#i never thought id make something like this

[awsugar]

I would looooove to hear a play by play of the show and all the things they did !! It seems like it was so cool!!

a real play by play woudl require me to research and watch other peoples videos to remember everything that happened

and im nt gonna do that rn BUT i can say it was like. ok so.

pre-show i saw most of the characters backstage. which i was kinda like. why are they even allowed back there. like why can i see this!!! besides the fact that i could also from where i was on barricade see the people who were walking around the stadium which includes the behind the stage area on higher levels, i was like. idk I JUST THOUGHT That the people in costume should have remained hidden until the last minute. and that includes my chem because i saw mikey and ray backstage in their uniforms before they came out on stage. and since i saw them in the wings of stage right and i was on stage right barricade a lot of people to the center and more left stage area saw them too and like im not saying its a HUGE DEAL but since they tried to keep everytihng so under wraps i think they should have not let anyone see that until it was literally the time for their entrance. and thats just my opinion.

but anyway they did come out and even though i saw backstage their uniforms it was like nothing i could have imagined.

they came out in their tbp uniforms but reimagined to fit the DRAAG aesthetic and it was actually insane even though i had seen it backstage, had heard a lot of speculation that they would end up wearing their unifroms but i don't really know anyone who actually thought that they actually would even me! we were at wwwy, both years, and like the combination of how they were making fun of the nostaglia cash grab first time they played, and in contrast to how tthey did the black parade at wwwy last year where everyone was once again doing like a nostalgia plot while mcr did the most beautiful tribute tbp that i could have imagined. they will never follow the crowd. and i think that a lt of us thought that them wearing tbp uniforms at wwwy would have been a cheap imitations and like lowered the value and i did and do feel like that about the SAME OG outfits at THAT show but whatever it is, this feels completely new and different. the uniforms ARE different although true to their original styles and shapes and specifications, like you know id be real upset if they had the uniforms again and franks striped sleeves were gone.m but like i was saying, they have managed to do it in a way that isnt a completely cheap imitation of what once was, and thats because i think they truly respect what they have done. and of course they do becaus eif they dont who would, but the black parade is a piece of art that was meticulusly crafted and they know it better than anyone.

so anyway they came out and we were all gagged gooped etc. btw the end and dead live are something i never want to give up again. that one meme but its: ive only had the end and dead for 8 months but if anything ever happened to it i would kill everyone in this room and then myself. two of the greatest songs ever!!!!!

there were some skits that im sure you saw online, there was a part where we voted for the next politician with the signs that they gave us, they didnt really give us any info on who we were voting for and so i voted NAY and then they executed them all on the bstage so <3

there were a number of skits that didnt like impact the plot that much to me. theres so much still to unpack. theres so much that doesnt even make sense now and we cant even try with some of it i think.

but notably the guy who seemed to be some sort of inspector previously in the show and who also slapped gerard and made him put his jacket back on at different parts of the show. well at the end after he slapped gerard and after gerard did a new mama verse which wasnt really a verse because it lasted multiple MINUTES!!!!! the inspectior came back out bvut this tiem he was in a clown costume (btw there was pyro the whole time) and he stabbed gerard like at the end of faomus last words, gerard died, frank was kidnapped, they all were i tihnk. the clown finished with blood and then revealed a suicide bomb undder his clown suit. and he blowed up. exploded. in our faces. he did it right where i was on barricade we couldnt see afterwards for like 4 minutes lol???

i was also surprised by a reprise of the end which made snese to me because that s an element of musical theater that is pretty common..

and then after a cellist came out and played on the b stage for a few minutes they came out in new outfits except fr gerard, also on the b stage they came out, and played like 10 other songs from the rest of the albums, pretty much not just their most popular but some of their best.

they also played my favorite song of all time (heaven help us) while on the b stage and i didnt expect it at all

gerard said that the b stage set will change every show (frank is making the setlists as per usual) and also that they have a week in between to workshop the main set and that that is likely to change as well which is???? terrifiying and crazy??

also gerard said he loves us. he said he LOVES US. i wanted to cry.

after that pretty standard they played and ended tyhe show i know i didnt give a full play by play but thats just what i immediately remember. it was the best ever.

im serious tthey sounded amazing, the production was next level, and gerard was more interactive with the crowd and more on his game than ever. like he peaked yesterday and i think the peak can only go up. which is wild.

