#but his blaze is VERY distinctive

[darkwood-sleddog]

Eva "Short" Seeley, the mother of the modern Alaskan Malamute, running dog teams in the early 1930s.

I recognize a couple of very distinctive early malamutes, including dogs from the very first litter born in 1929, Gripp of Yukon and Kearsage of Yukon (potentially their littermate Finn of Yukon also). Lovely to see how little these dogs have changed since their inception.

Finn (left) and Kearsage (right) below:

[dksartz]

Sketching some kitties from photos :)

Top left is a stray black cat in the sun, below him is another stray cat, a tabby I call Alice. Below that is my sister's cat Piper being goofy ^_^

Top right is my first cat, Ella (male) who was a gorgeous classic tabby with no brown tones to his fur at all, below him is my current ginger boi Edison, and at the lower right is another of steph's Piper 😊

[asmutwriter]

American Beauty/American Psycho (Part 1)

DESCRIPTION: You are an introverted woman. Working at a local book shop, keeping to yourself, not really on any social media. However, one small act of kindness makes you appear on the radar of a very specific superhero.

A/N: I didn't know what title to call this story, I had 'devil' and 'angel' playing on my mind. But then I was listening to Fall Out Boy and 'American Beauty/American Psycho' came on and I thought it was perfect for this story. So it is very, very loosely based off of that song

WORD COUNT: 2292

Next / Master List

WARNINGS: swearing, fire, burning house

DISCLAIMERS

-  This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

You run a finger through your hair. Letting out a sigh as you look at the pile of books before you. The small library you work in had closed for the night. You had the job of putting back all the forgotten books into their rightful place. Taking out all the different genres, placing them into their corresponding piles. Going to each shelf and placing them alphabetically in their correct places. You take a step back. Nodding at your work as you move onto the next section. Doing this for each of the small piles you'd managed to accumulate.

Once you had done this you make your way down the isles. Making sure there aren't any late night readers or sleeping students inside before you lock up. Thankfully there were none. So you head outside. Pulling the door too before locking it. Jiggling the handle to check it was locked. Placing the keys into your jeans pocket as you make your way through the chilled night air. Wrapping your arms around yourself. It was early autumn so you hadn't quite gotten used to the warm days yet chilled nights. Not having dressed appropriately for it. Only a thin hoodie keeping you warm.

Your nose catches scent of something. Causing you to stop in your tracks. You look around. Listening. Trying to see anything. Then you spot it. A blazing building. "Fuck". You mutter. Running over as you watch the building going up. Before you can think about anything else you hear a piercing scream through the night. Running over as you see someone by a downstairs window. A young boy, his fingers scrambling at the frame. Retracting his hands at the heat. You motion at him. Yelling through the night. "Stand back". Going into your pocket and taking out a pen. He stands back a little way. You wrap your fist around the item. Smashing it into the glass. Shattering. Reaching inside you pull him out. Holding him as he coughs. Moving him a safe distance away.

"My mum. Shes in the house. Plus my sister". You look back. A loud crack. You turn back to the boy.

"Do you know what floor they are on?"

"Top floor. I think the top floor". You nod. Hands on his shoulders as you keep his gaze.

"Stay here". You run back over. "Fuck". You mutter. Going in through the open window. "Hello!" you call out. No answer. You go to the door to the rest of the house. Pulling your hoodie sleeve up over your hand as you open the door handle. Feeling the heat grow intensely around you as you enter what looks like a living room. A body lies on the floor. Going over to it. You crouch down. Checking for a pulse. Nodding to yourself as you feel the slight beat of her heart. You grab her arm. Pulling her up as you sling her over your shoulder. Going back to through the house to the open window.

You aren't sure how but you manage to get the woman out of the window you entered through. Contorting yourself with her still over your shoulder. Going over to the boy as he watches. Tears staining his cheeks. "Mum!" he sobs. You lie her on the floor. You place your head near her chest. Hearing a soft yet distinct heart beat. The boy kneels down. Taking her hand in his.

"Stay here with your mum". You stand up. Rushing back over to the building. Climbing through the window as you are met with a monstrous fire. The room you were just in now fully engulfed in flames. Lapping at the sofas in the living room. You spot the stairs. Making a bee line for them as you dart up them. Hearing the sound of them slowly burning away as you go up. Three closed doors.

You stay silent. Hearing the crack of the fire below you. The distant sound of a toddler crying. You dart to the door the noise is behind. Opening it you see a very young child crying. Hands on the edge of her crib as she looks at you. You go over to the bed. "Shh" you try to soothe her. Picking her up and holding her close to you. "Its ok. You're ok". You go to the door again. Going to walk down the hallway. Seeing the fire now licking up the stairs. Destroying your only exit. You cradle her close to you as you go back into the bedroom. Shutting the door behind you. Grabbing a blanket form the side and placing it under the door. Trying to prevent the smoke from coming through.

The child still cries as you hold her close to you. Trying to soothe her as you turn around. Just as you hear a loud cracking noise. The middle of the floor starts to cave into the fire below it. Not daring to move, scared the floor will give out completely. You stay close to the wall. Pressing yourself a flat against it as you can. Among the crackle of the flames you hear voices. Firemen must've arrived. You call out. Your voice dull against the noise of the fire, and the slowly falling floor.

"Help. Please help". You call out. A soft sob coming through your voice. The door opens. You look. Expecting to see men in yellow enter. Instead, seeing a blue suit. Being met with his equally blue eyes. You'd seen him on billboards and newspapers. Homelander. He goes to walk into the room. "No!" you almost yell. Hand going outwards. Motioning at the floor.

He stills. Looking at you. Then the floor. Analyzing the situation before his gaze going back up to you. He outstretches one of his hands. You go to move towards him. The all to familiar sound of the fire making you still in your movements. You shake your head. Causing him to take a step closer to you. You move the child. Handing her to him.

"Get her out please". He looks at you. Going to say something but you move the girl closer. "Take the damn child!" you say. Fear in your voice as it fills the room. He takes her from your hands. Holding her close as he looks behind him. Then at the floor in front of him. Obviously assessing his best way out where the girl is unharmed. You watch as he looks at the ceiling. His eyes lasering a hole into it. He flies the girl out. You let out a breath. Glad the young child is safe.

The floor jolts slightly. The suddenness making you take it a sharp breath. Shutting your eyes as you press further into the wall. Your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Making you unable to hear anything else around you. The crack happens beneath you again. You fight back the tears. Pushing your lips together.

You jump as you feel something touch your arm. Eyes flying open as you meet Homelanders gaze. His hand on your upper arm. "Wrap your arms around me". You try to move. Lifting your arm up just as another creak fills the room. Your arms going firmly back to the wall. Shaking your head as you look at him

"I-I cant" you whisper. The floor cracks again.

"Yes you can". You shake your head. Shutting your eyes again. Feeling the floor start to shift under your feet. A soft whimper escaping your lips. "I'll catch you". You look at him. Wide eyed. The terror evident in your features. "Trust me". You watch his eyes. His still. Calming against yours. Slowly lifting your arms up. Trying to ignore the fire slowly eating its way through the floor. He puts an arm around your waist. You gently put your arms around his neck. Just as the floor falls out from under you. Your soft grip on him changes as you cling to him. Hiding your face into his shoulder as the comforting feeling of floor gets whisked away from under your feet. He remains hovering. The warmth of fire licking at your feet as he flies up. Away from the heat.

Your mind to overwhelmed by everything, plus hiding into his shoulder. You don't take in the fact he's taking you out of the previously made hole in the ceiling. Flying both of you out safely. Your legs nearly give out from under you as they hit the soft ground. Your arms still clinging to him as you tilt your head slightly. Looking at the paramedics tending to the unconscious girl on the ground. He gently rubs the lower of your back. "I'm going to need my neck back". He whispers into your ear.

"Shit. Sorry" you unwrap your arms. Going to move away from him. Wobbling slightly on your feet. Your arms coming out to balance yourself. He brings his hand out. Stabilising you by holding your arm. He tilts his head down. Looking at you through his lashes. Swaying slightly as you regain your composure. You look over at the woman on the floor. Her son sat next to her as their young daughter gets checked over by a paramedic. "Is she ok? Will she be ok?". You look at the blue eyed hero. Eyes tiredly scanning his face.

"They are doing everything they can do make sure she lives". You look back at the woman. Thats when you notice the small group of people. Neighbours all wrapped in coats and dressing gowns as they watch the scene before them. Some with their phones out. Recording the situation. Recording the fire. Recording Homelander. Recording you.

A paramedic comes over to you. You watch as his lips move. Obviously speaking to you but your overwhelmed senses don't take in what he says. You shake your head at his words. "I need to go home" you whisper. Looking at the crowd of people.

"Miss we need to make sure that you're ok".

"I'm ok". You smile at the paramedic. Homelander watching you as he keeps his grip on your elbow. "I promise I'm ok".

"Why don't we get you checked out, hmm?" Homelander says. You look at him. A smile on his face. You shake your head.

"I don't want to be a hassle. You've got the woman and her children to prioritise over me".

"You are just as much my concern as they are. Please miss" the paramedic says. Smiling at you as he takes the arm that was being supported. Taking you over to an ambulance. Checking you over. Once hes confirmed that everything is ok with you, he gives you the all clear to go home. Saying that they can organise transport but you insist on walking. You turn to try and find Homelander. Wanting to thank him for saving your life. But you see him talking to a news reporter. You press your lips together. Turning on your heels as you make your way back to your home.

You open the front door. Having a quick shower, changing into your pyjamas, then getting into your bed. Trying to fight the pesky nightmares. It isn't much after 8am when you hear your bedroom door burst open. Your curtains being forced back. You let out an annoyed groan. Bringing the covers up and over your head. Your roommate comes over to you. Grabbing the covers and pulling them down.

"Your famous!" she says. You sit up. Blinking your eyes awake as you look at her. She hands you her phone. A video pops up. The reporter from yesterday on the screen.

"A mother and her two children were saved last night from a house fire believed to have started from a cigarette butt. Thankfully no one was hurt, and we can put it down to this anonymous hero who risked her own life to save these three souls. A neighbour recorded the incident - describing it as a miracle and heroic act"

The video cuts to you. Helping the boy out before going inside the building. A few minutes passing, worried voices filling the background before you appear. Carrying the mother out the window. It cuts back to the reporter.

"Although Homelander himself managed to make it to the scene, firefighters and paramedics have both said that if this woman hadn't stepped in when she had then the family of three would have likely all been killed. Just goes to show the world that you don't need powers to be a true hero". You turn the screen off. Looking at your roommate.

"Fuck". You say. You pull the covers off of your legs. Going out into the kitchen. She follows behind as you grab out the orange juice. Filling a glass.

"Did you actually get to meet Homelander?". You place the orange juice back into fridge. Nodding.

"He saved my life".

"Thats so awesome". You scoff. Drinking your juice.

"I wouldn't describe nearly dying as awesome, but I understand what you mean". Placing the cup into the sink. You run a hand through your hair. Lightly massaging your scalp before bringing them down. "I'm going to head to work"

"You nearly died last night". You go over to the bathroom. Picking out your toothbrush. Applying some toothpaste.

"I am aware". You start brushing your teeth.

"And you're going to work?". You nod. Spitting and rinsing out your mouth with some water before looking at her. Drying your hands on a towel.

"Bills aren't going to pay themselves". Lightly tapping her nose. "I'll pick up a Chinese on the way home". You smile at her. Hand motion for her to leave the bathroom. She takes a step out. She goes to say something as you shut the door on her.

Next

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE STAR OF THE SHOW, YOU SHIMMER LIKE GOLD ✦ LN4

✦ pairing: lando norris x karateka!reader ✦ words: 4K ✦ warnings: female!reader, latina!reader, no use of Y/N, no use of physical description, a little bit of flirting. ✦ may's radio: me, actually writing for these men going vroom vroom??? whaaaaa?? shut up! lol I tried to explain the techniques to the best of my abilities as a daughter and sister to Senseis (and a once upon a (very short) time karateka). I hope it is understandable!! if not, let me down slowly!! SO, Boy-o needs a badass girl in his life PERIODT!!! And let's all pretend Monster gives a fuck about Karate. I've had this idea for lichrally months, dude. And I was supposed to do another thing with it, but here we are hehehe. Also, not using any name or description for this girlie was HARD so I think I deserve some of y'all thoughts ad nauseam 👉🏽👈🏽, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking btw. N E WAYYYZZ. I love u. I hope u like it. k byee <3

— back to general masterlist

The sun blazed over Monterrey, casting a warm glow on the sprawling city nestled against the Sierra Madre Oriental mountains. The streets buzzed with excitement and anticipation as athletes and fans from around the world gathered for the 12th WUKF World Karate Championships. Banners and posters adorned with the tournament’s emblem fluttered in the breeze, while the iconic Monster Energy logo prominently featured alongside, symbolizing the brand’s unwavering support for the event and its athletes.

Among the throngs of spectators and competitors, one figure stood out, drawing the attention of both fans and the media. Lando Norris, the young and charismatic McLaren Formula 1 driver, had been invited to the championships as a special guest of Monster Energy. Known for his prowess on the track and his engaging personality off it, Lando had a magnetic presence that resonated with fans across different sports. 

The event was a world away from the high-octane world of Formula 1, but Lando was excited for the change of pace and the chance to meet young athletes from around the globe. Recently, Quadrant—a brand founded by him—had been sponsoring young athletes in different sports. It was a new venture for Lando, driven by his passion to support and uplift emerging talents. He had been looking forward to finding more promising athletes to add to Quadrant's growing roster, and the World Championship seemed like the perfect place to discover some of that potential.

As Lando navigated the bustling venue, his thoughts were a mix of excitement and curiosity. Though the world of martial arts was vastly different from the high-speed circuits he was used to, the principles of discipline, focus, and determination were strikingly similar. 

He had to admit to himself that before receiving the invitation, he knew next to nothing about karate. In fact, he’d even had to google the sport just to get a basic understanding. Embarrassingly, he had initially thought Karate and Taekwondo were the same thing. The search results had quickly set him straight, teaching him about the rich history and distinct techniques of this martial art, and giving him a newfound respect for the discipline.

He was eager to meet the athletes, particularly one individual who had captured the world’s attention with her remarkable skills and indomitable spirit.

A 20-something karate athlete from Latin America, had become a sensation in the martial arts community. With two world championships under her belt and many other championship victories, she was not only a formidable competitor but also an inspiring figure for young athletes around the globe. She was specially known for her exceptional skills and strategic prowess in kumite, the sparring discipline of karate. 

Sponsored by Monster Energy, her journey had been one of relentless perseverance and triumph over adversity. Her presence at the championships was not just a testament to her talent but also a symbol of her dedication to the sport she loved. And from what he had seen on videos while he was on his way, Lando also saw potential in her for Quadrant, imagining how she could inspire a whole new generation of athletes under the brand's banner.

The sound of rhythmic, powerful strikes filled the air as athletes from around the world prepared for their matches. Lando was led through the bustling venue to the competition floor, where the large tatami mats were situated. As he walked, he could hear the short—some even lasting longer—, loud shouts of "kiai" echoing through the hall, each one accompanying a sharp, strong technique from the karatekas already competing. The intensity and focus behind each shout sent a thrill through him, underscoring the seriousness and dedication of these athletes.

As he approached, he saw her warming up with stretches, under the watchful stare of one of the coaches of her national team. Lando felt a mix of excitement and slight nervousness. From what he had seen on videos from her past fights, she had a really strong presence, commanding the tatami mat whenever she stepped on it. Her intensity and focus were palpable, and he wasn’t gonna lie and say he didn’t think she was a little bit intimidating. And after spending a short—long—time going through her Instagram, he could also admit he found her beautiful, with her fierce determination adding to her allure.

Once she finished her stretching, he could see her coach pointing his way, making her turn around. He was approaching her with one of the energy drink’s representatives. Noticing them coming closer, she took off her earbuds and looked up with raised eyebrows, her demeanor immediately softening.

Actually…he didn’t know how to explain it…but now that he was in her presence, she didn’t give off intimidating vibes. She still had a commanding presence, don’t get him wrong, but she seemed to be more reserved and shy. He could see her fidgeting with the little device in her hand.

“Lando, I’d like you to meet one of our top sponsored athletes. She’s an incredible talent in kumite,” the representative said. She smiled warmly, a hint of bashfulness in her eyes, as she extended her hand.

“Hi, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your incredible achievements,” Lando greeted, shaking her hand.

“Likewise, Lando. It’s great to have you here. I’ve always admired the skill and courage it takes to race at the speeds you do,” she replied, her voice gentle and modest, a stark contrast to the powerful warrior he had seen in videos. “And congrats on your first win back in Miami!”

Lando was pleasantly surprised. “You know about that? Thanks! I didn’t expect to meet a karate champion who’s also an F1 fan,” he said, feeling a bit cocky despite the bashful smile creeping onto his face.

She laughed softly. “I’ve been a fan for years. Watching F1 races is one of my favorite ways to relax on weekends.”

Lando chuckled, his confidence bolstered. “Well, that’s great to hear. Maybe I can give you some tips on racing if you teach me a bit about karate,” he said, winking playfully.

She laughed again, appreciating his playful attitude. “Deal. I’ll teach you how to throw a punch if you show me how to handle those high-speed corners.”

Lando tried to joke, “It’s all about the neck strength, really,” but let out an awkward little laugh as he got a bit flustered. Her reserved demeanor was deceptive; she could hold constant eye contact with a calm intensity that he wasn’t prepared for.

She smiled, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her eyes never leaving his.

Lando felt a strange mix of admiration and nervousness under her steady gaze. Wanting to know more about her mindset before such a big competition, he asked, “How are you feeling about today?”

She took a deep breath and looked down for a moment, then back up at him, her expression humble yet determined. “If I told you I was completely confident about winning everything, I’d be lying. I have pre-fight jitters, just like anyone else. But I’m going to give it my all. That’s all I can do.”

Lando nodded, impressed by her honesty. “I get that. Even in racing, no matter how prepared you are, there’s always that bit of uncertainty. It’s what makes the victory even sweeter, though, don’t you think?”

She smiled, appreciating his understanding. “Absolutely. The nerves mean you care. They keep you sharp.”

Their conversation flowed easily, the initial awkwardness melting away as they shared insights from their respective sports. Lando admired her resilience and the way she embraced her nerves, turning them into a source of strength.

As the announcements for the upcoming matches began, she glanced towards the tatami, her focus sharpening. “I should get ready. It was really great talking to you, Lando. Thanks for the encouragement.”

“Anytime,” Lando replied, genuinely meaning it. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

She gave him one last smile before heading towards her coach. Lando watched her go, struck by the contrast between her shy off-mat demeanor and the commanding presence she exuded when she was about to compete. He couldn’t help but feel a deep respect for her dedication and the way she handled the pressure—and that was kinda hot to him.

Professionalism, Lando. He scolded himself. She’s an athlete, and you’re here to do your job—or a small part of it. 

As he found a spot to watch the competition, he thought about the unexpected connection they had made. Despite their different paths, their shared commitment to excellence and the way they embraced their nerves set them apart as true champions. Lando knew that whatever the outcome of her matches, she would give it everything she had—just like he did on the track.

He could hear the announcer's voice booming through the venue. “Athletes competing in the Seniors D Female category: 21 to 35 years old and 65 kg and over, please approach the number 3 tatami mat.” He listened intently, waiting for her name to be called. It came in the middle of the list, and he could see the group of female athletes approaching the announcer.

She stayed behind the group, her demeanor calm and composed as she waited to hear her name being called. There was a quiet confidence about her that set her apart from the others. Lando noticed that some of the other girls would steal glances at her, fidgeting with their belts or adjusting their karate-gi in a nervous manner. Her presence seemed to unsettle them, a testament to her reputation and the respect she commanded among her peers.

As the roll call continued, Lando observed the competitors closely. The air was thick with anticipation, and he could sense the mixture of excitement and tension that filled the room. When her name was finally called, she stepped forward with a graceful nod, acknowledging the announcement with a quiet strength.

She joined the others on the mat, and the athletes began their final preparations, mentally psyching themselves up for the upcoming matches. Lando watched her closely, noticing how she seemed to center herself, taking deep, measured breaths and rolling her shoulders and neck to release any remaining tension.

As the roll call concluded, the athletes lined up in front of the referee and judges. Lando watched closely as the referee shouted something in Japanese—a command that he couldn't quite understand. Both parties then performed the ceremonial salute, tilting the upper part of their bodies in a bow. The referee shouted again and gestured towards the flags and the public, prompting another salute. 

After the salutes, the athletes moved to their respective sides of the tatami mat. On the right side, some of them were tying up red belts around their waists and putting on red gloves and knee protections. On the left side, the competitors were doing the same but in blue. She was on the left side, methodically securing her blue belt and adjusting her gloves and knee pads that matched her new karate–gi that had blue stripes on the shoulders.

Lando observed the attention to detail in her preparation. Every movement, every adjustment of her uniform, was part of her mental and physical ritual to enter the competitive mindset. It was a fascinating glimpse into the discipline and dedication required at this level of competition.

After three intense matches—all of them won by her—, the announcer announced the final match. He called for her to stand on the two red tatami mats on the left side of the big blue square tatami. Lando watched as she took her place, her expression hardening with concentration. Just before stepping forward, she gave herself a couple of hard pats to her chest—a ritual, he guessed, to psych herself up for the fight.

Her face was set with determination, eyes focused intently on the task ahead. The referee approached both competitors, methodically checking their mouthguards and ensuring all their equipment was in place.

The formalities concluded, and the competitors performed the ceremonial bows to each other and to the referee. She took a second to walk up to her adversary and offer her hand to shake and a head nod as a greeting. 

That’s a nice, respectful and full of sportsmanship gesture, he thought.

The referee then gestured for them to take their positions and announced the start of the match. Each competitor started to move around each other with their guards up and an intense focus. She moved with a grace and confidence that was mesmerizing, her every step exuding a calm readiness. 

Lando could feel the intensity radiating from both competitors as they engaged in a series of swift, precise movements. Each strike was met with a counter, each block with a follow-up attack. The "kiai" shouts punctuated the air, underscoring the power and focus behind each technique. 

Even though she seemed already tired after her past intense fights leading up to this one, she moved with a fluidity and strength that was both beautiful and formidable. Her opponent was skilled, but she maintained control of the match, her strategic prowess and physical strength shining through. The rhythmic exchange of attacks and defenses was like a well-choreographed dance, each move calculated and deliberate.

He found himself completely engrossed in the match, his heart pounding in time with the athletes' movements. It was only a 3 minute fight but somehow it felt longer. He could see the strain and determination on her face, the way she pushed through every challenge her opponent presented. Her focus was unwavering, her resolve unbreakable.

Suddenly, when her adversary moved forward in a punch, she ducked under—and somehow—managed to lift the other girl with her shoulder and drop her to the ground. In a display of quick and swift precision, she then threw three rapid punches to her opponent on the ground. Immediately, Lando saw every judge in the four corners lift their blue flags high in the air. 

The entire place erupted in excited shouts, the crowd amazed by her impressive movement. On the large screen above, the score shifted dramatically from 3-4 to 3-7 in her favor. Kenneth—the energy drink’s representative standing next to Lando—explained to him that the move she pulled was one that immediately granted you 3 points—the highest score you can get. Lando couldn’t help but cheer loudly, caught up in the exhilaration of the moment.

Her focus was unwavering, her resolve unbreakable. She had turned the tide of the match with a single, decisive move, showcasing her skill and strategic brilliance. As she stepped back, she offered her opponent her hand to help her rise, the referee called a brief pause to reset the match.

The crowd's energy was palpable, and Lando found himself on the edge of his seat, completely engrossed in the action. The match resumed, but it was clear that her opponent was shaken by the sudden shift in momentum. She maintained her advantage, her movements confident and controlled, her strikes precise and powerful.

At one point during the match, she received a hard kick to the ribs, and Lando saw her doubling over in pain. Instinctively, he stood up, feeling a surge of worry for her. The referee immediately called one of the medics, who rushed over to check on her. The medic spent a minute examining her, asking questions to which she only nodded in response. After a few tense minutes, she stood back up, her face hardened with determination, ready to continue.

