#i still remember him from kickin it

[happy-xy]

Leo Howard DAYS OF OUR LIVES | S59E260 | August 23, 2024

[bearforcecaptions]

The spell worked, sort of, but not how I wanted. I did have the body of my dreams – I was Garrett now, but I didn’t realize the catch was that I wouldn’t be able to control what I’m doing unless I’m totally alone. And Garrett, or, me, I guess – I’m nearly never alone! The frat house pretty much always has someone in it, and I’m super popular, too. I thought being Garrett would be fun and easy, but stuck like this, it’s torture!

I figured out the ritual from this old book I found at that occult shop downtown, thinking it would be a quick way out of my boring life and into something… well, something way more interesting. Garrett had it all, or so I thought. Girls loved him, he was in the best shape, and everyone wanted to be his friend. But nobody told me about this weird restriction, or maybe I just didn’t read that part carefully enough. I guess the idea was I’d “experience” Garrett’s life, but it’s like watching a movie, except I’m the star and I can only move on my own terms when no one else is around.

And god, my roommate, he’s actually so stupid. When I can’t control my actions, we bro out all the time, but he’s so vapid. I guess I’m not much better, but it’s actually infuriating. You’d think we could have a conversation that’s not about girls, parties, sports, or video games. But no, every time he starts talking, it’s like Garrett’s body just falls right into the rhythm of it, responding automatically. I tried fighting it at first, but it’s like this autopilot takes over, and I’m just... stuck.

I’ve been scouring the room whenever I get a chance to control things, like right now, looking for any sign or clue on how to undo this. There has to be something I missed. I rummaged through his messy closet, which is packed with clothes, gym stuff, and random junk, none of it useful. The guy keeps his stuff in total chaos, and I feel weirdly exposed, like I’m actually pawing through my own things.

Shit, no, is that the door jangling? I thought I would have a couple of hours to try and figure out how to fix this. Who the hell knows when I’ll get another chan-

Fuuck, bro. Why’s my roomie home early? Thought he went to his ‘rents for the weekend. I was just about to jerk one out too. Ah well, maybe he’ll be down for some Call of Duty or something. I could use a beer.

“Yo, dude, what’s up? You back already?” I say, grinning like an idiot as I lean against the door frame, flexing a bit without even realizing it. Dude probably thinks I’m just chillin’, but nah, I’m feelin' like a boss.

He laughs, dropping his bag by the door and shrugging. “Yeah, man, got bored at home. Figured I’d head back early. Parents were driving me nuts.”

“Oh, for sure, dude,” I nod, grabbing a can of beer from the mini-fridge by my bed. “Parents, am I right? They just don’t get it, bro.” I crack it open, chugging half of it in one go, feeling the cool rush. Damn, that’s good.

He slaps my shoulder, laughing. “Dude, I swear, it’s like every time I go back, it’s the same speech about responsibility and blah blah blah. Like, whatever, right?”

“Oh, totally, man,” I laugh, shrugging it off. “Why they gotta be like that, y’know? We’re just out here living, they don’t get it.” I toss him a beer, feeling that chill vibe kickin’ in, like nothing in the world matters but just hanging with my bro. This is what it’s all about – no worries, no drama, just cold beers and good times.

“Bro, I’m feelin’ a COD sesh,” I say, grabbing the controller off the couch. “You down?”

He grins. “Hell yeah, let’s wreck some noobs.”

We crash down on the couch, controllers in hand, beers in easy reach, and it’s like all the worries in the world just melt away. I’m trash-talkin’, throwin’ down taunts, and we’re both laughing so hard my sides hurt. I don’t even remember the last time I felt this alive.

“You’re so bad, dude,” I laugh, jabbing him in the ribs as I get another kill. “How are you still this bad?”

“Shut up, bro!” he shoves me back, laughing too, and I’m grinning like an idiot.

Fuck, life is good, I think, as I take a gulp of my beer. I got my bros, I got my beer, and I got my games. What more does a dude need? Life’s good.

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway LISTEN I told 'yall November was gonna be "obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU" month, and I really did not INTEND to post my daily words for it again this year but also, like, fuck it, we ball. No promises I will update EVERY day this time around but again: fuck it, we ball. ( also uhhhhh I've been writing this fic kinda-sorta-semi out of order lately but there is still a significant chunk of word count I'd already written that I would've pre-gamed and posted YESTERDAY if I'd thought I was gonna be doing this, sooooo hope nobody minds us kickin' off the month with like an extra 5.9k on top of the 1.6k of obligatory sugar that I ACTUALLY wrote today behind this here cut? yes? no?? Bueller???? )

get sugared, Super-boytoy. Tim, you just . . . you just do your future-supervillain best over there, buddy. you just do what you can with yourself. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I wanted to,” Tim says again, and Kon glances away and bites his lip, turning the flowers by the stem again. 

“It’s, uh–pretty,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s–cool. Thanks.” 

“If I can’t bring you fresh ones, well . . .” Tim shrugs. Kon glances back to him, and very briefly presses one of the orchid blooms against his own mouth. His face is still all flushed and his eyes are still a little soft, and it’s . . . it makes a picture, alright, even if it's not one Tim's specifically set up to take. Especially with the gold eyeliner and his blue eyes both matching the orchids. 

Tim didn't plan that, obviously, but he thinks it makes up for the sapphire versus ruby thing.

“Um . . .” Kon trails off, biting his lip. Glances down at the orchids from under his lashes. It doesn't make him any less of a picture, for sure. “So, um–do you wanna see the ‘something nice’ I got?” 

Tim blinks, immediately thinks of the most embarrassing option that Kon could possibly mean, and desperately tries to fight back a mortified flush at the idea. But, well–everything he can see Kon wearing is something he remembers buying him already, so . . . 

Oh god, he needs his brain to shut up right now. Immediately. Right now and immediately and forever. 

“Sure,” he says like a normal person, trying not to panic. “What is it?” 

Kon, thank god, pulls a little rectangular package inexplicably–and inexpertly–wrapped in newspaper comics out of the same coat pocket he tucked the jewelry box in. There's plain white string tied around it in a bow. 

Tim . . . blinks. 

If he didn't know better, he'd think Kon had . . . 

“I, um, got you something?” Kon says, and Tim stares blankly at the package. He–what? “For once, anyway. Well, I guess, uh, technically you got it for yourself, and actually this is kinda stupid maybe, you can literally just get yourself whatever you want whenever, obviously, but I just thought, uh–” 

“You got me something?” Tim repeats in surprise. Kon turns pink and shoves the package at him. Tim is too bewildered not to take it. 

“I thought it’d be, uh–fun,” he says, biting his lip and still very visibly blushing. “I mean–that we could have some fun with it. Y’know?” 

Tim stares at the package for another moment, then looks up at Kon. Alright, this maybe isn’t exactly the vibe he was going for here in terms of who’s paying for what and who’s giving things to who, but . . . well, Kon apparently used his allowance for whatever this is, at least, which gives him a reason to have wanted the allowance, so . . . he can work with that, he figures. Like, it’s an “in” to work from; a step in the process. 

He can’t tell what Kon’s gotten him from the shape of the package, though the edges are hard even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box or anything. “Have some fun” isn’t much of a clue, though he supposes it does imply something interactive. Maybe it’s a game of some kind, or–

Tim unties the bow and splits apart the clumsy seam of the comic-page wrapping paper with his thumb, tugging through its layers to reveal the package’s contents, and Kon flushes a little darker and watches him just a little bit nervously. 

Tim doesn’t actually know what to say. 

“I just thought, um, a real one’d probably take better pictures than a phone can,” Kon says sheepishly, slanting his eyes away and half-hiding his face behind the orchids. “I made sure the battery was charged and the guy at the store said it's got a lot of storage, I guess, so . . .” 

“You got me a camera,” Tim says blankly, which is the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him short of, like . . . no, it’s pretty much just the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. By far it’s the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. 

“You like taking pictures, right?” Kon fidgets a little, then smiles just barely shyly as he glances back at him. Tim's heart skips a few beats. Or more than just “a few”, maybe. “So, um–I thought maybe we could go do that . . . somewhere. You know, after dinner.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him a little stupidly. It’s not a particularly good camera, honestly–like, it’s a perfectly functional model for casual amateur use and a decently reliable commercial brand, but he’s got much better ones that are all professional-quality. He hasn’t used any of them in a while and most of them are admittedly a few years old now, but . . . yeah, this was a hundred bucks max, if that, and his cheapest camera was over five hundred. 

Note to self: raise Kon’s allowance. 

Also, apparently now his favorite camera is the kind of camera civilian amateurs just take random family photos on. Apparently that’s a thing. 

Tim really doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Kon not only remembered something he mentioned having an interest in, Kon bothered to actually get him something he thought he’d have an interest in. That is really, really not the dynamic he’s been encouraging here, for one thing. And also, why even would Kon do that? Like–really? 

“Thanks,” Tim says sincerely, turning the camera over in his hands and feeling incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “I love it.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, biting his lip around a smile. His face is still a little pink and he looks all soft and pretty like that, especially with the flowers still in his hand. Tim really was not prepared for Kon having “soft and pretty” in his repertoire. Like, that was not a thing he ever expected to see from his cocky, crowing brawler of a teammate. 

Kon’s only a brawler because he thinks he’s supposed to be, though, Tim’s pretty sure. Like–increasingly sure, at this point. 

He really, really needs to figure out how to get Kon to tell Robin more about his TTK. Or, like . . . anything about it, apparently. Just literally any single thing, at this point. 

“Thank you,” he says again, inspecting the camera assessingly and making note of all its functions and ports and the generally obvious basics. “We could go take some shots around downtown later, if you’re up for that?” 

Kon turns bright red, and Tim doesn’t understand for about half a second before remembering–the last time Kon had talked to him about taking pictures, he’d offered . . . 

Oh Jesus. 

Tim is either incredibly stupid or–actually, he doesn’t even know. Lucky? Embarrassing? The dumbest moron alive who didn’t even realize he was being flirted with again? All those things and several even worse ones? 

Kon had offered to let him take spicy pics of him the last time they'd talked about taking pictures, whatever “spicy” means to Kon–brash, impulsive, shameless Kon–and Tim’s the idiot whose first thought upon Kon following up that conversation by very literally giving him a camera was to go take pictures of fucking downtown.

He is the most useless “sugar daddy” to ever sugar. 

Well, to be fair, it is Gotham downtown, so it’s very–

“I like taking pictures of streets and buildings,” he blurts belatedly, fumbling to sound like just the oblivious idiot that he is and not some kind of weird fucking perv who’s trying to get Kon arrested for public indecency. Jesus, he’s stupid. “And people-watching is interesting too. You know, stuff like that.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks several ways at once, including both a little relieved and a little disheartened, which . . . okay, Tim would literally die if they actually went somewhere to take spicy pics tonight, so is unfortunately unavoidable. He’s not trying to make Kon not feel–attractive or anything, but he needs at least twenty-four hours to make a plan and also two or three or seventeen contingency plans before . . . anything like that happens. Ever. Even in theory. “Um–yeah, sure. That sounds cool.” 

“Cool,” Tim says, still desperately pretending to be an idiot. It’s not hard, on account of the fact that he very much is an idiot. 

Kon pauses for a moment, then perks up a little, seeming to think of something, and asks–“When’s dinner?” 

“Our reservation’s in forty-five minutes,” Tim says, double-checking the time on his phone just to be sure. “Well, forty-six. I figured that’d let us take our time walking over and maybe we could window-shop a little on the way.” 

And also shop-shop a lot, if Kon gives him literally even the slightest indication that he wants or needs something. Just if it comes up or anything. That’s all. 

Tim definitely did plan their route to the restaurant to cut straight through the middle of the downtown shopping district, either way. 

“We could’ve just met there, dude,” Kon says wryly, but grins anyway, glancing down at the orchids in his hand again. “Forty-six minutes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Tim confirms. 

“And you like taking pictures of streets and buildings?” Kon asks, his grin turning just a little bit sly. Tim frowns briefly in confusion, not sure what the grin’s about. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotham has a lot of really interesting architecture and design. Like, it’s an old city, and one that’s been pretty resistant to updates in a lot of areas or just not had the money for those updates. So you get a lot of places with a lot of character and it’s basically the bastard child of gothic and art deco design with a side of industrial warehouse, depending on the part of town you’re in. Like, Crime Alley and the Diamond District have very different vibes, but they’re both very Gotham vibes, if you know what to look for. It’s–” 

Kon is grinning really widely at him, for some reason. Tim realizes he’s rambling like a moron and turns red. 

“Uh,” he says, repressing a wince. “Yes. Yeah. I like taking pictures of streets and buildings.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, and then he carefully packs the orchids back into their box and it back into the gift bag and transfers the chocolates and jewelry back into it too, then grins even wider at him as he hooks the bag’s handles over his arm and into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t drop the camera, babe.” 

“Wha–” Tim starts to say, and then Kon grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley, which is terrible survival instincts for Gotham, oh god, but before Tim can say anything about that Kon’s wrapped an arm around his waist just tight enough to just barely lift him off his feet and bolted straight up into the air with him. “Shit!”

