#also yeah i turned their armor back to visible. it was funny but it got too boring to not change clothes ever 😭😭😭

[4giorno]

he found god, what a beautiful moment

also found the newest addition to my fave clips of him

[curewhimsy]

Based on a dream I had

It was a rainy June day at the facility where we had summer camp. Water fell from the sky in heavy curtains. The ground was muddy and waterlogged and drenched with puddles. It was impossible to play outside.

Since everyone was stuck inside, a few kids decided to have a conversation-type game, debating which of two proposed characters would win in a fight.

More kids got drawn in, each pitting their favorite characters in, and defending them in the argument.

Some of the conversations were really funny, like when the kids decided the little pop-star Miku Hatsune could defeat Superman! How? Because she was involved with a company called Crypton, and Superman’s weakness was Kryptonite.

My name is Amelie Sugar. I’m just an average 9 year old girl who is often too passionate about things that don’t matter. I tend to get carried away often, and love to daydream.

It was finally time for me to argue which character I think would be the strongest. I chose Tinkaton from Pokémon. Sure, she was cute, but she was also a force to be reckoned with! She wields a humungous steel hammer forged she herself, and has the power to fling it around effortlessly! And despite being a fairy-type Pokémon, she doesn’t have a weakness to steel, because she’s steel-type herself too. And all fairies are super epic already because they slay dragons. And Tinkaton is so powerful that she slays Corviknight too! She’s an absolute menace!

“Tinkaton could take down anyone!” I said enthusiastically. “She brings down flying Corviknight by flinging rocks in the sky with her MASSIVE HAMMER. It’s super powerful and it takes a ton of strength to lift! And Tinkaton is a fairy, so she fights with the power of light and friendship!” 

“Well, I think the Steel Samurai could beat Tinkaton.” A boy named Miles Edgeworth said smugly. He was a year older than me, but in the same group. “The Steel Samurai’s element is steel, and Tinkaton is a fairy Pokémon. Fairies are weak to steel. Well? What do you have to say about that?”

“Miles… you’re forgetting that Tinkaton is a steel-type too!” I said back. “She doesn’t have a weakness to steel attacks, because her steel-typing gives her a resistance to it!”

Miles now looked visibly frustrated. It felt kind of good to be getting to him. The truth is, I don’t win often at anything, especially not at debates. I’m a bit insecure about it. And Miles is so smug all the time and is usually great at arguing! I felt a sense of victory to make him become quiet.

“Yeah, Ame! You TELL him!” My friend Joy cheered. Joy was my friend who was a year younger than me and looked up to me. It was flattering really, how cool she well, perceived me to be. 

“W-Well…” Miles continued. “Tinkaton’s hammer wouldn’t stand a chance against the Steel Samurai sword! It’s forged of the strongest mineral in the land. It might even slice right through that hammer! Take that!”

“Well, did you know Tinkaton is a master blacksmith herself?” I added on. “She forged her hammer herself, and it weighs a megaton and is iron-cast. One hammer hit to the Steel Samurai sword will bend it out of shape! And guess what? Tinkaton would just steal that sword, and the Steel Samurai’s armor, and use the steel to make her hammer even bigger! In your FACE!”

I laughed in victory. I saw Miles’ face turn red and flushed.

“…OBJECTION!” Miles yelled. Then he paused, like he couldn’t think of an objection. “I… The Steel Samurai… He… he never loses!”

“Sorry, Miles. But Ame just explained why Tinkaton is more epic.” Joy smiled.

“Objection! The Steel Samurai fights for the people… he’s a hero…” Miles said weakly.

Just then, I felt myself become a little apologetic.

“Hey, Miles? The Steel Samurai is important to you, isn’t he?”

“I… Of course he is!” Miles lashed out. “And you tried to make it all about your… stupid Tinkaton! One more thing. CALL ME EDGEWORTH. Only my FRIENDS call me Miles.”

“…Okay, Edgeworthless.” I said.

It was supposed to be a harmless joke.

The truth was, I was feeling a bit disheartened that Edgeworth said I wasn’t his friend.

But Miles… he was hurt. He started crying. I didn’t expect him to cry. He was usually so stern. All this time, I thought his heart was as hard and cold as steel.

“Amelie… How can you be such a jerk!” He sniffled. “You… called me such a horrible name! I… I won’t forgive you.”

Edgeworth gave me one last look of shame and hatred and ran off in tears.

I suddenly felt a bit of heaviness in my heart.

“What did you do that for, Amelie?” A quiet, sensible boy named Defota asked me. “That was really mean.”

“Well Edgeworth isn’t nice either.” I said to defend myself.

“You shouldn’t have called him worthless though.” Defota walked away as well. I frowned.

“Sorry Ame.” Joy said. “I know you didn’t mean that.”

I sighed. I still felt bad.

The game ended right there and everyone dispersed.

“Amelie, what the heck?” Taya went up to me, only seeing part of the scene. He seemed a bit skeptical of me, and I honestly didn’t blame him. “What did you say to Miles to make him cry like that?”

“I… I honestly wish I knew.” I said.

It wasn’t that I was really a jerk... I just had trouble understanding things… But did that really make me a jerk? I felt bad.

“I… I think I’m going to try to apologize to him. To Miles.” I said. But suddenly his words flashed through my head, and his angry, crying face.

“I… I won’t forgive you!”

What if Miles won’t forgive me?

[esperanzagalaxy]

if you're still taking requests.... any other party members realising that Sasha, Azu and Hamid are all like. idiot 20-somethings ?? unless that's too vague! ❤️

 RQG requests #25, IDIOT 20-SOMETHINGS!!! i’m not going to lie, this request Was a little intimidating because i had no idea how to make this funny or channel their twenty-somethingness in any way so i- ahem. had to unearth some memories from high school where, uh. chocolate milk with rum was a thing? and it was cursèd but people made it anyway and it was kind of a meme so. um. here they are. enjoy ¿?

 in all seriousness, i fucking love this one. i think the fuckin faces and scribbles are on point, honestly. they’re all just SO no thoughts head empty. i love them. it’s been done for weeks and i still giggle whenever i see it. i relate to this holder-of-the-braincell grizzop but like, that was me at 16 to my classmates. yeah.

 anyway, i imagine that, after getting all fixed up, sasha Would be pretty down to do weird shit just because she’s alive. i love her. it’s what she deserves. i miss season 3

 thank you so much for this request!! <333 and shoutout to jerry van @crayonturtle for canonizing the gobfam 🙏🏽

 ID under the cut!

[ID: a five-panel digital comic of azu, hamid, sasha and grizzop. it's drawn with sketchy black lines on a white background, and the characters are colored with flat and bold colors. azu is a buff, tall black orc, with a shaved head, pink lipstick and white tusks. she has a pink breastplate, a long yellow shawl around her neck, loose yellow pants and brown boots. hamid is short, fat, dark-skinned and dressed in a dark three-piece suit with a green vest, and his purple cape. he's wearing gold make-up and his hair is dark brown, curly and slicked back. sasha is very pale, with shaggy black hair and an undercut, where the white patch is visible. she has dark circles and burns on her face. she's wearing a studded leather jacket, dark gloves and leather armor under the jacket. grizzop has dark gray skin, a scar on the bridge of his nose, dangling arrow earrings on his long ears, red eyes and freckles. he has a green coat with a high orange collar, pauldrons, and a silver breastplate. the comic goes as follows:

panel 1: azu is coming in from the left, with an excited smile and raising a big jug of chocolate milk in her left hand. she's shown from the chest up.   AZU: I found chocolate milk!

panel 2: hamid comes in from the right, hovering. he's also grinning excitedly and is holding up a red bottle with both hands.   HAMID: I got rum!

panel 3: sasha is on the center, from the chest up. she's pointing to her face with both hands and grinning in a manic way.   SASHA: Who wants to try mixing them in my mouth?!

panel 4: the camera pulls back to show the three of them further away, to the right, with grizzop watching them in the foreground with his back to the camera, sitting and polishing his arrows. sasha is screaming up to the sky, back to the camera, while azu and hamid come from either side of her holding their bottles, azu running and hamid flying. they both have cartoony, dot-eyed grinning faces.   SASHA: Fucking bring it!!   AZU: Eeey!   HAMID: Eeey!

panel 5: same angle and distribution from panel 4. in the background, azu and hamid are pouring down the milk and rum down sasha's mouth, pumping their free fists in the air. sasha stands a little unsteadily. grizzop is turning to the camera with an unimpressed, disapproving expression.   GRIZZOP: I have six kids and a mortgage. I am entirely too old for this.   AZU, HAMID: Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!   SASHA (gurgling): Blrghughblhgbh-

end ID]

[cdroloisms]

I really love when people write about c!wilbur manipulating c!dream so I was wondering if you could write on about the smp realizing that c!wilbur manipulated c!dream into being a lap dog for him but a hell lot of trouble for then and if you could add c!wilbur taking advantage of the fact that dream is a god during a fight that would make my day. Hope you have a great day.thank you. Love your work.

ooh yeah - c!wilbur is back and GGG-ing as good as ever, , which Really makes you think abt what it’s gonna be like when he interacts with c!dream again. this ended up being a little more c!sapnap centric than i intended, hope that’s alright haha. (and thank you so much for the kind words!) 

tw: implied abuse, torture, drowning, dismemberment, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, emotional distress, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault, c!sapnap critical? not really?, dark portrayal of c!wilbur (typical MAD duo shenanigans)

Sapnap isn’t expecting to find anyone when he storms out in the middle of the night - he’s tense, they all are after the fiasco at the prison, but really his thoughts are filled with Karl once again going inexplicably radio silent for days on end and Quackity ignoring all of his questions with a simple “i’m busy” that he’d failed to follow up even twelve hours later, so Dream and Wilbur and whatever the hell happened that left Pandora’s Vault - obsidian, indestructible, tall and dark and proud - half-crumbled and sunken into the sea are just about the last things on his mind.  

Even so, he’s not an idiot, so he had enough foresight to pack a few potions and gather his armor and weapons before stepping into the summer night - it’s cool under the moonlight, a soft breeze cutting through the otherwise stifling weight of the humid air, and the comfortable night is enough to make his anger die down, just a little. Kinoko Kingdom glows soft and warm from the lanterns Foolish had scattered all over the place, thick with the earthy smell of fungus and flowers, and he takes a deep breath before walking to the city outskirts to hopefully clear his mind.

He’s no stranger to late-night walks; his temper had always been fiery, even as a child, and he’d figured out pretty early on that the easiest way to deal with it was to walk or run until his brain was too tired to think anymore. Walking at night also meant he could take out some of his frustration on mobs as well as the satisfaction of setting a random patch of forest on fire without worrying about burning down someone else’s property, and once he got good enough with a sword and shield to come and go relatively unscathed, Bad had stopped his worrying enough to let him do whatever as long as he came back in time in the morning. Sapnap frowns as he hacks at a random branch in his way with an axe, watching as it falls in a spray of leaves and crashes to the ground; he hasn’t seen Bad in a while, not since he became obsessed with the whole Egg thing. Quackity had mentioned some cryptic things, and Karl was adamant that they avoid the Egg as much as possible, but he probably should’ve at least visited, or something. Bad always knew what to say when it came to messy things like this.

Though - Sapnap laughs wryly - it’d never been this bad, before. Karl distant and absent, Q somehow even more so with a new glint to his gaze that sent a shiver down his spine. George, usually asleep, never around, expression perpetually foggy like he doesn’t know where he was. Dream- evil, insane, awful, somehow so familiar it hurt and too much of a stranger to recognize. He wonders when it all got this bad. He wonders what it says about himself, that he didn’t notice until it was far too late.

“Fancy seeing you out here.”

Sapnap whirls around, sword drawn; the figure staring back at him doesn’t even flinch. His eyes narrow at the sight, stance widening, shoulders tense.

“Wilbur?” He keeps his voice wary, guarded, trying his best to keep surprise from coloring his tone. Wilbur grins at him, tight-lipped, the planes of his face faintly lit by the moon shining over them, facial features only barely visible in the dim light. Without really meaning to, Sapnap cranes his head to look around at the surrounding forest, but nothing moves or makes itself known outside of the figure still staring at him, smirking. “What- what are you doing here?”

And where’s Dream?

Because Sapnap might not know much about what went down at the prison and what Dream’s plans are and the whole mess that he’d been so desperate to put behind him and utterly failed at doing so, but what he does know is that the two of them - Dream and Wilbur, Wilbur and Dream - had been all but inseparable, strangely attached to each other in a way that spelled out nothing but trouble for the rest of them. The rest of the server had been compiling sightings of the two in the hopes of being able to stop whatever it was that they had planned, but Sapnap knows his former friend, brother, and even if he doesn’t know Wilbur, his reputation more than precedes him: the two of them are smart, not to mention paranoid as fuck, and the rest of them have a better shot shooting targets in the dark than figuring out whatever the hell was going on in their heads with the two of them working together. Either way, he knows that they’d never been sighted apart - it was always Wilbur standing on a hill with Dream sitting next to him, or Dream hacking through mobs as Wilbur followed, or the two of them stepping into a fortress and leaving minutes after - until now.

“Could ask the same of you,” Wilbur laughs, just a shade to the left of friendly, and the moonlight scatters through the leaves and glints off his glasses. “Don’t be so tense, man! I’m just going on a walk, thought I’d enjoy the night. Didn’t see anything like this in Limbo, you know.”

Sapnap winces at the reminder, that Wilbur is here and alive in defiance of law and reason and the universe itself, but Wilbur barrels on, seeming unaware of his unease.

“Anyway - how are you doing, man? Haven’t seen you around in a while.” He leans back, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, stance loose, relaxed. “I’d ask Dream, but he’s been in prison for a bit, you know? Most of what he knows is pretty - ah, outdated, not that I tell him that.”