[many-gay-magpies]

i feel inclined to make a post about the time i was trying to write something in-depth about queerplatonic payneland/aromantic charles and how he and edwin would work out their feelings for each other in that scenario, and i DID end up writing a short queerplatonic payneland fic, but it was basically just me self-indulgently making them smooch aromantic style for 3000 words. the actual longer fic id planned to write exploring aromantic charles never came to fruition, because in the course of attempting to define the difference between romantic and platonic love for the purpose of writing about how CHARLES felt it differently, i realized i just. could not fucking tell the difference. at all. i made posts asking allo people what the difference was and their answers did not help me for shit.

i think, like, the conclusion i came to for my own purposes was that—charles's and edwin's feelings for each other were probably actually about the same? that is, edwin feels deep all-encompassing eternal love and affection for charles; he wants to stay with charles and keep him safe and make him smile and do cases and play board games with him forever; keep him as the most important person in his afterlife forever. then on top of that he wants to do stuff like kiss him and have sex with him and whatnot. and then charles feels all the same stuff, deep intense all-encompassing love and a desire to have edwin be His Person forever—AND he would really like to kiss edwin and probably also love having sex with him (alloaro charles, OR sex-favorable ace/demi charles who likes sex for the physical intimacy and connection more than anything). but edwin uses the societal definition of In Love to categorize/describe his feelings, naming them as explicitly romantic, while charles... has a very complicated relationship with the idea of romance, the idea of being In Love; he has never been IN LOVE with anyone, or ever thought he could be; he just knows edwin is His Person, and he wants that to be the case for as long as possible, and he also would really like to kiss him (and maybe do more than that). but there is some missing bridge between those two things labeled Romantic Love/Being In Love that he just does not have access to, with anyone. and because of that his feelings will forever be not enough.

and basically, i was swimming through all these thoughts and never felt like i found a way to write it that wouldn't feel like it was being dismissive of aromanticism by saying "youre all feeling the same thing actually and your labels dont matter". and also i kept wanting to bash my head in over romantic love as a societal construct. seriously even today im half convinced romantic love is a societal construct/intersection of other emotions human beings just slapped a label on for funsies and not an actual unique emotion. i feel a little bad for never writing that initial fic, and for the fact that most of my payneland fics these days categorize them explicitly as a reciprocal romantic relationship (where charles realizes/is fated to realize sooner or later Ah Yes I Am In Love With Edwin The Same Way Back Actually), but these thoughts and this interpretation still color pretty much everything i write/create about them: fundamentally, it does not matter whether their love is platonic, romantic, or fucking whatever in-between or on any other spot of the spectrum. what it is is huge, intense, fundamentally weird (affectionate) and codependent to a truly unhinged degree. edwin sat with charles and read to him, gave him a friend while he was dying and for every year after; charles went into literal hell to save edwin without a moment's hesitation. each of them could not possibly love the other any more than they already do. anything that changes from here on out is just a matter of perception.

anyway. it is currently five in the morning and i have not slept, and i feel like this is way more long-winded than it needs to be/not as concise or effectively-indicative of my point as it could be, but im releasing it out into the world anyway. i can come back tomorrow and add a more concise addendum if i need to. moral of the story is get aromantic about it 👍

(and also payneland are Best Friends first and foremost, always. everything else is secondary <3)

[goemonbooty]

Looking through old lupin fanart and fan comics ive talked abt it with some friends but its kind of crazy how people would like. Woke their way into being misogynistic to fujiko😭 the struggle of having her as a favourite character and then theres like nothing ever of her interacting with anyone ever that isnt lupin (for the usual betrayal, usually for a joke) and occasionally goemon or jigen but thats sparingly (also usually for a joke)

What i mean by “wokeing into misogyny” is that i saw so much.. “they (the men) dont deserve her shes too beautiful” “shes too good to be around them” “she should be with a woman” “shes a lesbian” (crazy ass thing to say abt a canonically bisexual character😗)

Duh there should be more women in the series and fujiko should get to interact with them too but thats Not what people were doing👎 under the guise of thinking shes too good for the men or whatever All content would focus on the men anyway and shed just never be there.