Tim doesn’t drop the camera because he’s held onto cameras while falling off literal buildings before, but definitely only because of that. Muscle memory, or whatever. Also he’s been snatched off his feet by Bruce and Dick plenty of times and thrown off rooftops by multiple rogues and thugs over the years and these days gets regularly dragged around by Bart, all while holding very important things he could not afford to drop, so it’s not like either the sudden jolt or the effort to keep his grip on the camera are as disorienting as it otherwise would be. Just . . . 

Ugh, Tim realizes, absolutely unimpressed with himself upon realizing that the breathless feeling he’s having right now is not actually related to the swift and sudden increase in altitude, but is actually just because it’s Kon holding him. 

He is an idiot, isn’t he, he reflects resignedly. Just an actual literal idiot. 

Jesus. 

“Whatcha think?” Kon asks with a grin as he comes to a stop in mid-air with him. He stops very suddenly, but Tim notices a distinct lack of jarring with said stop, which implies Kon’s got his TTK around him again and probably completely around him, which means–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and very quickly makes himself stop thinking about that. 

“It’s cool,” he says, because a normal civilian would think flying was something interesting and unusual, but it’s hard to act too excited about a move Kon probably pulls on literally everyone he–

“I meant the view, babe!” Kon says with a laugh, and Tim . . . blinks. 

And then he looks down. 

They’re hovering a few thousand feet up, and downtown is already lit up bright in the early evening gloom. And Kon . . . 

“Streets and buildings, as ordered,” Kon says, grinning wider with a smug, cocky look on his face. 

Oh no, he’s hot, Tim realizes with dread, and then blinks again. Stares down at the city below, past the whipping wind and down into the busy streets and the bright, dazzling lights cutting through the murky gloom. He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, obviously, because of course he has–he’s been climbing these rooftops for years, and every night he runs across and swings back and forth between them and utterly fails to learn how to do more than a double backflip. 

One day, he promises himself distractedly, and then looks back at Kon. 

He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, but never just because someone thought he’d like it. Like–not like this, he means. Dick's shown him a few particularly special or exhilarating views over the years, yeah, but . . . definitely not like this. Not for a reason like this. 

And definitely not while peacocking all smug and pretty dressed up in clothes that he bought him and holding him close enough to kiss. 

Kon’s expression turns a little sheepish; a little soft. Not quite shy, but . . . 

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice pitched a little quieter, and Tim has the much worse and even more dread-inducing realization of oh no, he’s CUTE.

He swallows, briefly, and feels his face burn. 

“Yeah,” he manages in an almost-normal voice. “I like it.” 

Kon grins at him, brighter than any city light, and Tim barely keeps himself from dropping the camera after all. 

“Thanks,” he attempts awkwardly, making himself focus on the camera and resisting the urge to take an immediate shot of that city-light grin. 

Then he takes one anyway, because of course he does. Kon laughs in surprise, then makes a face at him teasingly. 

“Hey, you can buy this face in any cheap gossip rag, focus on the fun stuff,” he jokes, jerking his head towards the city below. Tim looks searchingly at him for a moment, and then for obvious reasons snaps another picture. Kon flushes a little again. They probably won't even come out from this close, but . . . 

“You’re the most fun I’ve had all week,” Tim says, which is definitely too honest but clearly necessary to make a point of saying. Kon turns redder, ducking his head and grinning around his bitten lip. 

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing to me, man,” he says, and it comes across almost like a reflex. Tim hates . . . yeah, just literally everybody Kon’s ever known in his whole entire life, actually? Like, pretty much everybody? Bart gets a break because he grew up alone in VR and is therefore terrible with people and the girls get a break because they haven’t known any of them that long, but everybody else can just take a long walk off a short gutter, in Tim’s opinion. 

Especially any “everybody” from Cadmus. 

Or Metropolis, at this point. 

“I’m not saying anything I don’t want to say,” he says simply, and goes to the effort to frame a few shots of the skyline so Kon will know he appreciates . . . well, not the angle, exactly, but the thought. 

Technically he is usually on top of a building when he’s doing this, so the angle is actually a slightly different one than he’s used to–not that he’s been taking photos lately, just–not the point, really. Kon got him a camera and brought him up here because he clearly thought he’d like it, and damned if Tim is gonna do anything to make him think he doesn’t. 

He has better cameras for things like this–aerial shots and night photography and long-distance and the like, and better cameras for closeup candids too–but he already knows these pictures are all going to be exactly what he wants them to be, even the ones that don't come out. 

Or especially those, maybe. 

He's not sure how he'd explain that feeling to someone else. 

Kon flies them around, staying out of sight behind the light pollution and among the shadows of the buildings, and Tim takes . . . a lot more pictures than he needs to, actually. He was just trying to make sure Kon knew he appreciated him thinking of him, but actually . . . 

Well. 

It’s fun, that’s all. 

It’s . . . been a while, kinda, since he got to spend this much time on just photography and nothing else. Or–any time at all, really. 

Not that this is nothing else, obviously, given that Kon’s holding him and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything besides that, but it is the kind of a view a standard civilian never gets, and it’s kind of nice to be flying for non-work-related reasons, for once. Like . . . novel, he guesses. A different experience. 

Technically he and Dick do “fly” together just for fun, sometimes, but that’s different. Like–so many kinds of different. It helps them in their work–keeps the rooftops familiar and them both in shape and in sync–but he can’t take photos when he’s trying to keep up with Nightwing across the rooftops of Gotham, and it’s not like Dick’s carrying him either. 

Also, it’s much less flustering and difficult to concentrate through, because again, Dick is not carrying him, and also Dick doesn’t do things like wear clothes he bought or do his eyeliner and paint his nails for him. Or, uh . . . anything like that. 

Also, definitely the “spicy pics” thing is not at all a thing, with Dick. Like, not even slightly, in any way whatsoever. And they’ve also never made out in a changing room or the back of a planetarium or– 

Look, there’s a lot of ways it’s different, okay? 

A lot of ways. 

“I'm not boring you, am I?” Tim asks a little bit sheepishly as Kon lands them on a ledge just behind one of the bigger gargoyles, tucked in tight in the shadows between it and the building it's perched on. “We can probably still fit in some window-shopping before dinner, if you want.” 

“Oh my god, dude, I promise we can do things you don't have to spend money on,” Kon says with a laugh as he lets him down on the ledge. “Though if it helps you technically did spend money on this, given how I got the camera and all.” 

“It's your allowance,” Tim says, because he wants to make sure Kon actually gets that. “You can spend it however you want.” 

“Well, I spent it how I wanted,” Kon says, and then steps closer into his space with a smile. Tim ends up sitting on the gargoyle’s back as Kon leans down to kiss him, and it's not like he's never kissed anyone while perched on a gargoyle before, but somehow it feels like something new anyway. New and electric, bright and easy and smeared with the city lights and thrilling in its shadows, and– 

Kon breaks off the kiss, though he keeps a hand on Tim’s arm, probably to make sure the squishy untrained civilian won't accidentally fall off the ledge and get splatted on the concrete. Tim barely holds himself back from chasing his mouth. 

“It's cool, anyway. Um, doing stuff you're into with you, I mean,” Kon says, looking a little soft and almost-shy again, and never mind, Tim not only needs to chase his mouth, he needs to set up a damn manhunt for it. “You're real cute when you get excited, man. I mean, uh–just–” 

The manhunt is going to require a very significant budget, Tim notes. 

Then he kisses him again, obviously. Kon melts down into it–into him, really–and wraps his arms around his neck, and Tim feels several kind of ways about it. Admittedly, it's the easier option with him sitting on the gargoyle and Kon leaning over him, but Kon's put his arms around his neck a couple of times now, and, well . . . 

That's just not something he would've expected from him, he guesses. Not “cool” or masculine or badass or . . . whatever, exactly, Kon thinks he's supposed to be. 

So Tim . . . likes it, he thinks, that Kon doesn't seem to think he needs to be like that around Tim Drake. 

Robin’s sure as hell never seen Kon in eyeliner. 

Robin's loss, Tim thinks. 

. . . maybe he's compartmentalizing a little too much these days, but still. 

Kon makes a very, very soft little sound between their mouths and then laughs, and Tim promises himself he won't stop at Gotham: he'll take over Metropolis for this asshole one day. Even if that means putting up with Lex Luthor and Superman. And also, like . . . everything about Metropolis. 

He'll figure it out. Supervillainy is still a long-term plan, so he's got time. 

Anyway, if he gives it to Kon after he takes it over he won't have to put up with it, so it's whatever. Sugar daddies do that kind of thing, right? Get their sugar-ees a city? 

. . . okay, definitely not. Like, very definitely not. 

“Okay date idea, then?” Kon asks as he leans back a bit and does a very bad job of biting back a smile, his face a little flushed and arms squeezing a little tighter around his neck. 

Tim will get him Metropolis if it kills Lex Luthor. 

“Very okay,” he says, smiling back at him. Kon grins, his face turning just a little bit redder, and then kisses him again. Tim has absolutely no complaints about that. Ever. He can’t even imagine a complaint he’d have about that, in fact. 

Worst case scenario, he’ll get them in at another restaurant if they miss their reservation. 

He really doesn't know what else he's supposed to do about how easy Kon blushes. 

They definitely spend too long making out against the gargoyle and Tim definitely lets himself get too riled up during it–and does not think about tactile telekinesis or any kind of related passive perception while he does–but by the time he’s the one pressing Kon back against the building, he really doesn’t care anymore. 

The fact Kon is even willing to let him do that when there is literally no way Tim could ever actually pin him anywhere without a way to sabotage his powers is . . . really, really distracting. Just–so distracting. 

Jesus, Tim thinks, breaking off just long enough to catch his breath for a moment. Kon pants softly against his mouth, which sabotages that even worse than kryptonite would sabotage TTK. 

Jesus, Tim thinks again, and then crushes their mouths back together. 

He doesn’t need to breathe that often. 

Kon makes a softer, breathier sound this time, and Tim does not let himself make it weird by letting his hands wander anywhere outside of second base territory. Frankly he’s not sure second base territory isn’t him making it weird, but Kon started it, so hopefully it’s not? Like–logically it’d follow that Kon wouldn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want touched, right? 

Well–hopefully, anyway. 

The air feels tight, Tim notices suddenly, like the feeling of sinking into deeper pressure when underwater but all at once, and then realizes–oh. 

Uh. 

Okay. 

“Um,” he says, and immediately the feeling of pressure vanishes as Kon jerks back and claps a hand over his own mouth. Which is mostly him pushing Tim back, given their position, but he does crack the brickwork behind him a little. 

Whoops, Tim thinks. 

“Sorry!” Kon blurts. “Sorry, sorry, that’s–sorry! I just, uh–got a little too into it. I won’t do it again.” 

“It’s really not a problem,” Tim says, with absolutely no idea how to take the idea of Kon getting “a little too into it” when kissing him, or the idea that getting a little too into it apparently involves getting wrapped up in TTK a lot more noticeably than making him bulletproof at the museum did. “I mean–it didn’t hurt or anything, I was just surprised.” 

“I–yeah, I know, it’s just–weird,” Kon says, still looking mortified. “So–sorry. That’s all.” 

“I don’t mind weird,” Tim says, because actually the idea of being temporarily at least as invulnerable as Kon is while making out with him implies being able to devote a lot more attention to said making out, as opposed to keeping half an eye out for snipers or rogues or random rooftop criminals. Not that he’d stop paying any attention to that, obviously, just–yeah. Well. 

It’s a little tempting, that’s all. 

“Uh–you don’t?” Kon bites his lip, still looking a little embarrassed. 

“It kind of just felt like scuba-diving, but with less equipment involved,” Tim says with a little shrug, keeping his tone light because “seriously, you have no idea how much I’d like to not be compulsively keeping an eye out for snipers right now” isn’t a very “civilian” thing to say. “And I’m not about to complain about you enjoying kissing me that much either way.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and flushes a little. “Uh–really?” 

“Really,” Tim says, smiling at him again and tugging gently at the lapels of his jacket to pull himself back in. Kon blushes, and grins, and meets him halfway for the kiss. The sensation of pressure wraps him up again, gentle but undeniable, and Tim feels several kinds of ways about it. 

Maybe even a little bit safe, or at least as safe as anyplace outside the Batcave ever gets. 

Tim knows there’s no such thing as being perfectly, completely safe, but getting all wrapped up in Kon’s TTK and kissed for it makes it hard to remember that. 

Very, very hard. 

They spend a much longer time making out this time. Tim is vaguely aware that they still have a dinner reservation to make, but . . . well, he did pad the time to allow for window-shopping, so even with the time they spent flying around taking pictures, it's probably fine? 

Yeah, no, they’ve definitely missed their reservation by now. Probably way past missed it. Just so, so far past missed it. 

Weirdly, Tim doesn’t care as much as he should, even though he really prefers when things go to plan and also needs Kon to feel appreciated and like he got properly spoiled and taken someplace nice. He’s going to have to figure out something else on the fly, though, because he really does needs Kon to feel appreciated and also needs the excuse to get him more used to getting money spent on him and–

Tim remembers that he needs to breathe more than he's currently breathing and breaks off the kiss. Kon half-chases his mouth with his own, audibly breathless himself. Tim is not equipped to handle Kon breathless. 

