cas, because that culmination of his narrative (and then knowing he was with jack, after, rebuilding the heaven that he rebelled against and finally completing his narrative circle by fixing all the problems with it alongside the good god he sought to find all along) is kind of perfect. 

and i genuinely don’t think if cas was in a female vessel this entire time that that would change. maybe some audience members would feel differently, but i think many of us would see it for the end it was nonetheless. there’s plenty of stories with m/f ships that are one-sided and that character sacrifices themselves for the person they love, so i don’t see why this would be any different (except the bury your gays issue, but that’s a whole other and very real conversation about media tropes).

moving on to the series finale.

As many people have pointed out in praise of 15x20, Sam is the absolute most important thing in Dean’s life, his priority above anything and everything… And yet there, at the actual end of the world, Dean ignores Sam’s call and instead cries over the loss of Castiel. Dean’s loss of Castiel plays in tandem with the loss of literally the whole world. But we’re not to take that as a promise that Castiel means more to this story, or to Dean, than a couple seconds of wistfulness after the dust settles?

I... yeah. i don’t see what this even is arguing. that dean taking a minute to himself to grieve his best friend, who just died in part because dean decided to go hunt down billie (who was literally dying anyway). he’s hurting. there’s nothing about this that’s a promise - it’s an end. it’s grief. it’s the horror of losing someone you care about, and the silence that comes after. it’s fundamentally human in it’s pain. and we, the audience, are invited to grieve with dean.

so I mean - of course cas means more to this story. of course he’s meant more than a few seconds of grief, after 12 years. but just because that’s the last time we see him on screen doesn’t mean we don’t value his story, and celebrate how it too came full circle.

You mention cas as a sort of avatar for a different potential ending for the brothers, and highlight him representing:

An ending where higher powers stop yanking them around and they get to actually live in the life they’ve built for themselves.

So while i never considered cas an avatar for that, i do think we all wanted the brothers to have their freedom. “finally free.” so we can agree on wanting that end. but we disagree on whether it was delivered, i guess? because i feel it was.

you also talk about what you and many other fans conceivably wanted a happier ending to look like. can i -- i’m going to be totally honest. i have not seen a single person who’s critiquing the end saying “i just wanted sam and dean to grow old hunting together with their dog until they retire together and die of old age.”

would that be satisfying to those who are mad about the end? i personally don’t think so, but maybe my opinion is being coloured by the most vitriolic fans i’ve seen. if sam and dean got to have the life they wanted free of chuck, and dean didn’t die, and they kept going (or retired and opened a bar together!). maybe sam still had a kid, but again because romance wasn’t the point, the wife wasn’t important and they left her blurry still so we could interpret ourselves if she was a wife or a co-parent or a surrogate or what. maybe dean has a kid too, with a similar question-mark-wife. maybe we get a few images of them having a holiday with jodie and the girls. and then getting to heaven together in old age, greeting bobby with a beer, and going for a drive.

would that be an end that wouldn’t cause fandom uproar? i would enjoy it, soft an slightly discordant as it would be to me. i prefer the ending we got, bittersweet and heartbreaking though it was, but i wouldn’t be taking to social media to yell about it if we got a softer epilogue, so to speak.

on the other hand... would that still not be enough, at least not for so many of the angry fans? i’m genuinely unsure. it seems to me that so much of the ire is about destiel itself, even if people are pretending it’s about more and other things than that. not everyone, but like, a big portion of them. which leads me to believe that nothing short of dean and cas at least interpretable as together is what they wanted. if every other single thing about the existing finale was the same except that cas was the one to greet dean instead of bobby, and even with the same basic dialogue, without discussing the confession, but they have a lingering smile, and dean leaves to drive and wait for sam with the promise he’ll see cas later - 

if everything else stayed the same except who greeted dean, i genuinely don’t believe i’d be seeing almost any critique of the finale on my dash. maybe i’m cynical, but that’s where i’m at.

which is part of why i really struggle to believe that people are engaging in good faith when they critique the finale. because i feel like if it offered them either a) everything they’re purportedly asking for but still no cas and zero hint of destiel, vs. b) every other thing they claim to hate stays the same except there’s a wink and nod to destiel - i believe they would take the wink and nod. 

   On to some other things you raised:

But how can you know to walk away from a tragedy if the tragedy says “the end won’t be a tragedy, keep watching” right up until it ends in tragedy?

Oh i Get this. I hate thinking i’m consuming fun media only for it to rip my heart out at the end. i’ve literally - well, i’ve had a very unpleasant and distressing experience of this, actually. so i get it. also the opposite: i sometimes feel disappointed when i’m consuming media that is gripping and intense and painful, but then the end is too easy, too soft and happy?

BUT - supernatural never pretended it would have a happy end? the end was so. much. happier. than i ever expected. the Swan Song end was going to have Sam in hell being tortured by lucifer for eternity. according to something i read which i am fundamentally too lazy to link because who knows if it would have turned out this way but -- kripke was apparently going to have Dean jump in the cage with him at that end, if the series ended on S5? the ‘horror’ ending. completely devastating sacrifice for mankind (sam), and completely devastating sacrifice for his brother (dean). just -- oof. even if that wasn’t the plan and the series would’ve ended as the episode did - sam was still in the cage and cas was off waging war in heaven and dean was living every day knowing he was alive and his brother was being tortured.

i’m sorry if you thought you were watching a happier show. i know how much that hurts. that doesn’t mean the story was actually that happy though. sometimes, it’s on us as consumers to acknowledge we were misreading the media. i’ve had to do this. it’s hard, it hurts, but it helps you consume things healthier. i’ve had to do this growing recently, and i’m better off for it.

regarding the specific manner of dean’s death - that’s really not what my post was about and i’m not gonna address it here. i’ve talked about it elsewhere and so have others, and @lovetincture‘s original post spelled it out beautifully, in how human it was. i have feelings on how and why i loved dean’s death, and why it was the absolute opposite of what Chuck’s ending was and what he wanted (no blaze of glory), but i’ll leave those for another time.

They cast aside all the relationships they’ve built. [...] They lost/walked away from the life and home they built in the bunker. Dean got a season 1 death. Sam got a season 1 life.

I feel that there is a very huge difference between regression and progression when it comes to cyclical storytelling. And that difference seems to be missing from the ongoing discussions i’ve seen about this in fandom.

Coming full circle to season 1 does not at all mean that the development is ‘undone’ or that the story has regressed or that anything has been lost or destroyed. It can mean that, if the storyteller doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, but in this case i don’t (personally) feel it’s a fair critique.

Dean’s death might parallel his s1 not-quite death from Faith, but the s15 result of that death is night and day. Dean is no longer alone. Dean does not go up to a lonely heaven filled with bittersweet memories, where even his canonical soulmate and him have wide gulfs between the memories they fill their shared heaven with. Dean dies a hunter, but he dies a hunter who literally saved earth and changed heaven and gets to spend eternity with his brother, side-by-side and together without all the pain and miscommunication, and he gets to see his family and loved ones too. he died having literally made the world so much better.

even without that though?

his story comes full circle, but dean’s character development isn’t about his death, it’s about the fact that in the first several seasons dean could hardly admit he cared without acting like his teeth were being pulled. he was too afraid of abandonment to ask for someone to be by his side. he was too afraid of rejection to let anyone in. and in the end? he asks sam to stay. he tells him that he loves him. he pours his heart out and says all the things that 15 years ago were stoppered in his throat, words trying and failing to claw their way free but his hurt and fears were too deep.

dean is free.

the point of dean’s story coming full circle to season 1 parallels was specifically to highlight this incredible development, not to undermine it. he is different. he is free. 

god it makes me tear up just thinking about how happy i am for him despite how gutted i was by that scene??

(i could write a similar analysis for sam, about how he left for stanford to escape his life and how his finale life montage bits were the opposite of that, but honestly this post is long enough already).

Destiel is loosely a part of that promise in the sense that Castiel is a part of that promise. The symbol of free will

You make a super interesting argument about Cas being a symbol of free will. I don’t have much to say about it, because I’m gonna mull it over, because I think it’s kinda cool and I’ve never thought about it.

That’s - all i’ve got. thanks again for engaging. i’m happy to continue the convo if you have questions or want to reblog/reply 

(though my followers might hate me omg, i’ve been spamming long spn meta posts for weeks now, it’s just been so confronting to see the ongoing fan reaction on twitter and how divided it is...)

[minhomas-tmr]

The Stars Don’t Know Shit, My Friend - Chapter 5

Thomas stumbled into someone as he was pushed. All he got knowing Minho came through as well, was a subtle brush to his back. The room was surprisingly still packed, but not as much as before he supposed. Most importantly, it appeared Teresa had left.

From the hint his now boyfriend provided, Thomas had a fair idea of what Minho had in mind and it sent a pleasant thrill down his spine. First things first.

He made his way through the crowd looking for his friends, having to pass by a couple archways in his search, which predictably got him some taps and for the most part, he ignored it.

Thomas acknowledged number 16 though, turning towards her. She was fairly pretty to say the least, but he noticed they weren’t even directly under a mistletoe. How had he missed this? No wonder Minho had been pissed… Blinking the thought away, Thomas tried to make out the words through the loud music. His frown must have given away his displeasure however, because she withdrew the hand still on his shoulder.

“Yeah, can I help you?” he said. The girl stammered a lot trying to come up with an excuse of stopping him in between arches. Come to think of it…many of the mistletoe had disappeared. Maybe Newt’s thing had been achieved?

Just then he spotted Rachel. “I have to go.”

Thomas pushed through the crowd, feeling at least five more taps before he reached his friend. He included them in his count anyways. As soon as she spotted him, Rachel marched over.

“Really?!” Hands on her hips, she frowned at him.

“I got held up,” Thomas shrugged. To be fair, Minho had held him up—against the wall—though he doubted Rachel would appreciate that definition. The memory must have warmed his cheeks because his friend’s mouth dropped open.

“Are you serious!! Thomas that’s so irresponsible!…what if—“

“Hey, Teresa isn’t here right? So I’m good,” he shot her his winning smile.

“You’re staying aren’t you?” Rachel’s shoulders sagged, knowing she’d have to sneak back to the tower on her own. If she’d known once Thomas started thinking with his dick, he turned into a shit best friend? She’d have protested his ‘activities’ a little more.

