#i was going to draw his armor but got distracted by his body

[tlmtwelve]

August 9, 2024: Keeli

[haleswallows]

Incident Report #7 teaser

A pressure hits. Tim’s ears pop and it settles over him, heavy. It’s comforting in the same way a weighted blanket is, or the weight of his cape, the press of armor on his body. Then followed by a short burst of wind, cold and fetid before it cuts off abruptly.

Tim doesn’t move his head. They aren’t sure if he has a spinal injury and he’s being good, keeping still. So he senses Fright Knight only.

“Oh, hi!” He waves a hand. Wait, he isn’t supposed to be moving much.

Kon’s eyes are bugging out behind his sunglasses, leveled somewhere high. Muscled tense and already moving to cover Tim. Very sweet, but not needed.

“Hey, Kon. Hey, hey, it’s ok. That’s my uncle.” Kon looks at him, mouthing uncle like they’re speaking different languages. Not too inaccurate, they’re probably working off slightly different definitions. Tim’s is just… a bit more liberal. Includes the manifestation of the Lord of Fear, and Spirit of Halloween in his definition.

“Red Robin.” Fright Knight intones. He leans so that Tim’s entire line of sight in Kon, the ghost and a hunk of concrete rubble.

The pool of red is starting to get worryingly wide. “I got hurt.”

“Your condition is difficult to miss, child.” Long suffering, Fright Knight doesn’t sigh. But he gives a good impression of it.

Kon’s mouth opens and closes. There’s something between hysterical and shock on his face. Computing, slotting the new data next to his clone education and everything he’s learned since. Now includes ghosts! “Rob,” he says, drawing the syllable out. “Wanna explain this one?”

“Not really.” And oh look, Bart’s back. With Kon stunned, it’s the perfect distraction. He gets his hand in the right pouch and presents the protein bar to Bart. And promptly gets left hanging, arm extended, while Bart gapes at Fright Knight.

“Nobody freak out,” Bart breathes and holds his hands up, like he’s going to talk down a bull from charging. “It’s just Fright Knight. He’s Tim’s uncle.”

[hannahmanderr]

Before we get into the chapter, a HUGE platonic smooch for @duchi-nesten who took the time to draw the Ancients from this story with bribery from me and @scarletsaphire I'm absolutely screaming over them still, they are just UGGHHH SO GOOD

From left to right is Zunje, Babel, Pele, and Kala!

Anyway, onto the chapter! It's an important one! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Everything begins. Everything ends. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jazz flinched as another wayward blast of ectoplasm exploded into the wall of the office building across the street, reducing it to little more than rubble. The battle was becoming more and more destructive as time bled on, and her nerves were really starting to get to her. She needed to get back out there and put a stop to it.

Unfortunately, there was the slight complication of her parents.

She’d tried to play dumb when Frostbite slipped up, but it had been pointless. Frostbite had been all too happy to explain that the Great One was, in fact, the ghost hero known as Danny Phantom.

Perhaps if it had just been her dad there, she would’ve been able to distract him, or figure out how to explain it away, but as luck would have it, her mom had pulled up shortly after the ghost king’s arrival.

It didn’t take them long to put two and two together. At least, that’s what she assumed.

Even more unfortunate was that her concussion had spontaneously decided to rear its ugly head, causing her to lean over and throw up in the middle of the road. Mom and Dad were far less than keen on letting her continue fighting after that. She’d protested of course, pointing out that the all-powerful ghost king was about to raze Amity Park to the ground, but they wouldn’t have any of it.

She had been forced to take shelter behind a large pile of rubble, along with her parents and Frostbite, as the battle intensified. Pariah Dark’s question about Danny had been met with a brutal attack from one of the four-armed Ancients, and the battle had progressed from there. At some point, the little lava-haired Ancient had taken over the direct combat with the ghost king, aided by the gnome and the four-armed ghost with a cloak of clouds. The last Ancient - Pandora, if Jazz remembered correctly - had engaged the black-armored knight. Sam and Tucker were still out there, somewhere, working to keep the thrall army at bay.

And that was just the fighting. Overhead, in the sky, the rip that had heralded Pariah Dark’s appearance still gaped over Amity Park. The air seemed to vibrate with its intensity; Jazz could feel it prickling at her skin, making her feel foreign in her own body. Like reality itself was beginning to fail.

In short, things were Bad-with-a-capital-B.