That might actually be more flattering than the TTK thing. Or, uh–flustering, maybe. 

Both, maybe. “Both” is probably accurate here. 

Jesus, Tim does not know what he did to deserve Kon getting breathless over something he’s done to him, much less all soft and pretty and–

They have definitely, definitely missed their reservation. Usually Tim has a better sense of time than that, but usually Tim doesn’t have Kon wanting to make out on a Gotham rooftop with him, Like, he thinks he can forgive himself a little bit of disorientation on that one, considering. 

. . . as long as Bruce never finds out he messed up that bad, anyway. Because Bruce would definitely not like hearing he’d messed up that bad, TTK or not. 

Probably especially involving the TTK, actually. Probably Bruce would not take “yeah I let Superboy get distracted enough to unconsciously wrap me up in his Kryptonian-level superpowers while he wasn’t in full control of them and actually, like, encouraged it, kinda? like, explicitly encouraged it, actually”. 

Yeah, Bruce would not like that. 

“Um,” Tim says, and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “So, uh–hungry yet?” 

“You could say that,” Kon murmurs, then flashes him a sharp, wicked grin with his eyes slit open just enough to fix on Tim’s mouth. Tim spares a moment to compartmentalize just enough to not lose his mind about that, then makes the mistake of licking his lips anxiously, sees Kon’s hooded eyes go hot at the sight, and immediately fails to not lose his mind. 

“Uh,” he manages, and then decides they don’t really need to get dinner just yet and maybe they could just, like–no, no, Kon is definitely not getting enough calories from that stupid barely-legal underground lab’s stupid definitely-not-health-code-compliant cafeteria, Tim is not gonna be a bad enough date to not get his date a respectable amount of calories. That is just not a thing that he’s gonna, like . . . thing, as a thing. Or whatever. 

Not like Superman’s been bringing Kon casseroles or anything, the prick. 

“Um, I–uh, might’ve let us get a little too distracted, sorry,” Tim attempts after a moment of mental fumbling, making himself push back from Kon a little and pulling his phone out to check the time. Yeah, they have definitely missed their reservation. Very, very thoroughly have they missed it. 

Dammit. That is not Bat-quality situational awareness. 

“You think that was just you, man?” Kon asks with a little laugh, just barely ducking his head and biting his lip. It is . . . very distracting. As is his face. And his hands, which are still loosely on Tim’s back, and his TTK, which is still loosely . . . basically everywhere, yeah. Just–way too many places for Tim to be rational about, basically. 

“I mean, I was the one who made the reservation,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does his best to at least fake rationality. “So, uh, I should’ve been paying attention to the time. I can see if there’s someplace we can still slip in, it’s a little last-minute for a Friday but–” 

Kon kisses him again. 

Tim was saying something, he’s reasonably sure, but he couldn’t remember whatever it was with a gun to his head. A gun to his head while out of his suit and without Kon on the same floor as him, to be clear. 

Kon leans back and grins at him, all bright and pretty and cutting right through the shade and shadows of Gotham like a spotlight-signal lighting up the cloud cover. Tim remains vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing . . . something. At some point. In theory. 

God, Kon is so pretty. So, so pretty. And everything he’s wearing is something Tim bought him, coat and clothes and jewelry and all. Just–all of it, as far as he can see. 

Tim does not let himself think about what else Kon might or might not be wearing right now. Just–that way lies madness, and also Kon not getting a decent dinner and decent spoiling. 

. . . there’s probably some other ways Tim could spoil him, technically, if he just– 

Tim does not finish that thought. 

“You’re so fucking cute, daddy,” Kon says, still grinning just as signal-bright and pretty at him. Tim is not prepared for literally any of that and nearly melts right off the ledge into an incoherent mess of street pizza. 

“Uh,” he says, swallowing roughly. “We should–are you hungry yet?” 

Kon laughs, for some reason. Tim very quietly and carefully burns alive, and then Kon floats up a few inches and ducks around him and back out into the open air, leaning down to grin at him and reaching to–probably he’s intending to pick him up again, Tim’s brain is vaguely aware, but the rest of Tim is thinking more like hurr durr pretty boy, which is definitely why he ends up reaching up to cup Kon’s face in his hands and tug him down for another kiss, pushing himself up on his toes on the edge of the ledge to reach him easier. Kon makes a soft, breathless little noise, then laughs in delight and kisses him back. 

The wind is cold and sharp and the evening sky is all heavy dark clouds and hazy light pollution and Kon’s wearing clothes Tim bought him, some of which Tim even suggested to him, and he put on makeup and painted his nails to come see him and he’s got a gift bag of little things Tim picked out for him hooked in the crook of his elbow and he liked all of those little things, and they’ve not only missed but obliterated their dinner reservation, and they’re half-on a ledge high above the street and kissing and Kon is just so pretty.

And Kon also bought him a camera and brought him up here because he thought he’d like it and called him “cute”, which are all facts that Tim is definitely going to have to compartmentalize to fully process later, or else he really will melt right off the stupid ledge. 

The spicy pics thing, also, is a thing. The spicy pics thing is, uh–very much a thing. 

Tim is maybe just never gonna process that particular fact in, like, self-defense. 

Ever. 

. . . god, he’s going to have to process that fact at some point, isn’t he. God. That is . . . that is a whole thing that he is going to have to do. Like, effectively and well and throughly.

Maybe it’s not too late to just go supervillain right now, actually. Maybe Kon would be open to, like, minionhood or something. Lots of supervillains put their minions up in their lairs, right? That’s totally a thing, isn’t it? 

Ugh, no, Kon deserves a place he can really feel like is his place and also he has not laid near enough groundwork to get Dick to switch sides. Like, Alfred would, obviously. Alfred will be on-board the second the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan comes up and will probably have useful notes to add. But Dick is gonna require some more long-term finessing and Babs definitely won’t come if Dick doesn’t and– 

Kon laughs into the kiss and cups Tim’s face in return, which is incredibly distracting, and then squishes his face, which is incredibly annoying. 

“Hey!” Tim sputters, and Kon laughs again and leans back just enough to grin at him. 

“You are so weird, dude,” he says. “I can literally hear you thinking.” 

“. . . that’s not me being detached from the situation, I–” Tim starts, unable to repress a wince, and Kon just grins wider, grabs his wrists, and tugs him off the ledge and–oh, okay, that’s a weird sensation, Tim notes, because gravity does absolutely nothing at all to him until Kon’s pulled him into his arms and wrapped him up in them again all easy and secure. . 

So that’s . . . yeah, no, “incredibly distracting” isn’t actually gonna cover this one, considering. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking a couple of times. That. That is definitely not how Superboy holds Robin. 

Frick. 

“I just gotta keep you better attached, right, daddy?” Kon purrs–really purrs, his chest briefly vibrating against Tim’s–and then grins wider at him again with eyes that are, unfortunately, literally goddamn sparkling right now–thanks, gold eyeliner, Tim didn’t need those higher thought processes–before giving him another quick little kiss that Tim actually would like to turn into a four-hour make-out session and maybe also a sleepover and–

God he needs to remember how to compartmentalize. He really, really needs to remember how to compartmentalize. 

Also he needs to kiss Kon’s literal friggin’ brains out, the smug friggin’ asshole.

Mid-air makeouts are the worst possible idea Kon has ever inflicted on him and Tim would sooner fight Killer Croc without his utility belt than point that fact out to him. 

He winds his arms around Kon’s neck and kisses him back, and Kon makes this tiny little–not pleased, not content, but actually happy-sounding noise and kisses back harder. Tim feels gravity stop being a particularly relevant concern again and feels like he’s floating in deep, heavy water but also like he’s the lightest he’s ever been in his life, and it is . . . it is a feeling, alright. 

Kon is a menace. Kon is a problem. 

Kon is so, so damn cute. 

“You are an actual literal brat, baby,” Tim mutters slightly more feelingly than he means to, and Kon’s laugh comes out a little breathier this time and he ducks his head to the side and his face flushes and–

No. Nope. No. Tim needs to not learn anything new about himself or Kon tonight, or, worse, anything about him and Kon. That is just not a thing he has time for in his schedule. He’s got to fit in an anxiety attack and three full files’ worth of casework this weekend, for one, plus his science presentation and that make-up book report, and also come up with someplace else nice enough to take Kon to dinner tonight. 

“So, uh–dinner?” he says very quickly–self-defense, again–and Kon bites his lower lip and grins around it, his face still turned just a little bit away. Tim pretends they’re not effectively pressed together from knee to neck right now. Pretends valiantly. “I mean–um, if you’re hungry yet.” 

Kon laughs, ducking his head lower, the dangling gold teardrop hanging from his ear gleaming warmly in the murky electric city light. Tim goes through multiple stages of emotional processing to keep himself from kissing his neck right behind that earring and completely forgetting about not only dinner, but all his homework and casework and even the anxiety attack. 

Does Kon laugh this much around Robin? 

Tim really doesn’t feel like he does. 

He also doesn’t tell Robin very important things like the fact that he can make other people bulletproof on a whim and map out an entire mall just by standing in it, which is objectively much worse and potentially dangerous a thing not to do, but also Tim is already positive he’s going to miss that laugh like crazy every time he sees Kon with the mask on. 

Robin doesn’t get to see Kon like this at all, even when he lets the asshole eat both stupid boxes of cinnamon bread. 

“Dinner, yeah,” Kon says, grinning again and then taking off backwards across the sky, apparently unconcerned about their chances of hitting a building. Tim’s not really in a proper carry so much as just stretched out against him and wrapped up in his arms, but given the nature of how Kon’s powers work, an actual carry is obivously not really a concern, so . . . 

Oh, Tim realizes as Kon tips back just enough to be reclining in the air, still flying without any apparent care or concern for the aerodynamics of the situation or anything but staying more or less out of view of anyone on the street below. 

Avoiding the street view is good. 

The part where now he’s essentially laying on top of Kon is . . . less good, maybe. 

Maybe he won’t have to convince Kon to go supervillain, at least. Maybe Kon’s already there. 

“Where to, daddy?” Kon asks with a smirk, keeping one arm looped around Tim’s waist and folding the other behind his own head like he’s laying out in a lounge chair on the beach. Tim thinks longingly of smothering him and also of getting him to take down his TTK so he could bite a hickey or five into his neck. Maybe six. He could probably do six. 

Or seven. 

“Northeast towards Broad Street,” Tim says as he tips his head in the appropriate direction, then pulls up the camera again and snaps a quick shot of Kon’s smug smirk, which immediately breaks into a surprised laugh as the other flushes again. 

He takes a picture of that too. 

“You flirtin’ again already, man?” Kon asks with a sheepish little laugh, like the bastard has any room to talk. 

“The position’s pretty good for it, that’s all,” Tim says with a level of casualness he absolutely does not feel. Kon flushes darker and bites his lip again, still just barely grinning. Tim, ethically, has no choice but to take a few more pictures. 

“Oh my god,” Kon says, laughing again and unfolding the arm he has tucked behind his head to hide his eyes behind instead. Tim is maybe a little bit too aware of the line of his throat under the neck of his shirt, without his eyes and the sparkle there to be distracting him into a useless stupid mushbrained might-as-well-be-a-civilian, observationally-speaking. “I’m not a building, you absolute nerd!” 

“I said I liked people-watching too, didn’t I?” Tim points out reasonably, though mostly his brain’s occupied with the question of–“Hey. If you let down your TTK a bit, could a baseline-DNA human give you a hickey? Like, is that physically possible, or are you too Kryptonian for that?” 

“Oh my god,” Kon repeats, laughing harder even as the flush on his face spreads down his neck. Tim wonders how warm that might feel under his mouth. “I, uh–dunno, man. Maybe?” 

Tim silently resolves himself to finding literally any excuse to conduct that experiment and moves a hand to cup the side of Kon’s throat, eyeing it consideringly. Kon makes a slightly weird noise and visibly swallows, and Tim belatedly realizes that he’s paid literally no attention whatsoever to whether or not they’re about to hit a building or a flagpole or a roof this entire flight; he just assumed Kon had it handled. The Bat-paranoia kicks in and he glances up reflexively, and just as reflexively slides the pad of his thumb across Kon’s pulse. Their flight path is clear; they’re high enough to avoid most of the buildings in this area. Definitely still gonna need to keep an eye out for radio towers and billboards, but . . . 

Kon swallows again, the gesture a little bit rough this time. Tim feels the other’s throat flex against his palm. That sure is . . . that sure is a thing that Tim feels right there. That invulnerable throat flexing right there against his palm, and maybe not necessarily having to be invulnerable, if Kon didn’t want it to be. 

. . . . . . he already said he didn’t have time to learn anything new about himself tonight, dammit.

[brodygold]

The Promotion

It was a bright afternoon at the Golden Army training ground, and the sun gleamed off the freshly cut grass. The lads had just finished their warm-up, their golden jerseys catching the sunlight, making them look like a squad of champions before the match had even begun. The vibrant gold stood out even more against the pitch, a reminder of their unity and pride.