The referee gave her opponent a penalty for the hard kick before signaling for the match to resume. Once it did, she seemed eerily calm, her demeanor even more focused than before. Her opponent, on the other hand, appeared unsettled, thrown off by both the penalty and the unfavorable score. With only 1 minute and 30 seconds left on the timer, visible on the screen above, the other girl began attacking rashly, desperately trying to close the score gap.

But then, in a fluid, lightning-fast movement, she spun and lifted her right leg towards the back of her opponent's head, delivering a light tap with the heel of her foot to the back of it. The technique resembled a scorpion's strike or a spinning hook kick, in Lando’s opinion. But Kenneth identified it as an "ura mawashi geri." A hard and powerful kicking technique. He explained.

The judges instantly raised their blue flags high, signaling their approval of the impressive technique. The crowd erupted once more as the score on the screen shifted from an already commanding 3-7 to an incredible 3-10. With only one minute left, it was clear she had secured the victory.

Lando's heart raced as he watched her dominate the match. The final whistle blew, the referee raised his hand in her direction indicating her victory, and her teammates as well as the crowd’s cheers reached a deafening crescendo.

As she bowed to the referee and then approached her opponent for a respectful handshake, Lando couldn't help but marvel at her resilience and skill. Despite the setback of the hard kick to the ribs, she had emerged victorious, showcasing the true spirit of a champion.

As she left the mat, Lando could see the emotions overwhelming her. Her coach rushed to embrace her in a tight hug, both of them sharing a moment of pure joy and triumph.

Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of relief, happiness, and pride in her achievement. The weight of all her hard work and dedication had paid off in this victorious moment.

Lando watched from a respectful distance, filled with admiration for her incredible achievement. The crowd erupted in applause, acknowledging her exceptional performance and celebrating her as a true champion.

After a few moments, she composed herself and turned to face the crowd, holding up her hand in a thankful gesture.

As she made her way through the cheering crowd, Lando approached her with a heartfelt congratulations. “That was mental! You were absolutely amazing out there! Congratulations on becoming world champion again," he said, genuinely impressed.

“Thank you so much, Lando,” she replied, her voice still tinged with emotion and sounding a little bit out of breath still. “It means a lot to have your support.”

“You deserve every bit of it,” Lando said warmly. And immediately after, looked at her with concern painted all over his face. He noticed she was still having some trouble breathing and was holding her left arm to her ribs. “Are you feeling alright after that kick you received?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

She smiled, trying to ease his worries. “Yes, I'm okay. I had the chest guards on under my karate-gi, so it wasn't too bad.” She paused, then added with a light-hearted chuckle, “I did feel the kick, but it's nothing new at this point.”

Lando nodded, relieved but still a little bit concerned. “You've shown incredible strength and determination.” he said, genuinely impressed.

She nodded, gratitude evident in her eyes. “It's been a tough journey, but moments like this make it all worth it.”

Lando smiled, feeling privileged to have witnessed her victory. “Enjoy every moment of it. You've earned it, champ.”

“Thank you, Lando. It feels surreal.”

“You really commanded the mat out there," he said. “It's no wonder everyone looks up to you. You were truly brilliant.”

She nodded, the shy smile returning to her face. “I just try to do my best. It helps to know there are people cheering for me.”

“Well, you've got one more fan in me now,” Lando said with a grin. “I knew you were good, but seeing it in person... you're incredible.”

As the excitement of the victory settled, Lando leaned in slightly and asked, “Hey...uh... I've been thinking. Would you maybe be interested in joining Quadrant?”

She looked at him, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected offer. Her eyes widened slightly, reflecting a mix of surprise and curiosity. After a brief pause, a smile spread across her face, and she eagerly nodded. “Sí! uh…,” she shook her head a few times, like she was trying to shake the language off her head. Cute. “I-I mean yes! I’d be honoured!”

Lando grinned, pleased by her enthusiastic response. “Fantastic! We'll talk more about it soon. I think we could do some amazing things together.”

She smiled warmly, nodding in agreement. “I'm looking forward to it.”

A moment of silence passed before Lando chuckled nervously. “By the way, I should probably explain what Quadrant is all about.”

Before he could continue, she interrupted gently, “Oh, don't worry. I'm actually a fan of the YouTube videos. I know about the brand already.”

Lando's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You do? That's... really cool!”

She chuckled softly. “Yeah, I've watched a few. You guys have some pretty entertaining content.”

Lando felt a flutter in his stomach at her praise. “Wow, I'm glad to hear that! Means a lot, especially coming from someone as talented as you.”

She blushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Lando. I'm excited about the opportunity to work together.”

Lando grinned, feeling a sense of excitement about the future collaborations. “Likewise. I think we can create something truly special.”

As they parted ways, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement and anticipation for what the future held. Being able to collaborate with someone he admired both as an athlete and as a person was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

Before they fully separated, Lando impulsively went in for a hug. She hesitated for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed as she was still sweaty from the intense matches. But Lando reassured her with a warm smile, “Hey, it's not a problem at all. I totally understand. I’m super used to the post-competition sweat.” He chuckled.

Her expression softened, and she returned the hug gratefully. As they embraced, Lando felt a sense of something developing slowly within himself. 

Oh, Bob has a crush! He suddenly heard the teasing voice of Max, his best friend, in his head. 

Shut up, you muppet. He groaned. Lando lingered in the hug for a moment longer than intended, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment himself.

When they finally pulled back, he chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No worries, Lando. Thank you again for your support.”

They exchanged a final smile before she had to part ways, both looking forward to the exciting opportunities ahead. Lando watched her walk away, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities.

As he watched with bated breath as the ceremony began, the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, calling the winners to the podium. When her name was called, the small crowd standing in front erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating her hard-fought victory. 

She walked confidently to the podium, her coach following closely behind. The gold medal was placed around her neck. Beaming with pride and joy, she was handed her country's flag. Draping it around her shoulders, she stood tall on the podium, her smile radiant and her eyes shining with accomplishment. The audience’s cheers intensified, and Lando found himself clapping enthusiastically along with them.

It was a powerful moment, and Lando felt a deep sense of respect for her journey and massive achievement. 

But it was more than just respect that stirred within him. Watching her bask in her well-deserved glory, Lando felt his heart swell with admiration and something more tender. The way she carried herself, the mixture of strength and humility, her fierce determination on the mat and the shy kindness she showed off it—all of it combined to create a powerful impression.

There was something profoundly inspiring and undeniably attractive about her, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her even more. She scanned the crowd and her eyes met his. Her face lit up even more, and to his surprise, she smiled and winked at him. The unexpected gesture caught him off guard, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth to his cheeks. Blushing, he quickly looked down, feeling a mix of bashfulness and happiness. However, he gathered his courage and returned the gesture, smiling and giving her a small, appreciative two-finger salute. 

She laughed softly and sent him the gesture back. Lando felt a warmth spread through him, a hopeful anticipation of what their future interactions might hold.

As the ceremony concluded—and after getting photographed a thousand times, and having shaken what felt like a thousand hands—, Lando found himself back in the car on his way to the hotel. Gazing out the window at the bustling city, he couldn't help but feel grateful for having been there, witnessing her triumph and the beginning of what promised to be an exciting partnership.

His mind replayed the moments of the day: her powerful performance on the mat, the way she carried herself with grace and determination, and their brief, meaningful exchanges. The flutter in his stomach returned, and he allowed himself a small smile, knowing that this experience had been special in more ways than one.

Lando knew that this was just the start of something truly special, and he looked forward to the adventures that lay ahead, both on a professional level—and perhaps something a bit more personal.

[rivangel]

➥ pairing: transmasc!sub!Levi (on T, no surgery) x amab!dom!reader

➥ about: A new effect from his gender transition finds Levi. You both enjoy it.

➥ c/w: established relationship, snuggling and fondling, oral/face-fucking, multiple orgasms, premature orgasm..., praise, rough sex, rimming (for about a second), female and male terms for Levi's body parts used interchangeably, creampie

➥ wc: 2.5k

One of Levi’s favorite rituals of his every day is crawling into bed with you—usually, like tonight, long after night has fallen. Specifically, snuggled under covers; you're curled up and overtaking his back. He feels protected, even from his ingrained discomfort at feeling protected at all. A state of calm settles over him like a blanket still warm from the sun.

Naturally, he doesn’t always sleep and never perfectly, but from where he's standing, this ritual is more great and makes him more lucky than he ever could've dreamed.

He’s getting that sense that he won’t sleep for a while, nothing new, although his closed eyes are aching. You extinguished the lantern not long ago, but your breaths are soft and slow at his shoulder.

But something is making him pout, discomforted and a bit bewildered. Of course his lower half is aching and warm at the most inconvenient time—after you fucked not hours earlier—but it feels… bigger, and more concentrated.

Experimentally he presses his naked thighs together and instantly grits his teeth to swallow a sigh. Heat in his lower half blazes brightly to life. Immediately he can't resist squeezing again.

Ah, he mouths. Frustration wells up inside him. Suddenly he’s all too aware of your breathing fanning the nape of his neck.

He says your name in warning. “Stop pretending to be asleep.”

"Hm." You huff a quiet chuckle to yourself. Inwardly he rolls his eyes, pouting more.

“What’s wrong, Lee?”

He traps his tongue between his teeth as his clit does something odd. It gives a strong throb that he can feel. He inhales rather sharply, and experimentally grinds his thighs together. Heat, stronger this time, pools below his navel and culminates in a hot but dull ache.

But that's really not all that surprising. But this—sense of it is unlike anything he’s ever felt.

Your warm palm slides down his navel after he neglected to reply, down to his hip where your thumb draws lines up and down the V of his waist. “Hm?”

“I… Stop jumping to conclusions. I’m not just horny.”

"Oh... I so sincerely apologize."

Your warm breath fans his neck as your lips close in, kissing firm and open-mouthed.

"Ngh..."

He brings one arm across to his chest as much as he’s comfortable and squeezes for a dull sense of friction. No more than that. But he's surprised at himself for needing it in the first place.

Using his free hand, he links his fingers with yours and sighs tightly as he rubs his thighs together, between which aches an unfamiliar firmness. It's all slick now. You squeeze his hand.

As his pussy flutters around nothing, he mouths another curse.

The words get lodged in his throat. If he says too much, maybe it'll turn out to be nothing.

So it's better this way. He shifts his legs enough for your joined hands to comfortably nestle between, where the heat is distinctive and the skin of his very inner thighs are silky soft. Slick cum coats them; of course his lips are soaked. Just experimentally rubbing his cunt sounds sloppy and wet. Your breathing stammers as he grimaces, embarrassed.

With his free hand, and eyes tightly shut, he pins his lips apart and presses on your palm. A sharp whine sneaks up on him and escapes unbidden. His clit is definitely bigger—not worryingly so… Maybe if he was born the unluckiest male, it would pass for his cock. It’s soggy and somewhat erect, poking out from between his soft lips. The pressure makes him tense and squirm his hips lightly forward, moaning softly.

“You’re hard?” you ask, as if he’s just placed in your hands a delightful gift.

He tucks his chin against his chest, lips lightly pursed. “Am I?”

A trace of your smile kisses the base of his tense jaw. “Your cock is hard. Were you just rubbing your thighs together, and it happened that easily?”

“Ah…” He grinds into your palm, rejuvenated by a hit of confidence. “Yeah. And I was thinking about earlier.”

“That’s a bit broad.”

“Tch… I missed… having your cock stuffing me...”

He’s breathing heavier now, savoring that slow build of desire as you grow to do the same, as your cock hardens at his backside. He arches his back and you moan, grinding, sinfully, between his firm asscheeks.

You whisper in his ear, “But can’t I suck your cock first?”

“Hm…" He smirks. "I would’ve sat on your face if you hadn’t volunteered. But you’ll have to work for it. It’s fucking late and you had me busy earlier.”

“Uh-huh. That was definitely all me.”

“We'll run out of night if you start repeating yourself.”

“Hm,” you scoff, lips and teeth closing harshly on his tender throat.

His eyes almost roll back as you fucking bite him, but just as quickly as you did it you pull away, and wrap your arm around his torso. In just one smooth motion, you roll him onto his belly. Hands pressing squarely on his back tell him to keep still.

Just the suggestion of friction pressing against his clit has him grinding against the bedspread. He squirms with his hips, moaning just loud enough to be heard through the pillow under his face.

The covers remain resting over his lower back while you duck underneath and push his naked thighs further apart. His breath catches his anticipation.

"Raise your pretty ass, Lee."

He gets his knees folded under his legs, doing as you ask. He's left with his heart pounding and the excruciating sense of being exposed. And that's before you spread his wet lips and your breath passes over his hole.

"Fuck," he half-grunts, half whines, like a cat in heat. It flutters rapidly around nothing.

He opens his legs as far as they’ll go and lifts his hips higher. A hum, an approving one, licks past his rim.

“Fuck,” he squeaks, gripping the sheets by his head and resisting the urge to grab the back of your head and shove your mouth in his cunt; you've barely started. You flick your tongue, tracing his trembling rim with it.

A visible bead of sweat breaks out on his forehead while you lick him like candy. You breathe in deeply. Fuck fuck fuck.

A little more slick oozes from his pussy and onto your tongue. Moaning, long low and hungry, you grind the flat of your tongue through his pussy, spreading it around.

The pillow grows humid with his panting moans. You’re acting like you’re starving.

But there’s one problem with this, and it’s that his dick isn’t in your mouth.

He groans your name. “Hurry the fuck up… You have to—hah—hurry.”

Your heavy tongue pushes inside his cunt as if it were your cock, and swirls around the tender muscles tight circles.

“Fuck fuck fuck—!”

He backs his ass up and grips your hair like a vice, but you go even deeper if anything and at that point it’s too late anyway—his cunt clenches tight around your tongue. It snuck up on him completely. Your palm falls on his cock and rubs feverishly. With a piercing whine, and you moaning deep in his cunt, he rides your tongue for all its worth as his wet pussy pulses rhythmically. His whole body shakes as he comes on the heat of your tongue.

When he’s finished, dazed in a warm fog, his breath heaves. The supple muscles soften and relax around your tongue.

He turns his head towards the cool air with his expression contorted by embarrassment. “Sorry, I couldn’t…”

You pull out; your hands slide up from his thighs again and play with his ass, squeezing and prying him open until his thighs tremble before letting it jiggle back into place. Your lips press gently to the seats of both his thighs.

You spread him then, and close your lips directly on his tight asshole. He shudders and gapes into the pillow, keening from somewhere high in his throat. His voice cracks.

“You have a weird fucking way of making me feel better…” he grumbles, but his retort has no weight. It’s probably pointless to talk with your mouth busy in his cunt anyway.

You shift around, the bed whining.

You’ve rolled onto your back, arms wrapped around his thick thighs to force them spread open, creating a snug piece of space for your head to fit. Your mouth hovers right over his dick.

The heat of your heavy breaths make it twitch and strain between his spread lips. He pins his lower lip between his teeth and struggles to control his voice. His knuckles ache where he grips the sheets.

And he knew it was coming, from a mile away, yet his hips still snap down as the warmth from your soft lips press to his cock, kissing as you would kiss him to ease him awake in the morning. All he can do is gape soundlessly.

Gradually, you explore it with your lips as his hips tremble and his legs shake outside your head. His body has never been so sensitive in his fucking life, which is saying something. The intensity of it all is devastating—newly condensed entirely in his dick and groin.

The pillow grows humid where his mouth is buried, making him whimper pitifully to realize he’s drooling. He pushes his forehead into it, his panting obnoxious.

“I can’t, I can’t…”

He's so fucking horny. That's probably why you waited.

Your tender lips close on his cock, sucking it into your hot and welcoming mouth. As your tongue flicks his tip, and licks his shaft in firm sweeping motions, his chest wracks with dry sobs. Each revolution, he lets out a mumbled cry. Like you’re savoring your favorite meal after starving all day. Someone is mumbling—he realizes himself.

“Please, please, fucking… please. Suck it or I won’t fucking last…”

You pin in place his wiggly hips, and moan as you eagerly obey. You suck gently, offering the flat of your tongue for him to grind onto.

He humps with abandon. He’s dazed, forgotten that he’s drooling from his open mouth, with his voice clinging to time passing, and his cunt dripping on your chest. All he can grasp is the incredible climax gradually rising within his tightening body and racing pulse.

Two fingers appear, which you swirl around his dripping hole. Effortlessly, they slide in.

He coughs out some slutty cross between a moan and a cry as his pussy clamps uncontrollably around them with a grip that’s reluctant to let go. He rambles your name mingled with, more, more, more…

You moan. His cunt sucks in a third within moments, down to the knuckle. Quickly you pump, and deep inside him, curl them tightly.

“Fuck!—Wait, I’m—fuck!”

He shouts when his second climax washes over him. It’s much stronger than the last—his strength soon overpowers yours, and he fucks your tongue, grips your wrist and practically convulses while rutting on your fingers. You moan as he quakes through it.

As the aftershocks start to make him twitch away, he collapses, hearing himself whimper from far, far away as you clean up his messy cunt with long, thirsty licks.

You back away and rise up, letting him melt onto the bed. A sea of harsh heat escapes with the loss of the covers.

He turns his head just in time for you to drape your heavy body over his back—completely covering his own—and for your lips to crash against his, pulling a moan from you both. The entire lower half of your face, especially around your lips are slathered in his cum. The peaky taste is sweet and clean, and he groans to taste it as your tongue drags against his.

He arches his back and closes his hand around the rear of your thigh, using—damn near almost—his full strength to try and get your dick in him. You breathe a sweet moan down his throat.

You take hold of his hip and slide your shaft through his wet cunt, between his soft lips, and abruptly, your hips snap forward and bump his softened dick. A whiny cry he didn't even know his voice was capable of dizzies him.

"Mm... Mm..."

Your sweat and hot, heavy breaths bleed together. Neither can focus to kiss any longer, not as you fumble to guide yourself, he spreads his pussy.

The instant your cock pushes past his rim, thick and inviting, he moans. His cunt is so wet and relaxed that it eases the way for your cock easily, and you fill him up perfect. Every light pulse and throb is felt with amazing clarity.

You bury praise in his neck. "God—baby, you're so tight... Y'feel so fucking good."

He arches his back, panting into his arm. "Then fuck me, just fuck me..."

You groan, bordering on a growl. Your hips heave, and as they first clap against his ass, stuffing him full of your cock, his eyes just about roll into the back of his head.

"Yeah, fuck...!"

Fuck, he’s so full.

You groan, long and low into the dip where his neck connects to his shoulder as you draw your hips back. His cunt is pliant and soft after his orgasms, but the heat of his body ripples, throbs, squeezes so tightly now that he’s properly being fed your cock.

The drag and pull as his sopping cunt opens up for it leaves him whining endlessly. Louder as you pick up speed and put force behind your deep thrusts. Sloppy squelches mark each revolution of your hips.

His back arches under you, leaving a slight strip of space the only place over his back where you’re not pressing him into the bed. The shift pushes your cock even deeper.

"Fuck," you curse, your voice pitching towards a whine; your breaths loud and ragged in his ear. You rut desperately, making him tremble in anticipation. He’s going to come too fast. He keeps…

The muscles down your abdomen twitch and tense as you get a hand underneath him, and tug gently on his fat clit.

“Hng—! Fuck!” he cries out. “Yeah, fuck me!”

He arches his hips to meet every one of your thrusts, but eventually, with your entire weight looming over his back, and your rapid, brutally shallow thrusts, he’s pinned in place by you, at your mercy.

"Gonna come..."

This is his favorite part—the last shreds of your control and rhythm failing into delirious humping and half-thrusts.

"Levi!"

Your hips smack his ass with full strength one last time. Your cock throbs heavily inside him, straining tightly, then you stutter to a halt. You bury a groan in his neck as your cum floods into his cunt, a distinctive heat and satisfying sense of being filled.

Your cock must be overstimulated, but you pick up speed anyway, fucking your climax deep inside him and crossing a small distance left to meet his peak. He cries out when he tips over the edge, it burns straight through his blood and buzzing mind. With each thick spurt of your cum filling him, and drag up and down his dick, he quakes, giving the illusion of laying still.

Until he collapses, and you sink down on top of him, with his muscles inside softening and going all pliant. Hot cum begins to trickle out between your cock where you're still connected.

You both relax to the bed, heaving breaths, satisfied.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

[staarboyyy]

Compliance - ktober week 1 [ Blood / Bound ]

homelander x reader | no pronouns, afab anatomy

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; sublander, bloodplay, knifeplay, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamic, consent, communication, prior planning

summary ; getting homelander in a vulnerable position where you put him in cuffs he's not allowed to break

word count ; 1.6k

a / n ; i want to continue this at some point, lemme know what yall think :)

“Come on, Sweetheart. Give me something,”

Homelander’s voice was unlike you had ever heard before. The man breathed soft spoken words, riddled with a tremble that balanced skillfully between fear and something else. Something much darker than you had anticipated. You stood above him, staring down at his tightly bound wrists resting behind him, white-knuckled into tight fists. His knees were spread, staring up woefully at you, who now pressed a dagger firmly against his throat. Homelander watched you, eyebrows knitted upwards into a tangled and desperate expression; His lips were ajar, breathing hard as he kept his chin tightly angled upwards, the cool metal contrasting his hot sweat-glazed skin. You pressed it with more force to his larynx, pulling a low pleased purr from the man whom had begun shifting his hips in an uncomfortable manner. He cursed himself for this, cursed himself for all of it. Even letting you see him so vulnerable made him feel sick, sweat beading down his forehead and hanging off his jaw, his stomach churning angrily. It was much easier to digest the idea of being angry in his mind. Better than coming to terms with what he genuinely felt when gazing up at you like this.

“Please,”

The word fell into a pathetic whisper, Homelander's fingers twisting around one another in desperation he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted to move, to free his hands and touch you — He winced at the idea, his hands on you, underneath your loose clothing, pulling his hips against your own, all of it at once had begun truly washing over him. The thoughts trickled down in blazing components, traveling down from his corrupt mind, lower, lower, lower. Without distinct warning, the blade swept to the left with a sudden twist, so the sharpened metal scraped against the exposed skin. Homelander thrust upwards slightly, only to be met with the friction of his suit, now suddenly very tight. His breathing quickened, eyes not leaving your quizzical and guarded expression. Your gaze stumbled down to where his hips loosely thrusted upwards, cautiously gripping the dagger. 

“Please, what?”

Your question hung in the air as the fevered pain on Homelander's throat stung dimly. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, lips parted with anticipation. With a clench of his jaw, he pressed his hands to the cold cement floor behind him, pushing himself closer to her with caution. Homelander knew all too well what position he was in - You were in charge, whether he liked it or not. Goosebumps began to garden themselves in cascading bouquets over the back of his neck as he came to a stop in front of you, your boot-clad feet standing between his spread thighs. He could feel his mouth beginning to water, eyes still staring up at you with a pressing need. Blood seeped from the cut on his neck, a pearl of ruby staining its path on his skin. Your looming stare nearly forced his back to slowly arch, squaring his shoulders as he adjusted his hips once more; Every stretch and crane of his neck rippled torrid pain down his frame, sweat rolling down the nape of his neck, only propelling his fixation on you, still standing above him.

“Touch me,”

The few fragile syllables had been interrupted almost immediately as the flat of your foot lifted and fell between his thighs, causing Homelander to let a single whine further dislodge itself from his chest. After a few moments, you pursed your lips, fingers still dawning the dagger with the most authentic intent to use it against him if you deemed it necessary. By instinct, Homelander’s hips drew upwards to grind against your foot, his erection aching against his tightly worn suit with unfamiliar desperation. Hungry desperation. 

Homelander had always been the man to know what he wanted and, soon thereafter, when he wanted it — flashing a toothy smile at certain women, making under the table deals with co workers, receiving preposition after preposition. These simple passing whispers dawned upon the ears of the innocent, and oh did they listen with stiffening fear. His rough hands would needily grope at the warm skin of these women, sliding easily underneath their clothing to find dewy skin, the smell of sweat and head-spinning desperation. The feeling of Homelander’s breathing sped at these flashing memories, nails digging ruthlessly into the palms of his hands as the same waves of heat from before returned, soaking his body in an insatiable and unplaceable hunger. You watched him with skeptical eyes, squinting down at him dubiously. His gaze was unrecognizable, only in your mind comparable to an animal. A starved, depraved, and weak animal. You pressed your foot down harder, gauging his reaction slipping between covetous and fragile. Oh, how the man sang, a strung-out groan exposing his relief in the change of  your pressure.