Ofc that is mixed with just genuine outward misogyny and double standard about fujiko being deceiving and evil but like. Hello! THEYRE ALL CRIMINALS!!! Lupin wouldnt have the life he has without her actions being that way. WHO GAF! Trying to play the morality card when it comes to the lupin crew is so stupid lmfao

Its kind of insane and crazy to me that the woman called fujiko mine as a show Exists. I swore nobody ever spoke about it when its so thematically dense and id say the most interesting use of the characters and their dynamics since Mamo. ITS INSANE. OT BOGGLES MY MIND HOW INTERESTING IT IS AND THAT ITS NEVER BROUGHT UP ANYWHERE😭

The way with which it navigates displaying all of the mens misogyny (which is varying in levels) where it manifests in their interactions with fujiko and how it comes to frame their view of her vs the way fujiko lives her life, her self assured nature about who she is and what she wants to do, where the show never ever demonises her or punishes her for her actions in some kind of comeuppance how some of the older stuff would frame her vs the men (cough part 2 when theyd make her seem stupid and just blindly betraying lupin and then everything blows up in her face and all the guys go heh.. thats what she gets!)

The show displaying just what about all five makes them so engaging and endearing, what ends up making their group function, what drives each of their lives on a level that actually gives the time to their individual thought processes. All while centring it around how Fujiko navigates the four of them (not Lupin!) WHILE ALSO BEING A PREQUEL TO PART 1 is insane. When women get to write and direct Lupin🤯🤯🤯🤯

Anyway. All that to say. Crazy how the blueprint on why fujiko is important and how good she can be when written with care and with a womans perspective in mind is Right There its crazay that it doesnt seem to influence alot of fanwork. My opinion is that fujiko should actually be included in everything ever forever and she makes everything infinitely more interesting (crazy how the official media somehow does this better😐 im working on something myself to display what i mean about this tho)

[notklosswift]

Duty & Desires

Chapter 5

Pairings: Alexandra Cabot x Detective Reader

Warnings: Sexual Assault Cases, Protective Alex, Fluff if you squint

Summary: The squad takes on a new serial case, while Y/n and Alex navigate the tension between duty and love. As the danger grows, so does their need to protect each other—at any cost.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

The air in the squad room was unusually light that morning.

Elliot leaned back in his chair, nursing his third cup of coffee, Olivia was thumbing through last-minute witness notes, and Y/n sat at her desk, sorting case files while her phone buzzed with texts from Alex.

Alexandra Cabot—now officially her girlfriend—was halfway through a long morning at the D.A.’s office. Her messages were as composed as ever, but Y/n could practically feel the tension behind her elegant punctuation:

Alex:

Don't forget lunch. Try not to disappear on me again.

You didn’t wear your safety vest last week. Don’t make me show up and put it on you myself.

Y/n smiled faintly at the last one, fingers hovering over the keyboard to reply when Cragen’s voice cut through the relative calm.

“Everyone, up. We’ve got a case.”

The chatter died instantly. Olivia was on her feet first, Elliot tossing his cup as Fin swiped the incoming file Cragen handed over.

“Female victim, early twenties,” Cragen said grimly. “Pulled out of the East River this morning. No ID on her, no purse, just bruises, and…” He paused. “A carved ‘M’ on her shoulder.”

Y/n felt her stomach twist.

“M?” Olivia asked.

Cragen nodded. “Same mark left on a Jane Doe from six months ago. That case never closed. We thought it was isolated.”

Fin glanced at the crime scene photo and swore under his breath. “Looks like we were wrong.”