Like he could ready her thoughts, Thomas grinned as he walked away from her. “I believe in you!” And that’s when it happened.

“Hi,” said a voice husked in his ear. Thomas spun around coming face to face with Minho. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. “Number?” That prompted a response.

“Seventeen.” He hardly had to whisper, what with the murmur of the crowd around them. Before either could say anything, another voice called out.

“Minho!” Minho and Thomas turned towards Newt, who was radiating with happiness. Minho raised an eyebrow, a silent question, which Newt answered with a wide smile.

“What is it?” Thomas looked between the two of them, getting a ping of..fuck what was that feeling? Getting impatient Thomas repeated himself, only louder, “What is it?!”

“What do you think?” Newt said smugly as he passed them, pushing Minho towards Thomas purposely so he stumble into him, sandwiching Thomas between his boyfriend (heh) and the wall. He was only too familiar with the position and fuck, his knees turned weak as Minho’s pupils dilated.

“So you gonna kiss me or what?” he breathed against pink lips, just before they slotted in with his. He fought a whimper and failed miserably when Minho’s tongue slipped into his mouth in a wet, claiming kiss.

The sound probably got drowned out by the suddenly too loud Christmas music, but Thomas could literally feel the waves of satisfaction coming off Minho as he growled low, pressing Thomas firmly against the wall.

He may have pulled the Slytherin harder to him. His hands may have found their way into Minho’s hair. He may have parted his legs in subtle invitation.

Minho didn’t take the bait though.

“Public, remember?” Smugness still radiated off him, “Besides…thirteen more to go.” And then he was gone. Thomas sagged against the wall beside the pillar he’d been smushed against, trying to get his breathing under control.

Suddenly, he realized he had an audience. Two girls were staring wide eyed at him, before looking at each other.

“Wow. Harriet, take notes,”

“I ship it!” the other girl giggled, staring after Minho, who parted the crowd with ease. Thomas noticed him getting taps too. Minho didn’t even react and warmth curled in Thomas’ chest.

“Are you finally together now?” the shorter one asked, eyes sparkling.

“Um..” Thomas found he didn’t want to outright lie about his relationship so he was stuck on what to say, just looking at her stupidly. Then her words struck him. “Finally?”

She rolled eyes, and shook her light blonde hair in exasperation. “The staring? In the Great Hall? You do know the Hufflepuff table is between, right?” Thomas blushed crimson. Maybe him coming out to the school wouldn’t be a complete surprise…

“Like I said,” the one still giggling came up closer too, “I ship it. Come on Sonya!! We just got here! Alby finally arrived so Newt’s only kept quarter of the mistletoe!”

She confirmed what he had suspected which..Shit! Newt might take them all down and if that was the case…Thomas may have to purposely bump into people just to get their attention, just to turn them down. Every countdown reaching one, sent a thrill through him. Minho must be watching because as soon as he reached 30, Minho appeared again.

Minho holding him in the middle of the archway made Thomas warm all over, arousal skyrocketing. Here, they were much more visible, and this time *he* was the one to crash his lips against Minho’s, biting his bottom lip hard before demanding more. More contact. More kisses.

They were just them now and he was free to do this, “Washroom. Now!” he growled and walked away.

No sooner had Thomas turned into the hallway leading away, that Minho pushed him into an available washroom.

Thomas' hands roamed everywhere, bodily pinning Minho to the tiled wall, fingers sinking through the Slytherin’s soft hair as they kissed. A big change from their previous dynamic, but Thomas surprised himself, loved this freedom.

A hand sneaked between them and Thomas’ head fell forward, feeling Minho rub over his pants. The lack of underwear and the fact he’d just come, made Thomas push away.

“Sensitive,” he whimpered into Minho’s mouth as an explanation. In response, Minho slide his hands under Thomas’ thighs, lifting him easily onto the counter to remind him where else he was sensitive, the burn on his tender backside making him whine.

“Selfish little tease aren’t you,” Minho bit his bottom lip, sucking on it and that just rocketed his arousal higher, body naturally reacting to the ministrations. “So demanding, I’ll just have to open you up gently then. Maybe that’ll teach you some patience,”

“Minho don’t you dare!!”

“Hey, if our first time as ‘just us’ is going to be in a public washroom because you’re so impatient to get dicked, then you are going to endure my demands too.”

Thomas whined petulantly again, and Minho pecked him on the lips as if that would placate him. He’d experienced Minho taking his time before. At least this time he didn’t have a cock ring on.

Then all of a sudden Minho froze and stepped away.

“W-what are you doing?” Thomas asked confused, missing his boyfriend’s body heat instantly.

“I just..I didn’t even ask if you wanted to top? I mean—since it’s our first time and all, we can swit—“

“Minho just ‘dick’ me already! Or tease me or whatever the fuck you were planning okay?” Minho still looked conflicted, so Thomas took a deep breath and pulled him closer. They were still clothed, so small mercies.

“I think you know we’re not going to be able to not be how we’re used to. When it comes to sex, cuffed or not, I’m always going to be a needy lil’ shit and you’re gonna be the one to put me in my place. Okay?” Minho’s mouth dropped open in surprise and Thomas grinned, pleased at the reaction. “Just seeing you in a hallway accidentally turns me on…And I’m not complaining.”  

“You’re so hot when you’re that eager,” he flicked Thomas’ pant button open one handedly, and yanked it down and off. Thomas slipped out of his shoes without being told. “Always ready for a good time, huh?”

“Yes,” Thomas licked his lips, bucking his hips forward until Minho grabbed them, stilling his movements, “please?”

“I’m sure you can do better than that, since you’re apparently ‘oh so desperate’,” the mischief was back in his eyes.

“Minho, don’t tease! You promised if I said no to them, you would give it to me!”

“That’s true,” Minho tugged Thomas’ shirt signalling wanting it off, and just like that, Thomas was completely bare but when Minho went to undress himself, he was stopped.

“What?”

“Can..ahh, can you leave your clothes on?” Thomas blushed furiously, as his boyfriend’s heated gaze traveled down his body.

“You’re the kinkiest fucker I’ve ever met, Thomas,” Minho shook his head, but obliged him, kissing Thomas’ nose gently when he was pulled forward. Then without warning, he slipped a lubed finger into Thomas’ puckered hole.

“Shit, Minho,” Thomas hissed, surprised.

“You should know,” Minho started conversationally, working Thomas open at a glacial pace. “I really haven’t soundproofed, so you might want to keep it down huh?”

“What!! Nononono Minho that’s no-not—“

“That’s not completely hot? Because this is saying otherwise,” Minho flicked Thomas’ hard cock, that was already leaking precome despite his recent orgasm.

Thomas bit his lip hard, trying to stop pleasured gasps from escaping, which only encouraged Minho to tease him harder. The threat was real so he was about to plead again, when Minho found his prostrate and a shout escaped him, mortifying him, “I ca..ant. Please, you’re wand..use your wand!”

“My wand? You’ll get my wand when I’m satisfied with opening you up…” he growled in Thomas’ ear and he shuddered, fisting his hands on Minho’s shirt like it would save him from the humiliation of being found out if he couldn’t keep quiet.

Then Minho did something surprising; he placed the wand in question on the opposite side of the marble sink Thomas sat on, “There you go. Soundproof it yourself if you’re so worried.”

Thomas blushed and sent Minho a pleading look. The bastard was actually gonna do this to him? The slow romantic song was playing in the party room on low volume, almost felt like it was mocking him—any sounds he made would easily be heard, and if there’s one thing he’d learned about himself being with Minho, he was loud.

“Please!” Thomas whispered in frustration as Minho lightly brushed his prostrate but mostly avoided it all together. He never realized what a difference a command made versus self-will. Being ordered to make no noise was nothing in comparison to the threat of exposing himself if he was too loud. — Minho smirked, watching Thomas’ conflicting face. He wasn’t one to push a kink, so if Thomas did end up using the wand, the Ravenclaw knew Minho would still torture him by gently fingering him open.

They’d maybe slow-dance, maybe leave the party room and find a corridor not filled with judgemental portraits, as Thomas went to his knees. But that’s it—sexual fun times at least. Minho was an endless romance novel.

If Thomas chose not to play at all tonight, they could always try it some other time. This was easy in comparison because they didn’t have immediate company close by, but that wasn’t what this was about, was it?

No..no..this was a deliberate move, getting Thomas to decide his privacy level. It was about admitting it: his desperation, his need to get fucked and his choosing of not soundproofing the room when given the opportunity.

“Please,” Thomas quietly begged again. “I’ve been good.” It was humiliating, but that was the whole point.

“I already told you,” Minho gestured nonchalantly to his wand, slicking up another finger with plenty of lube within Thomas’ line of sight, just to provide next to no friction as he eased them inside, thumbing the head of Thomas’ leaking cock simultaneously.

Minho smirked inwardly, an idea coming to mind. He picked up his wand making it look as though taking pity on Thomas, that a look of relief crossed Thomas’ face. He reacted too quickly. Poor baby.

“Going once.” Minho stared straight into Thomas’ wide eyes, when he realized—

“Going twice.” Watching Thomas admit it, albeit silently, turned him on so much.Thomas opened and closed his mouth, trembling at being taunted like this. It was absolutely delicious the way his face reddened, looking at the wand but didn’t move. Didn't move a muscle.

Even when Minho whispered softly, slowly tucking it away. “Gone.”  

“What now?” Thomas had barely stuttered those words out, when Minho zeroed in hard on Thomas’ prostrate and he moaned loud, hurriedly cut off by slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Fuck, this isn’t slo—“ Minho jabbed his prostrate again.

“Oh baby, you should have taken it,” Minho said casually, as though he wasn’t driving Thomas insane with on and off stimulation, punishing him for mouthing off. “Please,” Thomas trembled against Minho, shirt clutched tightly in his grasp, as he panted into his shoulder.

“Please what, Thomas? You’re the one that wants this party to know how slutty you are.” Minho said. Thomas cried out into his shoulder, undecided if he wanted to back away from Minho’s fingers or push forward to get them deeper. “Ohh..you want more?”

“Yes..n-no I—Minho I can’t!!”

“Yeah, I understand where you’re coming from,” Minho timed it perfectly, finding his prostrate again and circling it slowly, giving continued but light stimulation on the word *coming*, smirking as Thomas arched back, failing to hold back a whimper, trembling as he wrapped his arms around Minho’s broad shoulders.