“Fuck,”

He choked as you began to move again, removing your foot from him to replace it with your ankle pressed snuggly in the space between his thighs. Homelander leaned forward to the best of his ability as if on cue, defying your silent demand to stay still. He could now easily ignore the biting sting of sweat pooling into the small cut on his throat; he could ignore the blade rising by your side. He could ignore everything as he thrust messily onto your leg, lips falling open once more. He wished he could see himself in this position, at mercy to you entirely. His rolling hips steadied into a regulated pace against you, the once electric new sensation growing into a more tolerable one. With a loose push of his fists off the floor, he attempted to move even closer but instead was met with the sight of you slowly beginning to pull your pants from your waist.

“You’re gonna stay on your knees,”

Your words didn’t raise a question, the tone instead making an assumption. Homelander watched your fingers slowly trace the button on your pants, his lips still parted, taking in slow sharp breaths. “Isn’t that right?” The words no longer registered with the man, his attention entirely fixated on your hand and how it moved over the small buckle. He simply nodded slightly, and that was all you needed to understand. 

You let the dagger clatter against the cement, unphased by the sudden loud echo as you began to undo the buckles of your pants, bringing them down to her ankles to kick off casually. You tossed your discarded clothing to the side after you removed them calmly, as if you were simply changing your clothing before bed or taking a shower. This drove Homelander up the walls, having to watch you confidently bare yourself  in front of him, not giving him the time of day even to meet his desperate gaze. He couldn't help but let a wry smirk push itself up to his lips as he admired your body, one like none other that he’d seen and wanted to cherish. When you walked back to the knelt man, you let your arms slide over yourself, resting your hands on your hips. You resumed the position from before, but now your bare legs had been exposed to him, opportunities blooming in his mind faster than he could gather them. Homelander dove forward with little to no hesitation, his mouth catching your skin instantly. He ground against your radiating warmth, frantically attempting to collect every caress, every gentle touch, every sharp movement and noise you made above him. His teeth crushed nastily against your thigh, sucking the untouched skin with a fierce appetite. You studied how he curved and coiled around you, akin to a snake drawing in prey and suffocating them slowly - You found it difficult to breathe, cheeks flushed, as his demeanor switched from yearningly patient to gluttonous and predatory. Your stomach stirred warmly as you watched him move over every point of your bared skin within his depraved reach. Homelander left bundles of clashing colors over your thighs, the shapes warping as you began to tremble slightly underneath his invasive mouth. His misted hot breathing against your underwear made you readjust yourself in anticipation, the nervousness and sudden wavering anxiety bubbling in your stomach. You swallowed thickly, watching him lean closer towards the band of your underwear, sharp teeth skillfully hooking on the elastic. The pooling heat in your abdomen and trembling breath took the place of what words you now so desperately sought out. Your mind ran in circles, yet you stood on trembling thighs, eyes glued to his while your underwear began to ever so slowly be pulled down. Homelander's breathing hitched as your nudity became more apparent to him, underwear drawing out a long string of pooled moisture. He could feel his steady breath waver hastily, his teeth still iron tight on the elastic waistband. 

The smell of you filled his senses, your rocketing heartbeat drowning out his own as he let the underwear slide past your knees. He would never be able to put into words quite how difficult it was to keep himself restrained, not to move unless directly given the order to do so. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin against his own - The cuffs binding his wrists were akin to tissue paper, and you had both agreed if he snapped the weak chain, the scene would come to a stop. It was torture, in it's most carnal form. 

Training a wild animal was no easy feat; The feeling of his tongue gently darting over the skin on your thighs was electric, tracing a painfully slow path towards your aching cunt. Homelander didn’t need to be in control to tease, yet his own greed would always trample the satisfaction of watching you squirm. His mouth met you desperately, tongue sliding over your heat with a quiet groan - He couldn't look away from you, not even when your eyes slid shut, eyebrows furrowing from the sudden pressure of his tongue lapping needily against your clit. He ravaged you, jolts of pleasure sparking in your veins with every lash of his tongue, sucking gently, savoring you and the noises that soon followed. You'd ruin him, surely. But in this moment, this second, his mind refused to let him see such a thing - It was you. Only you.

[unstablebill]

For Pride as a Special Treat™ I'm buying a BLAZE of my queer murder mystery novel! 🤩 PLEASE LOOK UPON IT!

I love cozy mysteries but there is a distinct lack of them in queer/furry spaces, so I wrote one 😌 You can find it on lovely indy press Furplanet at the link below! 4 illustrations and covers by @jayfitzmaurice

A Summer Vacation to Die For

Dr. Ino Reamer has a lot of plans for his summer vacation — relaxing, working out, trying to conquer the crushing ennui of his 30s. Solving a murder was not part of these plans. But when a colleague's grim demise very nearly ends Ino's tenure, the hyena can't help but apply the scientific method to his search for the truth. When a few suspicious characters take note of Ino's investigation, the case takes on a new urgency, and now Ino must crack the case before Finals Week becomes his final week! 😱

386 pages, rated R (murder off screen)

https://furplanet.com/shop/item.aspx?itemid=1202

(you CAN get it on Amazon but please support my independent publisher!!)

"Enthralling murder mystery? Check. Loveable furry characters? Check. Adorable/cheesy romance? Double-check. If you share any of these interests, I highly recommend picking up this book, you won't regret it!" - review

This is part 1 of a planned 4 part series so please watch me for updates on my upcoming books. I am a small author so I appreciate the support - please follow and reblog and like and share and subscribe and whatever else we do these days!

Thank you for reading! 😁

[tarjapearce]

you got me thinking how delicious ranchero Miguel is ((and he is 🐺)) going back again to him literally training without a shirt…showing the aftermath of your night’s intimacy on his skin and I mean scratch marks on both his arms and back….👁️👁️

Tell me he won’t show that off to tease you 😭

Oh he would. 👀

He would wake up at crisp five am, his room although in the barn, would be properly conditioned with everything he needed. The least your parents could do was to give him a proper place since his job in the farm the first few weeks convinced them enough to stay.

Miguel slicked his hair back, removing the front bangs from his face as he looked in the mirror. He smirked at the scratches on his arms, his torso, and when he turned around, he saw some more littering the top of his back.

The sudden memory of him being buried womb-deep in you, made the hairs on his arms to rise. They were his battle scars, and of course would flaunt them off. He took a shower, got ready and got himself to work.

------

The blazing sun of mid day, made him remove his shirt. Sweat rolled down his back, the ripples of his muscle contracting and expanding as he shoveled Agustín food in his container.

The horse took a bit of work to manage, almost throwing him out the saddle at first, but slowly, Miguel earned his trust. It was the only time your father had actually acted out of his stuck up and despective persona to congratulate him. He had gotten Agustín as a gift from another farmer. Your father was a well known man in the community.

Miguel then moved to groom him. Soft bristle brushes, a bit of oils for the horse hair, multiple vitamin caplets and of course a new pair of shoes for Agustín front legs. He had taken a like to the horse, even had developed a distinct call just for him.

Another helper under his tutoring approached him with fresh hay for Luis, your horse, he couldn't help but notice the marks on his skin.

"Had a good night, boss?"

He chuckled and prepare the colt's bottle of milk.

"Este chamaco..." (This kid...) he'd mumble.

"I mean, if the Mrs. saw you like that she'd be horrified."

"Cuando no." (As usual) He tittered at the thought, that just evolved into an idea.

"Get Joaquín more hay, if he still refuses to eat, tell the upper boss." He threw Agustín's saddle over his shoulder and prepared him for another training session.

By this hour you and your mother would be awake and enjoying a bit of a brunch in the porch. After grooming and treating Agustín, he put the saddle on him, and rode him to stretch his legs. To his not surprise your mother was there, rambling about how some of your friends looked like they had already had intercourses.

The word made you giggle and you just earned another swat with her rolled newspaper.

He adored your laugh, before your mother could shoo him away, he tipped his hat and made a blow kissing gesture your way. You couldn't help but beam bashfully at him. The scratches of your previous night made your legs to cross in instinct. His torso bounced softly with every gallop Agustín did.

"How shameless. Parading his... unholy doings before us."

"It's awfully hot, mom. Might as well swimm a bit on the pool."

"Still, we have rules in this house, (Name)." She huffed and you rolled your eyes.

"I don't know how your father can allow him do such... things under our home! What would people say if they saw a tramp walking out from the bsrn! Oh Jesus Lord forbids it. We would be the talk of town. He should take in consideration your father's job as a head of the church."

------

After a few hours of hearing your mother's rambling and she taking her usual evening stroll with her friends, you'd sneak out in the barn, and hug him from behind.

"You made my mom flustered and angry" You giggled as he spun you around and kissed you deeply.

"Was she pissed?"

"Oh very. Called you inmoral." He smirked and bit your bottom lip, your hands raked on his head, putting his hat on your head.

"Then, I love to do inmoral things to you, chula." You giggled as he made you straddle his lap, kissing you deeper.

"That makes us two"

"Is she out?" You nodded and smirked with a teasing grind.

"Wanna do unholy things in the meantime?" He whispered in your ear with a tempting smile. Of course you'd do. Always.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐄𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Pull Me Closer

Every year, he joins the old tradition of traveling, where his ancestors have once ruled the skies. Every year, he meets familiar faces and new ones he's never seen before. Every year, he watches how his brothers find their mates, build their families, and introduce new generations to stories as old as time. But this year, something might be different. This year, there's you - a treasure worth more than he could ever offer.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon!Jungkook, strangers to lovers/mates, mentions of folklore and traditions, modern fantasy, romance, human?Reader, Fluff, Courting, MC kinda wary of kook at first, but he's cute give him a chance pls

Additional Chapter Warnings: tensioooon, the hunt is near, some steamy action that made me hit my desk

Length: short, tumblr hates long evocation updates for some reason

A/N: There is no taglist. I continue to force you to eat the dragon!kook meal, so you better finish your plate or there wont be any dessert. Also there is no taglist.

-> Masterlist

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It's hot this year.

You're usually not this bold with your choice of clothing, but the heat pretty much forces you to dress a bit more revealing as to not overheat- simply summer dress and underwear already feeling as if it's too much under the blazing sun. It makes most dragonkins laze around and bathe in the warmth of the giant star up in the sky, soaking up the sunlight as if they're some cold-blooded lizard recharging their energy and upping their body temperature.

It's funny how some instincts never leave, even if your body isn't the same anymore.

According to legends and some research, dragonkin had been, at some point, actual dragons- their blood slowly becoming less and less pure as they began to fall in love with the human kind. Their bodies changed, becoming less distinguishable from one another, as nowadays, only little hints remain in their visual appearance. It's honestly best seen in Jungkook, as you watch him push his hair back out of his eyes, beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face. He's tall, muscular but not too much so, with sharp eyes and traditional ink underneath the skin of his arm. It's not too different from a regular human- it's more so the way he carries himself, the way his instincts seem to lead him.

And yes- he's also got that very distinctive spot on the back of his neck- similar to you, and all of the other dragonkin around.

It's called a dragon's burn- a story as old as time saying that it's the soul of the last living dragon-mother burning her mark into the skin of a newborn, so she can still find her children amongst the humans. And while there's no actual proof or rather explanation from science as to why this mark appears or how it forms, its also said to determine one's personality and future, depending on it's shape, size, and position.

You've got your eyes closed as you soak up the sun as well now- dragonkin practically immune to sunburns, which is another thing that's still being researched. You're softly swinging from side to side in the hammock, one leg dangling out when you notice steps coming closer. By now, you're not worried about it anymore- it can really only be one person seeking you out.

He's not talked to you since you'd offered him the bracelet- you wonder if he still wears it.

There's a hand around your ankle, and your eyes open at that as you watch him, his gaze on you. He's looking at you a little differently today- not so bold anymore, not as fierce as usual. There's a certain softness to his eyes that you've not seen before- but you feel oddly comforted by it, as his fingers run over the soft skin of your leg. It's now that you notice the bracelet still hanging around his wrist, securely tied as if he didn't even think about how to open that knot ever again.

Maybe because he really doesn't intend to do so.

"You make me want to join you." He chuckles, watching as you stretch your arms above your head before relaxing again.

"I doubt the hammock can hold both of our weights." You respond, and he grins.

"If Yoongi and his mate can have sex on this thing, I'm sure it can handle us both simply cuddling on it." he comments, and at that you shoot upright into a sitting position.

"On this thing?!" you ask, scandalized, and he can't help but laugh openly about your face full of shock. It's a nice laugh- it's free, open, honest. You like it.

"I don't think it was this specific one." He reassures. "Or maybe. They probably cleaned it though, don't worry." He says, before he holds onto it, making you lean back as to not be forced too close to him.

"I- did not agree to the cuddling part though.." You stammer as he climbs in without really asking any further, moving around and boldly using his strength to push and move you into a comfortable position in his arms- and despite your vocal protest, you can't help but scoot a little bit closer than he'd placed you, leaning halfway on his body as he chuckles.

"Well it sure doesn't feel like you're too upset over it though." He offers, and you're quiet- because you're not sure what to say. It takes a moment or two before you point towards the bracelet around his wrist- his hand on his chest close to you as you tap one of the wooden beads.

"M' sorry about that one, by the way." You mumble disappointed.

"Why?" He asks, genuine surprise in his voice. "Did you not want to give it to me?" He worries, but you shake your head.

"No, I wanted to.. you know, give you something." You shrug. "But this thing sucks. It looks awful." You say, and his hand instead reaches out to hold yours now, thumb running over the back of your palm.

"It's made by you." He offers. "You've put effort into it, and I appreciate that." He tells you, and you shrug.

"You can be honest." You say. "It looks-"

"Like a gift given to me by my future mate." He says, and at that you freeze. It's the first time he openly calls you a future mate- even though he's not given you anything in return yet. "Let's not dwell on it for now, okay?" He asks, and you shrug. "Let's just exist for a moment. I just want to hold you." He says, and at that, you nod, before you lean in closer.

Soaking up both the sun- and the warmth of his skin and body next to yours.

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The first preparations for the festivities are in full force, but tonight, things are still calm and easy.

Some are still hammering together the stages and booths, nails hit into wood in a steady rhythm, while others have gone to bed early. You yourself are still sitting outside- air cool now, refreshing as some insects chirp somewhere in the distance.

In a way, you dread the next two days. Because it'll be the last, and then you'll be back in the loud, bustling city full of noise and stress.

Someone sits next to you on the edge of the stage, a sigh escaping him as he looks at what you're watching. "It's nice like this." He comments, nodding to himself. You nod as well.

"I don't want to go home yet." You mumble almost more to yourself than anyone else- but he still hears you.

"You don't have to- not yet." He tries to lift your mood. It works only a little. "Dont let the thoughts of what's to come ruin what you've got right now. That's what my mom always says." He playfully shoves his shoulder against yours. "But- that's not actually why I wanted to see you." He suddenly says, jumping down from the edge of the stage, pulling something from the pocket of his pants. It jungles distinctively- a high sound indicating a small bell of some sorts, and his hands are almost hesitant as his fingers wrap around your bare ankle.

"Dont think I've forgotten.." he starts, and you can't help the goosebumps that erupt from the way his hands pull you closer by your leg. "...or that I have chosen someone else.." he tells you, gaze sharp and fierce again as he watches your every reaction from his position. He reveals the delicate, silver anklet that he's got, wrapping it around before he uses a small pair of pliers to bend close one of the chain links.

There's no way for you to take it off now without breaking it. A silent offering that also showes his urge to make sure you know that his decisions are final. That he stands by this gesture, by his words, his choice.

And he's choosing you.

"Thats cheating." You tease. "You're making the hunt easy on yourself." You jab at him jokingly. "Scared you won't catch me without the help or a bell around my leg?" You ask, tilting your head innocently while he leans down to kiss the side of your knee- and action that makes your breath hitch a little, something that doesn't go unnoticed as the corners of his lips lift.

"Oh, that bell isn't for me." He chuckles, hands at the very edge of the hem of your dress, never daring to go any higher. "Its so everyone else knows to stay away from you, because you'll be mine." He says.

"Bold." You just tell him, as he helps you down from the edge of the stage and into his arms, before he cages you in with your back against the wooden front of the structure, arms on either side of you.

"How could I not be?" He wonders, looking down at you, eyes jumping from your lips to your eyes. "I've got to be, considering all the others who lick their lips after you."

You scoff. He tilts his head for a second in confusion.

"You don't believe me?" He asks, and you shrug, looking away- but he doesn't have it, pulls your face back with his hand on your chin- before said hand moves to hold your cheek instead, an awfully tender gesture from the otherwise rather rough dragonkin. "You've got no idea how much you're desired."

"I'm not, really." You deny, but he instead leans in to nose at your neck, breathing in your scent. "Except, maybe by you." You try and joke, but you can instead feel his grin against your neck as he places an almost teasing kiss close to your dragon's-burn on the back of your neck.

"That you are." He affirms. "I desire you a lot. Not just.. physically though." He explains.

"Huh?" You stupidly sigh, unable to think straight under his ministrations.

"I desire all of you." He tries to explain. "I want to hear what worries you, what you think of, what you believe you can't tell anyone else. I want to know what makes you happy, what gets you excited, what makes you sad." He rambles, leaning his head on your shoulder now, lips tenderly kissing the tip of it. "I don't just want your body." He says. "I want you."

"Jungkook-" you sigh, and he can't help but laugh boyishly to himself.

"I love the way you say my name." He chuckles. "I love that you say my name." He clarifies, and you can't help but smile as well now, butterflies no longer being ignored now as they flutter in your heart at his clear display of affection.

You've never been desired like that. Wanted. Almost needed, in a way.

"Tomorrow." He reminds you, leaning away from you again. "Tomorrow, you'll be mine." He tells you.

"I won't make it easy." You threaten playfully, and he grins.

"And I wouldn't want you to, either." He responds before you both part ways-

Barely sleeping as the excitement sets in.

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[txttletale]

every girl (who is not already paired with at least one positive identical twin) has a distinct antigirl hidden somewhere else in the world, born at the same time from decomposers in the soil; most people do not know anything about this. despite her feral upbringing, the antigirl blends in well enough in a crowd, but being of inverted ordinality, she is incapable of forming strong social bonds and does not need food or air to live. her only goal in life is to hunt down her corresponding girl and touch her, erasing them both from the record of memory in a searing blaze of art and music and nausea. it is disputed whether this interaction is lesbian in nature, as the severe psychic detritus of the annihilation renders direct observation impossible; although competing theories exist, the consensus of the girlologist community is that no sapphic phenomena could survive in the inhospitably pained conditions following girl-antigirl contact, and if any somehow did, they would be hopelessly problematic. whenever a girl outlives her antigirl, the world as a whole gets very slightly tangibly nicer; whenever an antigirl outlives her girl, the world as a whole gets very slightly tangibly worse. it is estimated that about 22% of girls outlive their antigirls, plus or minus 4%. this is ignoring the proportion of girl-antigirl pairs who ultimately annihilate; this number is unknown, but is generally assumed to be so small as to be statistically trivial.

there is no such thing as an antiboy (outside of theoretical lab conditions). the equivalent phenomenon for boys is the universal boy field that suffuses all boys and stores all information about every single thing that every boy has ever done or experienced. this information is very rarely accessible in any useful form, but does literally exist and can be demonstrated through such phenomena as the testogram (a device that allows men to perceive ghosts of one another's emissions) and the multiboy (a phenomenon resulting from sudden cootie transfer in which a man can be duplicated, though the "split" selves are erratic and collapse back to one if they become consciously aware of one another). interpretations of the universal boy field include the serano-kline model which suggests that the field is a shared mythology tapped into by natively genderless humanoids to allow them to function in the world at all without antigirl-like counterparts, the chocolate pudding model in which the universal boy field actually applies in the same way to both boys and girls but girls are simply occluded from it by their powerful cooties, and the uniboy model which posits a single boy existing throughout the entirety of history unwittingly undergoing a multiboy-like phenomenon to reproduce with the universal boy field simply being his resulting aura. none of these models accounts for all known enbies, who collectively pose centuries worth of headaches for any attempt at a grand unifying theory on the matter

the world your mind weaves entrances me.....

[jinxhallows]

kinktober #oo3 | my turn

KINKTOBER 2023 || jinxhallows my turn (role reversal) || jisung x fem!reader summary: you have the coolest partner in the world, the literal rockstar Jisung of the band Eternal, and the best part? you knew he was one before the rest of the world found out. you two met over a shared love of music, and you let your dreams fall to the wayside to support his. but when jisung hears you with his band for the first time, the roles are reversed, and he becomes your biggest fan. warnings: rather fluffy for kinktober, plot heavy, pet names, established relationship, non-kpop idol AU.

word count: 3.2k masterlist - click here

You’re a supportive girlfriend, so it's your job to be the one front and center when your boyfriend performs at festivals, waving a big sign around like an average fan, despite the badge hanging from your neck indicating you were very much not an average fan, and had full and complete access to the artist.   Jisung is undoubtedly a rockstar, the charismatic lead guitarist and vocalist of the alternative rock sensation, Eternal. Following the blazing success of their recent single on the radio, their demand has skyrocketed, securing them bookings at renowned festivals with extensive media coverage.    But your unwavering enthusiasm for Jisung's music dates back to the days when it was just him and his band in a rented-out rehearsal room inside an old warehouse in your hometown. There, you'd watch him perform, feeling your heart swell with pride and admiration as he poured his soul into his music, singing about his tumultuous past. 

In the last two of your five-year relationship, Jisung has been urging you to step into the limelight with your own unique voice. He's convinced that your vocals have a distinctive quality, a gritty edge that perfectly complements grunge and rock music. However, you've hesitated, recalling your past as a pop artist that didn't quite take off. You're afraid of experiencing the heartbreak of the music industry all over again. 

It's been easier to live vicariously through Jisung's success, still being close to the music scene that makes you feel alive. Your dreams haven't faded entirely, but for now, they simmer on the backburner. 

  After a year of pestering you, Jisung manages to convince you to get on the microphone after you two have shared a few beers and a couple of shots in between runs of his set at rehearsal.  You’re barely walking, and he’s pushing you while you make an effort to lean back against him, half fighting and stumbling your way up.    Giving him a sideways glance, he winks at you and turns to his rack of three guitars. He selects his vintage strat, slides the leather strap over his head, taps his foot on his pedalboard with a dozen pedals, exchanges nods with his drummer and bassist, and begins strumming chords.   

As the chords fill the air, they feel almost deliciously right, which is no surprise. Jisung knows your musical tastes well—Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Staind, 3 Doors Down, Nickelback—and he's giving you something distinctly different from his usual style, something that resonates with your soul.  You close your eyes, furrowing your brow in concentration as you sway to the chords. Then, you open your mouth, and the words flow effortlessly:    My anxiety,    It just ain’t been getting down with your sobriety    As the words leave your lips, you're pleasantly surprised at how good they sound, both vocally and lyrically. 

Jisung signals the band to continue with a circular motion of his finger. He adjusts his playing to complement your voice, encouraging you to keep going. 

Closing your eyes once more, you raise the microphone to your lips: 

  My anxiety,    It just ain't been getting down with your sobriety    And I can tell how things are changin’ cause you’re just like me.    The next set of words come to you within seconds.    And I’m gonna take you to that place where you don’t wanna be, don’t gotta be.    You hear that familiar switch and whirr of the high pitched amp as Jisung switches pedals again, the sound harder, with more overdrive.  His strumming pattern has changed, and it makes you feel like a chorus should come out naturally.    Take me out onto the wide and open roads,    I’m just waiting for you to tell me when to go.    We can take it slow,    I don’t have to know.    But I can’t promise that you’ll find your way back home.    You're completely immersed in the world of your lyrics, lost in the music until you hear Jisung's whistle followed by hearty laughter as the band comes to a stop. 

Jisung steps on a pedal, deactivating the overdrive, and asks, "Holy shit, did you write that, y/n?" 

You shrug, "No, it just came out—the way you were playing, that's just what came out." 

He widens his eyes, brows raising in surprise. "Wait, you mean to tell me you came up with that off the top of your head?" 

You look at him, puzzled. "Jisung, we do this at home all the time. We freestyle together when we're drunk. I used to be a musician. Is this new information?" 

He clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes. "Don't be a smartass. You know I've never heard you with a live band. When we freestyle when we're drunk, you don't come up with stuff like that. That was... poetry." 