“What are you planning?” Sapnap snaps, grip tightening around the handle of his sword. “You and Dream. What do you want?”

“Who’s to say we want anything?” Wilbur seems to grin wider, and the expression on his face is unsettling, makes something cold slither up his spine. He shakes his head to rid himself of the feeling, half-wishing it was brighter so he could better see the other’s eyes.

“I mean-” he stutters. Because Dream always wants, he almost says, bitter and angry, that all-too-familar swell of betrayal rising in his chest at Dream, forever insatiated, forever wanting, forever looking for more more more. Because if he were to escape, and if he were to want nothing, then what did that mean for the rest of them? Because if he didn’t want, if he wasn’t left wanting, then did Sapnap ever mean anything at all? The thoughts stick to his skull like tar, words clinging to the roof of his mouth as it goes dry. Wilbur seems to stare at him, unimpressed, and he feels his face go hot.

“He’s not- he’s dangerous, you know,” Sapnap says instead of answering, because untangling the awful, knotted feelings that make up his remaining ties with Dream, half-frayed and neglected and forgotten, is more work than he can handle and more emotions than he has the energy to bear. It doesn’t matter, in the end, because Dream is still dangerous; he knows that, resolutely, and maybe it’s lucky, that he found Wilbur without Dream whispering plans and manipulations and meaningless words by his side. It’ll give him a chance to warn Wilbur, bring him back to their side instead of risking his life (again) in the company of his friend-turned-tyrant. Dream is dangerous, whether he wants or not, because Dream is Dream and he’s been in too many manhunts to face him with anything less than one hundred percent confidence. “You don’t want to be with him, Wilbur. He’s hurt- so many people.”

Wilbur’s expression doesn’t change, seeming as indifferent to the words as ever; if anything, he looks a little amused. “Really,” he hums, almost to himself. “Dangerous, you say?”

“He’s Dream,” Sapnap insists, because it’s the truth, and it’s the simplicity of it, really. It’s Dream, and Dream is dangerous whether he’s on your side or not, forever ruthless and unheeding as long as he gets what he wants. He’d been in Wilbur’s place, once, convinced that Dream’s strategies and planning and infallible logic had meant they had no way of losing. He knows better, now. “You’ve fought him before! He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anything.”

And if the words are a little more bitter than they should be when he says that, who but he is going to notice?

Wilbur’s eyes stay on his, completely silent, expression unreadable. The quiet gets awkward quickly, Wilbur’s expression seeming unchanging, nothing but the faint rustling of the leaves around them to break the stillness of the air, and Sapnap feels his gut roll uncomfortably as he looks off to the ground, waiting for Wilbur to react in some way, any way. It’s hard, he knows, to realize that someone you thought was on your side had been using you the entire time, he’s been there before and he gets it, but- it’s still strange, how still Wilbur has become. How he still hasn’t reacted - is his expression going to change?

And suddenly, starting quiet and then swelling in volume, Wilbur begins to laugh.

“Goodness,” Wilbur drawls through his chuckles, voice low and dark and sending chills down his back. “I thought he was exaggerating, man - you really do hate him, don’t you?”

“What- what’s so funny?”

Wilbur smiles, teeth flashing white as the faint light from the moon bounces off of them, “I have to give you my thanks, truly. I’d thought that Quackity did the most of it, or Sam, but you- I really couldn’t have guessed.”

Sapnap’s head is spinning. Wilbur’s expression is positively gleeful, eyes dancing, smile wide and brilliant, bouncing from one name to another with little explanation to how any of them tie together. Sam? Quackity? Nothing is making sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh Sapnap,” Wilbur croons. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He twists his hand in a flippant gesture, eyes directed into the forest surrounding them.

“Let’s just say that his, ah- stay, in Pandora, wasn’t exactly what I’d call a five-star experience. But you know that, don’t you?” Wilbur directs a flat smile his way, and Sapnap swallows, throat dry. Briefly, images flash behind his eyes - walls, dripping with crying obsidian, the lava’s heat hard to bear at his back, even for him, mining fatigue pulling at his limbs and making them heavy. How startlingly bare the cell had been, even through the haze of his anger, Dream, slumped in a corner of the cell, barely moving, barely even breathing as it seemed sometimes, sunken-in cheeks and sagging shoulders speaking of nothing but a bone-deep exhaustion. “Apparently, being psychologically and physically tortured for months on end has an interesting effect on the human psyche. Even more so when, say, your best friend comes once in the entire time to tell you that he’ll kill you if you ever try to escape.”

“How-” he trips on his own words, lungs seizing, “how do you know that?”

“He tells me things. A lot of things, really. Did you know it takes one and a half regen potions to reattach an arm after it’s been cut off? It takes three and a half for a leg, he thinks, but the blood loss made it rather hard to remember.” Wilbur steps forward. “Did you know that scars created by healing potions tend to be much thicker and more prominent than those made by regens? Or that he can hold his breath for a little more than two minutes before passing out?” Wilbur smirks, jagged, threatening. “Did you know that I can tell him just about everything, and he’ll believe me because there’s no one else to tell him otherwise?”

“Wh- what?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him what you said; I’m sure he’ll love to hear how his brother is doing.” Wilbur waves. “And when you see Quackity, be sure to give him my thanks, will you?”

“Wilbur, what- come back-”

And with a flash of purple particles, Wilbur disappears, leaving Sapnap alone in the middle of the forest. Stasis chamber. His heart pounds in his ears, breathing all-too-loud, and he stares desperately at the empty space where Wilbur had stood like it’ll bring him back again.

Fuck, he swipes his hand across his face, startled when it comes back wet. What does he do now?

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five

If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.

Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.

The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.

Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.

Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.

Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Tango.

“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.

“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.

The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.

“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.

“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.

Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.

“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.

Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.

Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.

“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.

Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.

Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.

“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.

“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.

Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.

“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.

“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.

“And we didn’t,” Scott said.

“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.

“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.

“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.

Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.

Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.

And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?

Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.

Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.

“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.

“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.

“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.

“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.

Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.

That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.

“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.

Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.

“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.

“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.

“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.

Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.

*****

Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.

Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.

Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.

Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.

*****

“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.

Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.

“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.

“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.

Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.

“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.

“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.

Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.

The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.

“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.

“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.

“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.

“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.

Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.

Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.

They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.

Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.

Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.

Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.

Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.

His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.

Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.

[rexsjaigeyes]

Matchmakers

Din Djarin x female reader

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: suggestive content

A/N: Everyone knows Din’s name in this, so idk just play along because it made it easier to write this way. Also yeah Fennec and Boba are more friendly in this than they should be, just roll with it; the point is that they’re all comfortable with each other.

You loved your newfound companions, but sometimes you swore they got on your nerves. Not necessarily in a bad way, of course, but in a way that made you roll your eyes or make a face at their antics. Fennec and Fett always seemed to find a way to tease you lovingly, but you hated the way it would make you turn red. The worst part was that they only ever wanted to make you blush when you were with Din.

The most recent example had been when Fett jokingly asked why you never called him by his first name when he had told you time after time that you could. Of course, you had stuttered a little, not expecting him to add that only Din called him “Fett” and you had just subconsciously copied the name from him. To your horror, he didn’t stop there, even though Din was standing right beside you, listening to the whole conversation.

“Now that I think about it, you both say a lot of similar things.” Fett smirked when your blush deepened, but you were so embarrassed that you couldn’t even tell him to cut it out.

Fennec immediately joined in on the fun, listing off all the terms you had subconsciously picked up from Din. If it wasn’t such an embarrassing situation, you would have been amazed by her ability to pick up on such little details, but you were too busy wishing you could crawl into a hole and be left alone. She rattled off more terms, and you tried to deny the fact that you talked more like Din that you realized.

They had teased you practically all day about that. Even as the four of you were on a mission, Fett and Fennec would pause to list yet another thing that you had copied from Din and they snickered to themselves as you blushed. Din could probably sense how embarrassed you were though, because he turned to you while they were laughing and brushed his hand against yours ever so slightly. At first, you thought you imagined it, but then he brought his hand back and slowly trailed it up your arm until he reached your shoulder.

Offering you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, you heard him whisper, “It’s alright. Don’t listen to them.” He said it so softly, and your heart skipped a beat from how attentive he was.

It was like the two of you were in your own little world, unaware of how Fennec and Fett laughed at their own stupid jokes. But unbeknownst to you and Din, they had caught the little gesture Din made to you, and Fett gave Fennec a knowing smirk.

Even though it was mortifying to constantly get teased in front of Din, you adored the way he always stood up for you. But sometimes that meant that their teasing would redirect to focus on Din. You secretly liked when that happened because he’d turn into a sputtering mess when they would mess with him. You liked to imagine that maybe the strong, intimidating Mandalorian was blushing beneath his helmet. Din was the strongest person you knew, but you also knew that he could be as shy as you were sometimes. That was probably why the two of you got along so well.

As time passed and the four of you became more comfortable around each other, it became a running joke that Fennec and Fett were the jokers in your group while you and Din would glare or grumpily complain that their teasing wasn’t funny. Eventually, you loved how you’d grumble about something Fett said and Din would chuckle softly from the corner; just the soft sound of his carefree laugh made your stomach do flips. With all the fun that the four of you had, you never thought that one day their teasing would change your relationship with Din for the better.

~

You entered the cabin of the Slave I and heard Din muttering softly to himself as he tried to fix a piece of his beskar. The shiny armor had recently been banged up in a fight, and he was eager to fix the dent in his breastplate.

“Dank farrik,” he grumbled, and you cleared your throat softly so that he knew you would be sitting in the cabin with him.

Admittedly, you’d been walking on eggshells with him lately; he had been in a bad mood for several days now, and not even Fett’s dumb jokes seemed to cheer him up.

“Can I help?” You offered hesitantly. You wanted to help Din somehow, but you weren’t sure how receptive he would be to your offer.

Unsurprisingly, you noticed him tense up and he turned to you as if you offended him. “I can do it myself,” he whispered harshly, and you rolled your eyes at his attitude.

“Oh don’t mind him,” Fett chuckled as he entered the cabin, having overheard the way Din spoke to you. “He’s just grumpy because he hasn’t gotten laid in months.”

“Fett!” Din quickly looked up from his breastplate and hissed at the other Mandalorian.

You couldn’t help but snort at the situation. Din was visibly shaking from either embarrassment or rage, but it only seemed to fuel Fett’s teasing even more.

“What?” Fett’s smile grew and he leaned back in his seat beside you, enjoying the way Din looked completely unamused. “We’ve all noticed how pent up you’ve been.”

Din stood abruptly, trying to look as intimidating as ever, but Fett didn’t flinch. You’d never admit it out loud, but you knew out of the two Mandalorians, Din would always be considered the baby of the two.

“Maybe you’d like someone to help with that,” Fett continued teasing him. You stifled a laugh, not wanting to also become a target of Din’s anger. But Fett quickly turned to look at you and gave you a wicked grin as if you would soon regret laughing at Din. “Yeah, maybe this little lady can help you out, Din.”

Your eyes widened, not expecting Fett to suggest something like that. Your cheeks flushed and you were sure this was the most embarrassed you had ever been in your entire life. You stuttered, trying to brush off his suggestion, but it looked like Din was even more embarrassed than you were. Before he could start a fight with Fett, the other troublemaker of your group conveniently entered the cabin.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” Fennec added to the conversation nonchalantly, as if she was talking about something as simple as the weather. “All she ever talks to me about is how much she adores Din.”

Din whipped his head around to gawk at Fennec’s calm confession, and you swore your heart stopped beating. “What?” He asked quietly, as if he was unsure that he heard her correctly.

Fett must have sensed how mortified you were beside him, so he nudged your shoulder and told you, “It’s alright, darling. Din likes you too. He talks about you all the time.”

Din cursed, yelling Fett’s name in anger and you wished you could have seen Din’s face beneath his helmet. He rushed towards Fett, but you got up and stepped in front of him before a fight could break out. He looked down at you as you placed your small hand on his broad chest.

“Is it true?” You asked him softly. You felt his breath hitch before he nodded shyly. Smiling, you felt yourself finally relax. “Fett, Fennec – do you two mind leaving us alone for a moment?”

You turned to see the older Mandalorian smirking at you before he winked and left the cabin with Fennec. Finally, you and Din were alone and you felt his tension melt away when you rubbed your hand on his chest lovingly.

Neither of you needed to say anything in the moment; you were just glad to finally know that he had feelings for you too. Din rested his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to his chest. His touch felt protective, and you sighed when you thought of how you never would have known how he felt about you if it wasn’t for the two idiots you had picked up along your journey.

As if he sensed your thoughts, Din chuckled softly before breaking the silence. “Do you think they planned that little confrontation?”

You laughed, hiding your reddening face in Din’s chest and allowing him to squeeze you tighter. You nodded in agreement and joked, “I guess we owe our thanks to those two matchmakers huh?”

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

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[rubykgrant]

(I can’t stop writing about the idiots in love, so here; have Simmons and Grif being love-struck dorks in what leads-up to them having snuggle time~)

All day long, they couldn’t stop giggling. Even with the armor on, they could tell when they were looking at each other, and that was all it took. They would try to hold back, then wind up choking on their own laughter. Because, despite the helmets hiding their faces, and without saying anything, they could tell they were both thinking the same thing when they looked at each other; That’s my BOYFRIEND. It made them feel light-headed with happiness, weak in the knees, silly and embarrassed, delighted and undeniably fond. They couldn’t stop giggling.

When they weren’t together, they still had their heads in the clouds; Grif was in a noticeably more pleasant mood than usual when he had work to do. Nobody wanted to question it much, however… it might make him realize what was happening, and then he’d fall back into complaining. Simmons seemed distracted. He still managed to get his work done, so that was fine… he just wasn’t paying much attention to what anybody said to him. The people around them shrugged this off and decided to ignore them. Nobody pressed the issue, and nobody knew that Grif and Simmons were now boyfriends.