“I know you can be quieter than this…” Minho said voice low, “which can only mean you want to be heard. You want to be heard begging and crying, and whining to cum. Such an upstanding student you are.”

Using his other hand, he wrapped a hand around Thomas’ still sensitive erection and jacked it off slowly, watching for Thomas' tell-tale signs, until Thomas gasped wetly, shaking against him, right on the edge..the edge—

Suddenly he withdrew his fingers and hand from Thomas’ cock. Thomas stared wordlessly in shock as his dick pathetically ejaculated, but with none of the mind numbing pleasure attached to it.  Minho had actually ruined it—left Thomas horny and so so needy.

Thomas burst out crying, mindlessly begging, fighting so hard to not to be too loud. He had no idea what he was saying, just that the energy which had been building under the surface with Minho’s endless teasing—was still frustratingly there but no relief in sight.

The need being too high, Thomas thoughtlessly grabbed Minho’s fingers to move in him again, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything but drive himself crazy. Minho couldn't hold his amusement in any longer, eyebrows raised as Thomas' cock bobbed at his gaze, even as he whimpered humiliated.

“Look at you, so desperate for anything aren’t you, baby?” Thomas didn’t respond and keened high when Minho grabbed his hair, yanking his head back, “Aren’t you?” he repeated louder, and Thomas blubbered his agreement immediately.

“Get down.” Minho commanded, and on wobbly legs Thomas obeyed, feeling shame eat at him even more as his painfully hard and exposed cock, brushed against Minho’s clothes—Minho who looked poised and perfectly composed while he probably looked like a wreck.

“Turn around, hands on the mirror.”

Thomas swallowed hard. It was one thing imagining what he looked like while being fucked and another actually seeing Minho destroying his sanity while he was ordered to watch. Because he knew his Dom was sadistic enough that he’d get Thomas to watch.

But Minho was hitting all his buttons tonight and he was in heaven and hell for it. Despite knowing it was useless, Thomas begged anyways, “Please, please no,”

Minho smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile.

Thomas bodily shuddered as Minho’s palms trailed lightly on his sides, before reaching his hips, spinning him around abruptly and Thomas held himself on the counter just in time. Describing Thomas as a wreck was a huge understatement and his red bitten lips trembled at the sight, knowing by the time Minho was done with him, he’d look..look..

“Cock-drunk,” Minho promised darkly, as though he could read his mind, fingers grazing his hole but not giving him what he wanted. He gulped and placed his hands on the mirror, willing his legs not to give out. He could tell Minho was trying not to outright laugh at his pathetic attempt at composure, eyes noticing his cock twitch, and knew with certainty—his sadistic boyfriend was gonna make him scream. — His boyfriend was beautiful in his submission, this level of trust was one Minho would never forget. He pressed himself against Thomas’ back, making him hyper aware of their power imbalance, the course texture of his clothes rubbing on Thomas’ still bruised ass. Given Thomas’ embarrassed face, Minho knew he was super aware of it too.

“Love it when you’re on display for me,” he whispered in his ear, as he twisted Thomas’ nipples, a finger running down the length of Thomas’ cock, getting another jerk as Thomas moaned low, head tipped back onto Minho’s shoulder.

He allowed him that brief reprieve, looking forward to destroying whatever illusion Thomas had of his dignity—made all the more delicious with his given consent.

“Minho,” Thomas whispered.

“Yes, baby?”

“Cock, please..?” his voice was soft, pleading like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to talk.

Thomas tended to sink fast, so Minho didn’t remind him that regular rules didn’t apply this time. They were scening sure, but they weren’t scening per se, but still he didn’t dare break that mindset. By his tone though, Minho would say his boyfriend was on board for whatever he’d planned next.

“You’re asking for cock? Still think your little cock is of importance, I see,” he flicked Thomas’ hard-on with more force this time, making him buck his hips as pleasure ripped across his body. Thomas shook his head frantically, but Minho flicked it three more times just for fun. “What then? Want my cock?”

“Yes, I—I want to please you. I need..I need to please you, please?”

Minho raised his eyebrows unimpressed when their eyes met through the mirror, “You better be able to do better than that, if you want my cock.”

Thomas’ head dropped to hide his red face. Fuck. Knew what he had to say in order to get what he wanted. It made him deliriously horny. “Want to be used. Want you to use me, please? Please use me…”  

“Is my little toy feeling empty already? My slutty bitch gonna make yourself useful finally?” Minho unzipping his pants sounded so loud in the small washroom. Thomas went bright red at the reminder and degrading words but nodded anyways. “Go on then,”

Minho rolled his eyes when Thomas looked confused “Are you expecting me to help you? Put my cock in, and keep those asscheeks spread for me.” Minho smirked as Thomas became unable to keep eye contact. Hand shaking, he guided Minho’s hard cock into his well prepped hole, moaning loudly at the feeling of being so full.

Being inside Thomas felt amazing, Minho was determined to offer the same and drive Thomas crazy with lust. He snapped his hips forward, the action pushing Thomas against the counter, arms shaking as Minho hit his prostrate at every thrust.

Thomas’ jaw hung slack at the overstimulation. His hands still holding himself open, he had no hope to disguise his pleasured sounds and Minho looked on with satisfaction, but you know what would be better?

“Don’t drop your eyes or there will be consequences,” Minho’s pace quickened, Thomas’ hole was so tight, it felt so good, as he watched Thomas watch himself, have to use his stomach muscles to hold himself high enough, Thomas' moans helplessly falling from his red bitten lips.

“Can you imagine?” Minho switched the speed and began fucking into him leisurely, “Imagine if someone found you moaning on Slytherin cock. Holding your asscheeks open, begging for cum, you a proper, supposedly poised, respectable, Prefect acting like a shameless whore?”

“I-I’m not a wh-hore,” To his embarrassment, he whined high as Minho kept a steady rhythm, spreading his thighs wider, displaying his hole clearly.

“Your body doesn’t lie, baby” Minho whispered hotly in his ear, “Exactly how long ago did you cum, that you’re hard already? I even let you cum, what..two minutes ago and still you’re dick’s so shameless, so needy. I can feel you sucking me in. So so eager for more, what does that make you if not a desperate whore?” Minho taunted and Thomas’ face burned hot.

“Go on..tell me. Sure as hell doesn’t make you a good boy.” When Thomas kept quiet eyes dropping in shame, Minho squeezes his balls in warning and he jerked his eyes back to the mirror, his eyes tearing up at the pain. And for the second time that night, Minho backed up.

“NO!” Thomas cried out loud, tears falling in streaks down his face. Hands returned to the mirror, and he struggled to hold himself up with the shock of Minho moving away. Minho smirked as he stood still, watching lazily.

“Look at yourself, baby. Horny and desperate and Loud, you want a reward? You have to work for it dirty boy. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Without thinking, Thomas pushed his own hips back desperately and judging by his teary eyes widening, he finally clued in.

Minho hadn’t been planning on fucking him stupid. No, this ultimate act of humiliation, acting like a needy bitch came from himself, using his own body, his hole to pleasure Minho like a toy, as Minho simply stood there. It was degrading, feeling like an object meant only to give pleasure without getting any. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped trying to get off, and even after realizing it, couldn’t bring himself to stop.

His shame morphing to arousal only made him leak harder. Made him fuck back harder.

“Go on…show me how much of a slut you really are, so hungry for cock, so desperate to please, using your body to get me, and only me off. Isn’t that right?”

Minho laughed as Thomas’ hands slid down the mirror, jaw slacked, eyes glazed, no strength left in holding himself up now. He was sobbing continuously, so beyond overstimulated but still he had a job to do. All his energy went into pushing his hips back and clenched his hole to make it good for the other boy. He felt Minho's cock pulse in his hole and clenched his splichter tighter, a second later feeling Minho cum in him and then Thomas' pride truly disappeared.

“Puh-please, fuckplease make me come, I wanna come, please!” Dazed and flushed with want, lips swollen from trying to hold back sounds, Thomas pushed his hips back frantically, trying to find Minho’s cock. "I-I'll do anything! Ss-swear more! I'm so empty, wannna wann-"

He was surprised when Minho reached around to jack him off, as he stuffed three of his fingers in Thomas’ mouth, not wanting to chance a student hearing Thomas screaming for permission, over the music.

“I thought I told you to watch yourself,” and Thomas instantly obeyed, despite his front sliding on the counter, his nipples sore, his muscles turned to mush, and could barely hold his head up as he shamelessly sucked on Minho’s fingers. Fuck, he really was a slut.

And again like Minho could read his mind, he said, “We agreed you are a slut right? Do greedy sluts deserve to cum, baby?” Minho took his hand off Thomas’ red, painful, sensitive dick, and before Thomas could react, thrust two fingers suddenly in his hole, abusing his prostrate. A full-body shudder ran through him. “Well?” he asked, taking out his fingers dripping in drool, to let him answer.

“N-n-o Minho,” said the other boy collapsed beneath him.

“No what, Thomas?” For the first time since their hard play began, Minho asked softly.

“No a..a s-slu-t ll-ike me,” Thomas struggled to put words together, voice practically gone.

“Won’t come, right?”

Thomas’ face was wet, as was the counter under his face. His ass felt like it was on fire, hole so sore and a cock begging for release for what felt like hours. He doubted he had any energy left to stand even, twitching as he was still stimulated by Minho’s fingers pleasurably torturing him. Won’t come. Wont. Minho had said. Won’t

“I-I w-won-nt c-cumm,” Thomas cried even harder.

“Promise? Even if you’re forbidden to touch yourself? I don’t know if you have that type of control yet, Thomas. What if you slip up and rut in your bed like a bitch while asleep? You’ll probably need the cage, huh?”

How could Minho sound so concerned as absolute filth left his mouth? Thomas was speechless as he pictured what had been said to him, and flushed even more. Worse was, Minho could see everything through the mirror, could see how much he loved the idea, how much he hungered for it.

“I n-n-neeed t-the cage, pl-lease,”

Finally Minho removed his fingers from Thomas’ ass, “Good boy.” — “Merlin, Minho I swear you fucked out my soul!” Thomas whispered furiously as Minho used his wand to clean them both up. Well, mostly Thomas.