  Jisung steps back and adjusts his pedals, strumming lightly. "Do the same thing, but Troy, hold out that E string through the first eight bars." 

And so, your very first alternative rock song, 'Home,' was born during an organic jam session. It was so impressive that Jisung funded its professional recording in a studio and helped you release it as a single, under his publishing. 

  You landed 68k streams in the first week.    People were hungry for more.    The band lent their full support as you embarked on your first major project, a small EP comprising eight remarkable songs. The pinnacle of your excitement came when you received news that you were invited to perform at none other than the prestigious Coachella festival. 

Your excitement matched the enthusiasm radiating from Jisung. He couldn't contain his joy, and as the news broke, he screamed, hugging you tightly and even jumping up and down with sheer delight. When he finally released you from the hug, his eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as he looked into your eyes. "I get to be your groupie now," he exclaimed.    & Jisung meant that shit.    He purposefully schedules a leg of his tour to leave that night open so he can be free to attend and play for your performance, instead of the hired gun guitarist that takes his place when he has to prioritize his own band.  He’s headlining a top venue in the city the next night, but tonight is all about you.      But for tonight, Jisung is your guitarist, so he can’t wave a sign in the crowd for you like you do for him, so he gets a little creative.  As the band began playing the intro to your song, the stage lights transform into a dim, muted blue, and you gaze out at the vast, massive crowd before you. It is undoubtedly the largest audience you have ever performed for in your career. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jisung stepping up to his microphone, still strumming his guitar. "Tonight is special to me, to be playing for Y/N, really, it's an honor," he announced, causing you to cover your mouth and nose with your hands, concealing your wide smile as the crowd erupted in cheers, urging him to continue. 

  "I am her biggest fan, and it sucks that I can't be in the audience, watching you do your thing from their point of view," Jisung continued with effortless stage presence. Laughter and whoops filled the air as he spoke, still strumming his guitar. "You guys are some lucky motherfuckers." His stage presence is effortless as the crowd reacts with laughter and whoops.  He’s still playing, the band perfectly vamping the song in the background as he points to the front row, “So I gathered some fans to help me out tonight.”    Before your very eyes, signs go up one by one across the front.    M A R R Y  M E ?    You take a step back, your eyes widen as you squint to see. The crowd's deafening roar and the giant screen above capture the moment, alternating between the sign and your bewildered expression. It's a surprise you could never predict.   

"Jisung—" you begin to exclaim, but your voice breaks into sobs as he embraces you tightly. The band briefly pauses, and the crowd's cheers grow louder. 

"It's okay, baby," Jisung reassures you, laughing as adrenaline courses through him. He rocks you from side to side, and then, he pulls out a box from his back pocket, dropping to one knee. With tears in his eyes, he opens the box to reveal a stunning ruby ring surrounded by diamonds on a gold band. He wipes his cheeks, trying to maintain composure as emotions overwhelm him. 

Your shocked reaction, a mixture of surprise and joy, draws raucous laughter from the audience. You hadn't expected him to propose right then, and you had no idea he had a ring. You don't even know any of this has been planned. As you say yes, barely above a whisper, you nod and let him slip the ring onto your finger.  It rests perfectly between the silver carved wolf ring on your pinky and the owl eyes ring on your middle finger, with turquoise stones set into the irises.  It's a ring that proves he knows you well and listens to the things you love and want.  You hadn’t mentioned wanting a ruby engagement ring since you first started dating and it came up randomly when you two were at a mall together and happened to pass them by. 

  -  “Do you like this one?” Jisung asked.    “Nah, too traditional.  I love rubies.  I’d love a ruby one.” 

-    Now, you shiver with emotion, looking down at the ring and sniffing as he stands up to kiss you. It's a brief kiss, but you know there's more to come later. He steps back, never taking his eyes off you, and the introduction to your song begins once again. 

Through your tears, you laugh. "Now I have to sing the song, asshole," you tease.   

Jisung chuckles with the crowd and leans over to quip into the microphone, "Yeah, but you got this, rockstar."   

As you prepare to start singing, the crowd's voices join in unison, singing the opening phrases with you: 

"My anxiety..." 

You feel a surge of happiness and gratitude as you close your eyes and sing the lyrics, your voice soaring as the song reaches its climax and descends gracefully, like a plane landing smoothly. The audience erupts in applause, and soon after, you find yourself in the dressing room. You're sweaty, makeup smudged from tears, but you're buzzing with excitement. Your heart races, and it feels like a fluttering butterfly has replaced it, its wings sending a rush of blood through your veins. 

Your team rushes in, surrounding you in a massive group hug. Some of them hold bouquets of flowers, and your manager pops a bottle of champagne, filling flutes for everyone in the room. 

"Attention, everyone, I need to make a toast," your manager announces, raising her glass above the chatter. The room hushes. "To new beginnings!" she declares, and everyone cheers, clinking their glasses together. You raise your glass from where you sit on a makeup table, taking a sip as the room bursts into conversation again. 

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Jisung walks in, greeted by more whoops and cheers. He's visibly exhausted from his set and the emotional rollercoaster of the night, but Jisung plays along, accepting the enthusiastic welcome as he makes his way over to you. 

"Han Jisung!" you exclaim, shaking your head as he wraps you in a warm embrace. Your legs wrap around his waist as he hugs you tightly, planting a kiss on your lips and looking into your eyes. 

"It sounds even better now that it's gonna be your last name," he says with a grin. 

"Let's take this to the afterparty!" your drummer yells, and everyone starts gathering their belongings, excitedly agreeing.   

"Leo, we're playing Thunder Eagle tomorrow, don't get too messed up, man," Jisung says over his shoulder, calling out your shared drummer, who rolls his eyes.    “I’ll be cool Jay.”    “I’m serious.”    "I'll make sure they behave," Jisung's manager chimes in, patting Leo on the back and pointing towards the door, silently advising him not to argue tonight.  

Jisung is a Virgo, a perfectionist, and he wants his set to be flawless, even if it never quite reaches his impossible standards. She reassured him that everything would go according to plan so he could enjoy his proposal night.   

"Thank you, Rina," Jisung says. 

Rina nods. "Meet us back at the hotel. We need to go over tomorrow's itinerary." 

She knows Jisung has no interest in afterparties, especially not tonight. His social battery is drained as well. 

After Rina leaves, the steel door slowly closes behind her, and you and Jisung let out synchronized sighs, followed by shared laughter. Those sighs communicate everything you both feel—the relief of finally being alone.   

"Wow, I can't believe I got backstage with Y/N," Jisung teases, his eyes playfully wide. 

  "Got past security and everything, huh? You must've really wanted to meet me," you playfully comment.   

"Of course," Jisung responds, placing his hands on both sides of your face and looking into your eyes. "I told you, I'm your biggest fan." 

And then, Jisung kisses you for real this time, like he means every bit of it. Your head tilts to follow the rhythm of his tongue as it rolls over yours, and you give him a forceful shove backward as you hop down from the countertop. He stumbles back a few steps while you push his leather jacket off his shoulders. Eventually, he lands on the black futon, looking up at you with a crooked grin as you straddle him. Your knees sink into the leather, and you can feel just how aroused he is when you lower yourself against him. Both of you are still clothed, and you rest your arms on his shoulders, your breasts grazing against his chin as you start grinding in his lap. 

"You're my biggest fan, Jisung?" you inquire, your voice low and teasing. 

"I am," he confirms, his eyes lifting from your chest to meet yours as he answers your question. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down firmer onto his lap. 

You lean in close, murmuring in his ear, "Wanna be my groupie?"   

"Mhm, I do, I do," Jisung breathes, his hands gripping your ass. 

But then, you stop, lifting yourself up slightly.   “Let me fuck you then.” you say with a firm grasp of his erection. You stroke him a couple of times through his jeans, your lips hovering over his. You watch his expressions, the way his eyes cross, and his lids flutter, his vision blurred by the shockwaves your touch is sending throughout his body.    "Y-Yeah?" Jisung stammers, a reply that makes you both laugh, briefly breaking the intensity of the passion between you. How can you still have this effect on him? Jisung melts under your heat, and he always will.    “Take your dick out, I need to spell it out for you?”    You grant him a bit more space, allowing him to lift his hips and deftly slide out of his jeans. His brain finally clears the fog of desire, and he's acutely aware of how badly he craves to be with you at this moment. 

"Sorry," he stammers, "I'm like...star-struck or something." You straddle him once more, your thumb gently grazing his lower lip, the delicate almond-shaped acrylic nail tracing along his upper teeth. You observe the transformation in his expression as he shifts from awe to sheer desperation, all while you slowly lower yourself onto his throbbing anticipation. 

“Hmm,” You throw your head back with a blissful sigh of contentment, adjusting to his size. And Jisung can hardly believe it; he’s actually going to marry you and keep you in his life forever. He gets to feel this forever.   

The thought is making him impossibly hard as hips rock into you, emptying out those moans he’s grown to love so much. 

  “Jisung, you feel so good right now, baby,” you purr into his ear, his nails digging into your thighs to get a firmer grip as you ride him, writhing, whining hips giving him chills as you engulf him from every angle. 

“Goddamn,” He moans. “You do too.” 

When Jisung vocalizes during sex, it comes from some deep, carnal place that drives you absolutely mad. And then, he finds his second wind, snaking one arm around your waist, the other supporting his weight on the couch as he starts plunging into your pussy. You're losing composure, your choppy moans matching the tempo of his thrusts as your eyes roll back in your head, being fucked dumb over his shoulder.    When he tires, it’s like a perfect pass off, the way you grind against him.  He releases a guttural noise, head back against the futon as he slaps your thigh in encouragement, coaxing you to keep riding him just…like…that.    He looks up at you again, with stars in his eyes.  “I wish you could see yourself right now.”    “I can.” Your arm around his neck, fingers in his hair, you can see yourself in the reflection of the chain of mirrors along the wall behind you both.    “Oh, good,” Jisung says with a half-smile, your cunt still swallowing him up at this languid pace.  “See how pretty you look when you’re being fucked senseless like this?” He watches your face, the way your chest flutters with tiny gasps and your face twitches when you hit that certain spot.    "Yeah, I do," you barely manage to respond.    “Only thing prettier is how you look when you cum.” His praise pushes you further, two fingers sliding between your lips that you welcome, and Jisung closes his eyes, all of his senses overstimulated as he dangerously evades his orgasm, thanks to shutting out the sight of you absolutely wracked with pleasure, bouncing on his cock, with his fingers at the back of your throat.    You can’t speak, your mouth obstructed, so you begin to whine instead, and he presses on your tongue, making you gag over and over again as you unravel on him.  Jisung feels you cumming, he puts both arms around your waist as he pounds into you from below until he pulls you down a final time, his breath hitching as he allows his release to take over, cursing as he empties inside of you.    As your bodies slowly come down from the peak of ecstasy, you stay intertwined, breathless and sated.  The room is filled with a warm, intimate silence, broken only by the occasional soft sigh and the sound of your synchronized heartbeats.    Jisung gazes into your eyes with a tender expression, his fingers softly brushing a strand of hair away from your face.  “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he whispers.    You smile warmly in response, leaning in to kiss him sweetly.  “I feel the same way,” you murmur against his lips.  “Forever sounds pretty perfect.”    The two of you lay there for a while longer, basking in the post-coital afterglow and the knowledge that your love has reached a new level of commitment. The future seems brighter and more promising than ever before, filled with endless possibilities now for the careers of you both. 

Eventually, you two gather the strength to get up and clean up the evidence of your passionate encounter. As you help each other get dressed, there's a sense of contentment and serenity in the air.  With one last lingering kiss, you make your way back outside to catch an Uber back to the hotel, likely for a highly-anticipated round two.      What? You two are rockstars.  Did you expect anything less? 

[thedo0zyslider]

Scott, who is currnetly crammed into a small dirt hole, stares back at the green, cat like eyes blinking back at him in the almost utter darkness. The eyes of the one and only Tango. The one of the Tek variety.

Martyn had told him to hide, for just a little bit, and he hadn’t expected to wind up in the exact same hidey hole that the other last green on the sever had chosen.

It's an awkward thing, when Scott realizes he's crashed his neighbors hiding space. It also leads to a lot of staring into each other's eyes, because there is nowhere else to look. The hole is dark, only being illumated by a single torch light, and it is so small that he can barely see the walls past Tango's form.

Eventually though, after they've been staring long enough to memroize what each other's eyes look like in great detail. Tango lets out a gentle chuckle. "This is soooo bad if someone finds us!" His words are quiet, and his breath just falls short of Scott’s face.

"Yeah, yeah it would be." Scott agrees, a small smile escaping him. He cannot help but notice how close they are, how their bodies are flushed against each other. He can't help but notice how Tango practically has an arm around his lower torso, because bending it any other way would be uncomfortable. Scott notices how he's basically straddling the blaze as well, because a one by two hole will never be big enough for one person, let alone two.

"Soo....whatddya wanna do?" Tango jokes, his tail flicking against Scott's legs. He smiles in return, running a teasing hand over the other's chest.

"What ever you wanna do~" He purrs, leaning downwards. Tango smiles up at him, their foreheads bumping, until the blaze tits his head to the side a bit more, and a shiver of what feels like anticipation runs through Scott's body.

Their lips brush, just barely, before both them pull back. Well, it feels like both of them, but it's mainly Scott who does so. He's not very sure on going through with this is all after he thinks about it, even if he really really wanted to in the moment.

Based on what little he knew or Team T.I.E.S' members and their pasts, he had to wonder if Tango was with one of them. In a way that was more than friendship. He had to wonder if this would be cheating on anybody, because most of their servermates had formed some pretty steady relationships by this point. (Scott knew he was fine, because what him and Martyn were wasn't like that, but it also wasn't just a friendship either. And Martyn had said it was fine if explored other options, and he had agreed in return.)

Tango gives him a curious glance, one that's maybe a little concerned as well, and Scott voices his concerns.

"You're not gonna be...betraying anyone with this are you?" He asked, one of his hands having come down to cup Tango's cheek.

"No," Tango breathed, their faces barely two inches apart now. "Are you..?"

Scott shook his head no, but before he could finally lean in, there was the distinct sound of Grian’s voice above them. Because of course they would he interrupted right during the best moment, of course.

Both men froze in an instant, yet at the same time not moving away from each other, and stayed deathly silent as footsteps sounded above them. It takes a few minutes of Grian yelling at someone a bit further away, who seems to be either Joel or Jimmy, before their avian friend is gone and the world above them is silent once again.

Scott can barely believe it. They were less than ten blocks under the surface, and half of the people chasing them couldn't even think to dig out so much as a shallow hole. What were the odds of that.

"I don't think they're gonna find us for a while....." Tango murmured against his lips a moment later, warm breath ghosting over Scott’s face; his husky voice feeling rather loud in the newfound silence. And that's the moment be decides to hell with it, and promptly connects their lips.

Kissing Tango is warm and lovely and something like Scott’s never done before. It's less hotter and flamey than it looks like it would be in all honesty. At least in one way for now, because there are hands tugging at his hair and they are edging him on a great deal.

He bites Tango's lip when they go back in for seconds, and the blaze whines at that. Scott kisses him harder after that, and the only thing keeping him from destroying the blonde's neck was the fact that Tango had beaten him too it.

Sharp teeth graze over his neck as soon as they disconnect for a second time, teasingly running over his gills. Scott hums in pleasure when Tango finally bites down, and moves to grab ahold of the back of the blazeborn's head and wrap his fingers in soft blonde hair. Scott cranes his neck back after a moment, letting Tango have more access to bite and bruise his skin.

Not long after that there is the sound of blocks breaking, and the two of them fail to notice until there is more light flooding the hole than torchlight could ever provide. Tango looks up, cat like pupils expanding again, and softly moves away from where he was biting Scott’s neck. Much to the latters disappointment.

Thankfully, it is only Martyn, who blinks at them while he's processing what he just walked in on. As his ally does this, Scott scarmbles off Tango, already missing the other's warmth, and practically stumbles out of the entrance Martyn had made.

"We're you two making out down there!?" Martyn exclaims, a tease and laugh on tge edge of his tone. He's pushed out into the sunlight by Tango, who is blushing like Scott had never seen him before. He sees how much of a mess the blaze truly is once they aren't shoved in a whole and has proper lighting, and he's sure he looks worse. Considering what exactly they'd been doing when Martyn found the two of them.

"Did you want in or something?" Scott asks, and giggles when the comment ends in both the blonde's blushing. That's where Martyn decides to call it a day, and that it's time for Tango to go home. No more making out today, not for the two of them anyways.

But before he leaves Tango presses a fleeting kiss to Scott’s red and puffy lips, and murmurs a promise to visit him later. Scott murmurs back that he'll be waiting, and prepares himself to endure all his teammates teases on the way back home.

[digi-lov]

Let's have a look at the Twin Digimon, Terriermon and Lopmon!

Although only referred to by their baby names, Gummymon and Chocomon, both Terriermon and Lopmon had their debut in the Movie Digimon Adventure 02: Vol.1 Hurricane Touchdown!!/Vol.2 Transcendent Evolution!! The Golden Digimentals.

[If you have only seen the English Digimon The Movie, I highly recommend watching the japanese original for each of the 3 movies cut together for it. This movie alone has about 50% of its content cut.]

Most of you will easily remember Terriermon, but Lopmon only shows up in its child form in this ending illustration done by the late Yasuo Ōtsuka.

Instead of Kenji Watanabe or other Bandai staff, Terriermon and Lopmon were designed by the movie's director, Yamauchi Shigeyasu himself, for the movie.

On the design sheet, we can see several points in which Terriermon and Lopmon were supposed to be distinct from each other in their body style. On this sheet, Terriermon is 1.7 heads tall, while Lopmon is 2 heads tall. Even if they would fall straight down, Lopmon's ears also appear to be shorter than Terriermon's. Lopmon's visible canine is a design element still used today, even though in terms of size and proportions, the twins are identical in modern media.

Due to its popularity from the Adventure 02 movie, Terriermon was chosen as partner for Jianliang Li/Henry Wong in the next anime season, Digimon Tamers, and by association, Lopmon was chosen as partner for Jian's sister Xiaochun/Suzie.

According to the Reference Book, Lopmon is the lonely crybaby type, while Terriermon is calm and robust. Both have the move Petit Twister, while Terriermon's signature move is Blazing Fire and Lopmon's is Blazing Ice. Furthermore, the Reference Book entries of their Baby I stages Zerimon and Cocomon state that they're the only Digimon that are born as twins, but the reason why is still unknown. They also aren't exclusively born as twins and can hatch alone from eggs individually as well.

On the Digimon Web Twitter, Terriermon and Lopmon appear on various occasions, including the celebration of ふたごの日 futago no hi Twins Day. (5th of February)

The Card Game also features them together on some of their cards! And there's even official card sleeves with the two.

Both of them appear to be very popular and are featured in many parts of the franchise, Lopmon in particular, being chosen as a partner Digimon for characters in a number of games.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #21 fire

White Pony Tattoo - Part Two (Fire)

“What? You, how…” John struggled for words. “This is impossible!” He is impossible!

“To a lesser mind maybe. To me, it’s obvious.” Sherlock shrugged, a bored expression on his face.

Now this is unbelievable. How can he be so dismissive and haughty?

John remembered that a lot of people who had rated this shop on the internet had called Sherlock a brilliant tattoo artist but personality-wise a total arsehole.

Guess they have been spot-on, John thought.

“This is terribly rude, you know?” John’s temper rose quickly. Since he had nothing left to lose, having been rejected already, John added for good measure, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an utter dick?”

John faced Sherlock’s piercing stare with blazing eyes. His mouth was set into a fierce line as if John was about to jump head-first into battle, hands clenched.

John had expected that Sherlock would get insulted and just throw him out, but no, something completely different and unexpected happened.

Sherlock laughed.

Genuinely and heartily and actually enjoying the verbal attack.

“Now and then, yes.”

Sherlock’s bored face transformed into one shining with mirth, laugh lines had formed and his stunning eyes had changed their colour into a sunny blue green hue.

“Ah, yes. Here appears the soldier, finally.” Sherlock nodded appreciatively.

John was dumbfounded by Sherlock’s uncanny knowledge about him. How does he do this?

Sherlock stepped around the wooden counter and circled once around John, evaluating every inch of his body like a predator might scrutinize its prey for suitabilty to be devoured.

Unconsciously, John assumed a military stance and that earned him a raised eye brow by Sherlock.

“You’re not cowed.” Sherlock stated. “Good. I love the feisty clients.”

John’s skin shivered from alternating waves of cold and heat, being under Sherlock’s renewed hyper-attention. Something grew inside of him and reached out like a flower stretching towards the sun.

Yet, John refused to feel intimidated, so he raised his chin and fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s, locking them in a visual chokehold.

“Am I now?” John inquired, voice steady just as his hand. “A client? Not boring anymore?”

“Wrong. Twice.” Sherlock clicked his tongue. “Still not a client and I’m still not covering up your awful Virgin Mary tattoo with a boring soldier in full combat gear.”

John was speechless. Again. And hated it. He cannot know this!

John stared at Sherlock, watching him move with the lithe fluidity and enviable grace of a ballet dancer towards a light switch at the wall. Or was it the hidden strength of a prowling jaguar?

John had the distinctive suspicion that Sherlock did this on purpose. He was putting up a show for him. Anyway, the sight was something to behold.

The cozy dimness disappeared when the shop was bathed in harsh white light from a large panel on the ceiling. It shortly hurt John’s eyes and made him blink. The light left no room for vagueness and painted everything in stark contrast and highlighted every angle.

The planes of Sherlock’s angular face now looked like being carved out of Carrara marble and reminded John of Michelangelo’s famous “David” statue.

For the first time since he met the artist, John realized that Sherlock wore a purple dress shirt in the exact same colour as the curtain behind him. The shirt was very tight and hugged Sherlock’s slim but muscular chest like a second skin. It had to be bespoke since there were no wrinkles marring the expensive silk fabric.

Sherlock had left the upper two buttons undone and John caught a glimpse of white smooth skin and the beginning lines of an intricate black tattoo, beguiling and seductive like a promise to explore more. What image might be hidden under there?

Apart from these lines, John saw no other tattoos but Sherlock wore long sleeves that were held together by silver cufflinks in the form a tattoo gun.

Sherlock’s rumbling voice tore John out of these most pleasant musings.

“I offer you a phoenix, rising from the fire. The mystical bird that dies in the flames only to rise again, renewed and stronger than before. This really befits you and your personal resurrection story, don’t you think?”

John swallowed. Is he a mind reader?

“If you accept my offer come back in two days, 2 PM sharp. Now go, my next client arrives in five minutes.” Sherlock made a shooing motion with slender beringed fingers on his dextrous artist’s hand. “You may leave now.”

Shaken and not quite sure was it was that had just happened to him, John found himself back in the pavement in front of the tattoo shop.

Of course, John would come back. He did not have to think about returning to White Pony Tattoo for one single second.

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

[lets-try-some-writing]

Broken Record

It all started that first loop, when Smokescreen was branded. Now he is stuck in a loop and absolutely determined to make sure Optimus Prime survives. The only problem? It seems that Primus himself has other plans.

(This thing is bloody LONG so be wary if you decide to start reading. I am not joking this thing is crazy so PLEASE if you are going to read be PREPARED.)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

It was the greatest cycle of Smokescreen’s life when he landed on Earth. There could have been no greater honor than coming to a world and being given the chance to serve directly under the one and only Optimus Prime. And for a few short Earth months, Smokescreen learned and fought alongside the most elite of their kind, growing and coming closer to the team all while being able to interact with the leader of the Autobots. It was a dream come true… until Megatron found their base.

Optimus decided to stay behind. Smokescreen and the rest of the team hated it, Ratchet most of all. But who was he to argue against an order? And so Smokescreen fled when he was told to, at least at first. He could not allow his Prime to die, especially not without honor. And so he threw himself back into the groundbridge, emerging into fire and ash just in time to find Optimus and drag him away with the help of the phase shifter.