They passed each other in the hall at one point near the end of the day, both going somewhere else. People weren’t paying attention to him, but if they were, they would have seen Grif visibly BOUNCE up when he saw Simmons (who started grinning inside his helmet).

“Oh hey, Tomato Can!”

“Shut up! What are you, one of those giant cans of pumpkin mix?”

Simmons reached out, playfully smacking at Grif as he walked by, and Grif did the same. In the middle of the smacking, they also grabbed and pulled on each other’s hands briefly. The giggles finally broke free, and they both could hear the laughter fade away the farther they walked. One again, nobody questioned this much. Grif and Simmons acting stupid and laughing was pretty typical behavior. It certainly wasn’t different from how they usually were.

It was several hours later when it was finally time to be done with work for the day (the day, in fact, was mostly over; it was after 9:30 at night). Simmons immediately went to change out of his armor. He carefully put each piece into it’s storage place, and then tried to NOT look like he was rushing off to see Grif back at their room as fast as possible. Normally, he changed out of the undersuit as well, putting on something loose and comfortable to wear as he went back to his room... it used to make him incredibly self-conscious to bee SEEN by other people in something that was so form-fitting. He also used to change out of the armor in a stall, just like he did way back in high school for PE; changing in and out of his gym clothes where nobody could see him, and only showering after all the other kids were gone. Well, finding out somebody was in love with you was a major ego-boost. He could finish changing back in their room, he was more concerned with getting to see his boyfriend than other people seeing him in the halls (also… it didn’t hurt that over the years, muscles had happened. Simmons had no illusions that he was a “totally buff hottie” or something, but he had come to accept that he wasn’t half-bad looking).

They both had different meal-time schedules today, Grif coming into the mess hall just when Simmons was done for both lunch and dinner. They once again teased and nudged as they passed, giggling at what was now an inside-joke; they were together, and nobody here even knew it, nobody here knew what a big deal it was, nobody knew they were in LOVE. Grif hasn’t felt so silly and infatuated like this since he was basically a kid, and for Simmons this is entirely uncharted territory. He’s not worried though, because he’s going on this romantic journey with Grif… as far as Simmons is concerned, that is absolutely perfect.

As he power-walked briskly, Simmons heard the sound of heavy, rushed foot-steps running up the hall behind him. He turned to see who it was, and there was Grif; he’d only partially changed out of his armor, the upper-half. He still had it on from the waist down. Evidently, he was in too much of a rush to bother with everything. Grif grinned at Simmons when their eyes met, and now Simmons smiled back at him, slightly slowing down as he stayed turned toward Grif, momentarily walking backwards… Grif was so eager to see his boyfriend, he was actually RUNNING. Before Grif caught up to him, Simmons suddenly had and idea. He began to increase how fast he walked, turned forward again, and sprinted down the hall. Grif caught on immediately; this was now a race, and Simmons wanted to beat him back to the room.

Simmons was fairly certain he would win; he had a head-start, Grif detested moving this fast, and the guy still had armor on his legs to weigh him down.

He was proven wrong when he was suddenly yanked back a step by his shirt, causing him to stumble as Grif pulled ahead.

“AHH! Bitch!” Simmons yelled, catching himself against the wall and laughing as he resumed running.

“What was that? I can’t hear you back there!” Grif yelled in return.

It was fairly empty in the halls of the ship, a few other random people were leisurely walking around, some of them still in their armor for late-duty. Luckily, none of them were very familiar with Grif and Simmons, and simply assumed these were two rowdy friends running around after work. Which was technically true… but if anybody who was close to them saw this (the people who had spent years with them, for example), it would trike them as odd; Grif, actually RUNNING, when it wasn’t toward a buffet or away from something life-threatening? Simmons, breaking several rules (that nobody but him took seriously, but still) and making noise like he had absolutely no inhibitions? If their friends had also seen them earlier, spacing out, giggling at each other uncontrollably, and sighing dreamily… perhaps they would have suspected something. Nobody from their group was seeing this. The two of them continued their chase, laughing and taunting each other.

When Grif got to the door, he paused just barely long enough to reach for the handle… and then Simmons slammed into him, knocking Grif off-balance. Grif didn’t fall, but he missed a beat as Simmons jumped inside, and shut the door, letting out a sound that was some kind of shriek, a mix of panic and delight.

“Hey! Let me in, you cheater!” Grif banged on the door.

“You cheated first!” he heard Simmons reply.

“Yeah, and then you go and stoop to my level? Not very mature, Simmons! You’re supposed to a good boy who follows the rules!” Grif tried the handle and pushed… but the door only moved an inch. Simmons was pushing back, shoulder against it and feet braced firmly.

“Well, I’m a crazy, rebellious, wild-card now! Who knows what I’ll do next! I might rob a bank!” it was hard for both of them to make any progress with the door either way; they were out of breath from running AND couldn’t stop giggling.

“Yeah right! You’d go in, try to yell stick-em up like a little kid, then apologize for raising your voice, and walk out of there with a job application!”

“Nuh-uh! I told you, I’m a loose-cannon now! I’m gonna get a tattoo on my bicep that says Born To Die!” Grif’s knees were turning to jelly at the mental thought of this. It was just too funny. “I’ll start wearing a jean jacket with no shirt all the time! I’m gonna get a faux-hawk and dye my hair neon green! I’m gonna legally change my name to a swear word that’s spelled wrong, like Phuck with a P-H! I’ll pierce my ears and wear little padlocks like earrings!”

“Holy crap, shut up dude!”

“I’m gonna tell Sarge… that I’m on BLUE TEAM NOW!”

Grif collapsed against the door, sliding down as he tried to gasp for air. This was such a ridiculous thing to use as an example of rebellion; Sarge had finally come to terms with the fact that blue wasn’t the color of sin, and Simmons had already gone through a fake-traitor incident with Blue Team. It just didn’t matter anymore… that’s why it was hilarious.

“Sim-Simmons… please just- just let me in, please, I’m dying out here, hahaha!” Grif was reduced to begging, and just hoped Simmons had an ounce of mercy.

“Well… since you said PLEASE…” the door finally opened. Grif found the strength to jump back up and pounce on him.

He grabbed Simmons by the waist, lifting him up off the ground, kicking the door shut. They were both laughing again, and Grif was planning on tossing Simmons into a chair, then maybe flicking him on the forehead as pay-back for the shove earlier… but then they looked at each other. Grif’s arms shifted, now one was under Simmons, supporting him. The other slid up his back, between his shoulders. Simmons kept giggling, leaning back and completely trusting that Grif would hold him up, now slightly hugging Grif with his legs, his hands kneading into Grif’s shoulders. As Grif stared at Simmons’ face, noticing all sorts of little details (the way his organic eye seemed to be lit up with excitement right now, the way he was biting the corner of his lower lip as he smiled, the way his nose wrinkled in an entirely too adorable way each time he quietly snorted with laughter), something happened; Grif felt his mouth water, like it did when he was ready to eat something he knew would be delicious (like his favorite kind of milk chocolate).

He mentally told himself he better swallow all this extra saliva fast, because he was definitely about to kiss Simmons. If he wasn’t careful, a waterfall of drool would pour out of his mouth when he parted his lips, which Simmons would NOT enjoy, and then Grif would have to kill himself, because how pathetic was it to finally start dating the dude you’ve been pining after for about 12 years only to drown him in spit the same day, HORRIBLY pathetic, there was no recovery from that, Grif would simply have to not be alive anymore, and why the hell was this even HAPPENING, Simmons wasn’t CHOCOLATE, why was Grif like this, why was his brain so stupid, why was his MOUTH so stupid, why why WHY-

He gulped just in time. Now it was Simmons’ turn to pounce on Grif, hands slipping up into Grif’s hair, making a soft little sigh as Grif kissed him back.

This was… this was the first time since their conversation about being in love and deciding to date that they were… out of their armor (mostly). The first time they could press their bodies close together and actually FEEL each other. Grif forgot all about the way the muscles in his legs were twitching and ignored the way his lungs burned after all the running… his attention was on Simmons. It was pretty clear that Simmons was also entirely focused on Grif. After a moment, they moved their mouths away from each other, and Grif laughed as his face was peppered with more little kisses, stumbling across the tiny room while trying to find a spot to set Simmons down. He finally leaned Simmons over his own bed, letting him drop onto the mattress. It was a sudden motion, but Simmons didn’t go far, and he kept making amused humming sounds as he bounced when he hit the bed.

“You’d better get the rest of your armor off. Unless you want to sleep in it again,” he told Grif.

“Yeah, that uh… that’s probably a good idea… I’ll do that…” Grif said, feeling light-headed (and once more filled with butterflies).

He was fairly certain Simmons had no clue what he was doing right now… no clue how GOOD he looked, leaning back across the bed, propping himself up with his elbows, hair tousled and messy in kind of a really great way, looking up at Grif so intently, face flushed… all while Grif stood in front of him, stood right between Simmons’ legs that bent over the edge of the bed, feet on the floor… and LITERALLY told Grif to undress. No, Simmons had no clue what he was doing, OR what it was doing to Grif.

Grif stepped back, going over to his bed on the other side of the room (barely 5 feet away). He wasn’t sure if Simmons was going to watch him the whole time he changed… it shouldn’t be so embarrassing; they’d changed in the same room like, a thousand times. They’d shared showers together from training days, to Blood Gulch, and almost every place they stayed (Simmons was always the nervous one about that, making such a big deal about NOT LOOKING or avoiding being LOOKED AT). This was a little different now, though… boyfriends. They were BOYFRIENDS. Grif was suddenly very AWARE of this fact. Grif was also aware that the last time they actually gotten undressed around each other and... and touched... was Chorus (and THAT had all sorts of complicated feelings attached to it, which Grif was in no mood to try and process at the moment, nope).

[sohin-ace]

Hermes - Switching Cells

*looks at watch* Would you look at that? It's gay time!

Fem reader

"Why did they make us switch cells again?" You glanced up at the tall dark-skinned girl next to you as she scoffed, rolling her eyes to the back of her head.

"Pfff... Some bullshit." She huffed exasperatedly, "They caught two girls being all nasty and frisky and they got mad."

Hermes and you were currently both walking along the hallways, all your belongings in your arms as two assigned guards escorted you, holding onto the chains tied to your handcuffs like a lifeline as they kept careful watch over you.

You could see other inmates doing the same from the corner of your eyes, moving from corridor to corridor and getting ushered to pack their stuff faster.

Everyone in the prison were to move from their cells and switch cellmates. It was the new rule that had just been established after some people decided to act a tad more intimate than they should appropriately have within a strict prison and disturbed other inmates as well as some night duty guards.

When the announcement was made in the court yard, the entire staff present to break the very important news down to the people, all the inmates started laughing their asses off between annoyed grunts and 'booh's.

Anyone would. How stupid was that rule? What kind of prison even forbade physical relationships between inmates? How was intercourse ever harmful to jail discipline? Weren't prisons in Florida famous for rape culture and letting inmates basically abuse each other? What about 'prison sexuality'?

All these questions you and your fellow comrades couldn't answer.

Your assigned guards set you up in your new cell after you finally reached it and locked the door behind you two, leaving you to settle down before phone calls time.

You stared around the small windowless room, cemented walls and armored door. Well that sure changed from the huge bars from before. To be fair this cell seemed even better than the old one.

"So... What are these things for?" You pointed at the bars on the small frame cut on the metallic door.

"To prevent girls from snatching each other I guess? Not like that would stop anyone but ya know... No one else but the guards on duty can see the inmates now so I suppose that's what they wanted." Hermes cleared, still salty from the ordeal and unnecessary bother.

She threw her belongings somewhere and you turned your gaze away from the door, you could only agree with her scepticism. "Hmmm... Yeah that's bullshit."

Hermes plopped herself onto one of the beds with a breathy groan, supporting the back of her head with her arms, certainly claiming that bed as hers.

Your eyes widened a bit in surprise and slight confusion when you realized that the two beds were in the complete opposite sides of the room.

"They... They even removed the bunk beds?"

"Yeah," She scoffed with a smile. "To be honest that just makes what they want to prevent easier. Like, you could easily just- Tch, I'll never understand the warden."

You looked around a bit before putting away your stuff neatly, unaware of your cellmate's sneaky and insistant eyes on you.

"Are you gonna be okay? Without F.F., I mean." You asked without taking your eyes off of your current task.

"Hah, you should worry more about her than me. She's the one that's stuck with Jojo."

"Hey, Jolyne's not that bad..." You chuckled in your ex-cellmate's defense, "...When she puts her panties away, at least."

The room became awfully silent until you suddenly heard Hermes chuckle lowly, almost evilly, even. You turned your head around to look over your shoulder and saw the latina give you a mischievous sideway glance.

You blinked and furrowed your brows at her in confusion but she only smirked back, swallowing another chuckle.

"Girl, do you want to have a good laugh?"

Her sudden deep voice made you gulp and you swore you felt a wave of heat wash over you and a pearl of sweat glide down your forehead.

Oh no, first of all, she didn't have any business being this hot, sprawled on her bed like that, her strong arms flexing effortlessly and her enticing smirk reaching her golden-green eyes.

Secondly, you knew that when Hermes had ideas, they were almost just as bad as Jolyne's. And God knows that Jolyne could scream dumbass energy like no one else sometimes. Especially when she was bored or horny. Or both.

You bit your lower lip and nodded at her. Hopefully you wouldn't be in trouble because of her genius plans, but again, it just made it all the more exciting.