“Doubtful. You can still talk,” Minho gave him a shit eating grin. When Thomas glared, he pointed out, “I spelled your cum-filled hole clean, like you wanted. I even used the cooling spell and numbing cream. Be grateful.” He was satisfied when Thomas dropped his eyes, blushing.

“How many days?” Thomas had yet to put his pants back on, staring at his cock cage expressionless.  

“Three.” Thomas’ head shot up in shock. “It was for every time you looked away from the mirror. The actual count was five, so—“

“Yeah, yeah, be grateful,” Thomas muttered sullenly.

Minho grabbed his chin, tilting it up to kiss him softly. When Thomas’ pout remained, he hesitated. “Hey, I can take it off if it’s too much?”

“Umm..no?” Thomas wouldn’t look at him as he pulled his pants up. “I mean..it’s not too much. Only three days.”

“I won’t make it easy.” Minho warned. "For instance, wear this tomorrow morning,” he handed Thomas a butt plug. A vibrating one, fairly wide. It had a remote but only could be used in close range. Thomas shuddered, his cock trying to get hard already. Minho had to use the cooling charm on his cock too in order to put the cage on.

“Fuck. I’m too sensitive though,”

“Who said anything about fucking?”

“But I have Quidditch practice early tomorrow?”

“Not my problem,” Minho said airly, and Thomas looked like he was about to throw a fit. “Fine! Put it in, in the change room after practice,” Thomas looked mortified at the prospect, so he shrugged, “You’ll just have to be reeeally quiet when prepping yourself, but you’re good at that aren’t you, Thomas?”

“I really hate you Minho,” Thomas glared at him.

“I’m looking forward to that blowjob you’ll be giving me at some point,” Minho gave Thomas a playful kiss before stepping out of the unlocked washroom door. He smirked at the small whimper before closing it fully.

This was gonna be so much fun!

[mumblingz]

You are only the second destiel shipper that seems like a nice person I've ever seen. Every one else I've come across just has a blog full of suicide baiting wincest shippers. Thank you for still being sane!

Oh! Hey! Thank you!

I mean, it's in part for being around for a while now both in the spn fandom and in general.

I ship similar stuff from other shows, so I'd be such a hypocrite if I took some weird moral stand on it. And a lot of the first blogs I followed back when I first started where both destiel and wincest shippers, or at least unbothered on the ship and more concerned with the harrasment there was from one community to the other.

If I don't ship it it's for preference of dynamics, because I see the appeal as a, you know, FICTIONAL PAIRING FROM A SHOW ABOUT WEREWOLVES, GODS AND FAIRIES. It's fake, it's a TV show! Damn, even shipping the actors, real life people, isn't going to make them actually gay and in love with each other! So what's the point of getting so mad and harassing your fellow fan or the cast over something that isn't affecting or actively hurting anyone??

We're already going through a tumultuous time fandom wise for the whole finale and what each member of the cast has to say on it. I didn't like it, because I ship destiel, and I'm a major Dean fan, and suffer from depression, so seeing the suicidal character just die and accept it instead of getting better mentally it's upsetting to me. And many other reasons there's not to like the show in general, but it's my baby, so I'm passionate about it. But the few allies we get, like Misha, we harass them over just mentioning the second most popular ship? A ship that's been here for so long and that only a part of the community is actively mean and abusive right back? What kind of eye-for-an-eye logic is this? Hellers were upset on bibros hating on Misha, but now we're hating on Misha and Jensen and the rest of the cast too? It doesn't make sense.

So yeah...

TL;DR shipping incest back then was common, and it's still kind of common now, spn was the first and won't be the last. So, there's no point to go around spreading hate that can actually harm someone. Ship and let ship and all that.

[detroitbydark]

Crossed Connections

Tech x Togruta!Reader

No warnings yet

Summary: Tech discovers that the net is a very small place and that he doesn’t know everything.

A/N: So this is based off the assumption that a galaxy far far away has their own form of internet dating. It’s crack. id love to write for these two in the future but It’ll likely just be scenes and things I find fun as me and fully functioning works of fiction just don’t mesh well.

This should be the calm before the storm, the time of preparation and meditation before the next mission. For most of the Bad Batch it is.  

Crosshair, feet propped on the ships console dismantles and reassembles his sidearm before moving on the more formidable sniper rifle.Tech sighs loudly as his fingers dance over the datapad in his hand. He’s been doing it since they jumped to light speed. Usually he’d be rattling off a steady stream of facts on the planet they were heading to, its inhabitants, dangers, precautions needing to be taken. Now he was silent and that was not the clones default.

“Alright, I’ll bite '' Crosshair grumbles from the co-pilots seat. Tech looks up, shrugs and then sets the pad down, relieved his brother had finally taken the bait. The sniper continues to slowly work the oiled rag over his rifle.

“It’s nothing…”

“You're a fragging awful liar” 

Crosshair didn’t care. Really. But...of all his vods he was least annoyed by the team's resident engineer/translator/tech genius. So, here he was, digging at the other clone in an attempt to get him to talk.

“It’s her-“

“Wait” Crosshair sets the rag and rifle down on his lap. His eyes narrow. “You mean to tell me you're still messing with that GalaxyMance stuff?”

Tech runs a hand over his closely cropped hair rubs roughly as the partial hawk. “Yeah, maybe… yeah.” He admits, avoiding the snipers focused stare.

“And you’re still hung up on that anonymous nerfherder.”

“She’s not a...” Tech defends trailing off as he narrows his eyes. Rutababy was not a nerfherder. 

He was sure of it. 

Yeah, pretty sure. 

Mostly sure.

 He was trying to play it cool, choosing not to do the digging he was more than capable of. He’d matched with Rutababy a few days after he’d set up the (very much against regulation) GalaxyMance account for fun. He’d just wanted to see if he could do it. If he could stay ahead of the brains at the GAR. 

It was boredom, really. He wanted to play with routing his activity and bouncing his signals through different channels. It was just supposed to be a bit of a challenge. 

And then he’d gotten a match. 

He didn’t even have a profile picture up, for kriffs sake, just a picture of a scrawny Loth Cat he’d pulled from the Holonet. Apparently she liked Loth Cats.

 They’d been sending messages back and forth since, he’d even talked to her over comms once. Her voice had been soft and smokey. She’d apologized and said it was often like that after work, that she talked so much at her job that she often found herself borderline hoarse afterwards. 

She’d been a good listener. When he rattled on and on she seemed to even like it, asking questions that only fueled his descent into random, obscure subjects more.

 Of course, some things they didn’t talk about. She didn’t know he was a member of the GAR and she sure didn’t know he was a clone. She didn’t press him for more than he’d give and he respected that about her and didn't press her for more either. 

Tech huffs. 

She was definitely not a nerfherder.

 He picks his datapad back up and refreshes the screen. Still nothing from her. This was the longest he’d gone without hearing from her since they’d matched weeks ago. He wondered if she was-

Crosshair barks out a laugh that startles the younger clone from his thoughts.

 “Yeah, Tech-vod, I’m sure she’s not”  the sniper quips out the entirely unoriginal profile name his vod had chosen. Tech seems to relax and Crosshair smirks as he goes in for the kill, “she’s probably Trandoshan. You like lizards right?”

Hunter steps onto the bridge and it’s only because of his heightened senses that he barely misses the screwdriver flying toward his head as he steps between his men. It’s snatched out of the air, his face slowly turning toward Crosshair. The sniper gives him a lazy grin. 

“Good timing Sarge”

Hunter’s eyes trail back to Tech. He looks flustered. His skin was paler than most clones, including the rest of the Bad Batch, and it only accentuated his reddened cheeks more. It was an uncommon sight for, arguably, the most level headed of the small unit. An eyebrow arches above heavy tattoos.

“I’m fine Sarge.” Tech tries to explain.

“His girly friend is ghosting him”

“SHE'S NOT-“

“Enough!” Hunter's voice is sharp. “You’re excused” he growls over his shoulder toward the sniper.

Tech can hear Crosshair grumbling as he gathers his rifle and supplies.

“...ruining all my fun”

Hunter waits til the soft whoosh of the bridge door before he says anything.

“You know nothing good can come of that” he points to the datapad. The usual growl of his voice tempered. “We’re different Tech, but we’re still clones and clones don’t get happy endings”

Tech’s jaw tenses as he nods, “there’s nothing wrong with pretending, Sarge”

Hunter nods, “is that what you're doing? Pretending to be excited when you get the new notifications? Pretending to walk on air after you talked to her? Was it pretending when you let Cross gaude you into chucking a wrench at him?”

“It was a screwdriver” Tech corrects, petulant with arms crossed tightly over his armor.

“Yeah, ok, you know best, don’t you? Smartest of all of us. Incapable of making a bad decision.”

Tech feels something akin the shame twist in his belly. Hunter was just trying to look out for him. He wasn’t poking like Crosshair, he wasn’t out right laughing like Wrecker had done.

“I hear what you’re saying.”

Hunter looks less than impressed, “Yeah? We’ll see”

------

You're running late.

Again.

You hurriedly button your shirt as you skitter around the corner, your badge swiping you through locked doors as you go. The laces of your left boot flop against the duracrete.

It was the third time this week and your CO was going to have your head. You push through the medbay door just in time to see your CMO, Slash, a serious looking clone with a permanent twist to his mouth, begin the morning meeting. Your jaw slams shut, incisors clicking together as you find a chair at the back of the assembled group. You ignore the looks that get flicked your way.

“So, we’ve got some new assignments coming our way.” He begins, his gaze traces over you and you cringe when he raises a brow in your direction. You mouth ‘sorry’ and hear the scoffs and smothered giggles of a few of the other civvie medics. Slash doesn’t waste another look your way and you feel insanely lucky that he must be feeling lenient this morning. You couldn’t handle another dressing down like you had received a few days ago.

 You were a good medic. A damn good one but, by the force, the rest of your life was a mess. You’d always felt that leaving Kiros was the right choice but the loneliness you felt had only become more acute during your time in Coruscant. Where you’d once stood out too much amongst your tribe, you seemed to not stand out enough amongst the swell of people and species. Togruta were not wild about individualism and you stood out just enough to be off putting. 