But today wasn’t just about training or prepping for the match. There was something in the air—a quiet anticipation. The team had gathered in the middle of the field, forming a tight circle around their captain, Richard. His golden jersey bore the captain’s insignia and number 12, but his usual stoic expression cracked into a grin as he looked over at Scott, standing to his right.

“Alright, bros, we’ve got somethin’ special today,” Richard announced, his voice booming across the field. “Scott here’s movin’ up in the ranks. Starting today, he’s officially our lead recruiter.”

A wave of cheers rolled through the group, but Scott, always the cheeky one, held up his hand with that trademark smirk. His golden jersey seemed to shimmer as he stood there, soaking in the attention.

“Oi, settle down, you lot,” Scott chuckled, his British accent thick as ever. “Listen, I ain’t one for big speeches, yeah? But let me just say this—bein’ part of the Golden Army means more than just kickin’ a ball around in these shiny golden kits. Nah, it’s about us bein’ a unit, about lookin’ out for one another.”

He shot a playful glance at Logan, who had been tying his boots. “Even you, Logan, when ya remember how to pass.”

Logan looked up with a grin. “Oi, you can’t talk, Scott. Last game you missed that sitter!”

The team erupted into laughter, and Scott shrugged. “Alright, fair point, mate. But we all know I make up for it by gettin’ us the best players, right?”

Scott’s grin grew wider as he crossed his arms. “And that’s why Richard’s made me lead recruiter. It’s on me now to bring in the best talent. But listen, lads, it’s not just about findin’ someone who can score goals or stop ‘em—it’s about findin’ people who fit into this,” he gestured to his golden jersey, “into this squad, into this brotherhood. People who’ll fight for each other on and off the pitch.”

Richard nodded, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Couldn’t have said it better meself.”

Scott stepped forward, slapping his chest lightly where the golden crest of the team shimmered in the sunlight. “And don’t worry, I’ll still be here, on the field, showin’ the new lads how it’s done. But if ya see me scoutin’, just know we’re buildin’ somethin’ even bigger. We’re goin’ for the top, boys, and we need the right players to take us there.”

The squad clapped, a few of the players throwing playful jabs at Scott as they passed him. He pointed at Brody, who stood off to the side. “Oi, Brody! If you don’t help me out, mate, I’ll recruit your spot too!”

Brody smirked. “Yeah, yeah, Scott. You recruit; I’ll just keep winnin’ games.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “That’s the spirit, mate.”

With the team still buzzing from the announcement, Richard clapped his hands together. “Alright, enough chatting! Back to training. We’ve got a big one this weekend!”

As the team broke apart and began to jog back across the field, their golden jerseys catching the light with every movement, Scott felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. He’d been with the Golden Army long enough to know what they stood for���loyalty, strength, unity. And now, it was on him to find the next wave of legends to carry on that legacy.

Jogging to catch up with the group, Scott shouted with his usual enthusiasm, “Let’s go, boys! No slippin’ today! We’re buildin’ somethin’ golden, and we ain’t stoppin’ till we’re at the top!”

[tekumaniac311]

Open Arms: Admittance.

One day later.

Dogday got up like any normal day, got his coffee, his breakfast and was discussing the latest information with his fellow Space Riders.

Picky Piggy was collecting the empty dishes preparing to clean them when she asked "Hey, captain? Did you hear that-" "My brother got suspended? Yeah." Dogday said with a tone. "The guy..honestly had it coming, i heard from Poppy he caused a lot of property damage, costing a cargo shuttle load of Credits." Bubba spoke

Dogday sighed "Maybe....I should go visit him, Poppy told me he was spending his suspension on Eden." Hoppy however just shrugged "Your brother's kind of a jerk, FixFox was gonna let me test ride one of her vehicles until I got a call from her saying that Dogbite wouldn't let her allow me."

"Prettybird told me she spent over an hour in the mirror only for your brother to cancel her date with me." Kickin added "I think it's my fault." Their captain sighed "Yours?" Catnap signed, to which Dogday nodded "Remember back at the academy, I was focused on classes, you guys and...justice. Not my brother, when he joined a year later I heard he had formed his own team and thought he was doing well."

"Did you visit him by chance?" Bubba asked, only for Dogday to shake his head "No. I just thought he was doing okay." He sighed and looked out the window "If i just talked, just TALKED to him time to time back in the academy. Asked how he was. Or congratulated him on his successes. Things would've been different.."

"You blame yourself for the way he acts?" Bubba deduced, Dogday just nodded, agreeing. Dogday's ears flicked hearing the sound of hooves clicking closer and fast, Craftycorn rushed in with a package "Captain! Captain!" She cried "What's the matter, Crafty?" Dogday asked before Craftycorn presented the package to him "You have a package. It's from The Seraphim.."

Within a minute, the crew had gathered in the meeting room as Bubba opened the package to reveal a holodisk, putting it in the tables computer, the hologram activated to reveal The Seraphim herself. "Dogday Solaris. I am sure you are most delighted to see me."

"Oh boy, wonder why.." Hoppy moaned as the hologram played. "I have something that may inquire your interest." With a smooth gesture of her hand she reveals..Dogbite, strung up with his arms apart and his legs tied, Dogday immediately got up from his seat as he saw in horror.

"I believe this person is of most importance to you, Dogday." The Seraphim said calmly, the loud humming of generators activated and shot a blast of electric energy down on Dogbite, all Dogbite could do was scream in agony. "No..!" Dogday whined. After the electric energies subsided, Seraphim softly stroked Dogbite's chin. "Smile, Space Rider. Your brother is watching this."

"SCREW YOU!!" Dogbite growled, spitting at the Seraphim "What a charmer your brother is.." Seraphim replied, "Your brother, as well as your parents must be proud of you for this." She said, caressing Dogbite's head "Do you have anything to say, Dogbite?"

Dogbite, lifting his body against the ropes holding him up looked directly at the camera, his eyes sunken with tiredness. "Ludwig, Poppy, my team...my brother...they were all right. Right about me..." He whimpered before lowering his head.

"Dogbite..." Dogday whispered as he continued to watch the video. "No need to plant a rescue, Space Riders. I will have my fellow followers deliver him to you in due time...perhaps his legs first."

With that, the hologram ended and Dogday was silent, still as a rock. Taking in the news that his brother is captive...suddenly screaming in anger Dogday picked up his chair and tossed it at the wall, shocking everyone.

Dogday slowly calmed down, his breathing calmer as he turned to his friends. "Sorry...I just snapped..I gotta save him!"

"You mean WE, right?" Kickin stood up replying. "Yeah...Bubba, can you track where Dogbite is?" Dogday asked

"For sure, it was the Seraphim's factory in the Calypso galaxy. On a dead planet." Bubba told him "Right, Catnap, you and I will contact Dogbite's team. Bubba, you Picky and Bobby set course for that planet, this will be an all hands on deck rescue mission!" Dogday ordered.

"All hands on deck, so all of us?" Hoppy asked "That's right." Dogday responded and looked out the window "Please be alive when we get there, little brother.."

On the dead planet, the Seraphim walked into the chamber holding Dogbite, still strung up and weakened. "Your brother should have received my present by now." She said softly "Shut up you witch..." Dogbite groaned "Lights out for now, Space Rider. Tomorrow, your legs will be my 'pets' breakfast." She said as she left, leaving Dogbite in the darkness.

While Dogbite was alone with his thoughts, he had finally, after all this time, realized his behavior was indeed souring his team, his recklessness was getting himself and others in danger, his alienating was incredibly unfair to his team and that his grudge was only going to get him killed. A single tear ran down his cheek as he admitted to himself.

"I am my own worst enemy..."

TO BE CONTINUED

Space Riders belong to @onyxonline

[queer-here-and-in-fear]

remember (to call back)

A03 link

description:

Stanford Pines swayed in the wind, carelessly perched on the cabin. More relaxed and still then Fiddleford could remember him ever being. Icicles clung to his glasses, his lips were tinted blue. The sight made Fiddleford’s heart jump into his throat. OR Fiddleford McGucket (and Stanley Pines) are both deadset on keeping Stanford from killing himself. Something he is not trying to do.

notes:

i am so happy to finally have this out!! @anonymous-chicken-was-taken and @kitkatcatmeow (both @ tumblr) were my beta readers and were AMAZING HELP, a million thanks to them!! i hope its a good read!!

Gravity Falls winter winds were darned vicious; they fought and kicked like any wild hog. It was as if the weather itself was trying to keep him away from that cabin, and Fiddleford reckoned his boots would be scuffed like shit after this. 

He couldn’t call it in now, though. He just couldn’t. The cabin - the hole to hell Ford had dug himself with his bare hands, the monument to all the terrible and wonderful and deadly parts of Stanford Pines, every single mistake of the last years, - it had what he needed. The memory gun.

Cause Fiddleford could not go on remembering.

He was sure that there was nothing on this earth or another that would soothe his thoughts as long as he remembered. He would go back there - just this once, to sleep again, spend his nights without any of his kickin’. Once he had the gun in his hand, he could move on. No more weight around his neck. No more restless nights.

By the time he could make out the cabin, the winds were finally letting up on him. It would only be two shakes of a lambs tail before he was in and out. Yet, as he made his way closer to the dim light in the snow, his legs stopped moving, and it was far harder to keep himself standing than it ever had been in the wind. Not for any reason but what he saw. What his eyes were locked onto on the roof above.

A figure stood on the roof. No, wait. Ford. Stanford Pines swayed in the wind, carelessly perched on the cabin. More relaxed and still then Fiddleford could remember him ever being. Icicles clung to his glasses, his lips were tinted blue. 

The sight made Fiddleford’s heart jump into his throat. He reckoned- it-it must’ve been hours Ford had been up there, then. Hours on the roof, staring ahead, near unseeing. He sure didn’t see F, anyway. 

The south wasn’t known for it’s stunning mental health - or whatever it were called, anyway. Fiddleford surely picked that up, any courses starting with a psy mostly got slept through, but he learned some things anyway. That uncle that ain’t allowed near razors, or the unexplainable boot marks he found on the edge of the roof, that no one would explain. Fiddleford knew what this meant.

There was a part of him - a terrible little part, that told him to let Ford choose his own path and just get what he came for. God knows McGucket didn’t exactly have a good track record in convincing the stubborn idiot. What was the point in trying to talk him down if he’d just jump anyway? The snow was too thick for the fall to work, that was clear enough. Maybe a few broken bones would set him straight. 

.. Of course, that weren’t the part of him that he were raised to listen to. No, if he listened to that part of him, he might actually have a good life. Instead, here he was. If Ford jumped - the impact might not kill him, but the hypothermia would get him anyway - and McGucket could still feel that debt to him heavy on his heart. His mind was made up from the second he saw him. 

“Oh Ford.” The words didn’t carry the resentment he intended. They just sounded worried. Exhausted, but worried.

He caught his eyes back on Ford and steadied himself. His vision was clearer now. Ford's eyes - behind the fog and icicles - were wide with a strange mania. His entire body shook from the cold, but more notably his breathing hitched as if he was sobbing.. or laughing. He couldn’t make out what the thin noise was in the wind. Either way, it made him choke back vomit rising in his throat.

He bit back all those feelings until he was just left with focus. That was enough. He pushed his sleeves up his arms and stared ahead. One of the good things he learned from the country was the ability to get places quick. The human body was an amazing machine when used right - and he didn’t need no ladders or reasonable safety equipment to get up that roof. Just himself, his mind, and thank god he still had that if nothing else.

He traced his eyes up the path. He dug his boots into the snow until he hit the dirt. He dropped the bag he brought into the snow, supplies be damned. Not once did he breathe. Finally, finally, he sucked in a deep breath, rubbed his palms together, and bolted like the devil was fast after him. 

The moment could’ve only been six, seven seconds in all. Running like hell. Clambering up the snow bank that built up every year desperately. Feeling it implode under his weight right as he threw himself forward - and barely managed to haul himself onto the roof.

The roof creaked under his weight, but there was no reaction from Ford. Looking up from where he was, those manic eyes didn’t look wide anymore, but.. thin. Elongated, like something had pinched the edges of his pupils and stretched.. He weren’t gonna think too hard on it. It wasn’t his business, not anymore. He shook himself back to the task at hand, trying to get his bearings. His only business was keeping him alive.

Climbing up the roof wasn’t easy, but it weren’t impossible either. It took a focus, sure, but it became a rhythm eventually. Catching his boots and hands on the shingles that were dry enough to grasp, and pulling himself up as quietly as he could. His hand was inches away from Ford's ankle in seconds. As he pulled himself forward to grasp, though, his boot caught on a faulty shingle with too much confidence. He yelped like a kicked dog and started to slip, but-

But a hand caught him. A six fingered, ice cold hand wrapped around his wrist. Loose enough to make him feel like he was about to drop. Tight enough to hurt. He froze. The hand pulled him up, and he clambered along with, pliant under the touch. He was met with a wide eyed grin. 