It was bad, and even after what had to have been millions of years, Smokescreen recalled the distinctness of that first loop with crisp clarity. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t worry Optimus! I’ll get Ratchet and he’ll patch you right up!” Smokescreen attempted to soothe despite seeing Optimus’s optics flicker more with every nanoklik. This was bad, this was very very bad. He wasn’t trained in this-

“The time for a new leader… is upon us.” Optimus’s voice called out in the darkness, his vocalizer straining with each glyph he uttered. His frame heaved, his battered body failing more every time he vented. Smokescreen wanted to panic, but Optimus’s field washed over him sadly and in understanding. There was something sorrowful in his optics, something that did not seem to be the languishing of a dying mech. His field spoke of… pity for Smokescreen of all beings. Why?

“And I believe in my spark, that… that leader stands before me right now.” What?

“Optimus, I can’t-!” He tried to object, to step away. But Optimus held firm, grabbing his arm with strength a dying mech should not have had. His gaze held a fierceness that Smokescreen could hardly comprehend as the failing Prime again spoke into the darkness, his will so mighty that for a split second, Smokescreen found himself afraid. 

“The will of Primus is absolute. This is the calling, and you cannot escape… none of us can.” Optimus’s field flared, his optics blazing as Smokescreen felt a searing heat creep into his spark. He cried out as he fell to his knees, looking toward Optimus in terror. The Prime however merely gave him a pitying look before he sighed, his vents fluttering before he ultimately fell still, his spark sputtering out.

Smokescreen could only gape as his spark flared in agony, a brand now placed upon it that ached unendingly. Optimus’s broken torso split as the Matrix revealed itself, shining in all its glory. And yet when Smokescreen viewed it, his very being cried out in terror. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want that accursed thing in him. Something deep down within him told him that the relic before him was dangerous.

“No, this isn’t how the story is supposed to go.” He attempted to get up and run, primal fear directing his movements. However when he ran, leaving the body of his Prime behind, something shifted. The brand in his spark burned with such fierceness that by the time Smokescreen managed to track down one of the team, he all but collapsed. He didn't recall what followed perfectly, but he was sure it was Bumblebee who tried to hold him up and figure out what was going on. 

Smokescreen could do nothing as his vision swam and he purged until he had nothing left to give. It BURNED and there was nothing he could do as he heard Optimus's soft voice in the back of his mind and the world became a mess of colors before fading to black.

"The choice is neither yours nor mine to make. When the time comes, the Matrix will choose one who is worthy." 

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Just as quickly as it all ended, Smokescreen found his optics booting online again to the sight of his stasis pod opening. He found himself climbing out into a burning crater, unable to figure out what in Primus's name was going on even as Vehicons swarmed his pod. He knew this scene. He had lived this scenario. However he had no time to figure out what was happening as the Autobots arrived with a very much alive Optimus Prime leading the charge. 

He decided not to question as he threw himself into battle, a little wiser and better trained than before. He quickly jumped into formation, flanking Arcee and laying down suppressive fire as she had directed him before. By the time he was finally questioned, Smokescreen found himself in total disbelief. He had watched Optimus die and yet here the Prime was asking for his designation and thanking him for his efforts. Arcee was still as snarky as the first time and Ratchet was firmly sitting in the boat of suspicion. But this was just as things played out before.

"I'm Smokescreen, a member of the elite guard." He stuttered, his optics wide and his spark flaring as the brand pulsed. It ached and all Smokescreen could do was stare up at the mech he thought dead until Bumblebee stepped forward in concern.

"Are you alright? You are leaking coolant." Reaching up to touch his face, Smokescreen found coolant falling from his optics. That wasn't right. Why was he crying? Optimus was alive. It had to have all been some sort of relic induced fever dream. He had been abusing the phase shifter before all this and he had been guarding the Hall of Records. Strange things happened to mech who worked there. Maybe it was doing things to him, giving him visions. 

It couldn't have been real. He refused to believe it was.

"I'm fine. Just a bit out of it. It's not every day you meet Optimus Prime of all bots!" He shelved his memory and forced himself to smile. Arcee glared, Ratchet scoffed, Bulkhead nodded, and Bumblebee got back in position. Optimus for his part merely made a soft sound, his optics glinting before he ordered a groundbridge back to base, regardless of Arcee and Ratchet's complaints. 

Smokescreen simply smiled. The brand burned, but he did his best not to feel it. Everything had just been a bad dream. It was all going to be fine now. He would use what he knew to his advantage, and this time, he would ensure Optimus Prime survived.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

He did his best to warn his Prime without putting too much faith in his vision. He directed the team away from dangers and jumped into the fray with more wisdom than before. Nothing changed all that much, but there were a few less scars than in his vision and that was a small relief. Despite Smokescreen's efforts, Megatron found their base again. It was not ideal, but this time Smokescreen knew how damaged Optimus would be. He couldn't get Optimus to change his decision, he knew that much. But if he could get Ratchet to stick with him, then he could stop the devastation he knew was coming. 

"Ratchet, he's going to survive the blast, but he won't last much longer afterwards. He needs a medic on call." Smokescreen murmured as he pulled Ratchet aside. The medic gave him a sharp look, seemingly about to say something snippy before Smokescreen shushed him.

"Listen to me! You won't believe me if I tell you, but I know what is going to happen. The blast will hit, the Cons will arrive, and Optimus will survive for a few more days after the attack." Ratchet's optics blew wide, his field radiating pure suspicion. Smokescreen grabbed the medic's shoulders, trying to convey his conviction as much as he possibly could. Ratchet was a hard nut to crack, but not impossible.

"Are you a traitor? Is that how you know what's coming? Did the guilt of knowing eat you up inside? Is that why you are telling me this now that it's too late to stop our base from being destroyed?!" Ratchet's voice raised as the ceiling shook. It wouldn't be long now. 

"You just need to trust me! I'm no Con, but I saw the future! So please, listen to me!" Optimus and the rest of the team began to return back into the base through the elevator shaft. Smokescreen could only curse as he hurriedly hissed.

"There is a cave system under the base not far from here! I will take Optimus there after the blast hits! Meet me there with your medical kit!" The sound of blaster fire and the team rushing into base had Smokescreen pulling away, but before he left, he did his best to nod toward Ratchet and pray that his words were taken to spark. The medic glared, but his servos shook enough that Smokescreen could hope.

He was right to hope. When Smokescreen pulled Optimus from the ash this time, Ratchet arrived not an hour later and began to dutifully tend to the ailing Prime. It was bad enough that even the medic seemed to be on the brink of a mental breakdown, but as wounds were welded shut and energon siphoned into Optimus's battered frame, Smokescreen found himself hopeful. Things were still rough, but Optimus wasn't about to die anymore. They could make this work-

"Smokescreen." Optimus called out from where he lay on the ground, Ratchet still fussing over him. The medic stilled and Smokescreen paused as the brand burned. Coolant began to fall from Ratchet's optics as his scanners blared. 

"No no no, Optimus please no." Ratchet pleaded, his voice edging into static as he desperately tried to weld more wounds shut and repair the extensive damage to Optimus's systems. Smokescreen shook his helm, this couldn't be possible. He had made things better. His vision couldn't have been real. He was meant to stop this from happening. 

"The time for a new leader... is upon us." The same line. The same look. Optimus stared at him in understanding and again Smokescreen found himself afraid. This wasn't right. Optimus wasn't meant to die.

"Not again! I am not doing this again! I am not letting you die, Optimus!" Smokescreen cried out even as the Prime repeated that same pitying stare. Smokescreen did not wait for the inevitable as his brand burned. He ran faster than he ever had before as Ratchet wept behind him. He wouldn't stay, he wouldn't wait for what was now a certainty.

He ran until he could run no more, falling somewhere in Nevada far from Darkmount. His processors screamed at him to return to the team, but as he lay on the ground, the brand burning just as hot as it had in his vision... he knew that was no longer an option. Optimus was dead. He had failed. As his vision began to swim once more, he found conviction lacing his very being.

This was not how the story was meant to end. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Again he found himself coming online to meet the familiar sight of his stasis pod. This time, he wobbly emerged. He looked around in disbelief, glancing down at his servos and the Vehicons surrounding him in absolute fear. He was back again. There was no way that was all just a vision.

When the team arrived, he was too shaken to help. He hid within his stasis pod, watching the fighting playing out from within. Vehicons were shot at until they fled, and despite feeling like a coward, Smokescreen remained huddled up in the only space he knew to be safe until at last the team neared. From the inside, Smokescreen could see them arguing over whether or not to open his pod. Smokescreen made the decision for them with unsteady digits. 

"A youngling." Optimus mused as the pod opened and Smokescreen's shaking form became visible. He tried to still his movements, but his vents came in broken sputters and he could hardly move with how much it all was. He was back again. HOW was he back again?

"Part of the Elite Guard based on his badge, although he doesn't look the part." Arcee taunted, her blasters lowered but still ready to turn him into scrap metal if Smokescreen acted out of line. The rest of the team made similar comments, all appearing highly unimpressed. Smokescreen wished he could speak in his defense, but he was shaking too much. His spark ached, the brand still burned, but it was easing. The fragging brand had to have something to do with this. Whatever Optimus did to him the first time had changed him, he could feel lit.

"Youngling, you are safe with us. Can you tell me your designation?" Optimus knelt down and reached into the pod, offering a servo to help Smokescreen up. It was all so very wrong, but Smokescreen accepted the aid and stood before the team, trying desperately to find his voice. He was back again, he didn't know how, but he was. And if he was back-

He could change things.

"Sorry Sir. I was... not expecting my arrival here on Earth. I'm Smokescreen, an elite guardsmech." He saluted, but he did not smile. This was no laughing matter, not anymore. What he thought to be some sort of dream last time was evidently something else entirely. He refused to fail again. 

"I will not fail you." He bowed, his oath flowing from his vocalizer smoothly despite the way his doorwings still twitched. He was going to make things right or die trying. Maybe then whatever this was would come to an end.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I want you to teach me to fight." Smokescreen proclaimed as he stood before the team. Bulkhead paused, Miko silenced her guitar with a strange look, and the other two children glanced over at him. Arcee glared, an act he had long grown used to, and Bumblebee's faux vocalizer whirled in confusion. 

"You fight well enough to hold your own. What brought this up?" Arcee questioned as she crossed her arms. She didn't seem upset but rather intrigued. This time around Smokescreen had not made the best of impressions considering his hiding away in his pod. But he knew what he needed to do now. He needed to be better, fight harder. Then he could turn the tides and hopefully make it so that the team's base didn't get discovered at all. 

"You are all elites. I want to know everything I can so that we don't lose any more good mecha due to my idiocy." A few raised optics ridges met his statement, but none outright rejected him. A long silence followed before Arcee made a hum of understanding and nodded.

"I'll teach you what I can. Just don't die rookie. I won't be going easy on you." The two wheeler smiled for the first time since Smokescreen's arrival. He returned it with glee. Finally, he could begin trying harder to make things right. 

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Learning under Arcee was its own form of torture, but Smokescreen was devoted. When he wasn't training, he was reviewing his memory to prepare for what was to come. Battle after battle met him and each time he walked away more skilled. He was no longer the barely trained recruit who arrived on Earth two loops ago. 

He moved faster, utilizing his size and the phase shifter to his advantage. Arcee became a close friend, at least as much as one could call Arcee that. She was there to guide him, and when he started working himself toward exhaustion, she was there to smack him back down to earth and give him a reality check. She cared about him in her own strange way, and Smokescreen appreciated it. Every smile she offered told him he was improving, and for the first time he felt as though he was really part of the team, if only because Arcee approved.

"I thought you were just a skittish deadweight, but you've proven me wrong." Arcee patted him on the back after a training session well done. Smokescreen grinned even as the brand ached. Soon, the time for the Cons to attack was coming. As he threw himself against a training dummy, he felt that maybe this time, he would be ready.

He was wrong. Despite his efforts and the additional victories for the Autobots, Megatron found their base again. He had no clue how the fragger did it, but somehow, regardless of whether or not Smokescreen gave up the base's location by accident, their whereabouts found their way to Megatron. Optimus stayed behind, and again Smokescreen pulled him from the ash. This time he tried something different, running to Darkmount to attempt to reclaim the forge of Solus Prime.

He tried to get it the first time around, but it had meant so little in his shock that he had forgotten to use it. This time he would not make that mistake, especially not now that it had been proven not even Ratchet could repair his Prime. But by the time he dragged the relic back to where Optimus again lay dying, the Prime once more gave him that pitying look that Smokescreen was quickly coming to associate with failure. 

"Optimus! I brought the forge! It'll fix you up good as new!" Smokescreen pressed the hilt of the forge into Optimus's servo, but the Prime shook his helm in distress.

"The time for a new leader... is upon us." Frag it all. 

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Smokescreen didn't hear the rest as Optimus's spark went out. He grit his denta, feeling rage run hot in his spark alongside the brand. He was doing something wrong. He had to be.

Twenty eight more loops Smokescreen threw himself into training. He was inadequate, and that he could fix. He learned under all of the team, doing everything in his power to train and become better. The novelty of waking up in his pod stopped shaking him sometime around the fifth loop and from that point onward, he moved directly into his next plan as soon as he was able to. Sometimes he learned under Arcee, trying to squeeze all the training he could from her and doing his best not to think about their lost friendship. Other times he worked with Bulkhead, learning the ways of strength and training with a hammer instead of a blaster. In a few instances he served alongside Bumblebee, learning the ways of the scout and exemplifying his already present skill with speed and stealth. 

There were moments of levity amongst it all. Times when he would play video games with Bee and laugh until his vents ached. He missed those times most, especially the handful of loops where they became friends. Sometimes he would banter with Arcee, enjoying the short victories he earned before Arcee shot back at him. He missed her snark and fond chastising, more so during loops where he threw himself into training with another. Occasionally he even spent time with Bulkhead, reveling in dealing with the children and causing a degree of chaos. The Wrecker was not a mech Smokescreen would have normally befriended, but during the loops he worked with him, Bulkhead was a good teacher and Smokescreen enjoyed the stories the elder mech told.

The children themselves were plenty fun to converse and play with. Jack he found he had the most interesting interactions with. More than one loop he helped the boy get revenge on his bully. Miko was entertaining and quite a few times during his loops he ended up joining her collection of favorite bots due to his increasing skill in battle. Rafael and him never really got along, they had different focuses, but he came to appreciate the child. There were several instances where he spent quiet nights up with the boy, ready to take him home as soon as he finished attempting to decode Cybertronian glyphs. He tried not to think about those lost moments when he started the loop over again. 

It was never enough. Every single time he always ended up at Optimus's side after the destruction of the base listening to that same line over and over again. Sometimes he dragged Optimus farther away to different locations, wondering if that would change anything. On other occasions, he left Ratchet with Optimus and went with the team to raid Darkmount alongside the mighty Ultra Magnus. That too was never enough. Optimus always died, and soon after he did, Smokescreen found himself once more in his pod. 

It enraged him, but it taught him a lesson. Fighting would not save Optimus Prime. He needed to try something else. And so he instead turned to Ratchet. The doctor was one of Cybertron's finest, but he was only one set of servos. If they could repair Optimus after the blast, then all would be well. As such, when Smokescreen awoke for the twenty ninth time, he went directly to Ratchet. 

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"You want to become a field medic? You are a guardsmech." Ratchet looked him up and down, that same disgruntled expression on his face as always. Smokescreen nodded, his conviction thrumming through his entire being. He'd already attempted battle as a means to fix things, and that had failed. Being a medic was the next best option. 

"I know that. But the team come back injured far more often than they should and you only have one set of servos." Smokescreen pointed out with a raised optical ridge. Ratchet tisked and looked ready to object until Optimus spoke up.

"I see no harm in Smokescreen learning the art of medicine. You are overworked and we could use the additional skill, Old Friend." The Prime rested his servos on his hips, smiling fondly at Ratchet who waved dismissively even as he covered his face in what could have been embarrassment. Optimus chuckled softly as he continued.

"You have trained plenty of apprentices. What is the harm in one more? Smokescreen has already proven capable of fighting if need be. We would not be losing a soldier and would instead gain an additional medic." Ratchet grumbled, but after a moment, he sighed and shoved a series of datapads in Smokescreen's arms.

"Read all of those and come back when you can identify all outer components of the Cybertronian frame. If you can do that, then I will know you really want to do this." Smokescreen internally winced, but he did as he was told. 

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That loop he learned under Ratchet, and while he was not skilled enough to save Optimus that time, he did not despair. Again and again he returned, devoting himself to his task. When he had free time he trained in combat just so that he wouldn't lose what he'd gained, but almost everything else was put away in favor of his medical training. He missed conversing and bonding with the others, but Ratchet was a good teacher, if a little gruff.

The cycles repeated, but every time, Smokescreen learned a little more about the medic who came to be a mentor to him. His education progressed, and he understood more and more why Ratchet was so very tired. Too many loops ended with one of the team coming close to death, and in one loop, even offlining permanently. Ratchet worked himself half to death just to keep the group operating, and for that, Smokescreen came to respect him. At first, he could hardly handle the sight of wriggling internals, but as he continually worked with Ratchet, he calmed. He stopped being concerned by the sight of innards strewn across the ground or energon spilled after the forty third loop. He watched bots die, he put torn limbs back into place, and he was no stranger to plague.

Most loops followed the same old tune, but every now and then, there were differences. Optimus always died, but the small differences taught Smokescreen valuable lessons. Serving under the doctor gave him ample time to learn and observe. He was familiar with the team and their past from his time training with them in prior loops, but working as a medic gave him greater insight. Arcee had aches in her joints from being stuck in the arctic. Bulkhead's hydraulics sometimes locked up when he tried to stand too quickly. Bumblebee's vocalizer always bothered him, and Ratchet himself had enough aches and pains that Smokescreen had to question how the medic still functioned. Optimus's medical files were extensive enough to have Smokescreen simply put them down quite a few times.

He learned, he grew, and loops passed by in a blur.

To learn of the war and its origins as he cleaned tools in the medical bay was by far one of his most favored memories with Ratchet. Odd as it was working in the dark and listening to Ratchet talk, Smokescreen cherished it. The conversations distracted him from the loss of friendships that plagued his mind. 

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"You would hardly believe how much Optimus has changed over the vorns. Before the Matrix, he was a bit like you. Not much mind you, he had more political awareness." A slight jab, but Smokescreen did not react. He had long grown used to Ratchet's manner of speech. 

"He was a cunning character, that's for sure. He walked on a knife's edge all throughout his time in the Archives. But after the Matrix, something changed in him." Ratchet stalled in what he was doing, his shoulders falling. Smokescreen looked up from where he was putting away the scalpels he was tending to, his fresh medical insignia glinting in the light. This was the eighth time Ratchet had deemed him skilled enough to bear the mark.

"He looked at everyone strangely. He stopped trying to connect with anyone. He seemed almost... defeated. I tried asking him about it, but the only answer I managed to get out of him was that the Matrix put him through a trial when he took it." The elder medic scowled and Smokescreen listened attentively. All details were important. He couldn't afford to waste what Ratchet was giving him. Building up trust with the medic in each loop was a time consuming affair. 

"Do you know what the trial was?" Smokescreen asked cautiously. Talking with Ratchet required a degree of skill. Too informal and he wouldn't get anything, but being too formal had earned him the status of co-worker rather than confidant. He needed this information.

"No. All he's said is that every Prime goes through it so that they make the 'correct' choice." Smokescreen paused as the words reached him. What was it Optimus said during the first loop?

"The choice is neither yours nor mine to make. When the time comes, the Matrix will choose one who is worthy." He murmured to himself. Ratchet all but did a complete 180 to turn and face him, suspicion written all over his features.

"What was that?" The medic questioned sharply. Smokescreen waved him off.

"Nothing important. Just some old script I read." He had long become proficient in the art of warding Ratchet off. Besides, in the worst case scenario, he could just rebuild the relationship by making the correct verbal statements next time. 

"Old script my aft. You are keeping secrets Smokescreen. I don't know what they are, but... I am here if you want someone to listen." Ratchet's field brushed over him in a fond manner. The doctor offered a rare smile and Smokescreen found his resolve shaken. Who would believe him if he spoke? Besides, Ratchet was already overworked enough.

"Maybe next loop." He whispered as he turned back to his work. Ratchet's concern washed over him, but the doctor did not pry. It was both a comfort and a curse.

Loops passed by, and every time he returned, he came with more knowledge and maturity. No longer did he find himself as energetic as before, likely an effect of Ratchet rubbing off on him. What used to leave him thrilled meant so little. He enjoyed praise and comfort from the team when he developed friendships during a loop, however, he simply wasn't as active. Patience was his priority and greatest asset... no matter how much it hurt to return again and again only to lose the bonds he formed. 

Even still, the mission came first.

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"I find it hard to believe you were a guardsmech before this, Smokescreen. You have the skill to rival Ambulon prior to the war." Ratchet commented as he watched Smokescreen patch up Bulkhead's shredded arm. The Wrecker made a noise of agreement even as Smokescreen swatted him for trying to scratch at a fresh weld.

"I've been trained by the best doctor on Cybertron. I pin all of my success on him." Ratchet raised an optical ridge with an almost coy smile. 

"Oh? And who would that be? I doubt Pharma would take an apprentice like you." Smokescreen knew this game. He returned the smile, and Bulkhead froze up on the medical berth. 

"Guys?" The Wrecker called out before promptly attempting to claw at his welds again. Smokescreen smacked him upside the helm without even looking away from Ratchet. Bulkhead for his part cursed as Smokescreen spoke.

"Would you believe me if I said that I learned everything from you?" Ratchet scoffed and rolled his optics. 

"Don't be ridiculous. You've been here a few weeks at most. Even I didn't learn that fast in medical school." The elder medic wandered off to do something or other, and Smokescreen returned to his task mechanically. It wouldn't be much longer now. Soon he would have enough skill to fix Optimus.

He waited, and finally during the sixty seventh loop, Smokescreen felt confident.

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"Smokescreen? What are you doing?" Bumblebee asked, his optics cycling in worry. Smokescreen did not look up at him as he feverishly reviewed his tools. Weeks had been spent working up to this moment. He had patches, faux fuel lines, energon packs, replacement parts stolen from deceased Vehicons, and so much more. He was going to do it right this time. Optimus Prime was going to live. 

"I'm going to make sure Optimus lives." He answered honestly. He saw no point in playing pretend. When the loops ended and all was well, he would tell the team about his experiences. But for now, there was no use worrying them with things they couldn't do anything about.

"This isn't healthy. Ever since you got here, you've been... on edge." Smokescreen wanted to glare, but he kept his optics firmly on his tools as he loaded them into his pack. The phase shifter thrummed against his arm and he checked it over, ensuring it wouldn't go anywhere. Everything relied on his skill and the relic.

"I have work to do. I refuse to fail." He replied curtly, unwilling to bother with the details. It wasn't worth the effort anyway. However, when he turned to leave, he was met with the towering form of Optimus Prime blocking his path. The rest of the team loosely circled him, their gazes uncertain.

"You've been taking rations from storage and behaving suspiciously, Smokescreen." Optimus watched him critically, and for the first time, Smokescreen found himself looking around to see the team's equally calculating gazes. He hadn't been the most social this time, but he wasn't that suspicious, was he?

"I am not taking them for my personal gain, Sir. I am preparing for what is coming, and I will ensure that we come out on top of this war. You may not believe me, but I am not asking you to." Optimus's optics cycled, and his helm tilted as he thought. The brand on Smokescreen's spark flared as the Prime before him seemed to reach a conclusion.

"So it has chosen you... I understand now. Continue with your work, I will not impede your efforts." Just like that, Optimus walked away. The team gawked, and Smokescreen did so as well. What in Primus's name did that mean?

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He tried not to think about it, not when the time was so close. When Megatron finally destroyed the base, Smokescreen again dragged Optimus from the rubble. Only this time, he was fully prepared. With Ratchet coerced into joining him, he worked alongside his teacher in the dark of the tunnel system beneath the base to repair the ailing Prime. Ratchet did not question his preparations and instead got to work in silence. Wounds were shut, fuel lines sewn back into place, cables tied to their appropriate skeletal structures, and constant scans were run.

They worked like a well oiled machine, and Smokescreen at last allowed himself to feel giddy as he managed to get the worst of the damage closed off. According to all his calculations, Optimus would at least have another Earth year in him, so long as he remained still and received energon supplements. He was no longer critical, he was going to be fine. Years upon years and loops upon loops were finally yielding results-

"Smokescreen... How long has your trial gone on?" What?

"I don't understand." Smokescreen replied in confusion as the Prime's venting eased. Ratchet was passed out on the ground nearby, long groons of work exhausting him to the point of being forced into recharge. It was just Smokescreen and the Prime, and somehow that made the situation so much worse.