On Coruscant, your pale pink skin and montrails did very little to make you stand out in the hustle and bustle of daily life at all. It was hard for you to make friends, hard for you to connect. It was the same problems from Kiros all over again. It was you, not them.

It’s why you’d bit the blaster and signed up for GalaxyMance. It felt silly and ridiculous, but you were desperate to feel a connection to somebody, anybody. You’d been on a few dates too but nothing ever panned out. Some of them had loved your “exotic look” while others had taken one look and decided they’d pass. No one tried to get to know you. 

Until Tech-vod.

You’d clicked on his profile after an awful day in the bay because of the silly Loth kitten he’d chosen as an avatar. Without much thought you read through his profile and sent off a cursory introduction and then thought nothing of it until he’d sent you a message back a few days later. It was funny, less of an introduction than a vomiting if facts on the Loth cats. It was cute. You’d never seen him but you were sure he was too. Pretty sure…

“Y/N”

You startle as CMO Slash barks your name.

“Sir?” You greet. Someone to your left snickers. Slash pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve missed everything I’ve said, haven’t you?”

You don’t respond. You both know the answer and there’s no use lying. Your hand strays to one of the lekku hanging over your shoulder, fingers toys with it the way you’d done since you were a child, a tell to your parents about the state of your nerves. 

“You’re being reassigned off world” 

His words catch you by surprise. Your jaw gaps but nothing comes out. Sure you’d been late a few times and, yeah, maybe you hadn’t clicked with your team so well, but reassignment?

“Sir, I-“

He holds his hand up, “it’s not for discussion. This comes from higher than the likes of me. Transport leaves at 1600.”

You swallow hard, “where too?”

“Fort Anaxes.”

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Three Adventurers: To Comfort a King

(also on ao3)

Based on The Three Adventurers crossover webcomic by @captmickey​: More specifically, based on this picture.

When Link and Guybrush come to Daventry to throw Graham a surprise birthday party, they themselves are surprised by events that occurred when they were separated. But they won't be kept apart no matter what. Fluffy, friendly, sickfic, comfort fic with mild hijinks ensue. 

1/1, 6k

~*~*~

Something felt wrong.

The weather wasn’t helping: Daventry’s castle town was saturated. Rain skimmed off rooftops and splashed in puddles beneath drains. Dark clouds weighed down the sky, making it gloomy even in the middle of the afternoon. It would make sense for everyone to be inside, staying dry and safe and happy. But something felt wrong. Tense.

Some deep knight’s instinct made Link reach for his sword hilt. This didn’t feel like people were waiting out a monsoon. This felt lonely, completely still and silent but for the rain dashing against window panes. No candlelight in the windows, no murmured conversation behind doors. The baker’s shop especially drew his attention. Some sort of accident had befallen it since Link’s last visit several months ago: there was a big wooden board nailed across the front windows, like they had been broken. The glass must have already been swept up, and very well at that since he couldn’t see any glittering fragments nestled in the cracks between the cobblestones.

Unless it had been broken into and the glass was all inside.

Don’t jump to conclusions, he scolded himself. Still. He warily stepped around the tree growing in the courtyard, searching the shadows, trying to pin down what was sparking the unease in his chest.

“Aaaah,” Guybrush yelled. Link instantly sprang forward, sword half drawn, before realizing it was a cry of disappointment and not a warning of attack. “Aaah, those alchemists aren’t here!” Guybrush walked out of the empty shop, leaning his elbows on the railing in front of the door. “I wanted to talk to that old guy. He’s got the only rubber chicken supply for miles.”

“No one’s here,” Link said, knocking gingerly on Amaya’s door, not expecting an answer: the forge was clearly cold. No smoke rose from the blacksmith’s chimney. “Where do you suppose they are?”

“Probably the castle. I bet they’re afraid of flooding. This rain is no joke; that river we passed was looking pretty sketchy. Summer in Daventry, eh?”

"Monsoon season is only in July, Graham said. And only for a week or two at that, normally.”

“July in Daventry, eh?” Guybrush swung himself down the shop stairs, boots sloshing up a wave. “Shall we go on to the castle, give him the shock of his week?” He grinned.

No one in Daventry was expecting the pair of adventurers. They’d been coming to throw Graham a surprise birthday party. He was turning twenty-two, and that seemed like an important marker. Double identical digits and all. But they’d missed his birthday by several days at this point. They had been inescapably delayed.

By a side quest involving a cat stuck up a tree.

Link had insisted they dig up bait, use it to catch fish, trade the fish to a traveler for an empty bottle, find a farmer with a cow to fill the bottle with milk (the farmer first requested they clear his field of wolves, a dangerous task that took some more scheming), and then use the milk to tempt the cat down. The cat hadn’t been appreciative. It had nearly taken Link’s finger off with a swipe of its claws. Once they’d left, both with a healthy amount of scratches and bites and a half empty bottle of milk, Guybrush had asked why they hadn’t just tempted the cat down with the fish in the first place.

Anyway, the delay had taken a few days. Travelers with empty bottles were scarce on the road, apparently. So, now they were late.

It would definitely be a surprise, then.

Link patted his pouch to make sure their chosen birthday present was safe. He hoped Graham would like it. It was possibly sentimental gooey nonsense, but it was their sentimental gooey nonsense. “You’re right. I’m sure they’re at the castle. Let’s go.” He squeezed the end of his hat to clear some rainwater, but it didn’t help.

~*~*~

The castle gates were shut tight, the drawbridge high. The rain fell endlessly, rivulets pouring down the battlements and rushing into the moat. The water was swollen, pressing against the banks. It looked like it was going to spill onto the road if this kept up for too much longer. The moat monster eyed them with curiosity, nosing just above the waterline. Link wondered if it would sweep out on the road with the overflow, too, and what merry hell it could raise if it got into the main river.

“Don’t suppose there’s a doorbell on this side of the moat,” Guybrush said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them.

“Generally, castles don’t have those.”

“Neither do ships, to be fair. We’ve got a voice activated alert system on my ship, though.”

“Do you really?” Link was impressed—it sounded high tech.

“Yeah. Bet Graham does, too. It works like this.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared so loudly that Link jumped half an inch off the ground, “OI, ANYONE HOME?”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“All you need.” He drew in a huge gulp of air and yelled again, “WE’RE HERE...” he paused and glanced at Link, whispering hastily, “what’s the polite lingo for a king, again?”

“Seeking an audience,” Link whispered back. That usually was what people said when they wanted to talk to Zelda.

“HERE TO SEEK AN AUDIENCE. WITH THE KING. WHO IS GRAHAM. CAN GRAHAM COME OUT TO PLAY?”

They waited. For a long time, there didn’t seem to be any movement from across the moat, though the monster playfully flicked its tail beneath the water and sent a little wave skimming over the edge to douse their boots. Finally, a shaken sounding voice called back, “Who goes there?”

“I go where I like,” Guybrush yelled.

“No, I mean. Uh. Who are you, exactly?” The voice was flustered.

“Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate.™”

“And Link of Hyrule.”

“Not a pirate,” Guybrush added helpfully.

“Oh, it’s you two. Right. You were here for the coronation. Back again already? Um. Now...now isn’t a good time.”

“’Course not. It’s raining. But if you let us in, it would be a better time.”

“How did you even find out?” the guard asked distractedly. “They’ve only been back two days. We haven’t even told anyone yet.”

Link glanced at Guybrush, that little nervous thrill at the back of his neck rousing, a twitch in his fingers begging him to go for his sword. Some sense that something was wrong. “Told anyone what?” he asked.

“And Bramble’s pregnant, and this has all been very hard on her, and she doesn’t want to go back to the bakery right now, and who could possibly blame her after what happened to everyone?”

“Look, it’s raining very hard—”

“And the Hobblepots are absolutely destroying the kitchens. Number One is going to have a fit when he realizes, even if Muriel is helping King Graham.”

“Can we just—”

“And Muriel probably wouldn’t even allow you to see him, you know. He’s probably too drugged to even talk.”

“I’m sorry, repeat that?”

The guard hesitated. “Um.” They could see his helmet bobbing over the crenellations as he paced. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell anyone.”

“We’re not just anyone,” Link pointed out.

“Um. I mean.”

“Look, anyone could hear us from out here, right?” Guybrush said.

“Sure.”

“And you don’t want anyone to know whatever happened, right?” Guybrush continued, pacing a little to match the guard’s movements.

“That’s what Number One says, at least for now.”

“But if you let us in, then we’ll be inside, right? And then when you tell us, anyone won’t also hear. Because we’ll be inside, and anyone won’t be able to hear us in there.”

“I suppose?”

“And we’re not anyone. We’re Graham’s friends. We’re supposed to know. Whatever it is.”

“Um. I think that makes sense.” The guard seemed all the more uncertain. Whatever had happened must have been very serious to make him this befuddled. Or maybe he was always like this and Graham should hire better security. “I think that’s right.”

“Yes, it is. Now, let us in.”

“Of course, Mr. Threepwood, right away.”

While they waited for the guard to scurry around to the drawbridge crank, Guybrush muttered, “Also, I’m really sick of being wet.”

“You’re always on the ocean.”

“Not in it, though. Come on, he’s dropped the bridge. Hurry up.”

They scurried across, bubbles from the moat monster pursuing them. Unease nagged at Link, but he dared not speak until they had more of an idea about what was happening. The guard met them in the courtyard. He looked even more rattled up close. His armor wasn’t just damp with rain, but properly disheveled. It even looked like pieces were on backward. He smelled like wet pancakes, syrupy and pathetic.

“I mean, you’re his friends,” the guard babbled, wringing his hands. “It might help if he can see you.”

“Might help?” The apprehension was growing and growing. “Inside, now. And tell us what’s happening.”

“Hang on, I need to close the gate. The goblins might come again. He says it’s safe, at least I think he did, it’s all so jumbled, but…no one wants to leave it to chance, you know?”

“I don’t know.” Link was starting to get angry. “Can you just please tell us already?”

“Graham was kidnapped. With the villagers. A week and a half ago. By goblins. He just got back with everyone not two nights past. He’s really sick—he fainted almost as soon as he got to the castle, and he keeps screaming—nightmares, I guess—so Muriel drugged him to make him sleep. I really need to close the gate. Wait here.” And he vanished into the rain, leaving the two adventurers standing stunned and still and silent.