“Sup, Specs!” Fiddleford stiffened hearing the words. That didn’t sound anything like his Ford, it was wrong. All wrong wrong wrong. 

“You know, I really should’ve predicted you coming on a rescue mission for Brainiac here.” The third person rung strange. “You’ve always loved a good pet project. You started out fixing up old defective washing machines in the back yard. Now, you got a whole defective person!” 

Fiddleford gaped. He hadn’t ever told Ford that.. had he? 

A choked noise was forced out of when the grip on his wrist tightened painfully. Ford only grinned at the look on his face. “Sudden organ failure at a hundred and eight doesn’t sound too hot, does it Fiddler? How about I avoid that for you, by killing you NOW?”

Ford let go of his wrist, and instead got a death grip along his collar. Fiddleford's knees crumpled under him, but Ford's grip held him up. He choked as the collar pulled against his neck, and tried so hard to speak, to ask him why, to talk him down, to say I’m sorry. None of it came out. Ford dangled him over the edge of the cabin, and leaned in to whisper, hot wet breath on his ear. “By the way, nice hologram theory Specs. Realllyyy liked that one.”

Fiddleford turned to look at him, and he spat chewing tobacco in his eyes.

There was a scream, and next thing he knew he was gripping on to the edges of a vest and dragging someone down with him. He held onto Ford for dear fucking life as they fell. They slammed into the ground, snow biting at any exposed skin. Fiddleford's head was cushioned by the body under him. Ford's head hit the hard ground with a thunk. His stomach dropped, and his hands scrambled up to check his heart rate.

There was a beat of silence before his hands found the spot, and he felt the steady beat underneath. The relief was immense, but god the skin was ice cold, stinging to the touch. His hands wandered up naturally, and Ford leaned into the touch desperately in his unconscious state. 

The sight was jarring, because- Ford had tried to kill him. No concern in his eyes. No second thoughts. Really, truly, tried to kill him.. Had Ford gone mad in his absence, or was he always like this? Fiddleford hated that he wasn’t confident in either answer. He hated more that it didn’t make him reconsider anything he would do next.

He had to get him inside, after all. He was relieved to find all four limbs still functioning, if a little worse for wear, as he pulled himself off Ford. It took a few minutes to shake his hands till they weren’t numb, but then he hauled Ford up by the armpits. 

It was damn hard, of course, but.. easier than he expected. His hands poked into ribs, and he absently wondered if Ford had been eating enough in his absence.. He doubted it. Doubted even more so that he could do anything about it. 

It didn’t matter. Ford wasn’t his responsibility. He was only here to get the memory gun, and babysit him until he could pass him onto Blubbs and Durland, so they could get some family to come and get him. Ford wasn’t his responsibility, and he’d be damn fine without his help. Even if he wasn’t, Fiddleford couldn’t fix him if he didn’t want to be fixed.

(Though, of course, what family would help him? The father that Ford's middle name was after, the same middle name he’s always wanted to change? The father that couldn’t ever be bothered to pick the damn phone? The father Ford could name scars for? Would he care for him?

What about the mother that answered the phone, but Fiddleford could hear the alcohol on her breath through the call every damn time, in her ramblings? The one who always left Ford shaken after calling? Would she care for him?

Or the brother that Ford hated, the conman and salesman that ruined his life. Would he care? Even if he could, even if he did, would his best attempt even be close to enough? Would Ford let him?

What family did Ford have left but him?)

He dragged him across the snow and up the porch. It was a damn good stretch on the muscles, fire alighting under his skin as he pulled. Yet, even as he knocked him against the porch steps (he was trying to be gentle, he swore) Ford wasn’t roused. He was dead to the world, and when looking at the eyebags, it was obvious as to why. Fiddleford elbowed the door open, and stepped in the doorway.

Three senses hit him simultaneously when he entered the cabin. A sudden burst of warmth, the thick but friendly smell of fire smoke, and.. music. Sweet dreams are made of this, rung through the house. There was nothing wrong with the scene, but it all felt off to Fiddleford. It was easier to move Ford over the carpet, at least. He set him by the burning fire, watched the shivering start to ease before he turned to face the room. It..

It looked like a threat set out. How a serial killer would set the room to mock a domestic family. The barely started chess game, the polaroids carelessly strewn about, the still steaming mug and the running record player all felt so visceral. Fiddleford picked up one and palmed it in his hand. The words Puppet Hour hung over Ford's head. His eyes were.. wrong. There was something deeply wrong. He let it drop to the floor.

Fiddleford picked up the tape that had been left on the floor. This scene had been set out for someone.. but who? It couldn’t’a been him, he hadn’t told Ford he was comin. The.. towns police? Those two would’ve found him sooner or later, if he had.. gone through with it. The scene was set up like it’d be found quick, though. The burning fire and hot tea made that point. Something was still wrong though. Very, very wrong.

Against his better judgment, Fiddleford pushed the tape into the cassette player. The video unfolded before him. Maybe, if this was another man, he could’a laughed. He didn’t. 

Every single scene made him burn with second-hand humiliation, a mountain of concern, and admittedly a good bit of pity. Had the isolation driven Ford this mad? This fast? 

It didn’t make sense though. None of it made sense. Even as the video ended, the slow turn to the camera after Ford made the call felt nonsensical. It didn’t even go through, so this couldn’t be for Stanley. Who was being threatened here? LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME MAKE YOU DO. The words were- Wait- GO DOWNSTAIRS AND TURN THE PORTAL ON. Fiddleford choked in a breath. Wait, oh god, wait. 

Those were not Ford's eyes staring back at him. 

Without his own conscious input, he re-round the tape. The second watch was horrible with the context in mind. Every single thing that Bill did in Ford's body wasn’t just Ford losing it. It was a threat, a punishment. A reminder for Ford that he should behave himself. That’s what him jumping would’ve been too, if McGucket hadn’t intervened. He pulled the tape out of the cassette player and threw it across the floor. He couldn’t handle it anymore.

Fiddleford felt too much and nothing all at once. He felt fucking sick, he felt deathly relieved that Ford had stopped on the portal, he felt an all consuming dread and pure blood curdling rage. At that thing in Ford's body, at Ford for not telling him and himself for not noticing because dammit, dammit he could’ve helped. More than anything, though, he felt horror. He knew how possession worked. Ford had trusted the thing at some point, let it in. “Ford,” he pressed a shaking hand to his lips, “ya didn’t.”

“Fiddleford, I promise I can explain.” Fiddleford spun around to find Ford sitting up, looking sick and shaky and sounding desperate. Ford reached out. Against his first instinct, Fiddleford pulled back - because god, was it Ford? His glasses were fogged. He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t see his eyes. He couldn’t, he couldn’t take the risk, he-

Fiddleford, without warning, jumped at him. “Ford” (Who was it? Who was it? Who was it?) yelped pathetically and tried to kick him off. Despite their size difference, Fiddleford was wrangling him like a hog with ease, and it was only a few minutes of wrestling until “Ford” was pinned under his knee, hands pressed under his back. 

“Who are ya?” Fiddleford growled, shifting to get a better grip on him. The thing underneath him pressed itself against the floor, muscles shaking as the body tried to hold itself still. Fiddlefords voice broke, “why are you in his body, god-dunnit?”

Ford- It- The body stopped fighting him. “Fiddleford, it’s me. My glasses are fogged, I know, but-” It’s voice broke off with a choked sound. The chest underneath his knee struggled for breath, and Fiddleford begrudgingly let up some of the pressure.

There was a gasp. “I-If you get the glasses off and look into my eyes you’ll see my pupils are round, not elongated. I am not Bill. O-Okay?” The voice sounded afraid, terrified actually. Fiddleford's face softened, his feral exterior so easy to crack. Dammit. Okay. He reached up, watching for the slightest movement as his hands met the glasses frames. He pushed them off.

.. Completely normal and round and utterly terrified brown eyes met his. Shit.

Painstakingly, he got off Ford. Ford didn’t move an inch the entire time, just closing his eyes and pulling in deep breaths once the knee was off his chest. Once Fiddleford was off him, he gathered himself up, pulling his glasses back on and pushing himself into the far corner of the room. 

“.. Nice seeing you too, partner,” if Ford intended there to be any venom in the words, it didn’t come through. It just sounded a little bitter.

Fiddleford sat down across from him, and let an uncomfortable silence settle over the both of them. His eyes were locked on Ford, trying to piece together what he was seeing and the Ford from weeks ago, and Ford looked anywhere but. It grated at them, until something snapped. Fiddleford took a deep breath in.

“.. You ain’t workin’ on the portal anymore, I gather.” He broke the silence, and without response he added, “.. somethin named Bill want’s ya to, though. He’s real mad that you ain’t. You’re scared of what he’ll do, but you know the consequences if you listen are worse.” 

Ford was stunned. The secret was so close kept, how did he figure it out? Fiddleford stared at him, and then cleared his throat when he didn’t get a response. “How close am I?” He added, tone slightly impatient.

“.. Closer than you could ever know,” Ford answered finally, pulling at the loose strings in his sweater, “but thats not even the half of it.” He sighed, shaking his head. 

“Fiddleford, I thank you for.. your concern,” Ford finally landed on, feeling indebted but unsure why, “but for your sake, you should go. Earlier, when you left, I- I was angry, surely-” Ford took a deep breath, “but in retrospect, you made the right choice. I have gone places no man wants to be, and I don’t want to drag you down with me. I’ll handle my own demons.”

The expression Ford was met with when he looked up was pointedly unimpressed. “I left cause you were deadset on a crazy damn plan that was gonna destroy the world. You didn’t listen to common sense or reason. You were a selfish damn fool, and I knew I couldn't convince ya’ if you weren’t willing, stubborn ass...” 

Ford flinched with shame.

 “.. But you figured it out, and you’re trying to fix yer mistakes. So, no matter what ya say, I’m staying. I don’t got any reason to leave now.” Fiddleford only smiled at him, exasperated but fond to the bone.

Ford stuttered on air a few times before responding. “You can’t even understand the gravity of this, Fiddleford,” he tried to argue, but the resolve was already breaking in him.

Fiddleford shrugged. He shifted himself until he was settled beside Ford instead of across from him, leaning on him a settling a warm hand on his shoulder. The touch melted any arguments Ford might’ve had. “Yup, I don’t. Try to fill me in though, will ya? I can’t help without knowing what’s going on, after all. Even if I won’t fully understand, I can get pretty darn close, I think.”

Ford took a deep breath, “Ok. I can do that,” he agreed. He straightened his back before starting. “I found an inscription, with instructions to summon-”

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

Static dances out of the monitor, somber and slow... To all who are bound to this connection

"Hmm... I... forget... or rather hoped that you didn't indulge in slaughter... of that sacrifice that bore no fruit... Father Long Legs... in the end I admire him, for sticking to his morals. It hurts to see them abused for choosing the right thing in the end... I have to ask however... and a question you ought to ask yourself as well Children... Did he attempt to save the young ones... the captives of Playcare?"

"If they had... that no matter what- I cannot permit agony to be done upon them. Before a choice is made to you Bobby... ask this of them, I beg you."

Static churns and shifts, attention brought from one group to another, even if the desire to broadcast to all is still upon this being's mind.

"Apology must be made to you Hoppy... even if the extent that Kickin is willing to debase himself proves much about how toxic his love for you is was unexpected... that we failed to protect you."

"But... do know this Hoppy, remember the weapon that I and my kin are. As long as your willing to give something up you can never get back... we are more than capable of killing what stands in your way... after all you have 8 fingers, each of those could be enough for a bullet... and an Arm could no doubt be enough fuel to even maim the Prototype should you wish it."

"You will no die here child. Not with us- so long as you breathe, your very blood is a weapon- a tool to crave a path forward. Remember our rules- for a blessing, their must be a sacrifice of a curse.

"I know you will use us wisely."

The Static singing out of the monitor grows ever more loudly, buzzing and sparks can be heard from it's speakers.

"And speaking of a deal... Crafty, are you ready? Kickin, are you prepared? A deal is set and the rules have been made."

"̴̝̕B̷̬́u̴̦͗̈́t̵̳͈͗ ̶̯̊ǫ̵̊͋ͅn̸̳͊l̷͎͗ỳ̶̼̥̕ ̶͓͠͠ơ̵̹ǹ̴͎̈́ͅe̸̖̪͂͗ ̷͎͓̄̈́l̴̫̃̈́͜â̷̯s̶͎̋́t̸͙͗ ̷͈͐ẗ̶͙͜ḫ̷̗̈î̵̯͓̈ṇ̵̏͒g̷̱̐͋ ̵͍̖̐̌t̸͓͓́o̷͇̞͑̓ ̵̬̾͗s̸̻̩͐e̷̝͊t̶̨̞̏ ̵̺͖̎b̷̟̘̂̾e̵̪̬̊f̶̠̪͑o̶̲̐ř̷͠ͅe̶̺̋̚ ̷̞̩̕w̷̱͗e̵͔͒͘ ̷̨̈́c̴̼̐a̷̪͉̍̚n̵͚̿ ̷̤̽b̶̠̻̂͠ẽ̷̪ģ̵̯̌ĩ̸̲̿n̵̬̣̑.̷̫̀͝"̷͙͆͘

The rumbling of the monitors speakers reaches a crescendo and magic swells and sings. A preparation is made- the conduit selected.