"You know more than you should... you are trained more than what I would have expected... I know these signs... I know what the trials look like." Optimus gently held Smokescreen's servo, his gaze again returning to that pitying look that Smokescreen feared and despised.

"Optimus, you are still in recovery. You must be a little disoriented." He tried to divert the conversation, but the Prime held firm, his optics cycling down and his gaze sharpening.

"How long?" The question hung in the air. Smokescreen's spark fluttered in terror as the brand burned and Optimus remained stony. He was unyielding. Smokescreen could not find it in himself to deny the question.

"Sixty nine loops. They start with my arrival on Earth and end when you die." Tortured venting filled the tunnels as Optimus began to tense up. On instinct, Smokescreen began running scans and preparing his tools. But again, Optimus grabbed his arm, just as he had in the first loop so long ago.

"You cannot stop this. It will continue until you give in." Optimus's optics flickered and his voice weakened.

"There is no escape." The Prime's field flared and Smokescreen cowered as his spark blazed in agony.

"This is the will of Primus." Optimus uttered before his entire frame seized up and fell still. Ratchet startled awake as his alarm blared, but it was too late. Smokescreen stepped back and watched on in total silence as Ratchet tried everything to restore Optimus's frame and force his spark to continue to blaze. 

Optimus told him to give up, to let him die. After so many long years and countless hours thrown into his training? No, Smokescreen would not be giving up. He was going to save Optimus Prime, whether the Prime liked it or not. He made a promise, and he was going to keep it. 

He woke in his pod, but this time, Smokescreen's processors whirled with a new plan. He had written off trying to keep Optimus from sacrificing himself simply because he thought it would be impossible to convince him. That was likely still true, but Smokescreen was wiser now. If he could get the team to listen, he could make this work.

Again, he was accepted amongst the Autobots without much argument. Optimus took one look at him and allowed him access. He was far more agreeable than the first loop, but Smokescreen was different now. A trained warrior and medic, he had skills that put him on par with the rest of the team. It made sense for the Prime to allow him amongst the ranks of the team. 

It certainly saved Smokescreen trouble. 

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"The Star Saber is on Earth and Megatron will arrive to try and take it. He will not succeed, but if he knows how powerful the blade is, he will create his own weapon. The Dark Star Saber." Smokescreen rattled off what he knew as he stood before the team, his expression steely. 

"How do you know that?" Arcee's question came off as more of a threat, but Smokescreen remained unfazed. He knew the team far better than they would ever know. 

"I have seen what is coming. I know exactly what the Decepticons are going to do and how they will do it. I know every possible variable for the most important events ahead, and I can tell you now that unless you listen to me, you will lose." The team froze, Optimus regarded him with something akin to shock, and Smokescreen stood firmly. He would make them listen, no matter the cost.

"So you're a Con?" Bulkhead all but growled before charging forward, not heeding Optimus's command to stand down. Smokescreen did not so much as flinch as he tucked and rolled, bouncing back onto his pedes and dropping down into a combat position. The Wrecker huffed and came at him again, but every time he swung his hammers, Smokescreen moved out of the way with expert precision. He knew Bulkhead better than the Wrecker knew himself. He trained under the heavy hitter and performed enough examinations over the loops to know each and every seam by spark.

"Enough. You are wasting your time." Slipping under Bulkhead's arm, Smokescreen landed a solid punch to the exposed cabling on his shoulder. Bulkhead's arm immediately went limp, and he fell to a knee, clutching the limb and looking up at him in anger.

"You little-!" Glaring, Smokescreen walked away from the cursing Wrecker and again stood his ground. 

"I mean you no harm. I am only here to help you escape the doom that is coming. So please, listen to me." The team had their weapons ready, all save for Optimus who regarded him in interest. Smokescreen prepared to run if he needed to, but he had no intention of leaving until he got what he wanted.

"Stand down. We will listen to what he has to say." The Prime spoke and the team gawked.

"Optimus, you can't be serious!" Ratchet began before he was silenced.

"We will heed his wisdom for a time and see what it brings." That was the end of that. Smokescreen grinned, and he was quick to begin further explanations. 

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He had not fully expected things to work out during his first attempt at piloting the team. As such, he did not despair when he failed to keep the team out of trouble the first time. There were always new variables, always new data points to consider. Loops came and went. Sometimes Megatron found the base earlier, and sometimes he did so later. Optimus always died in the tunnels in those loops. Other times, Smokescreen managed to convince the team to drag Optimus kicking and screaming away when the blast rained down. In those instances, the Prime was always killed by a stray bullet or through some other totally unexpected means.

It was infuriating, but Smokescreen learned and he adapted. Again and again he tried different things, moving the team in different ways and trying to avoid any and all potential causes of death for the Prime. However, as the deaths added up, there was a need for him to begin recording his thoughts and plans.

He began to keep a log each loop, just to ensure he didn't miss anything. And through those efforts, he found himself working alongside Optimus at the main console far more often than he anticipated. It was unsettling the first few loops, with Optimus often just standing by watching in silence. However, as the loops wore on and Smokescreen grew more and more passive as he worked, Optimus crept closer. Eventually, during the one hundredth and fifty seventh loop, Optimus spoke to him.

"You carry the weariness of the trial. I assume this is far from your first time experiencing these things." Smokescreen, no longer surprised by just about anything, nodded once and kept up his typing. Optimus hummed as he continued.

"You aren't willing to give in. I understand. I behaved similarly during my trial." Again, Smokescreen said nothing. He had no clue what this 'trial' was, but frankly he didn't care. The 'trial' wanted Optimus to die, and so Smokescreen would give it the middle finger regardless of the specifics of its nature. 

"I would like to teach you." That gave Smokescreen pause. He looked away from the screen, only now feeling the weariness hanging on his very core. Optimus smiled gently and placed a servo on his shoulder.

"I did not have the luxury of a teacher during my trial. I wish to give you what knowledge I have, so that when yours ends, you may perform better than I did." Confusion laced every part of Smokescreen's mind even as he processed the words. Optimus, with far more kindness than Smokescreen had ever seen him, drew Smokescreen in for a hug. 

He remained stiff for a klik, but as tears began to fall from his optics, he leaned into the Prime's embrace. It had been so long since he allowed himself to be cared for, to feel. The mission always came first... and yet in Optimus's arms, he found himself safe and comforted. He couldn't help his tears.

"I will not remember you when you come back, but speak the words you were imbued with when you were given the brand, and I shall know what you are." Comforting touches to his helm had Smokescreen nodding even as he sobbed. Oh, how it hurt. So many deaths, so many loops. The same cycle, never-ending. He hated it.

"I wish that it was not you who was chosen to bear this burden, but there is nothing that can be done now." The words hurt, but Smokescreen understood. Whatever this trial was, Optimus was familiar with it. The Prime knew and understood. He refused to believe that there was nothing he could do to change Optimus's fate, but he would relish what comfort he was given.

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He continued attempting to pilot the team, guiding them around the various key events he now knew as well as his own designation. He failed to save Optimus each time, but he did not allow himself to give up. Every instance was recorded and each time he returned, he rewrote his records. Somewhere there was a set of choices that would ensure Optimus lived, and Smokescreen was going to find it or die trying.

"Speak with confidence, Smokescreen. A leader must be able to convince those under him to follow a cause even to death." Optimus was a distraction in the extreme. Ever since that loop, Optimus had taken the time to teach Smokescreen everything under the sun whenever there was a spare moment between them. He should have really stopped allowing Optimus to teach him, but he couldn't help but crave the attention and understanding.

"Broaden your brushstrokes. The Praxian dialect requires less formality and more elegance." Language, culture, and history were a part of every loop now. Evenings once spent training with the team or under Ratchet were instead dedicated to study of Cybertron and the ways of rulership under the Prime. Smokescreen quite frankly enjoyed every single lesson. There was always something new to learn, and he never ceased to marvel at the stories despite his general apathy toward life in general. 

"That strategy would work in most cases, but you must consider all the variables. Let us review the battle for Kaon and the siege of Iacon to review." War tactics that Smokescreen might have found boring long ago were now the staple of his life. He loved every lesson, and he adored the fact that despite the rest of the team failing to remember their bonds, Optimus remained static. As soon as Smokescreen uttered the words and mentioned what the Prime taught him, Optimus would immediately ask how far his education had progressed and work from there. 

It was a comfort. However, with every loop, his agitation grew into boiling anger. None of the variables were working. His calculations always came out wrong. Every combination of choices led to Optimus's death, regardless of what was done. The forge's usage meant nothing, the deaths of teammates were irrelevant, and it seemed as though nothing could be done to stop the most impossible slag from killing Optimus if he didn't die after the blast struck the base.

It accumulated until Smokescreen could take it no longer.

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Three hundred and seventy three loops. None were successful. HOW were none of them successful?! He had done EVERYTHING.

"Why won't you live?" He murmured as he was brought back to the base for what felt like the billionth time. The team looked at him in confusion, but Optimus understood. He always understood.

"It is inevitable." The Prime answered simply as if he were talking about the weather. Smokescreen, despite being long hardened by every imaginable outcome and horror, scowled and flared his plating before clamping it down tight around him.

"I've done EVERYTHING, Optimus! Every possible variable! Every conceivable set of choices! I have made them all! WHY WON'T YOU LIVE!?" He cried as tears pooled in his optics. How hard was it for a mech to be kept alive? Evidently, if the mech was Optimus, it was fragging impossible.

"You always speak of this fragging trial and tell me to give in, but HOW CAN I DO THAT!? You are the PRIME! We need you! How can I just let you DIE?!" His vocalizer strained, and his voice dipped into static as he screamed. Everything had reached a boiling point, and he was unable to stop the stream of tears that poured down his cheeks as Optimus ushered the team back and stepped forward, kneeling down to Smokescreen's level.

"You must make the correct choice, Smokescreen. This torment will not end until you do. There is nothing in this universe capable of defying the will of the divine." Smokescreen wanted to scream more, but in the end all he could do was cling to Optimus uselessly as the Prime drew him in for a hug. 

He heard the team murmuring as Optimus took him to an unused hab, the one that always ended up being given to him. Optimus stayed with him as he cried and blabbered, pouring out all his woes and his anger. He told Optimus everything, not sparing anything as he described the pain of lost bonds and the frustration of never being able to win. All the while, Optimus hummed a simple song until at last recharge took him.

He did not get up when the dawn came. He didn't want to. He stayed in his hab and huddled in the corner. Why should he care what the team thought of him? It was useless anyway. The only time he did much other than lie around and lament life was when Optimus brought him energon and coaxed him into drinking. He didn't want to fuel. He wanted it to be over.

Eventually, Ratchet started to bring him energon as well. Part of Smokescreen languished in the guilt of being a deadweight, but he was too tired to care. Optimus never shouted or scolded him. Ratchet made attempts to talk him through it, but Smokescreen remained silent. There was no point. It made no difference anyway.

The loop ended as it always did, and Smokescreen was dragged out of the base by the team despite his uselessness. They treated him kindly even while on the run, trying to help him even as his vision began to swim.

“Smokescreen, can you look at me? Please, we need you to be aware.” Ratchet knelt in front of him, true grief etched onto his features. He needed hope, but Smokescreen had nothing to offer.

“There is no point. He always dies, and he always will. I’ve tried everything.” Smokescreen muttered into his arms as he sat curled up in the junkyard Ratchet had hauled him to. The medic rubbed his face, trying to hide tears as he attempted to stay composed.

“I don’t understand Smokescreen. We need to get back to the team before the Decepticons-” Ratchet went on about a variable Smokescreen had already considered to the point of true apathy, but the mention of the Decepticons caught his attention. 

The Decepticons.

What a fool he was. They were the one variable he had never considered properly. He’d tried moving the team to his specifications, but he had not even so much as attempted to touch the source of the problem to begin with. 

“You have given me a new variable to test out.” Smokescreen managed a crooked smile as his vision continued to swim. Ratchet looked at him in absolute confusion, but Smokescreen merely chuckled.

“You are so going to hate me for this, but this next run, I am going to become a Con.” The elder medic looked absolutely baffled, but in his emotional turmoil Smokescreen merely laughed.

Finally, a new variable to consider. He could still prove Optimus wrong and save the fragging Prime from a universe that seemed dead set on killing him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The loop began and Smokescreen steeled himself. This was going to suck big time, but at this point, there was no other option. 

“Soldier, what are you doing?” Optimus called out to him, but Smokescreen merely stood in the center of the crater coldly. He needed to play the part to make this happen. As much as he despised it, this was the only choice he had.

“My allegiance is to Lord Megatron of the Decepticons.” Raising his blasters, Smokescreen fired on the team. He took care not to hit any of them, as Vehicons finally saw that he was an ally and joined him on the battlefield, pushing the team back. The expressions of shock on their faces hurt him more than he thought, but this was what needed to be done.

The Decepticons were rightfully dubious, but he was brought to the Nemesis, where he knelt before Megatron. It felt foul to do so, but after so many loops… there was little he would not do for the sake of his mission. 

“An elite guardsmech betraying the Autobots to come to me. That seems too good to be true, don’t you think so, Starscream?” Smokescreen remained in his kneeled position, but his sensors blared as he noticed the Lord of Vos nearing him. The skinny flier smiled evilly before strutting toward Megatron’s side.

“Indeed my lord. Not to mention, this reeks of a trap . A grounder has little use to the Decepticon cause anyway.” Frag-

“Then I believe it is decided. I have no need of you guardsmech.” Smokescreen only had time to regret his life decisions before he was face to face with a blaster and promptly knew no more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Again, he was in his fragging. POD. 

It seemed that not even death could save him, and evidently, Megatron would not be easy to fool.

“What is your name, soldier?” Ah, there it was again. Smokescreen stood stiffly before the Autobot leader, the one he was trying so slagging hard to save. He sighed and gave his designation for the millionth time as plans formed in his processor. This was going to take far more work than he thought… but he could be patient. He’d long ago mastered the art.

There was a great deal of trial and error involved in the recruitment process. He had to get very good at remaining inconspicuous. Since death was apparently no longer an issue for him, Smokescreen took more risks over the next few dozen loops. He attempted the rushed recruitment a few more times before becoming acutely familiar with the pain of getting his helm blown off and promptly deciding that it wasn’t worth it in that manner.

From there he developed a plan to move slowly. Getting in contact with the Cons was not hard at all, and becoming an inside agent was even easier. He took absolutely no joy in feeding information to the Decepticons, but he needed an in. So when the relics came into play, it was the best information he could give without jeopardizing the team.

Not that it mattered much. He just needed to exploit this variable until Optimus survived. Then he could deal with the fallout. Even still, it took a hundred or so loops before he managed to find just the right line to walk. If he was too eager, the Cons would kill him on account of suspicion. If he didn’t tread carefully enough, the Bots would get him. He was not exactly the most pleased when Ratchet killed him once after catching him. Arcee cut him down a few times. Bulkhead was too heavy to land a hit and Bee generally didn’t aim to kill, but both still slagging hurt . Not to mention, he never enjoyed having to off himself afterwards in order to reset things.

Perhaps it was an abuse of the loop, but he simply didn’t care. Wounds hurt less now that he knew it wouldn’t matter anyway. He hated betraying his fellows, but they wouldn’t remember in the end, just like they didn’t remember the bonds they forged over so many cycles.

Optimus found out he was a double agent every single time, though. Smokescreen had no clue how the Prime did it, but as soon as Smokescreen began negotiations with Megatron, the Prime was onto him. However, he never stopped Smokescreen, not once. He never helped, that much was for sure. Yet, he would still teach Smokescreen as if nothing were different about him. The lessons continued, and Optimus took the time to give Smokescreen access to spy training videos left behind by Jazz before the Exodus. 

He didn’t like thinking about how much it must have hurt Optimus to watch Smokescreen do what he did. Smokescreen didn’t like thinking about the team much at all anymore. 

Finally, after what was likely over eight hundred loops, Smokescreen managed to swap sides with reasonable credibility. He gave Megatron the location of relics and sabotaged the team in a manner that wasn’t really meaningful. Bulkhead would walk off the burns, and Arcee was small enough that being chucked wouldn’t be all that bad. Walking onto the Nemesis was terrifying, even more so once he had to begin blending in.

“Since you have proven capable in a variety of fields, you may decide who you wish to serve under directly.” Megatron gestured toward his lieutenants. Starscream made a disgusted face, Knockout shrugged and moved on, Soundwave said nothing as usual, and Shockwave did whatever the pit it was Shockwave did. 

More variables to consider.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Deciding it would be best to cover his bases, Smokescreen stuck with Knockout for a few dozen loops. He appreciated the mech and managed to weasel all sorts of juicy information out of him once he proved a capable doctor and showed himself willing to polish the elder medic’s plating. It honestly wasn’t the worst experience. Smokescreen never looked better, but the position of Knockout’s fellow doctor simply wasn’t high ranking enough to get him anywhere, even if it did yield valuable information on the Decepticons. Of course, having spent so long training under Ratchet, there were a few interesting interactions in his loops before he moved on.

“What are you doing? Using a circular saw on a regular patient is asking for disaster!” Smokescreen exclaimed as he reached for a normal saw. Knockout pouted and activated his in-built saw to emphasize his point.

“It is more effective, though, is it not?” It was at times like these that Smokescreen wished he was with Ratchet again.

“The patient is AWAKE, Knockout.” He stressed while rubbing his face. Obviously, he had maintained a few bad habits from his time as a medic. He could really go for some high grade. Ratchet let him sneak a few sips off and on, and Primus, he really wanted a bottle at this point. 

“And? Anyone who walks in here knows that it's my way or the highway.” The red medic smiled lovingly at his perfectly polished saw and Smokescreen lamented life. Knockout was a pain in the aft, but he was a good distraction.

Of course eventually he needed to get back to work, and so after an extra loop just to blow off a bit of steam, Smokescreen turned to the next mech on the list.

He went to Starscream next simply because he was familiar enough with the seeker in his many many visits to the medical bay. Starscream hated him, and he hated Starscream. It was by far the least productive few loops Smokescreen had ever dealt with. He spent more time taking Starscream’s punishments for him than actually doing anything. Starscream got him killed twice by framing him, and that was enough for Smokescreen to decide it wasn’t worth it.

Shockwave was next on the agenda, and much like Knockout, while a valuable learning experience, there was not nearly enough influence in his position to help him. He could do nothing to assist the Autobots from the labs. He attempted releasing creatures a few times, but that simply never ended well. He tended to wind back up with the Autobots in restraints until everything came crashing and burning down. Science was never his best class anyway.

Finally, he settled on Soundwave. With the others already tested and Smokescreen being totally unwilling to risk it with Megatron without further information, he resigned himself to serving under the creep fest that was the spymaster. Smokescreen lost count of how many times Soundwave sniffed out his intentions before they could even begin. Those times ended with him being thrown off the edge of the Nemesis to his death. He was not fond of crushing as a form of offlinement. It took too long.

After what must have been a series of loops entering into the thousands, Smokescreen at last got himself together enough to last more than a cycle under Soundwave. He religiously studied Jazz’s instructional videos while with the Autobots as an inside agent and did his very best to play his part. Then, when he got onto the Nemesis and chose Soundwave, he went through what quickly became a very routine series of interrogations. Smokescreen found that the best way to not be caught was to never think of anything Autobot or mission related. It was a hard ask, but he learned a few meditation tactics over the loops that worked well enough.

He made a few valiant attempts at getting to know Soundwave for information’s sake, but the spymaster never told him much. The best he got was access to the Decepticon databanks, an event that changed his perspective on things wildly. It was also the only time Soundwave ever actually spoke to him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Soundwave… is this really what happened at the high council?” Smokescreen asked hesitantly as he reviewed the file. Ratchet and the Autobots always spoke of things as though it were Megatron who caused the war… but looking at this, it seemed the betrayal went both ways.

“Megatronus: Wanted power to free our people. Orion Pax: Was politically tied. Both made decisions in their best interest. Neither could comprehend the other.” Soundwave spoke and Smokescreen listened. It was no wonder Megatron wanted Optimus dead. If things were as it seemed, then the war was the result of one big misunderstanding turned into a grudge.

How ridiculous.

“Why are we still at war? Why couldn’t they both have just talked?” He found himself asking as he looked over the footage showing the rapid changes in both Autobot and Decepticon values over the vorns. Each side grew more and more radical to the point of detrimental behavior taking sway. Optimus taught him much of the old history of Cybertron, but not much about this.

“Megatron: Was humiliated. Orion Pax: Was coerced. Something changed. Megatron: Became darker. Orion Pax: Became Optimus Prime.” The spymaster replied emotionlessly as he typed away at his console. Smokescreen nodded grimly and returned to work. Was this really all the war was? Frag it all, he just wanted Optimus to live. 

“Megatron isn’t right in the helm anymore, so why are you still loyal? Whoever he was isn’t who he is now.” Datacables hovered above him threateningly as the spymaster turned to face him. Smokescreen froze, but he did not back down. Soundwave seemed to think about the proper response before he settled on calming back down.

“Megatron: May not be fully sane. But Megatron has vision. Megatron: Is not a dead mech walking.” Soundwave’s spindly digit pointed toward a screen, and Smokescreen’s optics widened a fraction as he saw an image of Optimus standing in what looked to be a proud manner.

“What do you mean by that?” He questioned sharper than he intended. Soundwave regarded him with suspicion, and Smokescreen knew he was done. Even if he got his answer, he was fragged.

“Optimus Prime: Has been waiting for death. Smokescreen: Shall be there to greet him in the Allspark.” Smokescreen only had enough time to process the information before a blade sliced straight through his neck. He fell to the ground with a pained gurgle before his vision turned into a mess of color, and he woke in his pod once more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

He made valiant efforts to use his position amongst the Decepticons to help. He really did. But attempting to help the Autobots from the Nemesis was an impossible task. Again and again he returned, only to meet the same roadblock. If Megatron didn’t find the base, he found Optimus. The result was always the same. No amount of smuggled information, swapped allegiances, or dedicated spying ever did anything. Nothing. Ever. Worked.

He even tried to kill Megatron a few times. He might have had the experience of a mech with millennia of combat experience on his belt after so many loops, but Megatron was large and in charge. Smokescreen just wasn’t fast or old enough to do the necessary damage needed to offline the fragger. Thus, he changed his approach yet again. He attempted to try and play therapist to the warlord in an effort to possibly convince him to sign for peace. It was a vain attempt, and he knew it, but still, he tried.

And surprisingly, despite how much he still despised the mech, he came to understand him, just as he did with all the others he served under.

“My Lord, why do you hate Optimus so much?” He asked firmly but without any tonal indicators. Megatron killed him a few times for being too mouthy. He had long learned to question carefully. 

“Inquisitive today, aren’t you?” Megatron shot back with a hint of venom. Smokescreen held his ground, Megatron respected those who did not flinch.

“I joined the Decepticons to help end this war that has gone on for too long. I want to know your views, why you began all of this, and why this war has continued.” Smokescreen explained simply as he stood at attention. He was not fond of the darker purple tones he had been painted in since he began his infiltration, but he appreciated how it shone now. Knockout had taught him a thing or two about plating care, and it showed.

“Well, since you are so eager to know, allow me to keep things simple. I created the Decepticons in order to give our people equality and freedom from the caste system.” Megatron began, his voice becoming softer and less… harsh as he spoke. Smokescreen tilted his helm ever so slightly in curiosity as he listened. This was… informative.

“Cybertron was torn between the high and the low caste. The latter were treated as cattle, slaves to be abused, while the former relished in the gains of millions of mecha unable to get proper fuel, much less go anywhere in the world.” Passionate. That was the way to describe Megatron’s words. Not the vicious, angry rants that Smokescreen knew among the Autobots, but rather a soft and true care for the issue.

“I rose up with my fellows to speak for the people. I took Orion Pax under my wing, teaching him of the issues of our world and showing him all that he could not see in his comfortable middle caste position.” Smokescreen observed as for a split second, Megatron looked young and hopeful again. The scowl he always wore faded away, and his optics glinted as he stared into space. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“When we stood before the high council, Orion Pax, whom I trusted with everything, betrayed me. He shot down my proclamations and stood for what he saw as peace. He took everything from my cause, humiliating us.” Megatron’s servos shook with renewed anger, and Smokescreen stepped back on instinct as the warlord turned to face him. 