Y/n stepped forward. “Was there a sexual assault?”

“Signs of it. Forensics is running the kit now.”

Olivia’s jaw tensed. “So we’re looking at a repeat offender.”

“Possibly a serial,” Cragen said. “And if he’s back, we’re already two steps behind.”

The mood shifted—focus replacing the earlier ease. The squad broke off into their usual roles. Olivia and Elliot headed to the ME's office, Fin and Munch to canvass the docks. Y/n was about to grab her gear when her phone vibrated again.

Alex: Lunch is at 1. You better not stand me up this time.

…unless it’s something that’ll get someone locked up.

Y/n smiled for a moment—then sobered as she pocketed the phone and grabbed her badge.

Later that day – A.D.A. Cabot's Office

Alex was at her desk, going over another file when her door opened—without a knock.

“I’m busy,” she said, not looking up.

“That’s new,” Y/n said casually. “You don’t usually ignore your girlfriend.”

Alex’s head snapped up, but softened. “Oh, where were you? I thought I'd texted you lunch at 1pm?”

Y/n set a folder down in front of her. “We’ve got a new case. Body pulled from the East River. Carved ‘M’ on her shoulder. Second victim with the same mark.”

Alex’s brow furrowed instantly. “You’re telling me we’ve got a pattern and a victim with no ID?”

“Sexual assault kit is in progress,” Y/n said. “And Captain thinks it’s escalating.”

There was a pause before Alex stood up, reaching for the file. “I want in.”

Y/n blinked. “You’re already in. It’s your case.”

“No,” Alex said. “I want in. As in—I’ll be with you on this. From day one. You’re not going into this one alone.”

Y/n softened. “I never am.”

Alex walked around her desk and stopped in front of her. Her voice dropped. “You forget how you looked last time something like this happened. And I didn’t know you were walking into hell until you were already in it.”

“I didn’t either.”

Alex shook her head. “Still.”

Y/n reached for her hand and squeezed. “We’ll get this guy. Together.”

Alex studied her—eyes stormy with something that felt like worry stitched to obsession. She let out a breath and gave a small nod.

Then, just as Y/n turned to leave, Alex said quietly, “Y/n?”

She turned back. “Yeah?”

Alex’s expression was unreadable. “Wear your goddamn safety vest.”

__________________________________________________________

The Next Day, SVU Squad Room – 16th Precinct

You sipped your lukewarm coffee as Olivia slid into her chair across from you, already scanning the folder in front of her.

“Morning, sunshine,” she muttered, barely glancing up.

“Please don’t call me that until this coffee becomes remotely drinkable.”

She smirked but before she could reply, Captain Cragen’s voice echoed across the bullpen.

“Detectives, conference room. Now.”

You shared a glance with Olivia, both knowing that tone meant only one thing: this wasn’t going to be a typical case.

SVU Conference Room

Photos lined the board—blurry surveillance shots, autopsy stills, handwritten victim statements. All women. All found in public places—subway stations, stairwells, alleyways. Same MO: ligature marks around the neck, wrists bound, and each with a distinct cut across the left cheek.

Fin leaned back in his chair, chewing on a toothpick. “That’s three in the last ten days. This guy’s escalating.”

Cragen crossed his arms. “And he’s precise. No DNA, no prints. All three victims were left with a card placed in their pocket.”

He stepped forward, revealing a photo of the calling card: a simple white square. Embossed in silver were the words: "You Were Chosen."

Your blood ran cold.

“The press hasn’t caught wind yet,” Cragen continued, “but they will. We need a break in this pattern before a fourth woman is found.”

You sat up straighter. “What’s the connection between them?”

“Nothing obvious. Different ages, backgrounds, boroughs. We’re working on it,” Olivia said. “But there’s something ritualistic here.”

Cragen nodded. “Y/n, Olivia—you’ll take lead. Fin, Elliot, canvas every location again. There’s something we missed.”

Just as Cragen wrapped the meeting, the door opened.

Alex walks in.