A grey and grim dark flame began to light upon Bobby's hands- the flames burning none of her fur or flesh, the heat bearable and kind to the child... but to others, that flame shall be that which consumes all.

"Without the monitor there, to perform this magic we must need a medium to touch the needed sacrifice to return what was lost... and with Crafty as she is, the only person who can perform such an act is you, Bobby."

"I grieve and worry for putting this sin upon you, yet for the sake of you children... and to force you to face your true morals... this sin must be enacted by your hands."

"What will you choose darling, choose for your kin. Mother Long Legs is destined to die, that I am certain of... but Father Long Legs and their forced upon child is unknown to me. This act may be that which seals their fate, for better or for worse."

"You must simply lay your hands upon the victim, be it Mother Father or Child, and the magic shall steal their arms... and an Eye. That eye... I assume you know who it is for."

"The Father who did not wish to harm the innocent along with the guilty and lays near death, the Mother who joined in slaughter yet sits here, body perfect... for the Child, forced to play pretend with this artificial family, who sides with the one he now calls Father."

"Three choices, three paths, three fates in your hands now child... I only ask you choose that which shall not bring you grief in the days to come... yet I think that will be the one you choose in the end, oh red furred child."

The song of static dims, but is not gone... it merely waits for this choice to be made.

Thank you. I-I mean it. Today’s been a lot. I’m tired.

W-what? No-I don’t want… I don’t want to hurt anybody!

But Bobby, you said you would help me.

I-I…I don’t know if this is something I can do.

But you promised me!

I-

YOU PROMISED! YOU LIAR!

I-I’m sorry.

[blues-of-randomness]

could you do more headcanons for the Smiling critters please

(Maybe when they’re Sad )

Good suggestion and yes I can.

Cw for self harm and involuntary age regression

Catnap - When Catnap gets really sad he retreats to his home and hides there for who knows how long, it could be days or even months before he comes out again. All the curtains drawn, not a single like in the house, if you're hoping for Catnap to eat or drink during this time peroid, other than a cup of juice or two...it's very wishful thinking. he'll most likely just be laying around on the floor or on the furniture. This is also when involuntary agere sets in, during this time he just feels so small and even simple tasks are two scary or frustrating for him (like brushing his teeth or even turning on the lights). During this time he might just were a bathrobe or his pajamas for some form of comfort. He'll hug himself and squeeze his arms very tightly, most of the time his claws are out when he does this so it leads to him cutting himself frequently. I have a feeling he might also wear dresses as a comfort.

Dogday - Remember that MLP episode where Pinkie pie lost her color cause she thought her friends didn't like her anymore? Yeah that's basically Dogday when he gets sad, any bright colors drain from his fur and his smile fades from his face. In my Dogday headcanons I mentioned that his fur feel like a warm mini sun, well when he's sad his fur becomes frigid cold. Unlike Catnap though Dogday still spends time outside, looking for anything that could cheer him up as quick as possible. He still has a hard time talking about what made him upset but he'll try. if what made him said was say him disappointing his friends he'll have a lot of self depricating thoughts (specfically about falling them in some way). he's not nearly as self destructive as Catnap is though, he still takes care of himself. I'll be honest though I could see Dogday having a tea party with stuffed animals when he's sad.

When Kickin gets sad he just gets angry. Like any kind of sorrowful feeling will vented through aggression before the tears eventually come. You can't tell me that Kickin hasn't gotten super overwhelmed thrown himself to the ground and started having a tantrum like a little baby. Kicken grew up with a father with very toxic views on how men should behave so he's not very comfortable crying in front of anybody. The only one who's seen him cry is Bubba, Bubba is reall the only one he's go two if he's sad. he might all himself stupid or an idiot depending on what he's crying about. He also has a teddy bear that he talks to when he's upset.

Bubba is a man who doesn't were his emotions on his sleeves per say as he always tries to keep his cool. You wouldn't even realize he's upset unless he get's really upset. Like Kickin, his sadness comes out as anger, he does cry but not often and not in front of his friends. Bubba would probably be the type to just pick of book or try to do some brain puzzles in order to take his mind of what he's upset about, if that doesn't work he tries to solve the problem on his own.

Hoppy is another critter who i imagine can get very aggressive when she's sad. Her first instinct is just to walk away, blow off the steam and come back when she's ready. She might yell or hop and down depending on how frustrated she is but she would take a deep breath and say "I need to go for a walk" or something like that. She prefers to do this alone but she wouldn't say no if you offered to walk with her and talk about it. It actually means a lot to her that you'd wanna help her.

Picky's ultimate coping mechanism is food though contrary to when she's stressed and stress eats, i feel like when she's sad she makes treats for everyone else. Since she already makes an unholy amount of food for everyone, espically when their doing an activity or going on a trip this just seems like her normal behavoir. Other than baking she might do something calming like apple/berry/flower picking. A nice picnic is also a good way to calm down.

What does any Artist do when they are upset or down in the dumps? Dump every single raw emotion on anything that doesn't move. Craftycorn has had her far share of vent pieces, some she's actually proud of, some that are just nonsensial scribbles soaked in tears. The only vent pieces her friends have seen are the ones that look cute and don't have any concerning elements to it. All the others go straight into the fire, those are not for the critter eye to see. Music, blankets and toys also help.

Bobby is a very emotional person, when she gets really upset it is instant tears or instant bawling. It's real easy to calm her down though, give her a hug, a flower, take her somewhere safe, play a game with her, and voila! If you couldn't tell she does not like being alone when she's upset, She'll cling to the closest person until she isn't upset anymore. If she's bawling she'll be begging you for a hug, she won't make yu hug you if you're uncomfortable with that though.

[faysgeekystuff]

Common misconceptions about the Hour of Joy and Catnap

One thing I've seen everywhere is that people are saying Catnap killed the children during the Hour of Joy. We actually have confirmation he was one of the ones that made sure they were safe. He was the one to lock Miss Delight away from the orphans, whether by his own actions or orders from the prototype. Evidence of this is found in the Miss Delight VHS tape. But their goal was to kill the adults who hurt and experimented on them, and to make sure the children weren't being experimented on anymore.

We actually still have no idea what happened to the children in Playcare. If they're still alive or escaped or died, we have no idea.

The other misconception isn't so much a misconception but lack of confirmation and a popular theory becoming what people believe. That Catnap killed all of the Smiling Critters. We actually have no idea how they died (or if they are all dead) besides Catnap and Dogday, and we have no idea if any of them decided to participate in the Hour of Joy or not. We know that Catnap will kill or torture heretics (*cough* Dogday) but if any of the other Smiling Critters went along with the carnage then Catnap wouldn't have been the one to kill them.

We know that even mascots against the prototype participated in the Hour of Joy via Kissy Missy, and the only one we know of that didn't is Poppy because she was locked in her case. I'm not saying that every toy was killing adults but the likelihood of at least a couple Smiling Critters doing something violent during the Hour of Joy is quite high. And if we base everything off of the cardboard cutouts then I'd put my money on Picky Piggy and Craftycorn as they both insinuate doing violent acts. Especially Picky Piggy which sound like she ate 3 of the other Critters, Kickin Chicken, Bubba Bubbaphant, and Craftycorn.

The other Critters fates are harder to figure out besides Kickin Chicken. It sounds like he was killed for trying to escape. Bobby Bearhug is perhaps the hardest only saying that she is so lost and alone. Hoppy Hopscotch sound like she was trying to jump somewhere and maybe try to escape. She could also be interpreted in another way and she might have forced people to jump to death, like the scientists probably forced her in experiments. Bubba is interesting because it sounds like he is actually talking to the player, saying that he remembers us. And what he remembers about us is just screaming. In other words nothing about how he died but interesting theories about who we are playing as.

I don't think it was just Catnap against all the Critters, as they were all being experimented on and locked in cages. They went through the same trauma and I'm sure multiple of them wanted to be free from Playtime Co.

All the fates of the smiling critters are unknown, even if they are really dead (which I think that most are dead with maybe one still around). We have no idea how long DogDay was trapped and if he actually knows what happened to the other critters. Did Catnap tell him everyone was dead? Did he see everyone die? Did he see some die and then assume the rest when he only saw Catnap after a while? We can only theorize, so to say Catnap killed them all or that none of the Smiling Critters participated in the Hour of Joy are just theories. Not fact.

Last thing isn't a misconception just a theory I want to put out there. That Catnap wasn't originally as skinny and bony as he is the Capter 3. I genuinely think we see so many bones because he's starving. Food is dwindling and I would be surprised if he kills toys for his shrine rather than to eat him sometimes.

[sirensea14]

My Bright Star

Kickin chicken x reader (part 1)

>>{Part 2 } , [part 3]

Summary: You're an orphan child from Playcare who came back to the factory 15 years later after you received a mysterious letter. (Time skip to chapter 3, around the caverns)

Warnings: fem!reader or gn reader? (Mostly afab reader, whatever you want it), a bit of fluff and angst, kickin's alive and a bit ooc (yeah ik he died cuz of pickypiggy and i hate her) so lets say hes alive here, mention of blood and torture, added a little bit of lines from DogDay's dialogue, not proofread so there may be typos and/or errors here lol

A/n: i dont know what im doing.... AAAAAAAAAAA!! I woke up imagining this scene and now I'm gonna write this out of my head.

"What is this place?" You gasped at the dark caverns in front of you. After escaping that horrendous teacher, you went into the next area, the caverns. With that, you picked up the orange grabpack hand and played a bit of the green bunny's dialogue. "Hoppy, hm? I still remember you..." you said in sad nostalgia. "JUUUUUUUUUUUU--" Hoppy screeched into your ears, earning you a snarl and covering your ears. "Geez, Hoppy! Ugh." You hissed while shooting the cutout with the flare gun.

You moved on to the next area. Ignoring the chill down from your spine, you stepped into the darkness. A loud flap of wings coming from the abyss bellowed in your ears. You gasped as a large creature of desaturated yellow appeared in front of you. In shock, you backed into a wall and sat in fear as the creature walks slowly to you. You held out your hand in a desperate attempt to protect yourself, "P-please... Someone... help..." You pleaded. At this moment, you didn't even think about the flare gun on your grabpack. All you wanted was to leave... You wished you didn't go into this hellhole.

The monster kneeled at your level and was staring at you as you looked away from it in terror. A glint of light caught its eyes. Its feathered wing touched your necklace, "No!" You grabbed the necklace in defiance, but the creature only glared at you that made you release it. "Please don't destroy it..." You cried, it was your only memory from Milo 15 years ago before you were adopted.

The monster gently held the locket with its finger. Its gaze fixed into the object. You closed your eyes in fear of it snatching it away, but it didn't. Your tensed face loosened up a bit as you saw it opened it, revealing a picture of a two children smiling in the picture. You looked at the creature with a sympathetic face, your mind was in a daze. As the monster stared at the picture, you took in the details of the beast.

'A yellow bird... star pendant... a zipper on its belly? Black hollow eyes and mouth... white iris... Scary, of course... just like the previous ones. But why is he looking at my picture of me and Milo?'

As if the bird heard your thoughts, it locked eyes on you, freezing you on the spot. "Kickin'... Chicken? You too...?" The monster continued to gaze at you. This continued for minutes until Kickin' grabbed the back of your head and touched your forehead with his.

"Y/... N..." His hoarse voice spoke. You blinked at his gesture. "Wh... Who are... you?"

Kickin's irises disappeared, his featheres hand still on the back of you head. "It's... me... remem... ber?"

"What?"

Kickin's face laced into worry. "Me... Me... Mi... lo... Remember?"

"Milo...? Wai-what-? I'm confused..." He dropped his hands from your head. He stood up groggily and held up his hand to you, "Let's... get out..." You grabbed his hand absent-mindedly, still thinking about how he was Milo. He carried you onto his back and flew through the caverns. Reaching the door leading to the Playhouse area, you grabbed the battery and activated the door. You looked back at Kickin' Chicken. Swallowing the lump in your throat you spoke to him, "Kicki--Milo, uhm," you struggled to find the right words. You looked up on him, seeing his piercing white eyes you looked down the floor again sweating bullets. "I... Thank you." I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you.

Kickin' nodded and simply left.

You looked at him dejectedly and turned to power on the grabpack hand processor. It opened the door and you looked up to the sign above the door. "Playhouse..." The place where you used to play with the other children. The place where...

"Okay, you're cute as fuck but sorry you gotta-" you fired the flare gun to a mini critter Pickypiggy. You sighed.

...the place where you and Milo used to play.

Memories crept up to your head as you fight through the mini critters crawling. Feeling dizzy from all the memories flowing through and the danger that lurks within the dark, you finally reached the staircase and went down.