“You remind me of him. Curious and cautious. Maybe that’s why I haven’t killed you yet.” The warlord growled, his digits twitching before he turned away again. Smokescreen’s vents fluttered as he struggled to return to his normal cooling cycle, fear thrumming in his fuel lines.

“Or perhaps you remind me of myself. You have that spark of determination in your gaze… and that makes me wonder, what is it you are fighting so hard for? What conviction has taken your spark so fully as to abandon your faction for mine?” The tables had turned. Smokescreen stalled, panic beginning to flare in his spark alongside the brand. He expected to lie, but instead he ended up speaking the truth.

“I was told to give in. I refuse to accept that order, and so I am fighting against it in order to stop needless death.” Silence reigned for a long moment before Megatron nodded once.

“A noble goal, guardsmech. You will make a fine Decepticon.” Megatron stalked away and Smokescreen stood in shock. However, as he returned to his quarters and thought…

Was Megatron really wrong? At this point, his goals had long since shifted away from the Autobots and more toward ending everything. 

Perhaps he was a Decepticon deep down.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

It wasn’t fair. So many loops, and it was all for nothing.

He did everything in his power to work with the Decepticons, and yet absolutely nothing worked. And after his discussion with Megatron, he began to come to a realization. 

What was it he was really fighting for? Obviously he wanted to save Optimus, but he wasn’t trying to really stop the Decepticons anymore, was he? In the beginning, he put everything he had into fighting back, into giving the Autobots their victory. But now? After so many loops? He just wanted the war to stop. He wanted everything to end and for the needless death to cease. 

It hit him rather suddenly, but after what could have been thousands of loops, Smokescreen at last admitted that he was… tired. Truly tired. He fought so very hard for so long. He rose up time and time again, hoping for things to change. And yet, just as Optimus said, there was no escape.

He wasn’t sure when he made his way to his quarters or what look it was, but Smokescreen made a choice. It had been so very long…

“Optimus.” He spoke into the communicator softly, hoping the Prime would hear him.

“Smokescreen, are you alright?” Optimus asked immediately, concern lacing his tone. Smokescreen merely sighed, rubbing his face. He had no more tears to shed, not anymore. 

“You were right. There is no escape… is there?” Optimus remained silent for a long moment, and Smokescreen could hear the nervous flutter of the Prime’s vents before he answered.

“No. There is no escape. I have tried, we all have.”

The words echoed like a weight in his spark chamber, and all Smokescreen could do was darkly chuckle as a dry sob built in his throat.

“What do I do now?” He asked gently as he rubbed at his face, trying to keep his composure. Optimus sighed across the line and spoke as though he were soothing a wayward sparkling.

“Finish this cycle, and when it ends, come back to me. Let things play out as they should. I believe you finally understand.” A small part of Smokescreen wanted to keep fighting, to ignore the Prime’s advice. But as he thought, it made sense. What would further struggle gain him now?

“Alright… I’m sorry Optimus. I’m so sorry. I tried to save you. I tried so fragging hard.” His words came out in a choked mix of static and sobs, and he wept. Optimus, the kind mech that he was, uttered a single sympathetic phrase.

“I know Smokescreen. You would not have been chosen otherwise.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the loop began again, Smokescreen didn’t fight, he didn’t weep. Instead, he joined the team quietly and mingled with them as if he did not know what was to come. He kept his skill and knowledge behind wraps and pretended just to gain a sense of normalcy. The only times he allowed the mask to drop were when Optimus came to him, and they would sit and speak. Smokescreen told him of all his experiences, and the Prime in turn nodded in understanding. 

Optimus did not share what he knew, but he didn’t need to. Smokescreen didn’t want to know. Not anymore.

Something in Smokescreen’s spark told him this would be the end of his endless loop. And so he devoted himself to bonding with the team. He did not laugh as he once did, but he played with Bumblebee, enjoying the familiarity of video games and good times. He trained alongside Arcee and Bulkhead, remembering bonds now long gone, as he pretended to match their moves and flounder despite having more experience than they likely did at this point. He went to Ratchet regularly, asking to be taught the art of medicine as a pastime. The doctor was a crankpot, but it was familiar, and that was all Smokescreen wanted. 

The children kept him busy, the team gave him a home. Beneath it all, he knew what was to come, and so did Optimus. Neither fought against it when the time came for the base to burn. And when Smokescreen dragged Optimus from the rubble down into the tunnels, he did not cry as the Prime spoke.

“The time for a new leader… is upon us.” How very familiar. Smokescreen almost didn’t hear with how many times he had endured the same line endlessly.

“I know. You’ve said this before.” He muttered as he sat beside Optimus, holding his servo in a comforting way. He was older now, wiser. No longer did he panic at the sight of his ailing leader.

“You show no fear… your conviction has eased… you are… ready.” Optimus’s hoarse voice caused Smokescreen to frown, but he nodded all the same. For once, the brand did not burn. Instead, it soothed the pain of his long memory.

This was meant to be. He knew this now.

“Forgive me… for leaving you like this.” Optimus gasped, his frame tensing up as he clung to life. Smokescreen washed his field over the elder mech and Optimus attempted to do the same in return. They understood one another. There was no point in fighting it now.

“I pray that our kind… have no more need for a Prime… once this war… comes to its end.” The Prime whispered as his frame failed him. Smokescreen merely nodded again as he replied softly.

“No other should endure this torment.” He agreed quietly. Optimus coughed and managed a smile before squeezing Smokescreen’s servo.

“I do not remember all you have endured… but I know in my spark… that a true leader stands before me… right now…” They shared their fields in silence as time dragged on. Smokescreen didn’t bother keeping track of it as he waited until he had the strength to make a new oath.

He failed to save Optimus, but he had not failed his people… not yet.

“I won’t let you down Optimus. I promise you, Cybertron will be restored, and this war will end.” With the last of his strength, Optimus smiled and Smokescreen returned it. Then, just like that, the Prime vented his last and fell still. Smokescreen remained with him, holding his servo for a klik until Optimus’s chassis split and the Matrix revealed itself.

He wasn’t afraid anymore. He had no reason to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The world was brighter now in a strange way. No longer did knowledge of the future loom over his helm. For once, all was calm. But of course, there was still work to be done. Admiration could come later.

“Where is Optimus Prime?” Megatron growled, his blaster aimed at the team who were held in chains. They glared at Megatron, but their expressions quickly turned to shock.

“Optimus Prime has become one with the Allspark. I am Nebulous Prime, his ordained heir.” Nebulous now stood at around the same height as his predecessor, but it did not concern him. The Matrix sat heavy in his spark chamber, but it did not burn. With the memories of his fellow Primes imbuing him, he now knew that one day the weight would kill him.

But for now, all was well.

“I come with an offer of peace and a plan to restore our world.” The team gasped, and Megatron regarded him with pure suspicion. Nebulous did not falter as he strode forward, uncaring of the weapons aimed at him. He was no longer functionally immortal, but death did not shake him.

“What is it you offer Prime ?” There was a hint of sorrow in Megatron’s tone. Nebulous noted it with a hum. Perhaps he had not thought this far, but whatever the case, it was irrelevant now. 

“We shall repair Cybertron together. I shall retrieve the Allspark, and as co-leaders, we shall fix our shattered world.” The team looked ready to object, but Nebulous paid them no mind. They would not understand. How could they? So very blinded by war and hate. They did not know the agony of reality.

“How am I to be assured you won’t eliminate me the moment it becomes convenient?” Megatron questioned with a low hiss. The Matrix thrummed comfortingly, providing knowledge which Nebulous happily accepted as he spoke again.

“I am not my predecessor. My trial was different from his… and I know that what you seek to gain at your core is also the goal of all Cybertronians.” All those present paused, and Ratchet looked ready to purge. Megatron for his part lowered his blaster and seemed contemplative. 

“You truly desire peace, little Prime?”

The question hung in the air as Nebulous approached and extended a servo. 

“More than anything else. This war has dragged on long enough, so please, let us bring it to its end.” He and Megatron locked optics for a long klik before the warlord nodded and took his servo, shaking it with considerate strength. 

“For Cybertron.” Megatron murmured, his expression returned to that hopeful visage Smokescreen saw so many loops ago.

This was not the end Smokescreen wanted, but it was the end Nebulous strove for. Personal connections and petty grudges meant little now. All that mattered was restoring their home. Enough had perished as it was. 

Optimus would have wanted this.

Nebulous would not fail, not again. 

“For Cybertron.” He agreed.

And he meant it with all his spark. 

Wherever Optimus was, Nebulous hoped that he was finally at peace.

[orqheuss]

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me)

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Pre!Parenthesis Universe

Summary:

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. “Crucio!” *** The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum.

Word count: 9k

Tags: arguing, violence, cruciatus curse, dark!sebastian (kind of), sexual humor

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

Not a sound could be heard in the moonlit, desolate hallways of Hogwarts. The distant star casted a haunting glow over the courtyard and shone through the grand windows of the Great Hall. Figures long lost to time danced through the paintings lining the hazelwood walls, waltzing to an imaginary concerto. The ghosts floating about chatted quietly about their history, telling tales of cadences forever forgotten in old textbooks. Their whispers shivered the leaves in the trees on the campus grounds, leaving them humming at the fall winds cascading from the sky and turning their once vibrant green spires into a burnt orange. Lanterns lined the Grand Staircase at the heart of the castle, a paragon of regality and the wisdom of the great wizarding school. Baroque styled banisters basked in the glow, expelling person-shaped shadows on the enormous walls lining the mystical architecture. Down the stairs laid an ornate stone door, its architrave adorned with a cosmic silver snake. Two freshly lit braziers framed the entrance and swayed in the steely breeze of the dungeons, its smokey ash pirouetting in romantic couplets towards the ceiling. 

A third was sparked to life just down the way. The line of light seemed to lure in anyone who were to walk the halls past curfew; beckoning them with the promise of mischief and pleasure. Standing before the final brazier, basking in its luminescence, were three young students. One leaned against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed tightly against his chest with a sullen look adorning his features. His eyes seemed to catch the light and shimmer like frosted glass on a winter morning. Another stood in front of the boy, directly under the cold stone of the giant candelabra. He was beaming with elation, his eyes glittering with waywardness and intrigue. His brown irises seemed to reflect the fire back in challenge, almost daring it to blaze brighter than he did. Between the two was the final student. A slight frown quirked the corner of their mouth, glancing back and forth between their two friends in trepidation. They could feel each emotion emitting from their companions like a thick fog, coating the hallway and leaving the braziers the lone match shining through the storm. Each felt something different about their quest— had different motives for the scintillating adventure. They all heard the distinct call to the Scriptorium before them, and felt more than compelled to answer. With a great rumble, the stone wall sloughed away and opened up to a chasm leading downward. A spiral staircase slithered from below and attached to the ledge, hissing out a stream of steam in its wake. 

The three friends stood in awe at the display, amazed at the grandiloquence of the long dead wizard who made this place. They were about to enter Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, a feat very few could claim as their own. 

Sebastian Sallow turned on the balls of his feet and beckoned his friends over, a giddy look twinkling in his eyes and stretching his smile. The prospect of finding a cure for the curse that plagued his sister heavily outweighed any unease he may have had at the daunting entryway. He nearly vibrated with excitement— the need for thrill buried itself deep in his bones. He could taste the tombs of secrets hidden in the enigma before him, feel the leather bound books worn with oil from the fingertips of his house founder. The forbidden magic thrummed in his veins and set his blood aflame like the brightest sunlight. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, something dark.

Ominis Gaunt, the heir of Slytherin himself, flicked his wand from his large robe sleeve and sparked it to life. A red light pulsed from its tip, and the hallway came more into focus in his mind. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked towards the imposing archway, closer to his family history simmering below. He looked striking, noble even, with his even, strong steps. Only someone close enough to be in his own skin would notice the slight tremble in his hands, the sweat that beaded at his brow. Anyone else with his condition could hear the steady hammer of his heart against his rib cage, the fast but even beats swimming in his ears and resting behind his eyes. He thought of his dear aunt Noctua, the last of the Gaunt’s to enter the foreboding mausoleum— how she had disappeared soon after finding its entrance. A shiver ran up his spine and something akin to fear lodged itself in his throat. 

You looked on at the two boys. You had no feelings for this moment, nothing to go off of but the words of your two comrades. You peaked down the chilling stairs into the never-ending darkness. It seemed to hiss in contempt at being awoken. This metaphorical pit of serpents had fangs, and each dripped with a deadly poison befitting the strongest men. The blackness crept up your arms and buried itself in your hair— it whispered sweet nothings into your ears, enticing the ancient magic flowing under your skin. You inhaled the titillating aroma of devillment and stored it deep in your lungs. Excitement and worry crashed against your soul and swirled like a hurricane in your stomach, sending ripples of anxiety through your very bones. You truly didn’t know how you felt at that very moment, but you knew, more than anything, that you wanted to protect your friends. Something inside, though, felt familiar. Something was calling out to your magic, and you felt inclined to answer.

You pushed the anxiety aside for now. The two boys, now standing next to you, both had things they needed to learn from the Scriptorium, and you were going to help them find it. The idea of adventure took over your senses at that moment and spread heat through your chest, glowing as bright at the braziers you had just lit. 

Even Ominis, a very stoic and reserved boy to most, seemed to have a gleam about his face that shimmered in eagerness. Not many knew, but he most definitely had a taste for chaos— he had to with the company he kept. There was something so intriguing about the Scriptorium to him. Maybe it was something forged in his very being, him being a Gaunt after all. Either way, the young wizard turned his attention towards his companions in a silent confirmation that he was ready to go. You cleared your throat hesitantly, drawing the attention of Sebastian away from the dark hallway before you. 

“Alright boys,” you gestured towards the entrance with your hand, “shall we?” 

The two nodded in your direction. Sebastian turned to you with a cheeky grin decorating his features. “I haven’t seen a tunnel this big since your mum.” 

Another thing about the Sallow boy: he very rarely took anything seriously. 

At the unimpressed look you gave him, he held his hands up in a placating manner, chortling to himself, “Aw, come on. That was a good one—”

You reached your hand towards his face and promptly thumped him on the forehead with a flick. Sebastian dropped the troublesome smirk and quickly brought his palm up to rub at the affronted spot, hissing through his teeth in pain. 

You looked at Ominis next to you, and as if sensing your disappointment he shook his head while looking up at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “Merlin, help me,” before beginning to walk down the daunting staircase. 

You and Sebastian fell into step behind the young Gaunt, trusting his instincts and sentient wand better than your fleeting eyesight. The tunnel was unequivocally dark, even the lumos dancing in front of your face barely pierced the surface. Your shoes made a distinct squelch sound on the wet cement with each step deeper into the pit. 

Down, 

          down, 

                    down you went. 

The stairs seemed to go on forever, descending into the fathomless unknown. Each sound echoed off the tightly packed walls, bouncing back and forth like a well crafted game of wizards chess. The seconds ticked by slowly, cascading around you like the steady stream of drips coming from above. The piping loomed imposingly above your heads and drizzled along the black-stone walls. You must be truly under the castle, you supposed. You felt tightly packed like a tin of sardines— three fish wiggling together towards the unknown fate of the stew pot. Ominis could smell your discomfort behind him, and quite honestly, he was inclined to agree. He couldn’t sense the end landing, if there even was one, in the infernal devilry that was the accursed sepulcher. The scent and taste of mildew and stale air coated his nasal cavity and larynx, making it impossible to determine anything else from the two orifices. He would gripe about his lack of sight in situations like this, at least normally, but he doubted that it would make much difference at the current moment. There was truly nothing around them.

Sebastian could taste the unease in the air from his two companions, and he detested the feeling greatly. It was of the utmost disrespect to the boy to turn down adventure; there was absolutely nothing in this world that he didn’t want to poke and prod, to know how it ticked. If there was one thing that his parents passed down to him before they died, it was that. He understood that it was a daunting task, and a very large ask of his dear friends, to take this journey with him, but for Merlin’s sake, it was Slytherin’s Scriptorium! He had only ever read about this monumental library, hiding deep in the caverns of the Hogwarts underbelly. How could he say no to this journey, this discovery? If it helped Anne along the way, what was the harm of it all? 

Just as you were beginning to think you would never leave the Hadean staircase, it finally puttered off to a smooth path of river-stones and a dimly lit concourse. Ominis stood at the forefront of the group, his wand casting a small bale-fire and illuminating more of the imposing hallway. Sebastian chuckled lowly behind him. Wrapping his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and leaning his head towards you, his eyes focusing deep into the darkness before him, he hummed.

“Hmph. Dark, ominous corridors. My favorite!” He cheesed at your bubbling laugh, snickering to himself at the obvious annoyance of the other boy. 

Ominis bemoaned the statement, groaning and throwing his head back minutely. A hand raised to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “No comment.” 

You turned towards your blond haired friend, placing your own hand on his shoulder and leaning in next to his ear, a dangerously coy simper tweaking up the corners of your mouth.

“I certainly love one of Ominis’ corridors.” 

The wiry boy wiggled out from under your arms, making a sound of disgust at the comment as his cheeks turned a bright fuchsia. Sebastian desperately held in giggles behind his hand, watching as the boy made an obscene gesture with his middle finger in your general direction. The taller boy stepped closer to the other, gently grasping his arm by the wrist and redirected the gesticulation to face more fully at you instead of a little to the left where it once was pointed. Both of you paused, looking between each other's eyes and the offending finger with barely contained mirth, before combusting dramatically into boisterous laughter. Sebastian leaned against the wall in support, nearly screaming around the laughs that wracked his body. You still stood across from Ominis, doubled over with your hands on your knees. Gasping breaths left your lungs as you teared up in humorous pain. Ominis’ scowl somehow got deeper, and once again he turned away from the pair of you and began to walk down the hallway himself— screw you two hooligans to the sticking place for all he cared. 

“Yes, yes. Hardy har, laugh at the blind fellow. Incredibly mature, you both are.” 

Sebastian walked up to your hunched form, patting you gently on the back before grasping at your shoulder and helping you stand. You both leaned on the other for support as the last of your giggles tittered into the air around you. Taking a deep, cleansing breath before shakily releasing the air, you began to walk after the tiffed boy. His haunches were raised above his ears, only the tips poked out and were flushed a light pink. You quickly ran to catch up with his quick steps, waving your wand around in front of you to avoid any obstacles in the low lighting. Your arm landed on his shoulders once again, and you sniggered jovially,

“I do apologize. That was terribly coarse of me, my dear Ominis.” 

Sebastian slid up on the other side of the boy, wrapping his arm around his other shoulder and resting his hand at your elbow. He accentuated his accent, adopting an incredibly posh vernacular. “Indubitably. Frightfully uncouth of us. Please forgive us, dear friend.” 

Ominis growled in the back of his throat, mumbling curses under his breath and shrugging off both of your arms. “Go lick a leprechaun taint, the both of you.” 

You both gasped in outrage. 

“How dare you, good sir!” Sebastian cried, a hand fluttering over his heart and a scandalized look decorating his visage. 

You took a similar stance. “We are children of God! Deviant behavior such as that must be saved for one's wedding bed.” 

The two pureblood wizards paused and turned towards you, confusion laced in their eyebrows. The brunette leaned closer to you, arms now crossed in befuddlement, and glanced at you from his peripheral vision like he was about to share a secret. 

“What’s a ‘God’?” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth.

You turned towards the boy, finger raised and mouth open with an explanation at the tip of your tongue. You quickly decided against it, though, as you knew it would just confuse them more. Best not try to explain muggle religion to two boys who have never stepped out of their small towns until it was time to go to school. You sighed, lowering your hand and about facing the end of the hall, ambling along ahead of the pack. The two boys shrugged and continued after you. 

At the far end of the hallway stood two imposing stone walls, an ostentatious doorway slid into the space between. Looking at the entrance, embellished in the texture of scales and decorated with serpent imagery, you felt a sense of dread wash over you.  Each turn in this maze of a catacomb seemed to linger with a foreboding aura, flooding your senses and raising the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned to look at Sebastian, now at your elbow just behind you. He was gazing at the door in pure curiosity, his eyebrows pinched together in contemplation. He ran his hand along the intricate carvings, tracing each snake with delicate precision. 

Ominis slowly entered the room, his head tilted left and then right with a pensive look adorning his face. He stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes, seemingly listening to something that only he could hear. Soft hisses slithered through the room from the pipes above, adding to the dreadful vibe. Each hiss caused him to twitch in one direction to the next. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was possessed by a snake itself. 

His eyes suddenly snapped open, startling you with his ferocity. He quickly paced towards the door, running his hand along the carvings with Sebastian. The homing signal at the tip of his wand cast an eerie glow on the wood, mingling with the green fire torches lining the walls. He leaned his ear on the door, listening closely to the whispers in the walls. He tilted his head towards the pair of students, gesturing with his chin at the entryway. 

“It’s speaking to me.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at the boy. “The wall is talking to you?” 

He nodded, pressing his ear against the wall once again. You walked towards the blond, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead in puzzlement. 

“Are you feeling alright, Ominis? Are you ill? How can the wall be ta—”

“Shush!” He gently grasped your arm and lowered your hand to your side. “No, you numpty. It’s speaking parseltongue, the language of snakes.” 

Sebastian leaned away from the door, snapping his fingers in excitement and pointing at the blind boy. 

“I forgot you could speak parseltongue!” 

Ominis huffed to himself, trepidation coating his tightly spoken words, “Well, I don’t particularly enjoy it. Parseltongue is notoriously associated with dark wizards, something as you know I have tried very hard to disassociate myself with.”  

He leaned away from the door, instead resting his hand on the wall beside it. He looked up, unseeing, at the grand archway decorating the edges of the room and listened carefully once again to the hissed whispers. 

“I think I need to speak to the door for it to open. Please step back, the both of you. I don’t want you hurt if something goes awry.” 

You both took a noisy step back, making sure to alert him since he briefly put away his wand in favor of leaning on the stone wall with both hands. 

Ominis sighed to himself, blowing upwards and dislodging part of his hair from his styled quiff. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” 

From his mouth came a series of lethargic hisses, stringed together as if in a sentence. The sound seemed to fill the entire room, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing back at you from all angles. It amplified steadily as the hisses from above answered in turn. 

Three of the decorative serpents came to life within the wood, slithering through the holes of the door and gliding along the edges of its carved trenches. A stream of mist puffed from its outer ridges, silencing the voices floating around you with a defined burst of powerful air. It blew the hairs dangling around your face backwards, tickling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck. Every hair on your body stood on edge and you suppressed a shiver. 

The three of you stood silently for a moment, basking in the sudden quiet. It was like a bubble that had mysteriously appeared around your heads spontaneously popped, sending a rush of startling stillness pulsating directly into your ears. 

Ominis was the first to break the spell, clearing his throat around the tightness that rested there, his cheeks glowing with a soft rosacea, and gestured through the now open doorway.

“After you.” 

Your face broke out into an animated grin. “Ominis, you truly possess a rare ability, indeed!” You gently brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed through the archway. Ominis’ cheeks blushed a darker red, and he reached his hand behind his head, rubbing softly at his neck in embarrassment. 

“Oh, er, it’s nothing.” 

Sebastian stayed in the back of the group, a scowl on his face and his arm crossed tightly across his chest. He glowered at the door like it affronted him, cursing it for allowing his friend to show his rare gift. Stalking towards the next room, irritation heavily prevalent in his steps, he muttered to himself the phrase you had just spoken in a mocking tone. He wasn’t sure which of you he should feel jealous of— you complimenting Ominis, or Ominis getting complimented by you.

Both, he decided. He was jealous of both. 

The three students passed under the bend and entered into the next room of the monolith-lined maze. Once fully inside, the imposing door behind you closed with a loud slam. Sebastian ran at it, pulling desperately at the carvings and pushing with all his strength. Ominis joined him, throwing his weight at it with a grunt. The door didn’t budge. 

“Shit!” Hissed the brunette, punching the door one last time before taking in the room behind him. “Guess we’re stuck in here until we find the next room.” 

The blond leaned back against the wood, an annoyed puff of hair leaving his mouth. “Until we find the next room? How do we even know that there’s a next room? We could very well just be stuck here until we inevitably die of thirst or hunger, whichever happens first.” Ominis turned his head towards the sound of the pacing boy. “Sebastian, we’re eating you first.” 

Sebastian stuttered in outrage, “Why me?!” 