She was all heels and grace, tailored pantsuit sharp, her blonde hair tucked behind one ear. Poised as ever—but her eyes softened the moment they met yours.

“I heard,” she said simply. “Cragen gave me the early summary.”

You tried not to smile in front of your colleagues but failed miserably. Olivia arched a brow at you with a smirk.

Cragen cleared his throat. “We’ll need a tight partnership with the D.A.’s office on this one. If this guy gets caught, we need to make sure he stays in a cell.”

Alex nodded. “I’ll assign myself as lead. I want all case files sent to my office. And—” she looked directly at you, her voice gentle “—Y/n, I’d like you to stop by later. We’ll go over the victim statements and theory of the case.”

It was subtle, but everyone in the room caught the warmth behind her otherwise professional tone.

Elliot leaned toward Olivia. “She’s softened.”

Olivia smirked. “But still terrifying.”

Later that Day – Alex’s Office

You arrived with the files in hand, still in your detective blues, inner collar slightly loosened, top buttons undone. Alex stood by the window, looking out over the city, arms folded across her chest.

“She was twenty-one,” she said quietly, nodding to the most recent victim. “A film student. She had no family here. Alone.”

You stepped closer, placing the files down. “I know.”

Alex turned, her expression composed but her eyes betrayed something else—an ache, a familiar fire.

“I want to rip this man apart,” she whispered. “But I can’t do that. So I’m going to win. In court. But not if you’re…” She hesitated.

You blinked. “If I’m what?”

She looked at you intently. “If you’re the next woman with that card in your pocket.”

A long silence passed between you. The air tightened.

You stepped toward her, your voice low. “Alex, I’m a detective. I do this job. And you know I’m careful—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

Your chest tightened. You had seen Alex furious. Confident. Stern. But rarely this vulnerable.

You reached for her hand and she let you. “I’ll be safe. I promise.”

She exhaled slowly, then leaned in, resting her forehead against yours. “If anything ever happened to you…”

You whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A beat passed. And then Alex pressed a kiss to your temple—soft, reverent, but possessive.

Back at the 16th Precinct

The new case was already taking its toll. The squad was scattered across boards and files, and Olivia gave you a knowing glance as you returned.

“She okay?” she asked quietly.

“She’s trying to be. This case—it’s bringing up a lot for everyone.”

“She loves you, you know.”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. I do.”

Olivia placed a hand on your shoulder, patting it lightly. You muttered out a quick thanks, rounding back to your work desk, settling to lock in.

You stared at the white card on your desk — a replica Cragen had allowed you to hold. “You Were Chosen.”

The words lingered like a breath on your neck.

You tapped the file beside you. The pattern was becoming clear: each victim had followed a similar routine. Late-night commute. Minimal digital footprint. And all had received a text two days before their death — from a number that pinged cell towers across different boroughs.

“We think he’s choosing them online,” Fin explained from behind you. “Chat forums. Possibly dating apps. Real low-key. He builds trust, lures them to a safe location, then… strikes.”

Elliot crossed his arms beside the murder board. “Guy’s precise. Cold. But he wants attention.”

Olivia glanced at you, then toward your phone. “Still nothing?”

You shook your head. “No texts. No card. Yet.”

She didn’t look relieved.

_____________________________________________________

The Next Morning - A.D.A.'s Office

Alex stood beside the whiteboard in her office, hair in an elegant twist, glasses perched low on her nose. She was reading victim logs aloud, but her attention flicked to you every few minutes as you took notes at her table.

“You’re distracted,” she finally said, voice smooth but sharp.

“I’m thinking.”

“About the case?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded. “And about you.”

Alex removed her glasses. “Y/n—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, “you don’t want me near this guy. But I need to get close to him. If he’s selecting women through apps or forums, I might be able to bait him.”

Alex stiffened.

“No,” she said, quiet but forceful. “Absolutely not.”

You leaned forward. “I won’t do anything reckless. You’ll be looped into everything. Hell, I’ll CC you on every move if you want.”

She sighed, stepping closer. “This isn’t about protocol.”