"The swimming pool..." You remembered Milo showing off to you by diving into the pool. You chuckled at the trip down to memory lane. If only the Playhouse area was peaceful despite the dark, you would've stayed there for hours reminiscing the memories you used to have with the other orphans. Your face curled into a somber expression knowing that the employees here have been killed by these horrible monsters. You looked up to the door, walking as you hoped your fellow orphans did not follow the same fate. But hearing the other VHS tapes, and recently Kickin' Chicken, it might imply otherwise. You sniffled a cry, "Not here, not in this hellhole. I can't let my guard down." You hardened your expression as you approach the dungeon-like area.

Your expression was grim as you looked through the cells full of blood, darkness, claw marks, and toys. And...

"You... You're poppy's angel. Come to save us. Nothing left to save, not here..."

You put your hands to your mouth as shock came to you. Dogday was in a critical state. His body cut in half, chained up in a cell. Your words were lump in your throat. You tried to speak, "D-Dogday? What? Where are we? What is this place? Why a dungeon-look here?"

"You're in CatNap's home, angel. Their home. A million pairs of eyes are in you now. Watching, waiting, hungry." He breathed heavily.

"They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit--fill what feels empty inside themselves."

You felt a chill ran down your spine as the canine spoke the horrors of these monsters.

"That... thing... CatNap. The Prototype is his god, and this is what he does to heretics. These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate--and in return, they are fed." You couldn't imagine what horrors happened in those 10 years. All nothing but insanity...

"We tried to fight it, the prototype's control." Dogday continued, "I'm... The last of the Smiling Critters."

"But I saw Kickin' Chicke--"

"Listen to me, you have no much time. We can't lurk in this place for too long. You need to get out of this place. You need to live. You and Poppy can fix this, end this madness, the torment, the-" the mini critters from earlier appeared from the two sides of DogDay's cell. You backed down in horror. You tried to fire them with your flare gun, they only hissed at you while crawling their way towards DogDay's open half.

"Oh no... OH NO! Leave me, please. Just go!...RUN! AAAUHHHGHHH!!" You stayed long enough to see a mini CatNap critter crawl into the dog's eye. You ran to the exit but to no avail, it was locked. You heard DogDay's chains rattle as he freed his way to chase you down. You fell from the weak floor and ran your way in the tunnels. Making through the slides, crawling through the cramped spaces--you saw a streak of yellow glide below to the Duck Ride. Due to the chase you are situated in right now, you only thought of it as one of the duck rides.

You went in to the slide, panicking, you changed the right grabpack hand multiple times as fear laced into your mind. DogDay was nearing you. His distance to you was deadly, you felt a slight drop as you stepped back. 'I'm trapped...' you thought to yourself.

Dogday pounced on you but a pair of talons grabbed the back of your shirt, lifting you up and dropping you to the elevator from the other side. The gate closed as you were dropped and heard Dogday's head bash into the metal as he screamed. "Ow. That hurts." You groaned, rubbing your bottom that crashed to the metal. You saw a pair of orange legs before you. You looked up to see Kickin's hollow grin gleaming at you. You looked away shyly with a small smile in your face. The bird simply tilted his head at you with amusement and slight confusion.

The elevator came to a stop. You and Kickin' stepped out of the lift, you played DogDay's cutout dialogues. You stepped away from it when he screamed for an agonizingly long time.

"I wonder if he's okay..." You thought loudly. "... Probably... Not. Ate... by critters..." Kickin' uttered. Upset, you two went down the slide.

You looked at Playcare with a frown, "Has it always been like this?" You gestured at the place. All bloodied mess. Why did they do this? How did they do it? What made them do this? Who turned them into monsters? These questions lingered in your mind. The phone rang. You answered. Of course it was Ollie. You listened to his line as you went back under the Smiling Critters' statue to retrieve the key for the Counselor's Office.

You went outside and made your way to the next location. "So CatNap's a kid huh. After 15 years? Just what happened?" You said, stressed out. You suddenly felt a wing which prompted you to stop in your tracks. Kickin's worry was etched in his grin. You calmed down a bit at his touch. Looking up you admit, "I... don't know if I can continue this. It's too damn much." Your heart was pounding crazy. Anxiety and fear crept up to your chest as you worry for what the truth was. But you continued to clung to a hope that most of the people here didn't end up in death.

Kickin' kneeled at your level, caressing your cheek. "I am here... Knock me down, and I'll only stand up again. Brush it off like dust. And say, 'What's next?' "

"What's the point in all of this?" You looked down. Kickin' made you look up to him by tapping under your chin. Once again, his white eerie irises disappeared imitating a blink. He placed his forehead on yours, "I've seen you. In the Playhouse. Running and crawling. You... survived DogDay. The little toys. I know you can do this." You sniffled a cry at the toy's words. A tear escaped your eye as the fake afternoon light shone down to the two of you, in serenity. You closed your eyes as you savor the moment of peace, a scent of ylang-ylang wavering its way to your nose.

In this moment, you remembered, Milo used to do this whenever you get nervous. Pressing his forehead onto you. Telling you encouraging words, lifting up your spirits. Sharing his Kickin' Chicken toy with you as he pulled its tail for it to release ylang-ylang scent.

You lightly blushed at this hit of memory, remembering the fact that you two were childhood sweethearts. But now, he was turned into a monster. A monster he wasn't meant to be.

"Hey! The Counselor's Office is over there~!" Ollie's voice pierced through the silence. "Oh right," you lightly chuckled at him, secretly annoyed that he destroyed your moment with Kickin'. His white irises were back, filled with worry. He pressed his wing to your cheek, you gently touched his wing. "I can do this. Don't worry." You softly smiled. Hearing this, his grin beamed a bit. "I'll be waiting." He voiced out with a hint of sadness. But before he could stand up, you immediately grabbed his face and pecked his upper beak. Thrown back by this action, he stumbled standing.

"Bye! And don't worry, I'll come back alive."

His eyes still with surprise, followed you as you went to the Counselor's Office.

"Come back... alive."

A/n: IMSONORMALABOUTHIM, SHET KINIKILIG AKO (TL: shit im having butterflies in my stomach-) im sorry, i couldn't resist doing this, i just LOVE him sm yknow? Anyway ik no one would be reading this but i made it anyway--

[ct-multifandom]

In the hit indie rock song Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man, the lead singer says he’s a rebel just for kicks and that he’s been feelin’ it since 1966. He also says, “let me kick it like it’s 1986”.

What’s interesting is that a lesser known song from the band, 1989, opens with the lyrics, “I was born in 1989”.

If the lead singer and credited writer of that song was born in 1989, how was he kickin it in 1986, much less feelin it in 1966?!

Not so fast, Wright. A simple Wikipedia search reveals that the singer, John Gourley, was born in 1981, so the song 1989 clearly isn’t meant to be autobiographical.

That still doesn’t explain the line about 1966, and how much of a rebel could he have possibly been at the age of five? I don’t know about him, but I barely remember anything from that age anyway!

Take a look at the Genius Lyrics & Meaning YouTube video for Feel It Still. The band members explain that 1966 refers to the period of civil rights activism, comparing their rebellion to modern social tensions. On top of that, they explain that 1986 is in reference to the song Fight For Your Right (To Party) by Beastie Boys.

All quite simple, Wright. I’m afraid you’ve taken things at too much of a face value, as usual.

Urghh… [Edgeworth has a point… even though Portugal. The Man wasn’t alive for the civil rights movement and were little kids during Beastie Boy’s rise to fame, they still feel how the effects of the past live on in the present, inspiring them to feel rebellious. They… Feel It Still. I can’t believe I missed such an obvious clue.]

Okay, so it’s all metaphorical, but- but all that aside! The prosecution has still failed to explain what drove Mr. Gourley to lie about being born in 1989!

[nathaniel-prime098-blog]

First Kiss

It was Bobby's turn to spin the bottle. With a twirl of her fingers, she let the bottle spin before them, the group watching in anticipation on who it was going to land on next.

When the bottle slowed to a stop, it ended up pointing at the purple feline amongst them.

"Truth or dare, CatNap?", she asked, and the cat drummed his fingers on his lap, humming. He didn't feel like potentially getting up from his comfortable position on the floor, so he went with the easier choice.

"Truth."

Bobby's smile grew wider, and her eyes seemed to sparkle, before she loaded her question into the chamber.

"Who was your first kiss?"

A collective groan from Kickin and Hoppy earned them a shushing from Bobby, before everyone's attention turned to the cat.

A confident hum escaped DogDay, who closed his eyes in content. "I think we know this one already."

"Kickin.", CatNap answered nonchalantly, his lips curving upward into a smirk.

A unified "HUH?!" from every Critter save for two echoed in the room. "I didn't take you for the type.", "Why didn't you tell me?!" and a few shrieks of glee followed soon after.

After everyone settled down to hear the story, they looked over to CatNap, who sat the same way he'd been, still crosslegged, his arms still lightly folded in his lap.

"Well…", he rose his eyebrows expectantly at Kickin, to which everyone turned their attention to him, causing him to sink into himself further.

"It was…we…you guys remember when we went to to the bar for Bubba's 21st birthday?", to which the group nodded.

"Well, Bubba wasn't the only one who can't hold his liquor down. When you guys left, it was just me and CatNap, and I guess I said something along the lines of 'I've never kissed a boy before'. And one thing led to another." he finished, feathers tinged red as he avoided his friends' looks.

He looked up towards DogDay, who was tapping his finger quietly on the floor next to him, lost in thought.

"And DogDay", catching his attention, "it was one time. We didn't do anything else, and it was long before CatNap came out to you, I promise."

The leader of the bunch hummed in response, before his smile quirked back up, which eased the chicken's nerves a bit.

"So…" Hoppy poked his side with her elbow, "what you mean was, you really wanted to try sucking face with Naps.", she snickered, as Kickin playfully shoved her off, and the group shared a laugh.

When the party was over, and everyone said goodbye, DogDay closed the door, before flopping on the couch next to CatNap. The feline's tail slowly swished behind him, as he waited for him to say something.

And DogDay knew he was waiting for that. "So…Kickin, huh?"

"Mmhm…"

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them.

"It was one time. Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, just…" DogDay started, exhaling a little, before turning to look the cat in the eyes. "Just…tell me things, ok? We don't have to hide secrets from each other."

CatNap shuffled closer into DogDay's outstretched arms, wrapping his tail around the dog's waist. "I'm sorry." DogDay kissed the top of CatNap's head, before he rubbed his thumb over the feline's knuckles. "It's alright, don't worry about it."

A warm silence enveloped them both, before DogDay's smug smile emerged.

"So what was it like?"

[anxiously-going]

Body Swap

A transporter accident has left Jim and Bones in a bit of an odd predicament, namely swapping bodies. The outside perspective of his own body, leads to some uncomfortable thoughts for Bones.

Len sat over his own body and began kneading thr base of his neck. There was something surreal about the whole thing, but at the moment, he just felt guilty about it. It wasn't his fault, he knew that much. Transporter accidents happen. He was just thankful it was him and Jim that where the ones who managed to get their bodies swapped.

He and Jim knew each other well enough, knew the allergies and tricky joints and all the little quirks about what caused malfunction in each other's bodies, that the hardest part, up to this point, was having to face each other and be met with the realization that they did indeed occupy each other's bodies.

Unfortunately there was little to do to prevent a migraine episode in Len's body. Jim had been there for countless such episodes, fetching cold packs, meds, water, whatever Len needed. He knew how to handle them from the outside, but the outside he was not.

"Kid, you gotta breathe," Len admonished gently, pushing his hand into his hair. "There ya go, darlin'."

"I dunno how you deal with this," Jim complained, face still half burried in the pillow.

Len chuckled faintly. "It probably feels worse because you're not used to it. It's different from the stress headaches your used it."

"It's worse than the stress headaches I'm used to. Those don't usually make me nauseous."

"I know, darlin'," Len answered soflty, his accent sounded odd in Jim's voice, but he tried not to focus too hard on that. "Meds should be kickin' in soon."

He shifted tactics a little and began kneading his back, just between the shoulder, where he knew Jim tended to carry his tension. Len had been described as broad shouldered before, he remembered the offers from the football coaches, even the basketball coaches told him he'd make a great quarterback when he tried out for the team, but seeing it from the outside was different.

He wasn't sure if it made it better or worse.

He remebered being confused the first time Jocleyn had pointed out the weight gain to him. He hadn't been able to keep any weight on him during his university and med school years, due to the stress of it all. Once he'd graduated and things settled down as he fell into his new normal working thr clinic with his dad is when the comments had started. He'd been confused at first, he'd still been a perfectly healthy weight, probably healthier than he had been before. But Jocelyn hadn't seen it that way.

It was a battle thay only Jim knew the bare minimum about. Just enough to be able to help him avoid relapse.

He'd known it had caused him to pick up some unhealthy thinking, known it had warped how he viewed his own body, but he didn't realize just how much till he truly saw his own body from the outside.

He really was a completely normal and healthy weight. Hell, if a patient came in with the same build and appeared, Len would probably even call them fit.

It hurt to realize how much Jocelyn had done to him. He knew she'd been abusive, of course he did. He'd had that epiphany many times over during the Academy and the early days of his friendship with Jim.

But it hurt that he was still having them. Hurt that he'd loved her so much and she'd still been so cruel to him. Hurt that...it still hurt. Even after all this time, realizing how poorly she treated, him in so many different ways, it still hurt to realize a new unkindness.