Hermes jumped off the bed and struggled to keep the grin off her face as she glanced at the barred door. God she was so gorgeous and she didn't even brag about it.

She approached you and landed one strong hand on your shoulder, bringing her index towards her green painted lips in a shushing gesture.

"Here's what we're gonna do..."

She leaned in and explained the plan in a sweet hushed tone and you could barely concentrate on her words when she was this close to you, whispering with her overly endearing mexican accent. God, how could one be so cute and so sexy at the same time?

You tried your best to keep a straight face as she laid her evil plan out to you, but you could feel her breath hitting your lips and you had to clear your throat many times to cover the small squeals you unwillingly let out.

The more she explained, the more you could feel your face warm up. Not only because you were trying hard to not stare at her very inviting lips but also, and mostly, because of what her plan actually implied.

Hermes sure was a bold woman, but this plan would piss off the guards so much and be so incredibly funny if nicely executed, but at the same time, it was a bit, if not very, inappropriate and risky, which you got to figure out, was something she very much enjoyed.

"You sure about that, Hermes...? It's a bit... It's embarassing." You hesitated, visibly flustered but she squeezed your arm in reassurance.

"Come on! Don't be like that, it's gonna be so much fun!" She grinned at you and she knew you could hardly resist or refuse her anything. "Y/N, please? It'll be so worth it babygirl, trust me."

You gulped and nodded. Oh well, what's the worst that could possibly happen?

"A-aah!! I-... I can't do this...!"

"Ughh... Come on, bebé, just like that, yes...Yes!"

Very suggestive noises of the two cellmates echoed in the room and throughout the prison corridors. A wanton mix of grunts and whimpers and moans. What could be going on in this prison?

"I-Ah!... Aaah, no~!" You whined breathlessly and Hermes groaned right after you, accompagnying you in your, quite strange, string of sounds.

"Yes! That's it, Y/N! Do that again!"

"Hermes, I-...nnghh!! Fuck!"

"You gotta move like this Y/N! Yeah, r-right there! Aah! Perfect!"

Some guards on walking duty were passing by and stopped, alerted by the horrendous noises, easily heard by anyone nearby, and that left very little, if not nothing to the imagination.

"A-aah please! Hermes! I can't-..." You gasped, your voice leaving you, "No more..."

Hermes, motivated, encouraged you further, purring, "No, no, you're doing great babe... Hmmm...That's what I like to see... Ah yes..!"

The guards hurried up to the cell you two were dwelling in and banged loudly on the metal door in hopes to shut you up.

"What the hell is going on here?!" One guard screamed and tried to check inside the room. But you girls were hidden right against the door, underneath the frame and perfectly in the guards' blind spot.

You two stiffled a laugh and continued on whatever you were doing. Yes. The plan was coming together amazingly.

Hermes was currently showing you some 'magic tricks' with playing cards. You were of course, completely failing and clumsily dropping the cards all over the place after trying your best to swipe and hold them in a way that would make any spectator blind to your misdirection and believe the cards were disappearing in your hands.

The Mexican was surprisingly good at these card tricks, things that she learned during her childhood, but she decided to add a little... spice to your teaching session. Something that would drive the prison staff nuts. Something that would make you pass time wonderfully in this boring prison.

"I can't do this, Hermes, we... We have to stop!" You cried with a hitched breath and the dark-skinned girl shushed you.

"Shhh. Relax, Y/N. You're too tense. Curl your fingers a bit. Oh-Yeah... Just like that... Aah~... See?"

"Yo-you're too good at this..."

"Let me teach you, guapa." She rasped and you let out an exaggerated ragged moan that she had to muster all her self-control to not burst into a laughing fit. What an actress you were.

"AAAHH~!"

The other guard came in to join his partner after leaving to call for help and you two could hear them bickering over what to do. The youngest, after getting insulted way too many names, eventually walked off again to call the supervisor.

"Come here supervisor! I heard them! Those two are at it as well!"

"Those damn lesbians, I'm so fucking tired!" The first guard commented as the supervisor stomped towards your cell and grumbled.

"I swear, these fucking girls are all so horny!" The man punched at the door, almost breaking it off its hinges and making you both flinch under the door. "HEY! MOVE AWAY FROM THE FUCKING DOOR YOU SLUTS!"

You put your hands over your mouths to silence your endless snickers and hurriedly got up, getting into the supervisor's view in front of the door's barred frame and forcing straight faces out of you.

"A problem, sir?" Hermes asked as calm as ever, her smirk effectively washed off her face.

"What the FUCK were you two doing in there?!" He growled, clearly not amused and way too busy to deal with that kind of joke.

"Nothing sir. We're playing with cards. Are we not allowed to?" She feigned as she tilted her head slightly, quirking an arrogant eyebrow. She too, was quite the actress.

"Tch, you freaks, I'm coming in." The supervisor fumbled messily with the keys and unlocked the door, missing the keyhole at least three times before succeeding, opening it wide and checked you two up and down scrutinizingly.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Neither of you looked disheveled in the slightest, and there were indeed cards sprawled onto the floor and in your hands.

He let out a suspicious drawn-out grunt and squinted his eyes at you, pointing an accusing finger at you two as he slowly backed out the door.

"I got my eyes on you, Costello, L/N. Don't you fucking mess with me." He hissed before slamming the door and locked it, walking away with the other guards close behind him.

When they were all out of earshot, you two finally burst into a laughter that you had been desperately containing as you slid back against the door, holding your stomach with pain from laughing so much.

"Man, we really got them!" Hermes obnoxiously sneered and you could only laugh back, contaminated by her laughter.

"Yeah! It was genius! And the overly lewd noises too! He was so red!" You added between laughs and slapped her arm playfully.

You both continued until your laughter died down a bit. You kept giggling softly and Hermes leaned over, smirking at you.

"Well," She purred and you looked back at her with wide eyes as she slid her hand up and down your thigh sensually. "Since they won't suspect a thing now, let's just get into the real deal, you're okay with that babe?"

And just like that, she grabbed your wrist and gently pinned you to the floor, connecting your lips with hers in a hungry and wet kiss.

And indeed, they did not suspect a thing after that.

Bonus:

"So Y/N is a bottom, huh?" Jolyne sneered as you all sat together at the cafeteria at lunchtime.

You gasped and blushed and Hermes wore her favourite expression. The smug one.

"I don't know what bottom is, but if Y/N is that I guess I approve." F.F said her straw between her lips before she slurped her drink again.

"Shut up. All of you!"

To be honest I didn't know what the Mexican accent sounded like until I started hanging out with @gio-is-writing and ??? Hello? Cute? Sexy? Be mine already.

[lifeofclonewars]

I’m always obsessed with characters having little fun tics and habits and am also bored this Easter so like in beginn do you think kix walks around humming vode an under his breath, or still reflexively calls everyone sir regardless of gender, or react whenever someone calls either his number or one of torrenst members numbers.

For either funny or angst I’m picturing whoever’s visiting in beginn also joining in these habits as either a funny ghost moment or a sad kix is the only clone left and all his bros are dead

Noooo I had a full response ready and then my laptop glitched and lost it all :(

Anyway, I’m glad you asked! I’ve been meaning to talk about this in a post recently, actually. The ‘sir’ thing is in Beginn — that’s how Kix addresses Leia in Chapter 3 when she comes to find Artoo. It’ll come up again in Chapter 5, too (oop, spoilers-ish?). 

The interesting thing is that there are tons of things he probably had to adapt or stop doing altogether because of how things are different 50 years in the future. I think I’ve only mentioned it once in Chapter 4, but Kix isn’t wearing his blacks and armor on a daily basis anymore. As a result, he tugs on his sleeves a lot, rolls them up, takes them down, etc, often because they’re more in the way than he’s used to sleeves being. He likely spent a good chunk of time when he first stopped wearing his armor constantly reaching for where the armor belt sits instead of his pockets. 

He also probably gestures with his head often, a side effect of years of talking while wearing a helmet and not having visible facial expressions. It can happen both when he gestures with his hands and when he’s got his hands full. People would take notice of this, though wouldn’t say anything about it. After all, he is a medic, and gesturing like that can be useful when he needs both hands for whatever healing needs to be done. 

(Heads up, my mind almost always chooses angst lol sorry?) Jesse has regularly called Kix out on things he says that are the same as during the Clone Wars throughout Beginn, despite the fact that Kix can’t hear him. He’s got his own share of habits he hasn’t stopped from the war, especially since he does still wear his armor most of the time. It’d be interesting if there was a Resistance member also named Jesse. He’d probably turn around every single time he heard someone calling for the other Jesse, even knowing nobody saying it can see him.

I don’t doubt he’d pick up on the similarities and differences of Kix’s habits now, even if he doesn’t fully realize his own. It hits him every once in a while that Kix is the last living clone to go around humming Vode An or saying remembrances. It also occurs to him occasionally that Kix goes about setting up medical supplies in a different order now, or something like that, since there have been advancements he had to catch up and practices evolved past the ones he used to use. 

There are things Kix may do because they’re the same as what he used to do and it gives him some sort of comfort in the time. Intentional, as he also is acutely aware of the fact that he’s the last one doing it. Perhaps things he does that bring memories of brothers and he doesn’t want to forget them. For example, double-checking that someone hasn’t placed a rock or something on his bed before lying down (which could also be a side effect of campaigns and sleeping in tents). Or twirling a stylus when he’s thinking while writing because it reminds him of Hardcase asking him how he did it and Jesse getting annoyed by the two of them back on Kamino. Stuff like that.

But, yeah, you’re right, anon. Habits and tics are always fun to talk about with characters. Even if my brain decided to dump some angst on us today. Also, I am always down to talk about Beginn or my other fics, so thanks for asking!

[alia-turin]

Okay so @house-of-inspiration asked for some Caranthir and Imlerith joining the Red Riders. Caranthir got his turn yesterday so it’s Mr Murder machine time. That was also topped by @mentoskadraws showing me something AWESOME that made my feelings just go crazy, as per usual I hope yall enjoy it

Fic Name: The Soldier Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Characters: Eredin,  Imlerith Pairing: none Warning: Mention of violence, blood and gore AO3: Click Summary:   Young Imlerith is on a crossroad, the fight of the Aen Elle with humans is at and end and he feels like his fighting days might be over. A relatively sane version of Imlerith as that is many years before the Crones from Crockback Bog.

Imlerith was sitting in the tavern in one of these corners that had good visibility to the whole place, but people could hardly see him. It wasn’t typical for him to hide, and he didn't hide, he never did that, just he wanted to get away from everyone and everything.

He had heard old warriors talk about it, the moment you understand your own mortality, but that was old people talk. He had never felt fear in battle and it wasn’t fear that was bothering him right now. It was something different. Something that made the drink in his hand tasteless and his typical physical urges nonexistent. Imlerith spent the time between battles drinking and fucking and for some reason neither of them seemed appealing right now. If anything he just wanted peace and quiet. That is what freaked him out. It was unusual. It was not like him. Old warriors talked about crap like that when they knew they would die and tomorrow was the final battle they would ever have with the humans. Was that it? Maybe he sensed the end of war and that broke him? Why did he have no appetite?

He watched the soldiers drink around tables, shouting, screaming and laughing. Drinks spilling on the ground, one of the tavern girls trying to bring more, but a man pulled her on his lap and she dropped everything. Laughs and whistles followed. Imlerith just sighed. That was him, that used to be him. What was going on?

He left a few coins on the table and walked out. Obviously drinking and fucking was not for him today, but he also didn’t want to sleep. His blood was boiling before battle in excitement, going to bed was not an option and his own thoughts were not pleasant right now. Imlerith walked the streets of Tir na Lia, hood covering his face, for the first time in his life he wanted to be...invisible. That was also a new feeling. He walked aimlessly through the city, mostly everyone was asleep, normal people did not bother with the drunk feasts of men who were probably going to die tomorrow.

There it was again.

The thought about death.

He could have walked for hours or minutes, when he found himself in front of an old house. There were no lights so he assumed whoever lived here now was already asleep. That used to be his childhood home, the place where he grew up. He has not been here in...years. Imlerith had grown to be a nobody. His parents were nothing impressive, left behind nothing remarkable. He was the same, not many talents in him, not really smart, he knew that, didn’t have talent for crafts either, nor for talking, always better at destroying stuff than building them. He was a teenager when he decided to join the king’s army, mostly because he didn’t want to stave and then he had discovered his talent. He had always been a violent kid, getting in trouble, but the army...that had given him outlet, he could express himself as best as he could, nobody cared about the human and unicorn corpses he left behind himself.

But all that was coming to an end was it not? The humans were almost done and the unicorns...well as much as he loved seeing their skulls destroyed nothing really screamed like a human about to die.

Was that what bothered him? His purpose was about to die with this one final battle and he would do what? He was his strength, he was his mace and he was his brutality, he might not be a smart man, but that much he knew. It was death he was scared of, now he realized. It wasn’t the physical death, the gore of brutal wounds and his guts spilling on the ground. The death of who he was. His nature not having a place to regain.

Imlerith found himself in the heat of the battle, his favorite place to be, his thoughts from yesterday left somewhere behind. His mace was already soaked in blood, his body ached, but he had never felt better. That was who he was and where he belonged. Shamed that was going to be the end of humankind, or at least of their resistance.

He turned around by instinct seeing two humans surrounding an elf who was cornered next to a tree. Imlerith smiled and bashed his mace right in the head of the first human, the brain and blood making the other one turn his attention, but that was too late. The other elf didn’t lose a second and jammed his sword through the man’s chest. The man tried to scream but that scream turned into a cough of blood, yeah that always happens when you get a sword in the chest.

Just now Imlerith noticed the elf was a Red Rider. He had lost his helmet, and he could see blood running down his left side.