~*~*~

People had been tracking water into the castle, probably from running around in a panic. The plush carpet just beyond the doors was soggy under their feet. They wandered forward in a daze, damp carpet squishing behind them for a few paces until it dried out.  

“I can’t believe it,” Link said, voice hoarse. “We’ve got to see him. Can you imagine? Goblins. I can’t imagine getting taken by bokoblins.”

“That’s because they’re about as smart as rocks,” Guybrush said. “I don’t know the goblins around here. They must be clever. Or Graham was daydreaming again. Easy to drop a sack over his head if he’s thinking about candy.”

Link elbowed him. “Be nice. This is serious.”

“I know,” he said. There was a glint in his eye, and his shoulders and jaw were tense. He had a sharpness to him, like a cutlass half drawn and ready to slice if someone looked at him wrong. “Come on.”

The hall was quiet. Candles flickered against the monsoon gray light, barely holding the darkness away despite it technically being the afternoon. A royal guard hurried past, clutching a tray. A teapot and cup were precariously balanced on top, and he was fiercely muttering under his breath about the state of the kitchen. He glanced at the visitors dripping rainwater on this once-dry section of carpet and frowned. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?”

“We seek an audience with the king.”

He laughed bitterly and started reciting: “The king has been a little tied up lately. I’m afraid he’s indisposed to see anyone—the recent unexpected demands on his attention have been slightly overwhelming, so we’re feverishly requesting a safe delay in all visitations. Perhaps you can leave your contact information at the gate and we shall attend to you whenever we’re available again.”

“Yeah? The audience with the goblins was a bit rough?” Guybrush said.

The guard froze, teapot rattling on the tray. “Who told you.”

“Well. For starters, your speech wasn’t that subtle. Also the guard on the gate told us.”

“I’m going to kick Number Two out of the castle.”

Link stepped forward. “Sir, if I may. You might remember me. I’m Link, of Hyrule. The royal family there has had all sorts of trouble in its history, so I have some experience in matters like this. Also, I know Graham—uh, sorry—King Graham well. We used to travel together. He’ll want to see us as soon as he knows we’re here.”

“Did Number Two tell you how sick he is?” the guard asked suspiciously. “He might not even be awake to see you right now. You should probably just go away.”

Guybrush leaned forward, plucked the lid off the teapot, and inhaled deeply. “Steeping chamomile? And based on the temperature, it’ll be just perfect to drink by the time you get upstairs with it. He’s awake, or you’re hoping he will be. May as well let us come find out.” He glanced airily around the hall. “I seem to recall enough of the layout of this place from when we were here for the coronation. It wouldn’t be hard to find the way on our own.”

“I could probably have you escorted to the dungeon,” No1 said uneasily, “for…uh….”

“For obstructing tea, yes. But that would put a delay in your delivery. It’s getting colder as we stand here, you know. I’m sure if he’s sick he’ll want it hot and good. And the sooner he gets it, the happier he’ll be. If I know royalty, you want to keep them happy. It would be easier to go up together, wouldn’t you say?” That sharpness in his grin was starting to look like a shark’s—someone he loved was being threatened, and he wasn't going to stand back and let it happen, not if he had any say. He practically vibrated with urgency. “Also, there’s too much lavender in there.”

“Now, see here, you…” the guard hesitated again, sensing that sharp desperation, looked at his tray, looked at them, thought a moment, then said, “If you happen to follow me, I’m not going to stop you.” He started walking, muttering, “And lavender’s our main export anyway, I can’t help the amount they put in.”

~*~*~

There was another guard standing watch over the bedroom door. It looked like no one was taking chances. Bit late for all the caution, Link thought, but they’re doing their best.

As it turned out, though, the guard on the door wasn’t even going to be their last opposition.

No1 pushed past, bumping the royal bedchamber door open. Through it, the adventurers could just make out a shape huddled in the bed, and then they heard the most horrible, aching, sharp cough from Graham—it was the sort of ripping cough that made them flinch, that you could feel in your own throat. They started forward, anxious, but an arm shot across their path, blocking them. The door swung shut behind the guard, Graham’s agonized cough muffled.

“Oh! Lady Alchemist!” Guybrush swept an exaggerated bow. “Been a while. Love to chat. Bit busy right now. Got things to do, people to see. Could you just—”

She glared. “You can’t go in there.”

“You can’t stop us.” The joking edge vanished from Guybrush’s voice again.

“Do you wanna get sick? This is inappropriate anyway, seeing a king like this.”

“We demand to see him,” Link said.

“Yeah? And why should I let you do that?” It was amazing how a little old woman could threaten when she wanted. She bustled her way forward, puffing herself up. She was almost of a height with Link when she stood up on her toes.

From behind her another voice said: “Muriel. It’s okay. They’re his friends, remember?”

“Chester, you have the worst memory of all time, but you remember these two?”

“I remember anyone who tries to buy my whole rubber chicken supply out in one go with a lousy brass coin that doesn’t even have any value in Daventry.” Chester stuck out his hand for Guybrush to shake. “Nice to see you again, even in these circumstances. No, I still don’t have any inflatable cutlasses for sale.”

A friendly response at last. A memory stirred: kidnapped with the villagers. “We heard a little bit of what happened. Are you okay? Were you part of it?” Link asked.

“That we were, that we were. Nasty little things, those goblins. If it hadn’t been for him,” Chester thumbed at the closed door, and they could just make out another hacking cough, “we would have been in a lot more trouble. I’m not sure anyone would have come back.” He glanced down the hall, and whispered, “I think there was something intentional going on. Someone had it in for him.”

“Do you think they’ll try again?” Link wasn’t a stranger to assassination attempts. Keeping Zelda safe was a full-time prospect sometimes. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the stress of having another royal friend at risk.

“Not in the same way,” Chester said. “These guards,” he gestured at the one standing nearby, “are all puffed up since they got caught flatfoot, but they’ll smooth out. It won’t happen twice like it did, I can promise that. If I know who did it, and I think I do, repetition isn’t really his style, not if he can go bigger and better. Creativity’s the word. Besides, I think Graham’s got some ideas about opening up diplomacy talks with the goblins to prevent anything like this happening again. But I think there’s someone you’d rather hear all this from instead of me.”

“No,” Muriel said sharply. “I don’t care that they’re friends. That’s not a good idea for him, or them, and you know it.” She looked to the guard, like she was going to ask for help with chasing these two off. “Clear off. Maybe later you can see him. Right now is not appropriate, and I will have you chased out of this castle if I must.”

Guybrush opened his mouth to start arguing again, but Link gently touched his shoulder. She had precedence over them in this situation. That guard would listen to her, and chase them out, and then they would be much further from their goal.

“You’re right,” Link told Muriel. “We shouldn’t go through that door.”

“Just so,” she said, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, more than surprised that he was giving in. “So, shoo.”

“Oh, Muriel,” Chester sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“It would hurt them after I was through with them,” she snapped. “Go on, shoo.”

Link dragged Guybrush down the hall by the hand, steering him into one of the bedrooms down the corridor once Muriel had turned her back.

“Come on, I could have turned on the charm and gotten us in there,” Guybrush complained. “Now we probably won’t get to see him for days and I’m not willing to wait that long.”

“Look, I promised we wouldn’t go through the door,” Link said. He reached into his bag and withdrew his grappling hook. “Didn’t say anything about a window.”

“Aaahhh.”

~*~*~

On reflection, Link realized, this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe they should have tried to persuade Muriel after all. Or maybe if they’d started screaming, Graham would have heard them and ordered them in (unless the tea had been drugged to make him sleep, or he didn’t actually want them to see him like this after all). Now, Link and Guybrush were dangling off the side of the castle, clinging to the grappling hook rope, rain making everything slippery and hard to navigate.

“Are you sure this is the right window?”

“Got to be,” Link said. He used his elbow to swipe some of the rainwater out of his eyes. “I did the calculations. It’s gotta be it. This time.” (They’d already tried two other windows, both of which had led to empty bedrooms. One of them might have been where the Hobblepots were staying, based on the array of random junk everywhere that seemed to belong to Chester, but luckily the two alchemists were out doing something else. Probably still standing guard in front of Graham’s door. Presumably the Feys and Miss Blackstone were staying elsewhere in the castle, because no one screamed when the adventurers poked their noses over the windowsills and swatted them down.)

They could make out the warm flickering glow of a lit fireplace in the window above them, which at least matched what they had glimpsed through the door of Graham’s room. They just had to get there without sliding down the rope and falling fifty feet to the treetops. Guybrush was dangling near the bottom of the rope, finding it difficult to get purchase on the slick castle walls with his boots. “They’re going to think we’re invaders and shoot us down,” he muttered. “They’re going to think we’re goblins back to finish the job we started.”

“Be quiet and climb,” Link said, glancing nervously side to side in case there were a few royal guards taking aim at them from the balconies or parapets. No one was.

Except…Royal Guard Number One was looking down at them.

He had opened the window and was leaning against the sill, staring down. His chin was propped on his hands, but with his helmet on, there was no way to tell if he was enjoying this or furious.

Link slid down the rope a few feet in his frozen panic, knocking into Guybrush, who yelped and locked the rope tighter around his leg so they wouldn’t fall, and the two of them grinned guiltily up at the royal guard.

He sighed heavily (they could hear it over the rain, he was so loud and flustered), gripped the rope, and started to heave them up.

~*~*~

The room beyond was cozy, the large array of candles keeping the gloom (and perhaps those nightmares the guard had spoken of) at bay. Graham, eyes closed, was propped up against a pile of pillows in bed, slipping slowly at the delivered cup of tea and wincing at every swallow. No1 hoisted the two embarrassed adventurers over the windowsill and they fell to the ground, sloppy and squishy with rainwater. Graham looked up when he heard them, and his face—drawn, pale—lit up with a huge smile. He put the teacup down on the bedside table amongst a dizzying array of cups and pots and vials and bandages and tissues and ingredients brought by the Hobblepots.

“Number One said you were here,” he said, nodding toward the royal guard. His voice was raspy. “I kind of expected you to come in the door instead of the window, though.”