He genuinely didn't know if it was worse to consider that the abuse had been intentional or worse to consider she didn't even see it for what it was herself.

"Bones."

Len started, the sound of his own voice calling his name, shocking him back to the moment. He glanced down and found Jim reaching out for him, pouting like an infant, making a face Len didn't know his face could make.

He smiled fondly and laid down, letting Jim snuggle into his arms. He held Jim close and tried not to think about the weight of his own body on his chest, he closed his eyes and reminded himself it was Jim he was holding.

He was with Jim and they were both healthy and that's all that mattered.

[blythebewitched]

Eyes Like Starlight: Smiling Critters Oneshot

Tales From The Playcare AU:

While scavenging, Bubba and Kickin find a skylight above the Playcare. Its the first time they see the real night sky . . .

Kickin Chicken always wanted to go outside for as long as he could remember. Out of everything, there was nothing he wanted to see more than the stars his personality was inspired off of.

Just above, HIGH above the Playcare, there it was. A skylight. It was round and covered a bit by old vines around the outside. But you could still see through it.

He and Bubba stood there. Silent. Staring up. Kickin could count at least 30 stars. It was literally breathtaking as his breath caught in his chest. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen.

"Are you coming? . . . Kickin?"

The Chicken swung his head to face his friend. He hadn't noticed Bubba was looking at him. Normally the thought of his crush staring at him would fluster him. But the view took his attention.

"C'mon. We have a job to do remember? "

"Isn't that the most beautiful and amazing thing you've ever seen!? The REAL night sky! Its right there! You're just gonna walk away and act like this isn't MONUMENTAL!?"

"Eh . . . Not really. I'm not impressed."

Kickin stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes wide and mouth agap.

"You're NOT impressed? . . . HOW ARE YOU NOT IMPRESSED!!!???" The words ricochetted off the walls. Bubba having to quickly shush him.

"Are you out of your mind? There's monsters nearby!"

*whispers* "how are you not impressed???"

Bubba squeezed the bridge of his trunk under his glasses and let out a sigh. "If I wanted to see pretty white lights I would've just looked at YOU. Your eyes are the same thing. Now let's go".

He started walking towards the ladder to go back down to the Playcare. Kicken was being oddly silent so he turned around. A little annoyed the idiot wasn't following. He caught sight of Kickin standing perfectly still as expected, but UNEXPECTEDLY he was wide eyed and red faced.

"Kickin? . . . Are you . . . Alright?" He walked back a few feet. He took notice the Kickin was avoiding his gaze. When he got close enough, Kickin's eyes became heavy lidded.

"You . . . You're unimpressed cause you think my eyes look like the stars? . . ." Kickin finally looked up at Bubba. To his dismay, it was with those big puppy dog eyes Bubba could never hate or say no to. Those eyes gave him the hint he needed to realize what he just did.

"THAT WASN'T A COMPLIMENT!!!" Bubba cursed himself for being the loud one now. "I ONLY MEANT IT FACTUALLY! You are literally the STAR character! It shouldn't be surprising that SOMETHING about you would be modeled off the real stars!"

Bubba didn't think it was possible, but Kickin's eyes got BIGGER. A little smile appeared and his blush got deeper. The fact that Kickin was flattered caused Bubba's face to fluster in return.

"It's okay to compliment me y'know." The smile turned into a sly smirk. "I promise I won't think any less than you . . . Lemondrop" . Kickin knew there was NOTHING Bubba hated being called more than Lemondrop.

He had a huge crush on Bubba Bubbaphant since they had met. When Kickin called him that pet name for the first time, he realized just how bad Bubba was at . . . Emotions. Since then, he found it funny and endearing about his favorite elephant.

Kickin was lifted off his feet and pinned against the wall. He couldn't help but cackle at this reaction he'd gotten used to by now.

"NEVER. CALL. ME. LEMONDROP!!! NEVER. EVER!!!" Bubba's face turned red. It PISSED him off whenever Kickin tried to play with the emotions he tried to keep under lock and key.

Bubba angrily slung the bird over his shoulder causing him to burst out laughing. He began to walk back towards the Playcare planning on ignoring the idiot on his shoulder. But Kickin wrapped his arms around his neck. He placed the slightest peck on Bubba's head.

"Thanks Bubby. I think that was the nicest thing you've ever said to me . . . You're my best friend. 💛"

Bubba looked down at his feet as he walked with his crush . . . His favorite person in his arms. He tried his hardest to hide his smile despite being irritated by the pet name.

"You're . . . My best friend too. But Sweet Prototype you get on my nerves."

Both of them laughed as they reached the entrance of the Playcare. Secretly, in that moment, both wanted nothing more than to tell each other what they really felt. But, too nervous to do so, they left it for another day. For now, it was good enough for Bubba to be his best friend . . . And for Kickin, it was good enough to know his eyes reminded him of starlight.

[protective-mama-bear]

This is just my headcanon of Smiling Psychopaths, remember, the original idea is from @smiling-psychopaths not me– i'm just joining the chaos–

Smiling psychopaths headcanons that have been stuck in my head–

Remember when i say that Smiling Psychopaths looked like bad sanses group? Well, what if the smiling psychopaths have their own very mansion, a mansion that fill with smiling psychopaths only.

I could just see that

The mansion would have 8 bedrooms, since four member still not here yet

Bubba's bedroom is fill with sciences, probably? The bad sciences one, he probably have his lab in the mansion, only himself could get inside.

Bobby's room would be fill with so much hearts and love decorations with her favorite chainsaw hanging. She probably the therapist in the group also the mother.

Bobby would be the one who would easily pick up Picky and Kickin if they both try to fight eachother–

Kickin room probably something emo and violent, i could saw him having a violent poster hanging on the wall.

Picky room is messy and have a knife collections or anything sharp. Probably have a bag full of bloody meat in her closet or somewhere for her to eat, probably.

Bubba and Bobby is like the parents in the group but Bobby is more of the worrywart parent while Bubba is just sipping a coffee in the background while watching Kickin and Picky doing shenanigans.

Since Bobby have some episodes, i could see Bubba or Picky to be the only person that could calm her down. Bubba probably made a calming pills for Bobby to keep her calm.

I feel like there would be a moment that Bobby and Bubba fight, probably Bobby dragging Bubba's away from his lab and scold him to go to bed (i can see Bubba as an overworking lad–)

Bobby and Picky is the duo that cook breakfast, lunch and dinner, prove me wrong.

Bubba would probably have a pet turtle, probably?

All i can say...they are a chaotic family–

[tekumaniac311]

Open Arms: Prologue

6 months after the events of Rider Rescue...Poppy the android was speaking to Dogbite's crew about their new mission coming up. The recent weeks, the cult has been unleashing the dreaded Bloodline monsters, Rider groups are on the hunt for the vile beasts, with Dogday and Dogbite's own teams having the most Bloodline kills, Dogbite in his typical egotistical fashion, takes this as a personal challenge to best his brother at all cost. Dogbite's desire to best his brother at this stage, had become his OBSESSION.

"The cult has released 4 of those Bloodline monsters onto a town on the planet Exe, they resemble Catnap, Dogday, Hoppy Hopscotch, and Kickin Chicken." She explained to them. "Looks like we'll need to split up and deal with each." Drago said as he looked to his captain. Dogbite said not a word as he was looking to the side, with a furious look on his face "Dogbite?" Poppy asked as her holographic form hovered over to him. "We're behind, again." he growled to her. "Behind? Behind on what?" Poppy asked

"Behind on Bloodline kills, Dogday and his squad are ahead of us by 2! We take down these 4 and we'd surpass them and stay in the lead!"

"Dogbite, taking down Bloodline's is not a comp--" Before Mama Mammoth could finish, Dogbite barked. "It is, Mama! Drago, Berserk and Leopard! Let's move out now!" He said storming off, the three looked at eachother before bidding the other four farewell.

The four arrived on the planet and approached the town where the four Bloodline's were attacking. Drago went after the Bloodline Catnap, Leopardaisy went for the Hoppy Bloodline, Berserkerine the Kickin Bloodline. That would leave Dogbite to go after the Bloodline counterpart of his brother, Dogbite eventually tracked it down and prepared to fight it.

The Bloodline Dogday tilted it's head and charged at Dogbite, who dodged with ease and tossed a Sun blast hard, before jumping on it's head and pummeling with such aggression.

The Bloodline Dogday roared in pain and tried to strike back, only for Dogbite to blast it into a nearby house. "You freaks are all the same!" He said tossing a sun blast into it, the Bloodline Dogday ducked and swung at Dogbite, knocking him into a parked cargo transport, Dogbite growled in pain. As he charged straight at it, he morphed into Overdrive mode and unleashed a hail of attacks on the beast.

Drago, Leopardaisy and Berserkerine all soon caught up as they took care of the other 3 Bloodline monsters quickly, and reducing collateral damage. "Yo! Captain! Need a hand taking this one down?" Leopardaisy called out. "Stay back! HE'S MINE!!" Dogbite barked and while still in Overdrive, blasted the creature into more buildings. The pink leopard shielded her eyes from the flashes "Holy crap! Dogbite's gone mental!" Berserkerine, taking a sip from a can of soda and sporting a few bruises from his fight shrugged "I don't see the big deal, daisy." Drago scoffed in response and crossed his arms "I do, Berserk. It's worrying...he's been so angry, so obsessed with besting his brother, plus remember how he's been trying to keep us separate from his brother's own team?" The dragon asked looking at the both of them.

Berserkerine and Leopardaisy looked at eachother before facing Drago "Well now that ya said it, I'm worried." Berserkerine said, tossing the soda away. Dogbite then blasted the Bloodline Dogday into one more building, a fuel station. The weakened beast staggered and saw itself surrounded...by fuel canisters, Dogbite approached and exited his Overdrive, returning to normal. "Maybe this will give me more 'style' over my brother." He said coldly and fired a sun blast at one of the fuel tanks.

Drago, Leopardaisy and Berserkerine all gasped as they saw the canister ignite and explode, and the canisters around it exploded to as Dogbite walked away, the burning fuel engulfed the Bloodline monster and the whole fuel station blew to rubble, there was the smell of smoke, burnt fuel and flesh in the air.

"Mission accomplished. Let's get out of here." Dogbite coldly said. As they walked back to the ship, Leopardaisy gave a quiet purr of fear "He really has lost it...". Soon they returned to the ship and carried on into space, later the eight Riders gathered in the meeting room as Poppy's hologram appeared.

"Leopardaisy, Berserk, Drago. Each of you did great reducing damage and making sure the Bloodlines went down quick." Berserkerine shrugged at her response "Hope the crater I made wasn't too bad." Poppy snickered "Could've been worse, you three did good." Dogbite's ears twitched "Three? Uh Poppy? Your forgetting someone." Poppy's expression turned firm as she faced Dogbite.

"Dogbite, you did not follow protocol at all. You smashed that Bloodline into PEOPLE'S houses, vehicles, everything! And for the cherry on the top you blew up an entire fuel station and critically damaging it's surrounding property!"

Dogbite leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head "It's no big deal, Poppy. Collateral damage is part of the job, no?" Poppy went full scolding mode and attempted to lay it out "Part of the job?? I-I-I admit that collateral damage is inevitable one way or the other but most of the time it's inadvertent, unintentional, you purposely prolonged that fight and caused nearly 300'000 Credits in da--"

There was a loud WHAM! As Dogbite slammed his fist on the table, silencing everybody. Lean quietly gulped and scooched his chair closer to Mama who was sitting next to him "Poppy, when will you stop complaining? It's not even that serious!" Poppy softly glared "It isn't complaining, Dogbite. It's the truth--"

"Wanna know the truth, Poppy? The truth is you're not in charge of this team, I am. You only just tell us what mission we got, you're in no position to tell me how i run my team. So why don't you shut up, disconnect and go back to your regular day complaining to your dad about seeing the universe for all I care."

There was a long silence, Poppy looked like she was about to cry from that burn and abruptly disconnected, Dogbite huffed and got out of his chair, leaving his team in shock of what had happened, Drago and Mama took off after him.

Dogbite growled to himself as he walked to his quarters "Captain!" Drago called as he and Mammoth caught up. "What is it, Drago?" He asked "I want to know: What the HELL was that back there?" Drago responded, Mama stepped in to "Dogbite, it's unfair the way you have been acting out, plus you're going overboard with things lately."

"I miss the part where that's my problem. Now i'm going to bed, don't disturb me." Dogbite walked away from Drago and Mama "I gotta find a way we can stay ahead of my brother and his amateurs..." He told himself.

Mama looked deeply worried for Dogbite. Drago on the other hand clenched his fist tightly, he was furious. "That is it...."

Later that night, as everyone was asleep, Drago came out of his quarters and headed for the briefing room, he then tapped the keyboard interface and began typing up a report, a report on his own captain regarding his behavior. After finishing it, he requests the report to be sent to Mr Ludwig himself, with that done he headed back to sleep.

The following morning, Dogbite will learn that actions have consequences.

TO BE CONTINUED

Space Riders AU by @onyxonline