“Impressive.” the Red Rider said, pushing himself away from the tree, there were three more corpses on the ground, that explained why he had been cornered, it had taken five of them. Now Imlerith finally recognized him. Eredin Bréacc Glas, the leader of the Red Riders was standing in front of him...well maybe not in his full might as he was dirty and bleeding, but still regal. “I guess I owe you one, soldier.”

“Don’t mention it.” Imlerith smiled and rushed back to the battle.

Tonight was different than yesterday, it was worse. Everyone around him was drinking to celebrate their victory, he was going to drink himself to death to mourn the end of fighting. All these losers would go to their families and what was left for him? The only family he knew was war and violence, and for some reason people frowned when you try to start a fight in the middle of Tir na Lia. He was going to join his men when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Imlerith turned around slowly making sure he didn't spill the five drinks he was carrying as he intended to drink all of them in full.

“I was hoping I can buy you a drink.” Eredin was looking at him with a coy smile. He wasn’t wearing armor now and his left hand was bandaged. Imlerith looked at his men who were already half drunk, whatever, he could spend a moment to drink with...someone who was so much higher in the hierarchy that it wasn’t even funny. What was next, drinking with the king himself?

The tavern was full, but somehow Eredin managed to get them a table, that same table Imlerith was sinking in self pity last night, ironic. All the leader of the Red Riders had to do was smile and the soldiers sitting there just excused themselves. Imlerith lined the five drinks in front of himself as Eredin was observing him with curiosity.

“I watched you today.” Eventually the Red Rider said.

“First of all, that’s creepy.” Imlerith drank. “Second, at least buy me dinner first and then tell me that.”

“I also asked around about you.” Eredin was still smiling. “Joined the army very young. You should be a general by your own right given how successful you are and your skills in battle. Also the time you have spent fighting”

“I have also been reprimanded a few times.” Imlerith added. Few times was underestimation. He had been in fights with his fellow soldiers, he even killed a guy once over a woman. He didn’t even remember how the woman looked like, nor he had slept with her that night but he remembered his officer stripping him of a rank. He also remembered smashing that same officer’s head in a wall. No one knew about that however.

“Heard that as well.” Eredin raised an eyebrow. “I read a report where someone described you as uncontrollable, dangerous and even...psychopathic.” Imlerith knew that whoever wrote that did not mean it as a compliment, but...it kind of was. “There might be a sport with the Red Riders for someone like you.”

Imlerith stared for a second. He needed some time to process the words, he wasn’t as drunk as he would like to be, but he had enough alcohol and adrenaline in his system to find it hard to understand the words that were just directed at him.

“Me? A Red Rider?” he started laughing hysterical. He laughed so hard he pushed one of his drinks, by accident, and it spilled on the table, running down Eredin’s pretty clothes. “I think I will ruin your reputation.” he finally said once he calmed down, Eredin’s face wasn’t as pleased as it was a moment ago.

“Who said I care about clean reputation. You my friend are exactly what I need.” The grin Eredin gave him made Imlerith smile as well. He wasn’t sure the Red Rider knew what he was purchasing, but he would be damned if he was to refuse an opportunity like that. A beautiful picture grew in Imlerith’s mind, an image of fights and blood as much as his heart desired.

[the-big-nope]

While I’m certainly nowhere near ready for the story of the Mighty Nein to come to an end, I am also a D&D nerd and there’s a new sourcebook coming out soon with a bunch of new subclasses in it. By the time Campaign 3 of Critical Role gets underway, that book will be published, leaving a wealth of new options for the cast members to choose from, so why not entertain myself by making barely justified predictions of what the cast is most likely to pick for their next characters! (Disclaimer: Some of the new subclasses have been confirmed and some haven’t, so for a few of these picks I’m just going off of what I think is going to be in the book).

Travis

Cleric (Tempest Domain): Travis has been playing lowkey EMT since campaign one, and Laura’s already confirmed that Travis almost went cleric for campaign two. Between Grog with his barb-boosted movement speed to get around the battlefield so he could shove healing potions into his squishier teammates, and Fjord multiclassing into paladin and lovingly tapping his friends with single hit points to get them back up, it would be delightful to see him fully jump in and embrace the classical healer role. Of course, this is Travis, so I don’t see him picking a cleric domain that doesn’t allow for at least some whoop-ass, and Tempest Domain brings plenty of it. You get proficiency with all armor and weapons, Divine Strike at level 8 for boosted melee damage, you can use a reaction to inflict lightning or thunder damage against any enemy within melee range that’s hit you. And if you climb up high enough in levels, you gain a flying speed equal to your walking one whenever you’re outdoors. Pretty nifty, and makes for a fitting subclass for a guy that’s voiced Thor on multiple occasions.

Blood Hunter (Order of the Lycan): I mean, come on. The only reason it isn’t number one is that it was already widely assumed this would be Travis’s pick for campaign two, and I wouldn’t put it past him to surprise us again. But still, we saw him get a taste in Liam’s one shot and he was clearly having the time of his life. Besides, we lost Molly far too early to really see the blood hunter’s potential come to life; it would be damn cool to see someone else take a crack at it, and Travis is enough of a D&D gambler to not shy away from the class’s riskier features.

Artificer (Armorer): Speaking of Marvel connections, if Travis doesn’t lean toward fantasy Thor, then fantasy Iron Man might catch his attention instead. Artificer is an official class now, and since it’ll be reprinted in TCoE by the time campaign 3 gets underway, it’ll be a lot more visible as an option. The Armorer sits in almost a perfect middle ground of what Travis has done before: tanky and a frontliner, but also still has spells and tricks to help the party. Plus, you get a badass suit of power armor out of it. What’s not to like?

Marisha

Bard (College of Creation): After Hazel Copperpot, we all saw the pure magic that was Marisha Ray playing a bard. I know she implied that Hazel was supposed to be her campaign two backup character, but I hope this doesn’t discourage her from making another one. There are quite a few bard subclasses, a number of which I could see her being drawn to (Lore, Glamour, maybe even Swords), but I really vibe with the idea of Creation. I can’t exactly say why; maybe the idea of the ‘dancing object’ feature in Marisha’s hands is very funny to me (remember Keyleth’s adorable “Be Our Guest” moment? That, but this time it’s a walking wardrobe beating the shit out of the enemy).

Paladin (Oath of Vengeance/Conquest): As of yet, no one on Critical Role has ever played a paladin from the start, only multiclassed later down the line. I think this would be a cool departure for Marisha. Both campaigns she’s played characters that were either suspicious or at least indifferent to faith and the gods. Paladins are typically associated with deities, but they’re not tied quite so closely to them as clerics are. It would be fascinating to see what she did with it. As for the subclass, I just think Marisha’s earned her turn on the Goth Character Carousel, and while I know Conquest paladin is very unlikely given its moral grayness by default which might cause undue conflict and that Vengeance is a much more likely and acceptable pick, I just think it would be a sexy character choice. 

Wizard (Bladesinger/Graviturgist): This is a much more pie-in-the-sky, wishful thinking pick on my end, but not impossible imo. Marisha has experience with heavy spellcasting already, so she probably wouldn’t shy away from a wizard, but like Travis I suspect she likes a bit of oomph to her characters, and probably wouldn’t play as support heavy as Caleb does. To that end, Bladesingers get a bit more survivability and some modicum of physical prowess alongside their spells, while Graviturgists are definitely on the more aggressive side of the spectrum for wizard subclasses, with unique dunamancy spells to boot. I’m not sure how restrictive Matt would be about Xhorhassian characters in the next campaign if it takes place on another continent, but hey, you never know. Plus, she picked one of Matt’s homebrew subclasses for the current campaign; it would be cute if it happened again.

Liam

Druid (Circle of the Shepherd): At some point before Critical Role comes to end (hopefully far in the future), I know Liam’s gonna play a druid, I can feel it in my bones. He's too big of a Kiki fan not to. However, while Circle of the Moon might feel obvious given the potential for homage and how much he likes turning into animals, I feel like he might regard it as getting too close to old territory (also, I don’t know if Circle of the Moon is like an exclusive thing to the Ashari tribes, and if it is that would be rather restrictive for building a backstory). If that’s the case, Circle of the Shepherd feels like the next best bet. It has some great support options via the totems you can put down, and rather than becoming badass animals, you instead just get really good at summoning a fuck ton of them. It’s like Frumpkin, but ten of him. And they’re bears. (Honorable mention: If Circle of the Moon would feel like treading old territory then I’m certain Circle of Wildfire would too, but I’d bet my dice collection it would at least be tempting). 

Cleric (Unity Domain): Listen. The pure sap potential that would be at Mr. O’Brien’s fingertips with this subclass is incredible. The domain all about strengthening and protecting the bonds between friends and loved ones?? The domain with the Channel Divinity that can spread damage taken by one creature across the party however the cleric chooses to distribute it to lessen the blow to the individual??? The domain that used to be called the Love Domain???? I’m practically gagging on the soft moments and unspoken devotion conveyed through spellcasting already.

Fighter (Rune Knight/Psi Knight): Liam has yet to play a tank in a long-term campaign, and while I’m more enamored with the potential of the above classes, it would be novel to see him play a character with an actually respectable amount of hit points. However, I feel like if he was gonna commit to a straight frontliner, he’d probably want something a little more unique than a Champion or Battle Master (especially since he’s played those already for one-shots). Rune Knight has some fun options and built-in flavor, and with Psi Knight you can basically be a Jedi. Not bad options at all if you ask me.

Taliesin

Warlock (Fiend): Yeah, it might be expected, or Percy might have been too close to warlock anyway to feel like there’s new ground to cover, but hear me out. Both Percy (who, let’s face it, was a warlock multiclass in all but the actual mechanics) and Fjord were the classic reluctants. They got in over their heads without really knowing what was going on, and once they did they wanted out, cutting ties with their patrons and getting clear with only the scars remaining. I want to see Taliesin commit to a warlock in a way I imagine only he could manage to pull off. How fun would that balancing act be, to have a character that has no intentions of breaking their pact, who’s here for the powers, and is willing to work that delicate balancing act between keeping what he’s got and not letting his contract holder get the better of him? Give it to meeeeee.

Sorcerer (Psionic Soul): Psionic Soul has a bit of that eldritch flavor that vibes with Taliesin so much, with the added interest of introducing a brand new feature to 5E, the Psi Die (with this subclass, using them can do things like letting a sorcerer learn a spell they don’t already know for a few hours, allow you to cast spells without needing verbal, somatic, or material components, and can give you telepathy). Taking both Percy and Molly into account, it seems Tal likes to lean into those unique additional mechanics, and while Psi Die aren’t as risk-heavy as Gunslinger or Bloodhunter, they do add a layer of variability and unpredictability that seems to match his style.

Rogue (Swashbuckler): We only got a little bit of time with Molly, and so missed out on the opportunity to see Tal play a more cavalier character this time around. If he feels like leaning away from spells next time and back toward martial, I think a high-charisma, high-swinging swashbuckler from Tal would be a delight to watch.

Laura

Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian): Laura deserves to hit things, okay? Yes, spellcasting is great and comes in clutch frequently and Jester’s amazing, but you can tell Laura misses doing fat stacks of damage to the enemy in a single round. I personally think it would be amazing to watch her just cut loose and go full rage machine. As for the subclass, I’m not glued to the idea, but Ancestral Guardians are pretty kickass, have decent support capabilities for a barb without detracting from their DPS at all, and it doesn’t tread on any previous characters’ toes or their aesthetics.

Rogue (Scout/Soulknife): Laura deserves to play her favorite class at last, okay? She’s been class poached two campaigns in a row, and though that resulted in both Vex and Jester and I wouldn’t trade them for the world, Laura has earned first pick. Seeing as she already dipped into Assassin as Vex and Sam took Arcane Trickster, I could see Scout being a viable subclass choice. It’s in the classic sneaky vein, relatively simple in concept, but comes with features that grant easy-to-understand benefits that you can never turn your nose up at (boosts to movement, advantage on initiative, giving advantage against a target to everyone else in the party, etc.). If she’s looking for something a bit flashier, Soulknife has the benefit of retroactively dunking on Vax by taking the basic knife-rogue and making it better, with psionic knives that you can manifest with a thought, that can teleport you around Whisper style, and cranking up that stealth to ridiculous levels by just being able to turn invisible for ten minutes, no concentration or spell needed. The psionic die mechanics are a little funky of course, but I don’t imagine it’s any trickier than learning to manage all those cleric spells.

Monk (Way of the Open Hand): Between Beau just being super cool and her brief stint as Farriwen Breeze, monk wouldn’t be a surprising pick from Laura. An Open Hand monk might be the definitive version everyone knows, but you can’t deny it’s a solid subclass, and between previous overlap and the concepts of the other subclasses just not seeming to fit, I could see the classic being what she went with. But hey, it’s Laura Bailey. She could surprise us with Way of the Drunken Master or something.

Sam

Ranger (Monster Slayer): Let’s be real, I don’t think this would be his actual first pick for a Campaign 3 character, but the amount of shit-stirring he could achieve by making a character with the aim of pissing off Laura Bailey specifically would be hilarious (and since Matt isn’t completely opposed to UA and acknowledges that PHB ranger has a lot of issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if they went Revised Ranger this time).

Warlock (Genie): Actual first pick here, Pact of the Genie Warlock is confirmed by now, and the potential of a warlock in the hands of Sam Riegel is pretty vast (for some reason I’m imagining he would go the ‘spoiled sugar baby’ route). The subclass doesn’t matter as much, but the Genie one is nice in that, depending on the type of genie patron you pick, you can get a wide variety of extra spells, you get a container like a classic lamp or lantern that you can bamf into for short rests, and you get a limited Wish ability for your capstone, all features I feel like would especially appeal to Sam.