No1 took off his helmet and shook the rainwater off it, fluffing the uniform’s feather back up and putting it in front of the fireplace to dry. He bristled his moustache, but it looked more like he was hiding a smile instead of annoyance. He helped the two adventurers to their feet, insisted they wait for a second so they wouldn’t drip water everywhere, pulled some towels from a pile neatly folded by a large copper tub shoved in the corner, wrapped them up, and then let them go. Immediately, they rushed to their friend’s side. Link grabbed Graham’s hand out of some desperate instinct, squeezing hard. Graham squeezed back as hard as he could—which wasn’t particularly hard.

“I’m so sorry we weren’t here,” Link said. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What happened? We don’t have the details. Oh, Graham....”

He looked absolutely awful. His bedhair, usually pretty hilarious anyway, was a tangled mess from tossing and turning in his sleep. His eyes were ringed with dark exhaustion, making it look like he’d been punched, but they were bright with a lingering fever, too. Link could feel the weakness in his friend’s trembling fingers. Graham was swimming in some ridiculously oversized nightshirt that more or less swallowed him up. It gaped here and there on his thin frame, and they could see the edges of bruises beneath it on his arms: bruises that, even partially glimpsed, looked uncomfortably like fingerprints.

“A kidnapping,” Guybrush said, shaking his head. He grinned mischievously, “Or was it a kingnapping?”

Link’s ears flattened, and the sheer look he shot Guybrush could have knocked a moblin over. “You’re going to end up right next to him nursing a black eye instead of nursing the flu,” he hissed. But Graham was laughing, and Link subsided, though he was still too annoyed to perk his ears up again. He was wary of pushing it if Graham wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he was desperate to know, to help in any way he could. “Are you...is it...are you up to telling us what happened?”

“No, I don’t have the energy to get up. But I can be down for telling it.”

Link dropped his head into his hands and moaned, “I can’t stand being around you two.”

“I can’t stand either, so it’s okay,” Graham said, patting Link gently on the shoulder.

“Aaaargh!”

“You can’t be mad at him,” Guybrush said. “He outranks you now—his hat’s shinier than yours.”

“Yes, my crowning achievement,” Graham agreed. “But that doesn’t make you beanie-th me.”

“Ahh, you’re fedorable when you’re being humble,” Guybrush said, “but you don’t need to downplay your escapades.”

“I’m not that far ahead, really,” Graham said.

“You’re going to make me sick,” Link sighed.

“If you hang around me much longer, you will be,” Graham said, and the laughter faded from his scratchy voice. “I heard Muriel. I’m glad you’re here, absolutely, but...she’s right, you know. You shouldn’t be in here. I’m not safe to be around, I think. I might give you this.” He gestured vaguely at his throat. “You don’t want it, believe me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere.” Guybrush sat down so hard on the bed that Graham bounced. “Now. It’s time for you to tell us one of those stories you like to tell. But only If you’re ready.”

And so, after a pause and a sip of lukewarm tea, Graham began. The day had begun in frustration in the throne room and had ended in fear in a goblin cell. He kept rubbing his wrists, remembering the bite of ropes, until Link held his hands again.

He told of huge caverns, of stalactites dripping water into secret pools, of glowing salamanders scampering through the shadows, of mushrooms in every color casting off glittering spores. He told of sharp spears and heavy padlocks, of giant rats and whispered escape plans. There were costumes and stories: Cinderella and Rumplestiltskin. Porridge, sweetycakes, and frogs. Friends and enemies, and some people that might have been both in equal measure. Shrouds of stone armor, unbending bars and sharp bolt cutters, stolen beds, stolen people. The goblin king, his courtiers, and the book written by a former friend that had incited the goblins and started it all.

He talked for a long time, his voice wavering in and out. Sometimes he had to stop and take a breath, drink tea, rub his aching throat. He sank lower into the pillows, looking more worn out, but he stubbornly refused to sleep no matter how often they suggested it. Whenever these breaks happened, Link and Guybrush sat a little closer together and waited with him in comforting silence. They offered to at least give him a proper long break and finish the rest later, but he wanted to tell the story. Wanted to explain it from start to finish. “It helps,” he said. “Even if it hurts a bit.” He choked down another cough and sipped at a fresh cup of tea No1 had brought. No1 had also silently brought Guybrush and Link their own mugs, unasked and unexpected. They had crowns painted on them. The lavender tickled their noses, and the trio drank in quiet but good company.

At some point, Muriel and Chester came in to prep medicine doses. She saw the adventurers huddled together and took a step back, startled and angry, and she opened her mouth start yelling, but Graham cut her off, hastily saying, “Ahh, Muriel, you remember my best friends, right? I’m so glad they’ve come to visit. Link, Guybrush, meet Muriel and Chester Hobblepot, the greatest alchemists in the country.” He gave her a pleading, sopping kitten sort of look, breath held in nervous anticipation.

She deflated with a weary sigh—the look she gave them told Link and Guybrush they were destined for a sickbed next. “He should be sleeping right now,” she warned them.

“That’s what we told him,” Link replied, relief tinging his words now that he knew his position on this bed was secure. “He says no.”

“We’ve been over this,” Muriel said. She reached for a cup that Graham had been especially careful to avoid and tried to offer it to him. “You were supposed to drink this an hour ago. You can’t avoid your dreams forever.”

“I can definitely put them off,” Graham said, crossing his arms so she couldn’t force it on him. “Muriel, please. Just a little longer. I don’t want to sleep. It’s not...it’s not the nightmares this time, honestly. I’m just trying to explain things. I think straightening everything out, talking through it...it’s going to help the nightmares stop. Please.”

She pursed her lips, then sighed and stepped back. “Fine. This once, fine. But I’m going to swap those bandages out now anyway.”

Guybrush half stood. “Oh. Should we leave?”

Graham grabbed his sleeve. “N-no, please don’t. I’d like...please don’t go. I didn’t tell you this part, but...um. To make sure I wasn’t smuggling anything, the goblins would...literally shake me down. Upside down. And they’ve got hard hands.” Graham slipped up his nightshirt sleeve, and showed off some of the half-glimpsed fingerprint-shaped bruises. “These are mostly faded. It’s my legs that are...badly bruised. My own weight against their hands. That’s all.”

“This makes them heal faster,” Muriel said, plucking a jar from the tray. Link reached for it automatically, as curious about healing potions as ever. The jar felt icy cold in his hands, almost frosted over despite the warmth of the room. “Green ice scale,” she told him. “Good for deep soothing.”

Guybrush let Graham lean against him while they reapplied the icy goop and rewrapped the bandages so the bedsheets wouldn’t stain green. Graham shuddered, his shoulder pressed hard against Guybrush’s as he flinched away from Muriel’s touch. “It’s so much colder than it was last time,” he muttered.

“I think you just weren’t paying attention the first time,” Muriel replied.

Link stuck a finger in the jar and studied the gel. “Good for burns?” he asked.

“Plan on fighting a dragon soon?” Chester said.

“Fire arrows can have interesting consequences.”

“I’ll get some together for you. It’s a good snack on a hot day, too.”

“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind next time I’m in in the Gerudo Desert, thanks.”

Guybrush was staring at Graham’s bruises. It was almost possible to make out individual handprints in the colorful marks on his shins. “Those are nasty.”

“Just don’t poke them,” Graham said. “They were worse, if you can believe it. How much longer, Muriel?”

“Oh, a week, maybe. This knocks the heal time down, but doesn’t erase ‘em. I could go global if I had something that just erased ‘em.” She picked up yet another little pot from the hoard she had gathered, whisked off the lid, and offered the contents to Link and Guybrush. There were tiny little white leaves in it, crisscrossed with green veins. They smelled like extreme mint, like you could flavor an entire moat’s worth of lemonade with one leaf. It made Link feel a little nauseous. “You’re going to want this. Put it under your tongue and it’ll melt. One an hour. I’ll give you both your own bags of it, but start with this for now.”

After she left, the story picked up where it had left off, details untangling like knotted ropes, until Graham started to reach a rough conclusion.

“As for me getting sick. It’s probably not hard to guess. Muriel thinks...I mean, the stress alone was hard, but my cell was always wet. The rainwater kept finding channels down. It was one big puddle most of the time. And there wasn’t a lot of food to go around after the porridge ran out, and I couldn’t let Bramble go hungry, or the Hobblepots, or Amaya. It…it wasn’t….” He coughed, a hacking wheeze that rattled his chest. “I’m lucky. It could have been worse. I could have gotten like this before escaping. But...but I couldn’t let that happen. I think I didn’t let myself get sick until we were free. Everyone was depending on me, you know.

“But...but it was hard. To be alone for so long. In the end, Bramble and I found the goblin king together. I told him a story about what it means to be afraid. What it means to get too much responsibility too fast, to not know what you’re doing, and how friends are the only way to push forward and keep going. And that, a story about friends, was a story he liked, and in that place where stories hold more sway than kings, it was enough, and he let me, let all my friends, go.”

Link and Guybrush glanced at each other. Link breathed deeply: “Graham. The reason we’re here. It’s not because of what happened...we didn’t even know until today. We were here for a different reason at first. This...this isn’t the way we would have wanted to do this, but...” He and Guybrush leaned cheek to cheek together and shrieked “Happy birthday!” so loudly that No1, who had actually not been listening at all, almost fell out of the rocking chair. Link shoved his hand into his bag and withdrew a small wrapped box with a crumpled bow pasted on top.

“It isn’t much,” Link said apologetically. “It’s late. You had your birthday...” his voice faded.

“In that cell, yeah,” Graham agreed. His eyes were sparkling with excitement, though, and he spoke lightly. “It wasn’t that bad. I sang to the salamanders, and Wente made me a special sweetycake, somehow. But, guys, you didn’t need to do this.” He took the proffered gift all the same and slipped off the rumbled ribbon.

“It’s an engraving we had done,” Guybrush leaned forward, watching as Graham extricated a charm and chain. “I think it’s kinda cheesy, but Elaine and Zelda thought it was clever. They helped with the design.”

The charm itself was styled like a piece of eight, with two crossed swords and a bow and arrow printed on top—clearly tiny little renditions of their weapons of choice. Graham ran his fingers along the edge, finding a little latch and flipping it open like a locket. It contained an image of the three of them, arms flung over shoulders, apparently mid-joke and laughing together.