“Then what is it about?”

Her voice cracked. “It’s about you. It’s about the idea of walking into a courtroom to prosecute a man who might’ve already… touched you.”

You were silent for a beat, staring up at her.

Alex rarely revealed her emotions, and when she did, it gutted you.

You reached for her hand. “I promise I’ll be safe. I’ll always come back to you.”

She leaned down slowly, lips brushing yours in a soft kiss. But when she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker, more protective.

“If you’re doing this… I’m assigning myself to every legal motion. And you’ll wear a wire. And—” her voice dipped— “you’ll answer every call I make, even if it’s just to tell me you’re breathing.”

You smiled. “Yes, Counselor.”

———————————————————————————

Duty & Desires Chapter 6

[4rrenstep]

Inspired by this post:

[linkedin-offficial]

me when i get the opportunity to think about speculative biology and non-existent game mechanics in media i like

⠀

[cowboy-robooty]

im not going to lie i have an illuminati type theory that fanfiction has gotten so fucking bad recently as yet another consequence of the pandemic

[miniagula]

yes pomni's caught between them but i know the convo at the ball pit wasn't abt HER as much as it was them bickering over their heartache and vulnerability. I truly think that another new person could've been there, and that convo would still go the same, bc the key there was that they both felt entitled to pomni's attention. she's new!

she's the only bridge Jax hasn't burnt and ragatha hasn't completely befriended! so their conversation isn't rlly abt anything Pomni said or did as much as what the other could be to her.

& at the same time, you can't ignore pomni slowly befriending Jax and getting to know him in a way he likely hasn't allowed himself in a long time (Jax made a point to get to know her! he asked her abt her past! he knows her favorite color! his apology was cheeky, but askance and sincere!)! nor can you ignore rags's anxious stares at the both of them getting along, not just bc she feels like she's failing a role in not being likeable for both of them but bc she's scared of what pomni could turn into. 

and ouugghh the HEARTACHE of Pomni Not Rlly Answering jax's question and only being able to describe ragatha as Nice to Eveyone. rags wants so bad to befriend her, but won't be able to bc she can't let herself open up without regretting it. she's a self-fulfilling prophecy, she's a snake eating her own tail. (and I'd go so far to argue that her fear of Pomni turning into Jax isn't just from her people pleaser tendencies or her relationship w/her mother, but ALSO due to her heartache w/Jax. he pushes her away bc he knows she's not sincere, and as a result she tries harder and rinse and repeat. she resents him bc he's an asshole but still craves his approval regardless. I don't think she's scared of Jax turning pomni into another person that reminds her of her mom. I think she's scared that yet again she'll have another person with that cycle: always yearning to reach and never quite getting close. and, y'know, his jackass tendencies don't help much too lmao).

at the end the day, they don't want to lose their friends again. they don't want to end up alone. (and they don't HAVE to be. and therein lies the agony.)

[tradingjack]

trigun panel redraws from chapters 6-10 (half of these were drawn last year whoops)

anyway i'm so fucking excited for that new trigun ominbus yall dont even know. i fuckin Need it

[toytulini]

oh yeah: Tank Rescape!

[spittinwatches]

This is so messy but tmh silhouette exploration

[pcktknife]

Ive just progressively wanted to exist less and less and less in front of others for like years now and on my worst days it really gets to me

[zoieru]

so many people are sorta leavin or taking breaks or feeling :(

if you're feeling icky i am here giving you a gentle forehead kiss and running my fingers through your hair ༼ つ ◕-◕ ༽つ

know that your thoughts are worthy and we wanna see them ~ even when your brain tells you otherwise

[2016jeeprenegade]

um not really relevant to anything but fuck insurance companies. specifically medical ones

[telesodalite]

Thinking about KrokFire...