Barbarian (Path of the Wild Soul): I want to see Sam play a fairy barbarian. ‘Nough said.

Ashley

Fighter (Eldritch/Echo Knight): Ashley really seems to vibe with the crushing power of martial classes (she does love her brutal kill descriptions), so I could see her sticking with it rather than going back to full caster. However, I do see her picking one of the magical subclasses for some variety after Yasha. Eldritch Knight is a classic and reasonably easy to manage, but tbh I’d LOVE for it to be Echo Knight. And think, if my wishful thinking came true, with Ashley picking an Echo Knight and Marisha playing a Graviturgist wizard, they could link up their backstories and be a traveling Kryn battle duo that left their homeland behind to explore the world!

Sorcerer (Draconic): If she does want to go back to full-time casting, Sorcerer doesn’t require near as much bookkeeping as a cleric, druid, or wizard while still having decent variety, and the Draconic subclass is a bit beefier than the other subclasses. Also, it would be the third campaign in a row where Ashley Johnson’s character eventually got wings, soooo...

And tbh I have no idea what a third pick might be for Ashley, so I’m just gonna throw a dart or two at the board and say either College of Whispers Bard or Way of Mercy Monk *Shrug* We can only wait and see!

[serosfan]

So @singing-not-sleeping-beauty and I were discussing Class 1-A quirk swaps but like, not in the swap way you’d expect and I was inspired. 

QUIRK SWAPS

Midoriya and Tsu

Tsu with One For All bc 1 she deserves it and 2 she’s one of the few 1A members who WONT break their entire body in one go. Very controlled. Also All Might would love Tsu c’mon

Midoriya with frog quirk aka “He’s trying to talk but the tongue is LONG and it is DIFFICULT”.I think he’d find some interesting offensive moves with the jumping bc it’s like his shoot style

Momo and Sato

Both quirks already involve like calories and fat content kinda? So she’d be good at figuring out how much sugar is needed to have x amount of power. Very precise and also like Momo punch someone in a FULLY COVERED COSTUME PLEASE

Sato doesn’t have the like, immense knowledge as Momo but I think he’d be good at making basic weapons. Imagine Momo teaching him how to make things and him learning about fat content more. 

Just. These who would vibe so well

Aoyama and Iida

First of all they both wear suits of armor like c’mon match made in heaven. 

For real though, Aoyama learning to work a speed quirk and getting more confident in himself as a hero bc he doesn't need to be flashy!!! I love Aoyama

Meanwhile Iida realizing the physical toll Aoyama’s quirk actually has and him learning that not all quirks are fairly side effect free and it’s a weird humbling experience for him. Also the idea of Iida just blasting himself down the hallway with the laser by accident is extremely funny

Todoroki and Hagakure

Here me out here. Todoroki has this whole angst about looking like his dad and his appearance so him suddenly not having an appearance at all? Did someone say ANGST. Also he’s a little shit and will sneak up on people at the worst times

Meanwhile not only do we get VISIBLE Hagakure but her getting the attention she wants bc of the flashy quirk now too but like maybe she doesn't want that much attention actually? And learning to love her quirk? 

IDK the angst between these two is 10/10 potential 

Bakugou and Ojiro

Similar to Todoroki and Hagakure we have flashy quirk vs non flashy quirk. Bakugou is like hella off kilter bc not only is he not making explosions and all that but now he has a fucking tail. Here comes the rage. But when he learns how to use it Bakugou would 100% just fucking WHAM people with the tail

And we have peaceful chill Ojiro suddenly with this violent ass quirk and he’s like ????!?!?!?! But I think he’d find a good way to use the quirk subtly? Like smaller sparks/explosions off his hands to up hand to hand combat or something like that. 

Mineta Shinsou and Kirishima

So we have Kirishima who's entire fighting style is using himself as a human shield, and Shinsou who's fighting style is working from the sides/above. The most DIFFERENT styles and they're both like oh fuck

Shinsou having this weird crisis with Aizawa bc he doesn't feel like a hero even though he has a more “heroic” quirk and he has to work on his assertiveness in getting right into the middle of fights

Meanwhile Kirishima having a manliness crisis bc his body is such a massive part of him and his hero style and he doesn't think he’s smart enough to use Shinsou’s quirk and UGH someone protect these boys

Jirou and Koda

So like we’ve seen them work together so they’d be a duo who could actually help each other learn the quirks? Like Koda being really good at reconnaissance bc he’s already quiet and now he can hear even more and he’s doing so well I love Koda

And then Jirou is pretty chill so she’d adjust fairly fast and she’s just enjoying talking to like, stray cats and some birds walking around. Again she uses the quirk for recon too they’d just be a good duo

Mina and Shouji

Okay okay okay. Mezo “Gives the best hugs you know he does” Shoji suddenly can produce ACID. Also he just has. 2 arms? That would be such a lifestyle adjustment I think he’d struggle with like, on the one hand he likes looking “normal” but he also misses his quirk and he’s constantly concerned he’s gonna make too much acid and hurt someone. Also I’m pretty sure he’d turn pink and that’s adorable. He’d  also be too scared to try and fight bc. Acid. He’s having a time. 

Mina meanwhile is having the best fucking time. You know she would. Alien Queen rolls with the punches so now that she’s got dupli-arms? Cool! Straight up throwing herself into fights now bc she's got so many arms! The one thing she’d sad about is she’s not pink anymore 

Denki and Tokoyami

Tokoyami is just salty he’s still got a bird head tbh. And he’s sad bc he always had Dark Shadow with him? And now he’s lonely! And yeah electricity is pretty cool but he misses his buddy. He’s also way better at controlling the electric output so he doesn't short circuit as much and Denki is salty

Meanwhile Denki uses his quirk in daily life so not only is he like oh damn right no more electricity, but also he has a bird shadow now. He’s pretty bad at getting Dark Shadow to listen to him bc really all Dark Shadow does is sulk and ask for Tokoyami back but Denki gives him hugs so it’s okay for now

Sero and Uraraka 

Tape Boy aka The One Braincell of the Bakusquad can and will float Bakugou to the ceiling. He doesn't care if he gets nauseous it’s for the greater good. The greater good being his entertainment. He misses his tape bc he can’t swing around like spiderman though. Also you know he figured out how to float himself around and got a cape bc he’s a NERD

Uraraka on the one hand is enjoying learning about the new quirk and also swinging around is fun! One problem. Elbows. They big. And they don’t FIT IN ANY CLOTHING. That’s really her issue. But aside from that she loves having tape. She did tape Iida to a wall when he wouldn’t chill and she’ll DO IT AGAIN

[magniloquent-raven]

Number 73 "take mine" I'm thinking jacket sharing with Harringrove (either offering the jacket) if you have time!! 💖 💖

so. it’s not jacket sharing, i hope that’s okay!! and it’s actually a sequel to your first prompt? @bambixxblue and i were talking about a fix-it sequel where billy comes back and im weak for fix-its so i ended up with this. it’s. angsty. but also. soft? idk, i hope u like it anyway!!

basically the premise is billy and hopper were both in russia and had to break out together. posted on ao3

—-

Max turned seventeen three weeks ago. It’s hard to keep track of the days sometimes but Billy’s pretty sure he’s right. It’s hard to wrap his brain around Max being seventeen. When he pictures her in his head she’s still a bratty twelve-year-old with skinned knees who doesn’t know when to shut her mouth.

He tells Hop. Tells him about the birthdays he was there for, wonders about the ones he wasn’t. Cries a little too. Funny how easy it is to do that now. It used to be an ordeal, would burn and claw at him until he broke. He’s too exhausted for that nowadays, lets his tears fall unfettered and ignores the shame that still sneaks up on him when he does.

They have to be quiet, always afraid of being caught again. Billy’s constantly looking over his shoulder, jumping at shadows. It’s stupid to risk it, for something so trivial, but he can’t stop the words from spilling out.

“You miss her.” It’s not a question. Hop doesn’t ask that kind of shit, he just knows. Which is why Billy doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to.

He pats Billy’s shoulder awkwardly. It’s the clumsy kind of affection a father is supposed to offer and it sets Billy off again, tears dripping down his nose and cutting streaks through the dirt smeared on his cheeks.

They’re holed up in an abandoned warehouse this time. Waiting. Always waiting. The plan is to stow away in the next cargo hold with enough space but in the meantime they’re fugitives, laying low wherever they can find empty, forgotten places.

Hop tells him about El while they wait. Billy’s heard most of his stories by now, but he listens anyway. Listens to the wobble in his voice as he talks about teaching El to read, hears the question under it all, about whether he’ll ever see her again.

Billy wishes he had an answer.

~~

The first time Billy set foot in Hawkins, Indiana, he was seventeen, angry and wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else.

It’s three days after his twenty-second birthday the second time. An icy December evening, dark and windy. He’s exhausted. He hasn’t eaten in two days. He’s a patchwork tapestry of scars that weren’t there before, a battered effigy of the person he used to be, cobbled together with scraps of what he could salvage.

Hawkins is the same unremarkable, rinky-dink town it always was. Seeing it again is a relief and a punch in the gut all at once. It’s all he’s wanted for three years, but it’s terrifying.

They end up in Loch Nora, of all places. The Byers’ old house was empty, and going too far into town is risky. 

It doesn’t feel real. Standing on Steve Harrington’s front porch, suddenly all too aware of the layer of sweat and grime on his skin. This place is too clean, too quiet. Peaceful, in a way that can’t be true.

Billy chews on his thumbnail, stands behind Hopper while he bangs on the door. There are no cars in the driveway, which means at the very least Steve’s parents won’t answer the door. But there’s no guarantee that Steve even lives here anymore.

He’s getting antsy, glancing around, heart pounding.

Then the door swings open.

Billy is seventeen, half-drunk and stinking like beer, colder than he’ll let on because fucking Indiana and its shitty weather, wiping the drool from his chin when he spots him across a room, already half in love by the time he’s clambered over a couch to get a closer look.

He blinks. He’s twenty-two, pale and shivering, thumbnail still between his teeth, and Steve Harrington’s doe eyes still make him weak in the knees.

Steve’s hair is longer, brushing his shoulders, but other than that he doesn’t look any different. Except that he isn’t looking at Billy with thinly veiled contempt or anger.

“Hey, kid.” Hopper says. “Gonna let us inside, or what?”

Steve is silent. Staring, lips parted. One hand still on the doorknob, the other slack at his side. He sways dangerously, and Billy tenses, prepared to catch him if he falls over. He doesn’t, but Billy’s still itching to touch him.

“Am I dreaming?” Steve blurts, looking dazed, unable to decide who to look at and ending up unfocused and hazy.

Yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants. The memory feels like someone else’s. A lifetime ago.

Billy bites down on his lip, battling an inexplicable, and slightly hysterical, urge to laugh.

“Dream about me often, Harrington?” Billy says, because apparently it takes more than nearly dying and spending three years as a fugitive to get over his inability to keep his mouth shut around pretty boys (or one in particular). Though now his voice comes out soft, quiet, betraying genuine sentiment. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than the armor of taunts he used to cover that shit up with.

Probably worse.

Steve’s looking at him. Only him. Billy had almost forgotten how addictive that is. He watches Steve’s mouth open and close, tracks the way one corner curls up a little when he lets out a little disbelieving huff that isn’t quite a laugh. “More than you’d think,” he murmurs.

And Billy’s brain shuts off. There are a thousand questions stuck up there, but he can’t get a single one of them out because he’s too busy trying to get past, more than you’d think, echoing through his head in surround sound.

He’s startled out of his Steve-induced haze by Hopper’s pointed cough.

It seems like he’s not the only one, because Steve visibly flinches, “Right, shit,” he stammers, “Get—uh, get inside.” He ushers them in, glancing around, checking the street behind them.

The Harrington residence is one of those big fancy houses with more rooms than anyone could possibly need, but that means multiple bathrooms so Steve (as politely as possible) tells them they can both shower whenever they feel like it. And he fusses. A lot. All nervous hands clutching his elbows and teeth worrying at the inside of his cheek, eyes darting between Billy and Hopper like he’s sure they’ll vanish any second and never have been there at all.

Billy isn’t sure how to deal with it, so he avoids his eyes. Then misses looking at him.

An hour later they’re all in the kitchen. Billy keeps plucking at the sleeve of his borrowed sweatshirt, trying to keep calm. It’s too much, all at once. His skin feels raw, weird and tight. The overhead light is too bright, and the smell of Steve on everything is making him lightheaded. The soft detergent scent from his clothes, the shampoo Billy used when he showered (his hair is a lot longer than it used to be, it took forever to detangle it all).

Steve makes some calls. It’s late, too late to be calling people’s houses but he does it anyway.

Not long after, the front door bursts open.

Max is taller than he remembers. Rougher around the edges. Her hair is a choppy mess, auburn waves sticking out in every direction, curling around her ears, and there’s the sharp glimmer of silver in one lobe. She’s wearing a jean jacket with a torn elbow.

And she’s crying, messy and red-eyed, not bothering to wipe the snot from her nose.

“Where. The fuck. Have you been?” she sobs, shoulders shaking, and she practically trips forward in her hurry to throw her arms around Billy’s neck.

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Feels unsteady, like he’ll fall to pieces if he moves wrong.

“I’m here now,” is all he can manage. She doesn’t need to hear about military hospitals and Russian prisons, about being kept in a cell, wondering if he’d ever see sunlight again… She doesn’t need that right now. Hell, he’s not ready to talk about it. Might never be.

He hugs her back, torn between wanting to squeeze as hard as he can, make sure she’s real, and being terrified of breaking her.

She still uses that shitty coconut-scented soap, and that’s what shatters him. He’s crying into her shoulder, clutching the back of her jacket. He used to dwarf her, remembers her being tiny and fragile, despite her fierceness, yet now she’s supporting his weight while he buckles.