“Because it was your idea to come here in the first place!” 

“Say that to my face you—”

Tired of listening to the boys argue, you lit the tip of your wand and began to explore the new area you had unlocked. It was a large stone room with a gunmetal gate at one end, a giant lock decorating the middle. Spiderwebs covered every corner, starting from the very far bottom corner and stretching to the upper corner across the room. You shuddered, thinking of the large arachnids you had fought not that long ago. You hated spiders. Making your way closer to the gate, you traced your finger along the lock, noting strange shapes in the metal. It seemed like it wouldn’t take a key like normal, it was a puzzle of some sort. 

Turning towards your friends, you tuned back in their argument. They were face to face, arms crossed, with indignant expressions. 

“It’s your ancestor that seems to like puzzles so much!”

“Look in a mirror, Sebastian.” 

“How dare you!” He stuttered for a moment, wracking his brain for a suitable comeback, “Were you dropped on your head as a child?!”

Ominis scoffed, a sarcastic grin stretching his lips, “Oh, bold of you to assume I was ever held—”

“BOYS!” You shouted for them from the gate. “Can you have your lover’s quarrel later? I found something.” 

Their faces instantly softened a fraction at the sound of your voice. They stepped away from each other, embarrassed by their squabble, straightened their cloaks, and walked over to where you stood. 

Sebastian came up to the gate, running his fingers along the lock like you did, before  grasping at the bars and giving it a good shake. The gate rattled against the ground, scraping at the concrete below, but refused to budge. He took a step closer, craning his head around and looking through the small slits in the metal. His collar dug into his neck uncomfortably. Growling, the boy tugged on the offending cloth.

“This bloody collar—”

The freckled boy stood back, looking at the gate once more for a moment before undoing his robe and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. He shrugged off his jacket and vest next, leaving him just in his white button down and tie. He quickly pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, shaking out his arms in the process, and loosened his tie before undoing a few buttons near the top of his shirt. Grasping his wand between his teeth, Sebastian took hold of one of the horizontal metal rungs in the gate and pulled upwards with all his might. Still no movement. 

A blush began to creep up your neck at the display before you, and you averted your eyes from the very attractive boy. You turned towards Ominis, only to find him in a similar state of undress. He was in the process of carefully undoing the buttons around his cuffs and folding the sleeves to his elbow. You noticed he had neatly gathered his jacket, vest, and robe and placed them atop one of the assorted rocks littering the ground. He began to walk towards the other boy, listening to his struggling grunts of effort. Your blush somehow got brighter.

“Let me try.”

Sebastian took a step back and waved his hands in a “have at it” motion. Ominis approached the gate in a similar stance to the other boy, flexing his forearms and pulling upwards once again. You could see his muscles straining under the material; he may have been slim, but he certainly wasn’t unfit. Eyes skipping from one boy to the other, one with his hands on his hips, panting at the effort he had just exuded, and the other now pondering the gate before him, a finger resting on his chin and hand resting on his other elbow across his chest, you suddenly felt like the room had gotten at least ten degrees hotter. 

In your flustered state, you took a step back away from your companions. You bumped into something just behind you, a piece of sharp stone slicing through your shoulder. Releasing a hiss in pain, you grasped at the wound and quickly turned around, looking for the offending object. Just over your shoulder stood a large stone statue of a snake poised to strike. It was resting on two circular bases, one atop the other with just enough space between to twist them to different directions. You noticed symbols decorating the rims of each— they were the same shape and style as the two on the gate lock. You quickly crouched down and took hold of the stone, turning it until both bases lined up with the ones on the lock. A loud click sounded through the room and the gate before you opened. 

The three of you quickly turned towards the sound, wands poised in front of you ready to strike. Seeing no danger, you all lowered your weapons and turned back towards the statue. You crouched yet again, running your fingertip along the other symbols.

You spoke to the boys over your shoulder, “It’s a puzzle. You have to match the gate symbols to the ones on the snake.” 

Sebastian barked a laugh, coming up behind you and gazing at the sculpture. “Absolutely brilliant, you are! Bet I could do that just as well, eh?” He patted you on your shoulder with pride, not noticing your new injury. You clenched your teeth, a pained hiss escaping through the gaps. The brunette drew his hand back in alarm, looking at the small streak of blood on his palm. He took your arm gently, eyebrows furrowed at the medium sized cut in concern. 

“Stars, you’re hurt! What happened? Are you alright?” 

You placed your hand over one of his, looking at him over your shoulder and forcing a laugh. “That’s how I found the statue in the first place. I’ll be fine, it’s just a scratch.” 

He looked at you with doubt, but let it go, releasing your arm and taking a step back. “If you say so.” 

You stood, shaking out your arms and shoulders. His hands felt like small fires against the cool air of the mausoleum. 

“Okay, Ominis and I will stay here and look for more of these puzzles. Sebastian, you go look in the other room and see if you find anything. Call out if you need backup.” 

Sebastian saluted two fingers in your direction before running at the open gate, grabbing at the taller ledge of the other room and heaving himself up. You watched him disappear onto the other floor. You and Ominis spread out, each taking a different corner of the room. It was bigger than you originally expected, going on for at least the length of a classroom. There was another gate at the very center of the room, the same as the other. Your eyes scanned each corner of your side for the distinct shape of Salazar’s sculpt, calling to Ominis on the other side of the room.

“So, why does Salazar Slytherin like snakes so much, anyway?”

Ominis shrugged, “Some legends say that he was an animagus— that his form was a basilisk.” 

You whistled lowly, “That’s a big snake.” 

The boy chuckled softly, going back to the original silence directly after. Ominis bit his lip, chewing it over what he should say next. He didn’t like the silence, it made him feel like he was back home. The ambiance of the Scriptorium certainly didn’t help, either. 

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you truly alright?” 

You smiled, moving over to his side where he was feeling along the wall. You rested your hand on his shoulder, a feather light touch that felt like a heavy weight because of his nerves. “I am, I promise. Please don’t worry about me, everything is fine.” 

He turned his face towards your voice. “I always worry. About the both of you.” 

Your face softened at the confession, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing at the contact. Brushing your thumb against his cheekbone, you felt a surge of nerves in your stomach; butterflies bumping around in the inner lining of your gut. You opened your mouth to speak.

“Ominis, I—” 

A short shout cuts through the quiet. You both whip your heads in the direction of the open gate, calling out to the boy on the other side. 

“Sebastian, are you alright?” 

You hear him fumble around for a moment, calling in return, “The statue bit me! Be careful not to get it wrong!” 

Ominis gently grasped your chin, turning it back towards his face. He listened to you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to continue your thought from before. The blond was incredibly nervous, hoping that you couldn’t tell that his hand was shaking. You hesitantly flick your eyes from his irises to his lips, soft and inviting. You wet your own, taking a shaky breath in. 

“What were you saying?” Ominis whispered, his face a hairs length away. 

Your eyes quickly slid over to the left, feeling incredibly hot under the collar all of a sudden. A strange shaped rock caught your attention, curved at the base like a worm. There it was, the final puzzle. You gasped, fumbling out of Ominis’ hold on you and quickly scurrying over to it, turning the dial to the shapes on the other gate. Just as yours slotted into place, a second click could be heard from the room over. The second gate opened with a loud, rusted creak, leading into a third, and what you hoped was final, room.  

Sebastian made his way back over to the two of you, an elated grin stretching across his face as he gazed into the next section of the crypt. Ominis had dropped his arm when you de-tangled yourself, now crossing both in front of his chest with an expression similar to someone who smelled something foul. 

The three of you crept into the room, wands poised for any danger that may come forward. The gate slammed shut behind you once more, trapping you there like before. 

“Salazar Slytherin isn’t done with us yet,” Ominis whispered, a grave seriousness adorning his visage. 

You quietly make your way to the other side of the room where a large, disfigured door lay. It was covered in carvings; scratches marred the corners, flowing dangerously into disturbing images of screaming faces. You felt the air around you grow even colder than before, a shiver running down your spine. There was a flutter of paper to your right, and you swung your wand towards the sound. The tip illuminated an old piece of parchment, covered in dust with sections of it nibbled away by rats. You gently pick up the letter, afraid it would fall apart at the slightest movement. On it was a journal entry of sorts, big looping cursive depicting the fate of the last explorer to make it to this room. You carefully scanned the note, each word filling your chest with dread. Gazing down at the ground near your feet, you quietly gasp at the sight of a decaying skeleton. Its bones were a stark alabaster against the gray concrete floor; spiderwebs weaved throughout the skull and down to the rib cage. 

Noctua Gaunt.

You quietly ushered Sebastian over to where you stood, handing him the final journal entry of the woman before you. He scanned it, his eyes growing larger by the second and his face adopting a grim expression. The freckled boy looked at you for confirmation, and you gestured to the skeleton below. He gasped quietly in his throat, looking over his shoulder at the other Slytherin quietly pacing by the gated entrance. 

You quietly spoke, sympathy lacing your tone, “Ominis, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. There’s a note over here, next to a body.” You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “It’s Noctua.” 

The boy froze his movements, head tilting down towards the ground in sorrow. “What happened to her?” 

“The note says she was stuck in here, and that she could only open the door with an unforgivable curse. She didn’t have anyone else in here with her, so she was unable to escape.”

You walked up to the now shaking boy, his hands grasping at his opposite elbows to ground himself. You gently moved your hand to his shoulder, stroking the joint with your thumb. He roughly shrugged your hand away, returning to his pacing; his face morphed into a look of pain. His hands ran through his hair in anguish, mussying it up into a wild mane. 

“She died stuck in here, and we will suffer the same fate. We will be stuck down here forever— the next person to enter will find our bodies like we found hers.” 

Sebastian bent down to pick up the note you dropped, studying it closely again. He quickly paced towards you both, anxious nervousness rubbing off of him in waves. 

“Don’t give up quite yet. She says that she couldn’t leave because she was alone and had no one to cast the spell on. There’s three of us— we can get out! We just have to cast the unforgivable.” 

Ominis threw his hands down in agitation, spitting at the other boy, “That’s dark magic, Sebastian! Unforgivables are unforgivable for a reason. You can’t just cast one, you need to mean it, and I don’t particularly want to hurt either of you. Do you?” 

Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together in irritation, “If it means getting out of here alive and finding a cure for Anne, I’ll do anything I have to.” 

You stepped between the two squabbling boys, holding your hands aloft to keep their distance from the other. This argument was getting heated fast, a darker, more dangerous aura rested under the surface than the argument in the prior room. You spoke to the brunette to your left, “Sebastian, which spell is it? What do we need to do?” 

He scanned the note for a third time, eyes alight in a combination of rage and panic. His expression grew grave, and he felt something lodge itself in his throat. He forced the words out from around it, slightly choked with emotion, “We need to cast the cruciatus curse.” 

Ominis’ wrath was palpable in the air, filling the room like a thick fog. “Absolutely not! There must be another way out. There is no way in Merlin’s name that I’m letting either of you cast that spell!” 

The taller Slytherin growled, throwing the note down on the ground and pacing back to the horrifying door. He ran his hand along the faces, each twisted in pain. He sighed, pushing his anger back down into his chest. It would do them no good to argue with each other. 

“I understand that you’re scared, Ominis, but there isn’t another spell. This is the only way out.” He took a deep, steadying breath, before finishing his thought. “You’re the only one here who knows the spell. It should be you who casts—”

“Are you soft in the head!? I would rather die than cast that spell again. I question our friendship just at the fact that you would ask that of me.” 

Sebastian pressed his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose, pinching it in exasperation. He turned on the balls of his feet towards where you were, silently watching the fight with fright in your eyes. He walked towards you, placing both of his palms on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes. 

“It’s up to us, then.” He paused, searching your face for something. His eyebrows creased in concentration and something else that you couldn’t name. Fear? Anger? Assurance? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. He quickly spun away from you, beginning to pace the length of the room while muttering to himself, tapping his wand against his leg in a sporadic rhythm. You watched from your spot next to the door. It seemed to glow with evil energy, spreading its wicked tendrils around the room like a well-fed devils snare. You could almost feel it crawling its way into your nose and mouth, wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs. Rapid breaths escaped from your lips, your heart pulsing rapidly in your chest. Your wide eyes, absolutely swimming in terror, refused to leave the daunting door. You open your mouth to speak, before a resolute voice cuts you off from your thoughts. 

“Cast it on me.” 

Your breath caught in your chest, freezing in your veins as your blood ran cold. Surely you didn’t hear him correctly? He wasn’t asking you to—

“Cast it on me, it’s the only way.” 

You slowly turned in his direction, meeting Sebastian’s beautiful brown eyes, normally filled with warmth but now cold and hard. He stood directly across from you, the glow of the door casting a striking shadow on his youthful face. His demeanor was all straight lines; tight and unmoving in discernment. There was no changing his mind, he had made his choice— his figurative bed. He would rather take the curse himself than have to cast it on either of his closest friends. You saw the determination in his eyes, in the thin line of his lips and jagged edges of his clenched jaw. He was an immovable force, and who were you to try and bend physics to your will? You closed your eyes, gathering your resolve, before meeting his eyes once again. The fire behind your irises burned brightly, a blazing inferno ready to take the entire world into its flames. 

“Alright, if you’re sure. Do you know the spell?”

He looked at the door again in trepidation before meeting your gaze, something unknown still swirling in his irises. “In theory. I can teach it to you.” 

The both of you moved through the motions of the spell, repeating it a few times to make sure you knew what you were doing. The movements in itself felt dirty— wrong, even. Like you weren’t supposed to be privy to this kind of knowledge. Your wand arm felt numb, like the cold was seeping into your very bones and inducing hypothermia. You swallowed thickly, before raising your wand to Sebastian’s chest. You stared into the other’s eyes, both filled with intense worry and fright. 

“Are you ready?”

The brunette took a deep breath through his nose, clearing his mind and attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the unimaginable pain he was about to experience. 

Your shaking voice spoke, mouth feeling weird around the accursed word.

“Crucio.” 

A slight red spark shot from the tip of your wand, but no pain came to the Sallow boy. His eyes shot open, looking at you across from him. You were shaking like a leaf, staring confused at your wand and then at him. He knitted his brows in angered confusion. 

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” 

“I-I don’t know.”

Ominis spoke from the back corner where he had sat himself, head leaning heavily on the wall behind him and his arms resting on the tops of his knees. His face was riddled with resignation. “I told you, you have to mean it. You have to want to inflict pain on the other person.” 

Sebastian growled loudly, his teeth clashing together harshly as he clenched his jaw in anger. “If you’re not going to offer anything helpful, just be quiet.” 

You stood in stunned silence at the boy's ferocity. He quickly rounded back towards you, teeth clenched in a near snarl. He pointed at you accusingly,

“Why aren’t you angry? You need to be furious! Yell at me— tell me this is all my fault! Let me have it!” 

You stuttered at the boy, hands shaking even more forcefully now. You knew what he was doing; he was trying to make you hate him. He wanted you to be so angry at him that you could easily cast the curse. Unfortunately, the tactic seemed to have the opposite effect on you. Your heart ached for the boy, listening to each word he said and knowing somewhere in your heart that he thought this of himself. Apologies filled your mouth and spilled out like a waterfall of dismay. They splashed against the ground and the droplets sprayed everywhere, bouncing harshly against the echo chamber walls. 

Sebastian continued yelling, rage pouring from his being, “Stop apologizing! I brought us down here, it’s my fault we’re in this situation to begin with! I’m the reason you have to cast this spell! You didn’t want to come here at all before I basically forced you and Ominis. Look at him, he’s petrified! I did this, cast it on me!” 

Tears gathered in your eyes, horrified terror coursed through your body because of the boy across from you. He was breathing heavily, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring like a bull. You had never seen him like this before. The anger poured from him and swirled around the air like a dense cloud, permeating every inch of the desolate cavern. Ominis hesitantly stood from the corner, intense worry spreading across his face. He slowly approached the two, steps soft and slow, hands outstretched in front of him like he was dealing with a raging animal. He could smell the tension, feel the red hot heat of fury and agitation.

He hesitantly spoke, his voice shaking with a soft timber, “Sebastian, take a step back. You’re scaring them.” 

The frenzied boy rounded at his friend, snarling and gnashing his teeth, “No, they have to do this!” 

You continued to spew apologies, the words getting swallowed by the thick, maroon fog and evaporating into vapor. Tears cascaded down your frightened face, staring unblinking at your rampaging friend. He was nearly foaming at the mouth in outrage, his eyes wild and hardened. He didn’t look like himself, a complete stranger in his own body. All Sebastian could feel was anger, extremely hot and branding his very soul with a wave of wrath. He could hear your pitiful cries, Ominis’ begging for him to stop. He wouldn’t let you both stand in the way of curing his sister. 

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. 

“Crucio!” 

Your screams filled the small room, ricocheting off the walls and burying inside the duo's ears. Ominis slapped his arms around his head, bending over in pain, his sensitive ears amplifying the violent outburst tenfold. His heart shattered in his chest at the sound of your pain, crushing his soul in its devastating grasp. The sound snapped Sebastian out of his trance, his face morphing into one of absolute horror and revoltion at what he had just done. He dropped his wand in shock, stumbling backwards into the nearest wall and sliding down it. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched you writhe on the floor in never-ending pain. He brought his hands up to his mouth, covering it in distress, and whispered curses and pleading apologies against his skin. 

“Oh Merlin, what have I done? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” 

Pain— that’s all you knew. Your blood was boiling under your skin, the veins feeling like they were going to burst out of you in a shower of blood at any moment. You clutched your abdomen in agony, nails biting into your arms in desperation. Blood ran down from your hands, coating your sleeves and staining them red. Each organ felt like it was dying slowly, decay seeping deep into your body and coating every surface. Your heart pounded harder than ever before, threatening to combust right through your ribs and out of your chest. Every nerve ending fired off in rapid succession, blazing through your body like a wild inferno and leaving intense burns in its wake. Your head was the worst. It felt like someone stabbed a freezing ice pick through your eye socket, retracting it and pushing back in with each pound of your heart against your skull. Bile rose into your throat, evaporating around the force of your wails of pain. You were curled on the ground, arms tight against yourself in protection. It felt like you would never be happy, be well, again. The torment went on for what felt like years, centuries even, wracking your body with heaving sobs and otherworldly screams. 

In an instant it was over. Sparks of residual magic shot against your skin, shaking your body to its core. The world around you was dark and silent, your senses absolutely fried. A heavy weight was resting against your back, pressing against you with a relieving, grounding pressure. Your hearing returned first, flooding in like you had just rinsed the water from them. 

“Come back to us! Are you alright? Damn it, please say something!” The panicked voice of Ominis filled your electrified brain, the sound grating against your ears. He pressed his palms against your cheeks and raised your head from its spot on the cold ground, wiping the tears from your face. He rested his forehead against yours, listening closely to your shuddering breaths. “Please, give me a sign that you’re still in there.” 

A groan eased its way out of your tight throat, pushing past the damage your screams had done and croaking through like a toad. Ominis sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gathering you gently in his arms. He stroked your hair, letting the last of the tremors make their way out of your body. Your consciousness faded in and out, lids fluttering open and closed around the blackness resting just behind your eyes. 

“Shush now, don’t push yourself. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ominis gently coaxed your head to rest against his collarbone, his cheek pressing against the roof of your head. He continued his movements along your hair absentmindedly, lulling you into a soft sense of security. 

The blond spoke to the distraught boy behind him, voice devoid of any emotion. “We need to get them to the infirmary.” 

Sebastian broke out of his morose stupor, panic rising in his voice, “We can’t! She’ll know that we’ve used an unforgivable! Not to mention, we’re out past curfew. We’ll likely get expelled, or worse!” 

Ominis sighed inwardly, his head leaning back and smacking against the wall behind him with a dull thunk. He knew that Sebastian was right, no matter how much he wanted to throw the boy to the wolves at that very moment. If they were to bring you to the hospital wing the nurse would ask all three of them questions, and none of them were prepared for that. There wasn’t a single lie in the world that would be that convincing. With a final growl of agitation, he made a decision.

“Fine, the Undercroft, then.” He leveled the taller boy with a harsh glare. “Go get whatever you’re looking for and meet us down there. I hope this trip was worth it, Sallow.” 

The clock tower sounded three times, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. Two students rested against the chaise lounge conjured up out of an old shipping crate. Your shoulder had been dressed, the bandage peeking out from under your ripped blouse. The same was done for the indentations on your arms, half moons lining your biceps in a circle from your sharp nails digging into your skin. Ominis gently stroked your hair from where your head rested on his lap. You had fallen asleep not long ago, your quiet whines of pain tempered out and gave way to startling silence. Anger festered under the boy’s skin, warming him to an uncomfortable degree. It burned in the back of his mind, boiling against the memory of your screams and whimpers of immense pain. He had half a mind to curse Sebastian where he had stood in the Scriptorium. Ominis heard his panicked breaths and whispered apologies after he brought you to your knees, truly realizing the damage that he had done and the dangers of dark magic. Good, he thought. Maybe he’d finally stop moving down the dark path that he was so set on. He deserved to beg for your forgiveness. 

The metal gate of the Undercroft squeaked open, the sound of heavy footfalls following after. Ominis gently picked up your sleeping head, standing from the chaise and lowering you onto one of the many pillows lining the cushions. He quickly paced towards the brunette, eyes blazing with barely concealed fury. Sebastian paid no mind, flipping through the large tomb he had collected from Salazar’s Scriptorium. He looked up and saw the approaching boy, not noticing the very prevalent anger on his face. 

“Ominis, you’re not going to believe what I found—”

The smaller boy slammed into him, pressing his forearm against his neck and shoving him harshly into the nearest wall. His wand was pressed against his chin, glowing menacingly in the candlelight of the hideaway. The blond’s mouth was twisted into a gruesome snarl, teeth looking like fangs in the dim lighting. Sebastian gulped against the arm pressed against his larynx. He dropped the book in surprise, a cloud of dust puffing up from the ground at its harsh landing. Even though Sebastian knew that Ominis couldn’t truly see him, the boy’s heated glare seemed to set fire to his very soul. 

Ominis growled at the taller boy in a gravely low voice, his teeth gnashing around each word. “If you ever hurt them again, you will be dead where you stand. This is the last I want to hear of dark magic, Sebastian. You’ve gone too far; people have gotten hurt. Promise me that you’ll stop— you’ll find some other way to heal Anne, or this friendship will continue no longer.” 

Sebastian nodded as much as he could around his friend’s arm, squeezing the words out of his crushed throat, “Yes, I understand, I’m sorry!” 

The anger seemed to evaporate from the smaller boy in mere seconds, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slumping. He grasped the front of the freckled boy’s shirt, leaning his forehead against his chest with a heavy sigh. 

“I almost lost you both today. I can’t do that, don’t make me live through that again. Please, I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t bear the thought.” 

His shoulders began to shake, tremors rocking his entire body and sending the tears gathering in his eyes down his pale cheeks. He softly cries into the shirt of his friend, grasping harder at the cotton between his fingers and burying his face even deeper. The freckled boy stands still for a moment, startled by the sudden emotional whiplash. He hesitantly raises his arms and circles them around the shoulders of the crying boy, looking over to your sleeping form with guilt swirling in his eyes. 

He had hurt both of his friends today over something he thought was so trivial, so insignificant. He just wanted to find a cure for his sister, not cause undeniable pain to those he loved. He truly was turning into a monster; the dark magic he was so fascinated by had begun to circle around his heart, squeezing it with its thick tentacles. Sebastian buried his head into Ominis’ neck, deeply breathing in his scent. The mildew of the cellar was thick against his skin, but reminisce of his expensive cologne and natural scent, something musky and rich, still lingered there. He focused on it, the familiar smell warming his insides and bringing his heartbeat to a slight increase. 

He hadn’t promised the boy that he’d stop exploring the dark arts, instead twisting his words into something that sounded like agreement. Sebastian knew that he would come to regret that decision, but he couldn’t give up on Anne. She was his flesh and blood, his twin sister. She was everything to him. He knew that he would hurt his two closest friends more than words can express with his decisions, but deep in his heart he believed that he was doing the right thing. 

With a heavy heart, Sebastian basked in the comfort of the Undercroft and the arms wrapped around his waist, praying to anyone who would listen that this wouldn’t be the last time he felt this safe.

AN: Did I make an "Ominis gets pegged" joke? Yes, yes I did.

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