Thinking about them sparring in the cargohold, because it's a long trip, and cabin fever is setting in, and Misfire is gonna pop a gasket if he doesn't do something about it soon, since flying in open space gets real boring real fast, and it's making everyone a little nervous, but Krok has time to kill, and maybe, quietly, he's also two steps away from doing something stupid just to feel alive again after cruising around pointlessly, mindlessly, endlessly, for so so long... (It's barely been a month)

And sure, Misfire is a terrible sparring partner. He has no technique, no concept of proper balance, or an inkling of how to use the weight of his own frame. He rushes headfirst like he's more bull than fighter jet, he talks too much, he spits, he bites, and he can't stand losing. But, in a roundabout way, it almost makes him the perfect partner in Krok's eyes.

Crankcase won't spar, "can't" he claims flatly, gesturing at the gaping hole in his helm, but Krok can respect his want for distance. That occasional flash of fear and frozen unease in Crankcase's visor in close combat doesn't go over his head. He knows that look. He gets it. He won't push.

Fulcrum... well, a streetlight might be a tougher fight, or at least it would stay up longer and complain less. So much for a once respectable officer of the empire. What was Deathsaurus' command thinking promoting anyone without any actual combat training? It would almost be pathetic if Fulcrum didn't find a way to put the vitriol of thrown fists into his words instead. Now there was some swears Krok hadn't heard in a couple millennia, it would be inspiring if it wasn't his own spark Fulcrum had been damning to the pits and back through a bloody nose.

Spinister? Now Spinister was a good fighter, a better fighter, Krok wasn't so prideful to deny that truth. He'd tasted the dust of the cargohold floor enough to know it was a definitive fact. But Spinister held back, he was careful, he matched Krok's pace, his movements, he held himself defensively, any attack was quick, simple, and merely restraining. It was less a fight, and more a waiting game until Krok finally gave up, and that... well, that did sting a bit.

But Misfire? Misfire was a different beast all together. Sure Krok could dance circles around the flier all day, but it wasn't totally effortless work, he had to stay sharp, Misfire was so predictably unpredictable, he kept him thinking, moving, on his toes, and maybe it felt good to sidestep another stupid headfirst charge, easily grabbing and swinging Misfire around by his arm, so unbalanced all Krok had to do was let him go, and the weight of his own frame would send him careening into the crates stacked around them.

Most days, Misfire would give up by then, pull himself off the pile of overturned cargo with no small amount of burning shame and frustration, as he avoided Krok's optics and stormed off into the bowels of the ship before Krok could say something to ease the sting of losing again and again. Misfire didn't want his apologies though, and even as a pang of guilt ate at him over it, Krok knew he'd be back eventually.

But today, too pent-up and bored to quit now, Misfire pushed himself back onto his feet and charged back in again, and again, and again.

And Krok moved with him again, and again, and again. It was almost repetitive, but lively enough that he could feel the energon pumping through his head, a thrumming beat in his audials that reminds him of deafening battlefields and roaring stadiums, and oh, he'd missed this feeling, the adrenaline, the movement, more so than he thought he did.

Maybe it's the overconfidence that gets him then, or the memories pulling him out of the present, but Misfire's fist suddenly comes slamming down into his mask, and for a moment everything becomes a blur, until he finds himself on the floor, clutching at the shattered metal falling from his face in disbelief.

Faintly he can feel the twinge of broken mesh, of pain pinching dully across scarred flickering sensors, and maybe it's the adrenaline that pulls a suprised and breathy laugh out of him as he stares down at the pieces in his hand.

Maybe it's also the disbelief, the sudden shock at being struck hard enough to break his mask, by Misfire of all mechs. Or maybe he's cracked his helm, finally snapping something important deep in his processor, some vital function that kept him sane all these years.

Either way, an old familiar buzz of heady energy fills his chest, loosening his joints and straightening his struts as he stands back up, brushing off the broken remains of his mask as he stares back at Misfire, barefaced and bleeding and amused as the flier's optics go bright and wide.

And all Misfire can do for a moment is stand there, wide-eyed and breathless, his own adrenaline filled frame and hammering processor still trying to make sense of the broken plating of his knuckles and the energon trickling down Krok's scarred lips.