They’ve never actually hugged before, he realizes, and that realization opens a door he wishes he could’ve left closed a little longer.

Guilt. Like undertow, pulling him back to harsh reality, cold steel gripping his heart, weighing it down. He should’ve been better. Treated her better. And now she’s here, crying like she actually missed him, and he doesn’t deserve it.

He pulls away, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.

She’s still looking at him, hands on his shoulders, a wobbly smile on her face.

Billy is overwhelmed again. It must show, because suddenly Steve is at Max’s side, eyes gentle and his soft mouth pinched in a frown, “Max. Maybe give him some space.”

She clenches her jaw, probably physically holding back an argument, and nods, stepping back despite the reluctance written all over her face.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says, barely louder than a whisper. Then he can’t stop himself from saying it, again and again, gaze fixed on the floor, tears still dripping down his chin. He has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to finally stem the tide of apologies. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to will the world away.

“Billy.” Steve’s voice is soft. He has a nice voice, so Billy focuses on it, through all the angry buzzing in his ears. “Billy, I need you to nod if you’re listening.” He doesn’t want to, he wants to curl up and fucking die, anything but be a person right now because everything hurts and there isn’t enough air in this room and— “Billy?”

He bows his head, twitches, it’s barely a nod but it’s all he’s got.

“Okay, good. Can I touch your hand?”

Billy’s heart stutters, aches. He’s having a hard time concentrating through the burn in the back of his throat, the static drowning out his thoughts. He nods again.

Steve’s fingers are gentle, pulling Billy’s hand from where it had tangled in his hair. He hadn’t noticed the fingernails digging into his scalp until Steve took one of his hands away. It ends up pressed against something warm, soft material under his fingers, moving slow—oh. His hand is on Steve’s chest.

“Can you breathe with me? Concentrate on me, okay?”

He does.

Steve’s cradling his hand. He’s got callouses along the top of his palm, barely there but present. He’s breathing deep, calm and steady. But despite his outward demeanour his heart is racing, Billy can feel it through his shirt. He curls his fingers into the sensation, fingertips digging in as far as he can push them.

Billy almost forgets to breathe he’s so fixated on Steve’s heartbeat.

It does its job either way though, because exhaustion is starting to hit him as the static recedes. He sags, relaxes. Every muscle in his body feels leaden.

He opens his eyes, squints against the sudden light.

He’s almost afraid to look up. Afraid of being judged, of triggering another episode, so fucking terrified, all the time—

“Billy?”

His fingers twitch reflexively, tightening his grip on Steve’s polo.

“You good?” His voice is still so soft, and so close it hurts.

It takes several long moments for Billy to collect himself. Then he looks up.

Max is hovering, standing behind Steve with wide eyes, her worry palpable. Hopper looks grim, but then again, he kind of always does. He’s a respectable distance away, watching. And Steve… Steve is right there still, holding Billy’s hand and looking at him like he cares, doe eyes shining, fixed on Billy’s face.

“I’m okay,” Billy says, voice rough. He sounds like hell, but they all visibly relax anyway.

The room is silent for too long after that. It feels tense in a distant way, like it would be awkward if Billy had the energy to care, was awake enough to feel anything but vaguely fuzzy. He’s still got a handful of shirt and doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon. Steve’s the only thing keeping him upright, and he hasn’t let go either.

“Did… did I do something wrong?” Max asks, her voice is small and tremulous and cuts right through Billy.

“No!” he’s quick to cut in, “No. Max. It’s…” Billy trembles, stutters to a stop. He has no idea how to explain, even to himself, let alone Max. Steve squeezes his hand. His stomach flips. “It’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him, but she doesn’t argue. He wishes he could make it better, but he’s got no idea how.

“We should all get some sleep,” Steve says.

And that’s that. His tone brooks no argument, even in a room full of stubborn assholes. Apparently, the past few years have given Steve time to hone his babysitting skills. Or maybe they’re all just as exhausted as Billy is.

There’s some squabbling about sleeping arrangements though.

Everyone insists Hopper take the master bedroom, Steve says his parents won’t know or care, his old friends did worse than sleep in that bed. They all poke at him until he relents and trudges off, bidding them a quiet goodnight.

Then Billy says he’ll take the couch and both Steve and Max yell at him.

Billy rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, guys,” he mutters. He’s not about to make Max sleep on the weird little couch (he’s done enough to her already) and putting Steve out in his own house would be shitty. “It’s not like I haven’t slept on worse.” He winces as he says it, realizing as the words come out of his mouth that it’s probably the wrong thing to say. It was meant as a reassurance, that he would in fact be fine with the couch, because at least it’s clean and warm, but all it does is make Max look sad and put a little wrinkle between Steve’s eyebrows.

“I’ve slept on this couch before,” Max says, a stubborn tilt to her jaw, “I’ll take it.”

Steve scoffs at that, “You complain every time you have to sleep on that couch, Max. Take the guest bed. Billy can take mine.” His fingers tense when he says it, and Billy realizes they’re still holding hands. His hand slipped from Steve’s shirt while they were bullying Hopper into taking the master suite, but Steve has yet to let go.

And… suddenly he wants nothing more than to sleep in Steve’s bed. But. “Only if you come with me,” he blurts.

Which is really not how he should have said that, but it’s out there now.

“Oh my god,” he hears Max mutter.

His whole head feels like it’s on fire. “Shit. I—I mean—”

“Okay,” Steve says hurriedly, then clears his throat, “Yeah. That. That works. Uh. Okay.” He’s glancing at Max awkwardly, nervous, but she just rolls her eyes. Billy barely notices her do it, too busy looking at Steve, his heart hammering.

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m—” It’s her turn to look uncertain, but it’s only for a second. “Me and El are dating. We’ve been trying to figure out how to tell everyone, and—yeah. Anyway. I’m not going to judge you, or whatever.”

Well, that was not at all what Billy was expecting. He takes a moment to worry about both of them, be terrified of what would happen to them if someone found out. Then he remembers that El can kill people with her brain and Max once threatened to castrate him with a spiked bat. The knot of anxiety doesn’t dissipate but he’s freaking out less.

“How long has that been going on?” Steve asks, sounding more bemused than anything.

Max turns pink, and it’s kind of fascinating to watch. She’s flustered. That’s adorable. “Since, um. Since April.”

“Happy for you, kid,” Billy says. And he means it. He barely knows El, in theory, but really. The kid’s been in his head. He could recite every story Hopper’s told him about her from memory. He died protecting her.

He knows her well enough to know she’s good for Max, and he loves Max enough to want her to have good things.

She grins, bright and real. Billy’s fairly certain he’s never seen her that happy before, and his heart clenches.

“I’m not sure who I’m supposed to give the shovel talk to here,” Steve says, more to himself than anything.

Billy snickers, and tugs on Steve’s hand, “Like you could take either of them.”

Steve steps closer, looking faux-offended, “I’ll have you know I won a fight once.”

“Yeah, three years ago. You’re a has-been, Harrington,” Max chimes in.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“I’m seventeen, dingus.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

He missed them so much. Missed something he, if he’s being honest with himself, never really had in the first place. They both hated his guts before, and he… he was a mess. Still is. Just a different kind now. But being here, being part of this, is something he always on some level wanted and…

“Oh my god, Billy, are you okay?” Max asks, concern bleeding into her voice.

He’s crying again, smiles through the tears. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

[darkwalk]

Angry medics and confused gladiators

I’m on chapter 19 out of 21 (the last being a very short epilogue) for the second draft of ‘Lighting Fires’ and the third draft should be MUCH quicker so I’m really excited to be close to finishing this!

But I’ve also cut out a lot of things from the rough draft and thought people might appreciate them. So, an early chapter of the rough draft that was completely changed the second time around below the cut:

.

.

“Really Sideswipe,” the medic quickly pulled out the destroyed parts and set about cleaning what remained, “When are you lot going to learn to drop it?”

“Didn't say anything.” Orion murmured.

“Yeah, he didn't say anything Doc.” Sideswipe mimicked cheekily, “Just me and myself and-”

Ratchet slammed his tools down. “Oh shut up. You're not as funny as you think you are.” With a scowl, he bellowed at one of the guards to grab a shoulder strut from a certain bin. The gladiators in front of the shelving shuffled slowly out of the way, the more injured just sliding down a bit. When the guard unlocked the bin and couldn't seem to find what Ratchet was looking for, the medic started swearing.

“-rusted scrapheap of a- tch! One of these days, if I ever get a break, I'm going to reorganize this Primus-damned SIN against medical efficiency!” Stomping over, Ratchet started going through the bins one by one to find the part he was looking for. Sniggers slunk around the room. Unfortunately, their medic had good hearing because he whirled around to snarl at them all. “You laugh now but just wait till it's one of you on a slab and I can't save your afts because I can't find the parts I need!”

“You're wasting time. Find it and fix the mech. There are others waiting.” Paradigm called over coldly.

Ratchet's face twitched, holding back a sneer. Instead of replying, he slammed through several more drawers before finding the right part and stalking back to Sunstreaker. Without a word to the mech watching him silently, Ratchet started putting his shoulder back together.

Orion glanced at Sideswipe and got a grim look in reply. Neither spoke and several moments passed with only the other patient's chatter before the doors opened. Instead of a wounded gladiator or a cellmate rejoining their group, the guards led in Jazz.

Everyone went silent. Optics flickered between the guards and the small bloody mech who was very obviously not one of them.

Hearing the sudden quiet, Ratchet lifted his helm from Sunstreaker's wound and peered over his shoulder. Flat blue optics narrowed as the guards pushed Jazz towards them. Whispers of 'baitmech' and '-doing here?' floated about. Straightening, the medic turned around.

“What the frag is this?”

Ignoring him, one of the guards turned towards Sideswipe. “He's in your cell now. Don't kill him.” With that, he shoved Jazz hard towards the gladiator and the pair of guards left. Surprised and unsure of what was happening, Sideswipe didn't react to Jazz bumping into his front and merely stared down at him. The others in the room began to mutter and point at the group. Orion moved closer and set a reassuring hand on Sunstreaker's good shoulder, as the mech had started to get up to watch.

“What. The Frag. Is This?!” Ratchet snarled louder. Jazz had shuffled back out of Sides' personal space and was immediately accosted as the medic spun him around to look him over. “Well?!”

“Um. Hi?” Squeaked the visored mech.

“You're one of the bait mech.” Sideswipe stated aloud to himself in obvious confusion. “Why are you here?”

Jazz fidgeted in place, turning to look at everyone and everything around him. “Ah um... kinda won? The match?”

“A bait mech won?” Sunstreaker rumbled, his lip curling in disbelief. “Against-”

“Voltage.” Orion finished. Whispers grew louder into actual words and denials. More than a few glares were sent their way. Ratchet huffed and returned to the task at hand. Taking a step away from Jazz and towards his cell, Sideswipe piped up warily.

“And how the frag did you manage that?”

Turning back towards the trio, Jazz finally seemed to notice Orion and perked. up. He spoke to him in a relieved rush as if he wasn't sure who else to talk to. “It was kinda-..... I um-panicked? An' stabbed him an' ah guess ah hit a fuel line 'cause he just bled a' bit an' dropped.” He twisted his servos in the cuffs without seeming to realize he was doing it, nervousness nearly pouring off him in waves.

“So why is he with our cell?!” Demanded Sunstreaker, starting to lift himself up until Ratchet pushed him back down.

“We have room,” Orion spoke up despite the heavy unease settling in his tank. “And they sat him with me during the early matches so they know we're less likely to pick a fight.” Hissing in frustration, Sideswipe turned away to glare at the wall while Sunstreaker growled. Jazz visibly shrunk in as everyone ignored him and the growing tension from the other cells in the room.

Ratchet finished Sunstreaker's shoulder and started turning the sensors back on. “I take it Voltage's cellmates are going to cause trouble for you now?” He may not have been involved in cell grudges but he wasn't blind. He knew how things worked. Orion tapped his fingers quietly against the edge of the table. The medical bay was not the best place to be talking about these things. Not with so many audios listening. Trading a heavy look with Sides, he pressed his lips into a thin line and remained silent.

Getting no real answer, the white and red mech glared at the trio and turned back to Jazz. “And you, what kind of injuries do you have?”

“Some cuts?” Jazz replied hesitantly, twisting a bit to highlight a couple deep gashes in his right side, a ragged hole in his back where an armor plate had been ripped out, and the crumpled edges of his armor. Orion was a bit surprised the small mech wasn't showing much of a reaction to what had to be quiet a bit of pain. “It's okay....erm, not really that bad-”

“Shut up. Get on the slab.” Ratchet growled.

Sunstreaker got up and hopped off, moving over to stand next to his twin. Jazz carefully climbed up onto the medberth after Ratchet unlocked his cuffs. “I gotta ask; is anyone here actually nice?”

“Orion.” The Twins and Ratchet stated together.

Jazz turned his helm to look at the big mech in what Orion thought was an inquiring look under the visor. With a shrug, Orion chose the simplest answer. “I don't like to pick fights.”

He turned away from the small mech who should have been dead and went back to watching the room. Neither he or the Twins looked at Jazz all throughout Ratchet repairing him and then welding up the small injuries on Sideswipe. But Orion could feel a prickling on his plating again. Jazz was watching them.

Sunstreaker must have felt it too. His armor continued to bristle, slick down as he realized he was bristling, and then rise up again. The more sullen brother had a well known dislike of anything that covered parts of the face and made it hard to read expressions. Masks were doable, if he knew that person well. Visors were not. Orion shifted to brush his elbow against Sunny's arm, a barely there touch, to help him settle as they waited. No response from the gold mech except a quick flit of his optics. In Sunstreaker speak; a thank you.