Link said, “We thought...well, it’s your first birthday as a king, and we were worried you might, y’know, get too busy and distracted and...maybe forgetful. Zelda said that’s normal, for a newly responsible royal. But we thought that together we did so much, and even if we can’t be here in person all the time for you as a king, we...well, I guess it’s sort of silly after all that happened, when you really did need us and we weren’t there for you then to help protect you and Daventry and all, but—”

“But you’re here. Now. And that’s all that matters to me. It’s perfect. I love it.” He pulled the chain over his head, and the charm rested against his chest. Graham bit his lip. “It’s probably too late, but...I mean, I’m definitely contagious, but...”

He didn’t have to finish saying it. His friends launched themselves at him and grabbed him in a tight hug. They stayed together like that for a long time, regret and gratitude and everything held in silence. They could handle anything when they were apart, but they were stronger together, and they reveled in it.

(Later, Link’s throat started to ache and Guybrush started coughing, but they both agreed it was worth it. Muriel just sighed and ordered more soup.)

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 127 Thoughts

“Let us speak for 46 pages about how we still don’t actually have any real plan, we’re just all very against genocide (except Magath and Yelena) and very upset and feel like we should be doing something.”

The characters are sort of doing my job for me this month.

Maybe this whole post should just be illicit screencaps from Crunchyroll with me providing links and saying, ‘and here’s the panel that makes the point I whined about in this post here.’

That would probably provide more entertainment than whatever I’m about to come up with.

-sees the amount of swearing in the first section-

Hm.

First off, fuck Magath.

Like no, I’m sorry. This is not about what happened 2000 years ago. You know what it’s about? It’s about Marley sending in child soldiers to assault and rob a land that had caused literally no problems for 100 years. It’s about Marley doing this despite being aware of its own history, being that their personal hero collaborated with the First King of Paradis to make Marley’s independence possible.

You want to talk about history, Magath?

Jean isn’t the one who sounds like a child.

Jean is reacting to actual pain that he has experienced in his lifetime thanks to Magath’s very intentional military strategies.

Magath is blaming Jean and everyone else on the island for being born.

That is not equivalent.

That is not remotely equivalent, and while Eren is being a fucking bastard about it, Jean’s right. Eren has the power, means, and will to do all of this because of what Magath and Marley did to Paradis.

Magath doesn’t recognize Eldians as people.

The Eldian Empire was bad.

No one except Floch is disputing that. That is how you know that it is bad.

Marley, as well as the rest of the world, has been free from the Eldian Empire for over a hundred years, and in that time, all they have done is take every horrible thing about the Eldian Empire and exploit it for their own gains.

Magath doesn’t get to be angry that he lives off the backs of abused, brainwashed children that he treats like crap.

Years ago, the Eldian Empire was the worst terror in the world.

A year ago, it was Marley.

Now, it happens to be Eren.

And you know, I’ve been actively against pretty much everything Eren’s done. His plan, if he has one, has mostly managed to make everyone angry and get a lot of people killed who weren’t even involved in the beginning. He gets his head blown off close enough to his brother that he doesn’t die. That’s how the beginning stages of him committing genocide goes. He betrays his friends, makes his besties from childhood feel like crap, and honestly has just been a dick to pretty much everyone.

But at least Eren’s indiscriminate murder has the decency to actually be indiscriminate.

Marley takes children it despises and turns them into their willing slaves for the promise of a better life they have no intent of dispensing. They take these children, and full of hatred for the very ability, demand that they shorten their lifespan and murder people to prove that they’re a “good Eldian” who deserves to live.

Marley is why people can stomach rooting for Eren.

Because Marley is such an abomination that it almost feels worth it to destroy the world if it means Marley’s gone too.

Hell, I’m with Hange. There’s not an avenue where I accept genocide as a way to deal with any of this.

But if someone wanted to burn Magath alive, and we spent a dozen pages gloriously detailing his flesh curling off his bones, it would make me happy.

That’s a more dignified death than he’s given any of the children he’s forced into Marley’s wars.

He does not have the fucking moral high ground.

He's the one Jean should have punched. There is not a single person around that campfire that he has not damaged deeply, and noticing that Gabi is a little girl and he cares when she is in pain does not magically remove that.

Fuck Marley. Fuck Magath.

Grow the fuck up and stop viewing genocide as an acceptable response, you fucking halfwit child. You are the individual who saw four children off on their solitary mission to murder thousands of people. Two of them are dead. Two of them are deeply traumatized, with one of them wishing he had died.

But oh yes, Magath. You’re the victim, here.

Because you baited one angry idiot with the power of a god into destroying part of a city you didn’t give a damn about.

Truly, your justice is a thing to aspire to.

Perhaps Eren taking notes is the real reason we’re here.

Motherfucking fuck I hate Marley. I hate that Eren’s put any of these characters in the position where they have to put up with this shit for the sake of civility. I don’t have a problem with the Warriors. I don’t have a problem with the Survey Corps. I don’t have a problem with the kidlets. Hi Onyankopon, sorry about your life. Yelena has many problems, but she’s also attractive, so I don’t mind as much.

Magath, though.

Pieck, just eat him. Everyone’s too depressed to really throw down over it at this point, and the two small ones are so deeply traumatized that one more body really isn’t going to make much of a dent.

Jean’s clearly the star of this chapter, and a good deal of that comes from the potent hopelessness hovering over him like a rain cloud.

He can point to how bad everyone is at talking things out like it’s the key to the entire mystery, but the long list of problems Jean offers at the beginning of the chapter are still present. Unless they have a way to talk to every person in the world out of their (at this point, rather justified) fear and anger, Paradis and Eldians around the world are very much screwed.

Paradis has forever been running out of time against the hatred the rest of the world has for them.

They do have to fight against what Eren’s doing, and talking instead of blowing each other’s heads off is a good start, but it’s a good start thousands of years after the worst possible one.

And the last time they tried to talk to Eren, Armin punched him, and that was the most productive thing to come out of it.

Jean being the everyman who recognizes the heart of an average person because he is one has been a great tool. It’s still great, here. He wants to close his ears to all of this. He wants, desperately, to run away, because there is no good solution that doesn’t end in death.

When he joins the Survey Corps, they at least have Eren as a brand of hope. They can believe that years of the same tactics and bodies piling up won’t end the same way.

Joining this squad is all about stopping Eren, and despite having figured out their next course of action, no one has yet to provide a real idea.

Genocide is wrong, so you stand up and try to stop it.

That’s the only plan they have.

The Scouts from Paradis don’t even have the promise of saving the people they love if they stop Eren. Annie, Pieck, Gabi, Reiner, Falco... they have a home. The world might forget to hate them. They might get to go home and have a life after this.

The people sitting on the other side of the fire are fucking screwed. They’re fighting entirely for their principles.

...Also Yelena is here.

I do like Yelena.

She’s not the worst, because this manga has too many horrible people in it, but she’s delightfully terrible. I especially like how the fact that she’s actually from Marley hardly gives her any pause.

I do so like Yelena.

It’s a beautiful sentiment.

After all, everyone’s drunk on something.

If you can just save the world, what does the rest matter? What do the crimes that kept you awake at night mean, when you’ve accomplished something so miraculous? All the good deeds cleanse the rottenness, and maybe then the world rights itself and you can breathe again.

...Hey wait, where’s Reiner’s reaction shot to finding out Gabi killed Sasha?

...Did he even know Sasha was dead?

But I guess we’re doing Marco angst.

Wow. Marco angst in 2020.

I think my favorite thing about this chapter (outside of the fact that Mikasa still hates Annie and it makes me giggly because wow Mikasa) is that Annie does absolutely nothing while Jean’s beating the crap out of Reiner.

My less favorite thing is I’ve stopped enjoying Reiner getting the crap beaten out of him. It’s been done, and... really the kid just needs to have not been born into this particular life. Watching Jean beat him bloody is. not cathartic. It’s really just awful.

Annie dodging with her food is glorious, though.

Because while Jean beating up Reiner over Marco is sad and kind of miserable, Annie watching someone beat up Reiner after the years she spent putting up with Reiner and Bertolt brings it back to almost funny.

Until you look at Reiner’s face and go back to feeling bad.

-turns page back to Annie getting out of the way-

Much better.

Truly, I love Annie.

Her forgiveness status is interesting, though. I think besides Marco, she enjoyed more of the kills she’s responsible for than anyone feels a need to dig up.

She’s also been more alone than most of the others in the wagons, and essentially spent four years imprisoned for her crimes.

I’m not surprised she asked, because she’s Annie, but I’m a bit surprised we don’t have an answer yet. Probably too close to the end of the chapter to open up that can of worms.

If it makes everyone feel better, I think we know for a fact that Mikasa will never forgive Annie for anything, even if it only displays itself as petty brandishing of weapons every time they make eye contact.

It’s not even a ship thing.

I just love that Annie is the one person Mikasa can’t stand. They’ve been in one chapter together and Mikasa’s already pulling out swords. These two shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near each other. It’s perfection.

Then we get to plot complications that really don’t register as complications because like. Yeah, you guys need something to do while you figure out what the hell you’re doing.

Because you don’t actually have a real plan, just so we’re clear.

Killing Eren would result in all those Wall Titans operating under their own power.

That is not fundamentally less destructive.

Killing Eren has a nice ring to it, but much like talking to Eren, it does not solve any of the other problems looming ahead.

So you enjoy your little subplot with Floch!

It’s one of the last times your combined competence will have any meaning.

-looks over at Kiyomi-

Honest question, but why are you alive if Floch dislikes you enough to hold you hostage? If Eren’s gonna kill everyone, shouldn’t Floch be following suit and just do his Floch thing of murdering every slight inconvenience?

We’re in the boring stages of the finale right now.

No clear plan for either side to contend with. No real progress in any direction because the tiny squabbles are just a delaying tactic for the massive squabble that no one has an answer to. None of any of this chapter really matters except for clearing the air.

Which is not a useless investment, it’s just not very exciting.

At this point, no excitement is allowed, because there’s that One Huge Thing, and the entire story hinges on it. Maybe someone will die on the way to dealing with it, but that’s all the drama we’re going to get until we find out enough about the plot to have a future worth rooting for.

Right now, there is no good outcome for the people we’ve watched fight for 127 chapters.

Pulling a story along with that weight is hard, and I can feel my brain turning itself off until we’re back to a point where the story is permitted to address the stegosaurus in the room.

One more month.

Again.

Until something happens and we all regret everything.