But connections are made, and it's a panicked realization at first, a cold dread, a 'ohhhhh fuck oh primus I fucked up I'm dead I'm so fucking dead-!' sort of feeling, as Krok's marred face breaks into an energon stained grin. But then there's another feeling, growing somewhere underneath the panic, a sudden curl of heat in his chest, a flush of pride, conviction, a sort of frenzied joy at the sight of broken mesh and fresh energon, and another rush of hot anticipation as Krok began to move again, circling, waiting, an unspoken question in the air as he rolls his shoulders back and flexes his hands.

And Misfire answers eagerly, suprising himself almost as he charges foward again, wanting more of that feeling, wanting to win again.

It's not really sparring past this point, and somewhere in the back of their minds they both know that. Every strike, every kick, every punch, it's all thoughtless instinct, each clash of plating, and bite of denta, and scrape of fingertips, is part of a mad dash for victory in the gladiator pit of scrap and debris they've built around themselves.

Of course, it can't last forever. They're no real gladiators, no phase-sixers, no primes, and movements get sluggish, vents rattle and wheeze as coolant pumps reach their limits, and building condensation slides powerless punches right off of scuffed metal and mesh.

Even like this though, worn out and bleeding from more scrapes than he had half a mind to count, Krok is still better, and Misfire is still predictable, and it's no great feat to sweep his legs out from beneath him, landing him flat on the floor, wings spread out and chestplate heaving.

Overworked joints sharply protest as he goes to pin the flier down bodily, and finally Krok faces the fact he has to consider how to end this, so he might let his own beaten frame finally still for a moment to breathe.

But as Krok catches one flailing arm in his grip, scoffing at the desperation, still goading Misfire on even as he tries to end this, a hand stubbornly catches his throat, but stops before it can truly squeeze.

And once more they're not really moving, just staring, watching, but it's less wired and tense now, rather, its shaky, a little unfocused, as exhaustion filters out in heaving puffs of hot air between their frames.

Someone's plating is rattling, Krok isn't sure if it's his own or Misfire's, but the cost of adrenaline is painfully noticeable now. His grip loosens on Misfire's arms, and the idea of total victory is less sweet as his cables begin to ache throughout his inner-framework.

But Misfire's hand slides up to catch his jaw before he can lean back and relent to a truce, and he's pulling him closer, and Krok starts to push him off, call it quits before either of them breaks something past repair, but a flash of energon on Misfire lips catches his eye, and that hadn't been there a moment ago?

Before he can even begin to ask what that was supposed to mean, Misfire is pulling him down again, angling his helm upwards to feverishly meet his lips half-way.

Although the mesh of Misfire's face was throughly bruised and scuffed, Krok had frustratingly failed to return the favor of a busted lip. So, it had to be his own, smeared across Misfire's face at some point in the scuffle, it shouldn't have been interesting in the slightest, but Krok's processor was hazy, slow, and his optics trailed Misfire's glossa as he licked his lips and made an odd curious sound.

And maybe it was a stupid move to make so impulsively, one he'd regret making probably, but still too caught up in the waning heated high of the fight, Misfire figured he could worry about losing such a hard-earned battle later. Right now, this seemed far better than actually winning, and the taste of Krok's energon felt like a victory and reward nonetheless.

Bracing himself as Misfire wriggled his other hand free to splay out over his thigh, holding him desperately against his frame as he tried pulling him even closer, Krok considered the heat dispersion warnings flickering distractingly in his peripheral, and the very noticeable strain on his back and legs, even his arms.

It's not a great position to be in right now, after all they've done already. He'll regret it, he knows he will, his body will make sure of it, if Spinister doesn't first.

But then Misfire's glossa is sliding against the jagged edges of his teeth, and he's making hoarse little pathetic noises into Krok's mouth that stoke some sort of ego at having the flier so desperate beneath him, and Misfire's hands are warm and heavy over aching plating and seams, and really, on second thought, after weeks of boredom, why the hell not?

They've got nowhere to be.

[perilegs]

shoutout to people working their dream jobs doing something mundane