Finally, they were all done and a guard came over to escort them out and back to their cell. The trio straightened their backs and didn't bother to glance at the other fighters, little hissed remarks and suspicious looks nipping at their plating. Jazz tagged along behind them, twitching at every unexpected sound. As they shuffled silently out of the room, Ratchet yelled after them. “Don't come back for at least a week! I don't want to see you!”

“You love us Hatchet!” Sideswipe seemed to perk up out of habit. He twisted around to call back. “You'd miss us if we didn't get hurt and come see you so often!”

“OUT!”

[to-a-merrier-world]

TEDDY HI okay I think I'm late but I would love to hear about DC Spiderman, love and other ways to die (the jay one at the end), aaaaaand Zuko accidental baby acquisition!!

LYSS! hi! lol

ok, so, DC Spider-man is, essentially, what it says on the tin--an AU where the powers of the multiverse that be decide to stick a Peter Parker into a DC universe, and things go a little differently for him. He still gets bit when he’s 15 and his uncle still gets shot, but Ben doesn’t die--instead, he goes into a coma for a few months. During that time, Peter takes on his Spider-man persona to deal with his guilt (and the fact he doesn’t know if his uncle will die or not). Eventually, Ben recovers, but Peter continues to be Spider-man. Ben and May find out a year later, and while things are tense for a while, they eventually accept it and help him out (such as with his webshooters).

Anyways, the beginning of the fic partially follows some points of the “Justice League: War” movie. Peter ends up meeting Superman, Batman, and Green Lantern when they go crashing through New York fighting each other. At the time, Peter is 18 and a senior in high school. I also get a huge kick out of Bruce being younger than people expect, so he’s only 22. Here’s a lil excerpt I wrote:

“Spider-Man, don’t fight him,” the man in black growled.

He glanced back at him and saw he’d climbed back to his feet. He was holding a weird, glowing box that basically screamed ‘Danger, Will Robinson!’ But the man himself didn’t set Peter’s sense’s off.

He was in a get up similar to Superman’s, but in all black and with a mask that covered half his face. The mask had little points on top and he had an emblem on the front that looked like a… 

Oh, Peter thought, eyes widening behind his mask. 

The Batman.

Well, that saves me a trip to Jersey, he thought. And then—holy shit, the Batman knows about Spider-Man!!

and another, cause i think these are funny lol:

“Well?” Superman asked. His question was clearly addressed to Batman, but he was glaring daggers at Lantern.

Yeesh, Peter thought. If looks could kill… Wait. Superman has heat vision. His looks could actually kill! How does that even work, anyway? Does he just stare really hard, or is it like flipping a swi—Wait, stop, I need to pay attention, Batman’s talking.

“—antern and I chased it into the sewers. It exploded before we could find out anything, leaving this box behind. We deduced that both the creature and the box were likely of extraterrestrial origin. We agreed to reach out to you,” Batman gestured towards Superman, “to find out anything you knew, and tracked you here.”

“Because he’s an alien?” Peter asked, cocking his head.

“Uh, obviously?” Lantern replied. “Who else is going to know anything about aliens?”

Peter ignored him, carrying on with his line of thought.

“Is that, like, speciesism? Or racism towards aliens? Cause, I mean, I don’t know a lot about non-humans, but I feel like they probably don’t all know each other.”

Superman snorted, and when Peter looked, he was definitely suppressing a smile. Probably.

anyways, the fic is an elaborate excuse to force a friendship between Spider-Man and Batman (and Superman) and would basically follow them through the years (and possibly lead to romance between them? i hadn’t decided lol). Oh, and last 2 tidbits before i move on: Peter is trans, cause why the fuck not, and i was also seriously considering titling this “Spidey and the Bats” to only be read like the Elton John song “Bennie and the Jets”.

ok, on to the Ajin!Jason Todd AU

so, idk what you know abt ajin, so i’ll explain a bit. Ajin: Demi-Human is a manga/anime about Ajin, people who possess extreme regenerative abilities that trigger upon death or mortal injury, allowing them to completely recover from their wounds in a matter of seconds to such an exceptional extent that not only can missing limbs be restored, but Ajin can fully regenerate after being turned into literal meat patties. Additionally, Ajin can create "black ghosts", which are highly dangerous combat-oriented entities that are invisible to normal humans and only visible to other Ajin.

I tweak the idea, somewhat, because in this AU, the amount of time it takes you to come back can vary--especially the first time you regenerate. It gets faster the more times you do it, but it starts off slower. Jason is an Ajin, so when he dies by the Joker’s hand, he later regenerates--only, he does so much slower and more incomplete than other Ajin. His body is restored to how it was prior to dying, but somehow his mind got locked inside his black ghost. He ends up wandering around Crime Alley with his black ghost trailing him until another Ajin stumbles across him.

This new Ajin, Kay, realizes something’s wrong with Jason and tries to help by... “resetting” him aka killing him again. It ends up working, but it doesn’t exactly engender feelings of friendship between him and Jason. Kay is pretty weird, though, and doesn’t seem to mind Jason not trusting or liking him, and despite killing him like it was nothing, is actually a kind person. He’s also determined to explain Ajin to him and ensure the kid understands the potential danger he’s in (he’s very vague about it, though, cause Kay has Secrets lol).

Anyways, it turns into this whole superheroes (mostly the Bats) vs the government vs rogue Ajin, and Jason ends up thrown into the middle of it all. The beginning of the fic deals more with Jason and his family’s grief/guilt/trauma and Kay sorta just hangs out until shit starts hitting the fan and he’s forced to reveal some things about himself :3c

OKAY on to the last one, Zuko Accidental Baby Acquisition AU!

this one starts off write after Zuko Alone when Zuko is leaving that town where he met the little boy. He ends up coming across another town, but this one has been destroyed by the Fire Nation--it’s a literal battle ground. There are the bodies of Earth Kingdom soldiers and civilians left to rot in the sun with only the broken weapons and armor of Fire Nation soldiers to explain what happened here. Zuko is horrified and wants to leave, but he’s starving, so he has to go into the town to try to find something to eat.

The fires from the battle are still burning low when he starts searching the town, and eventually he hears the cry of a baby. he runs to investigate without thinking and comes across a woman with her eyes closed and so severely burned Zuko automatically assumes she’s dead. In her arms is a crying baby, red-faced and distressed, but otherwise looking unharmed. Zuko approaches and as he reaches for the baby, unsure what the hell he’s even doing, the woman opens her eyes. She can barely speak, but she asks Zuko to take her son--Kyo--and to bring him somewhere safe. Zuko agrees without thinking, wanting the woman to pass on with some amount of peace.

The woman dies and Zuko is now left with a baby. The story goes on with Zuko seriously struggling to care for a baby, not to mention his inner turmoil and the trauma of seeing that town and watching the woman die from burn wounds. Zuko, like in canon, follows Azula’s tracks, but because of Kyo he’s slower and ends up arriving just as Azula shoots Iroh. This time, while Zuko wants to say no to Katara’s offer of help, he’s stuck b/c he can’t care for Iroh AND Kyo, so he ends up accepting her help. 

Which is also when the Gaang find out that Zuko, somehow, now has a baby. Katara also helps look the baby over, and it’s basically a really weird time for all parties. Eventually, the Gaang help Zuko, Iroh, and Kyo get settled in an abandoned house to recover, Aang insisting on leaving blankets and food behind (mostly for Kyo and Iroh’s benefit).

Anyways, the story goes on and Zuko, who had planned to just leave the baby at an orphanage in Ba Sing Se, ends up wanting to keep Kyo (he gets attached and feels responsible for him, and can’t just let him go). Things, obviously, go differently with a baby involved, and Zuko doesn’t end up betraying the Gaang/Iroh like he does in canon because of Kyo.

but yeah, that’s it lol, sorry this is so long, i got carried away

[prince-everhard]

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Title: Cornered Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): broken bones Wordcount: 1281 Summary: Garrus gets into some trouble. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

cross-posted to ao3 [eventually] @whumptober2020

Garrus was going to get so much shit for this when he got back to the base.

Monteague especially was going to have a few words to say about his breaking the buddy system, Garrus could just feel it in his plates. And Meirin was indescribably good at the “disappointed mom stare.” Something to do with having an extra set of eyelids, Garrus assumed. But to bear the brunt of his crew’s displeasure, he had to make it back to the base alive.

With every passing second, it seemed less likely that Garrus would be able to return to them.

A bullet grazed his shoulder and interrupted his depressing line of thinking. Garrus turned a corner to break line of sight and an unnoticed asari assailant toppled him backwards with a swift strike to the knee. The joint luckily didn’t break, but the soft snap as he landed and the white-hot flash of pain told him that he wasn’t so lucky with his spur. He caught the asari in the throat with one of Ripper’s throwing knives (“just in case,” she’d said when she strapped it to his belt) but the damage was done.

The other asari rounded the corner with satisfied grins. Garrus realized then that they had corralled him this direction on purpose; that he had fallen for their trap and ambushed himself. He recognized the lead asari, a disgruntled ex-Eclipse member who was missing an eye thanks to her ejection from the gang, as she sneered at him. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” The asari flanking her grinned wider, if that was even possible. “Looks like we bagged ourselves a bird, ladies.”

“Well, that’s just rude.” A new voice cut into the tense moment. “Not to mention racist.”

The asari whirled around, but they were too slow. The leader went down in one strike, grasping her throat and wheezing in breath. “You bitch-” started the one on the right, before she had to block several blows to the face. In her distraction, she didn’t notice the leg that swept out and brought her down, her head cracking off the dirty pavement with a sickening sound. Once his attackers were down to one, Garrus could see who was (hopefully) rescuing his ass.

Height and shape told him human or asari; the peek of eyes and nose through the scarf and hood combo that they wore confirmed human. The last asari was losing ground fast, for all that the newcomer had lost their surprise. It only took a couple of jabs to the throat to drop her just like the rest.

“Can you walk?” The strange human turned from the unconscious asari around them toward Garrus. Her voice- at least, Garrus was pretty sure she was a her- was rough, almost gravelly. 

He pulled himself to his feet, unsteady though he felt. Weight onto his injured leg told him it would be a bitch, but his armor held his spur fast against the worst of the movement. “Yeah, I can walk.” He couldn’t see her expression with her face covered as it was, but her eyes seemed to search him for a minute. “Thanks, by the way.” He gestured toward his unconscious assailants, as if she needed a reminder of the rescue she’d pulled off just moments before.

“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still gotta deal with that spur.” She held her hand out, just within his reach. “Do you trust me?”

Garrus couldn’t quite hold back a laugh. “Am I going to get the same treatment as them if I say no? As nice as the save was- remember how I said thank you for that? I don’t even know who you are.”

For a moment she didn’t even seem to breathe, standing still as a statue, but then she also let out a soft chuckle. “Do you at least trust that I didn’t rescue you just to turn on you? My apartment is a couple blocks away and I’ve got some first aid mats there.”

Well, she had a point. Seemed like a wasted effort to save him just to hurt him. She could have just stood back and let the ex-Eclipse do whatever they wanted. And his spur might have been held in place by his armor, but it was throbbing with an urgency that made him almost nauseated. Mind made up, he reached out and took her offered hand. 

“I trust you.”

Garrus quickly learned that his newfound ally was surprisingly strong. Most of the humans he had met didn’t quite meet turian expectations. Yet this stranger was easily able to support part of his weight as they hobbled through the alleys toward her apartment. More than part, as his adrenaline started to wind down and his injuries took their toll on him. He might’ve apologized but she took it in stride, silently supporting him until they reached a nondescript apartment block.

She propped him up against the doorframe- and he was both grateful and a little ashamed that she’d recognized just how much he was flagging- long enough to bring her omnitool to the door and unlock it. Without a word, she shifted back toward him and slung his arm over her shoulder, leading him into her apartment.

Small, was the first thought that passed through Garrus’ mind. But it wasn’t cramped, by any means, and both a small hallway and a lack of visible bed seemed to point towards a bedroomed apartment rather than a studio style one. An island separated a small kitchen from the living space, which had a strange-looking futon, a simple coffee table, and what looked like a rather nice treadmill. It was the futon that this stranger helped lower him onto, and she propped his injured leg up onto the table without any argument.

“I probably don’t have to tell you that this is gonna hurt,” she said wryly. At least, Garrus assumed it was wryly. She was still in the process of unwinding the scarf from her face and he couldn’t make out her expression. Her face came into view and Garrus blinked. She looked… familiar, somehow. It made sense, at least, that he might know her. Who would risk their neck to save someone else on this forsaken hunk of space rock if they didn’t know them? He blinked again and she pressed a glass into his hands. “Don’t worry, it’s dextro safe.”

Everything felt rather fuzzy as he looked down at the drink. Garrus would later blame the shock for what he said. “Are you… trying to get me drunk?” She looked up from the locks on his leg armor, eyes wide. Garrus looked back at her and said, as clearly as he could, “Usually people do that before they try to get me out of my armor.”

She laughed. Her laugh was beautiful; Garrus very nearly dropped the glass in response. It was something like from those cheesy movies he used to let Solana drag him to, back home. Her face lit up and her eyes sparkled and her smile made him instantly smile back.

“Alright, handsome, drink up.” It seemed like she’d regained her composure, though she was still smiling. Garrus was pretty pleased with himself about that. “We’ll talk about getting you out of the rest of your armor once I set this spur.”

Her calling him handsome did funny things to his stomach, especially after that laugh, but he did as he was told. “Garrus,” he said. She looked up only briefly from his leg. “I’m Garrus.”

“I’m Jane,” she said, almost softly. And then his leg really did start to hurt, so Garrus downed his drink and closed his eyes.