Jazz leaned over to peer around the rubble protecting them. “We should really be out there,” she muttered, even as her head throbbed worse.

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady,” Mom said. “Not while you’re injured.”

“I told you, I’m fine! I got it out of my system, I’m good to go.”

“I may not know many details about human biology,” Frostbite said, arching an eyebrow at Jazz, “but I have enough experience with the Great One to know that head injuries are serious in humans.”

Jazz didn’t miss how her parents winced hearing about “the Great One” and his injuries. 

They hadn’t said a word about Danny - Fenton or Phantom - since Frostbite’s slip-up. It only put her that much more on edge. Sooner or later, Danny would return, and if Mom and Dad were going to flip out and shoot him on sight, she wanted to at least have the chance to warn him.

As it was, she couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Her mother’s poker face was nothing short of perfect, and her father, though he often wore his heart on his sleeve, was strangely stoic about it all. If there was one thing Jazz hated, it was not knowing things, and not knowing their thoughts on Danny was killing her. 

She could only hope and pray. The fact that they weren't actively trying to gun down Frostbite was a good sign at least. 

But for the time being, she pushed those thoughts away. “Believe me, I know plenty about head injuries. I wouldn’t be wanting to go back out there if I thought it was serious enough.”

“I don't think the person with the concussion should be making that judgment ,” Mom said. “You won't be going anywhere until we know you're safe.” 

Jazz frowned. Was that a hint of hysteria in her voice?

Yeah, that couldn't be a good sign. 

Still, her words gave Jazz an opening. “Alright, fine! Whatever! It's not like the world is ending or anything, in case you haven't noticed. Why aren't you guys out there, at least?” Maybe if she could convince them to go back to the fight, she’d have a chance to catch Danny before they saw him. Maybe she’d have a chance to warn him.

Her parents didn't answer. They exchanged a glance that Jazz couldn't read, and Dad’s shoulders sagged. He opened his mouth. “We -” 

“What's going on here?” 

Jazz’s eyes snapped up to see Valerie hovering just behind her parents and Frostbite; Wes clung to Valerie with his eyes screwed tightly shut. Her parents turned at the sound of Valerie’s voice, and though Jazz couldn’t see her mom’s eyes behind the red-tinted goggles, she could only imagine the look on her face.

Her dad, however, beamed widely. “The Huntress!” he exclaimed, grabbing at Mom’s arm like an overexcited child.

To her credit, Valerie avoided wincing too strongly. “Yeah, that’s… me.”

“Did you find him?” Jazz asked. She didn’t bother to hide the anxiety in her voice.

Valerie frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, but he’s… well…”

“Can we maybe have this conversation on the ground?” Wes asked shakily. Valerie responded with a roll of her eyes, practically shoving him off her. He stumbled the short distance to the ground and collapsed spread-eagle on the street. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Dad’s nose crinkled in confusion. “Uh… is this the backup you were talking about, Jazzy-pants?”

Jazz ignored him. “What do you mean? Where is he?” she asked Valerie.

“It’s okay, I’m here!” a voice called out. A moment later, Danny - as Phantom - pulled up beside Valerie. “I’m here.” Jazz’s breath caught in her throat. She had known, of course, that Danny had gone to get the Crown of Fire, but for some reason, it hadn’t crossed her mind that he would have to wear it. Granted, the crown on his head now was most definitely not on fire, but she thought the frosted look complemented him much better than fire. The way it sat on his head, and the way the cloak he wore rippled in the breeze and caught the light…

He looked regal. Like he really was a king. 

It made her heart swell with pride. Her baby brother… he had come so far. She’d never doubted his leadership abilities, not really. His common sense could be… debatable at times, but her brother had a good heart. He was still young, of course, and the thought of him being a monarch had never occurred to her, but in that moment, Jazz couldn’t help but think that the role suited him.

She must have shown it on her face, because Danny caught her eye, and his hand flew up to the back of his neck. “It’s a long story…” he muttered sheepishly, his cheeks growing green. 

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but Dad stood up abruptly, cutting her off. Mentally, she kicked herself. She’d gotten so distracted by his arrival, she’d forgotten about their parents.

Danny instantly paled. Whatever he saw in Dad’s face, it couldn’t have been good. Jazz tried to stand, to intercept him, but Frostbite gently held her down. “Easy,” he rumbled quietly. “Do not act prematurely.”

Of course, she wanted to protest that, but she quickly became distracted by her father’s slow approach towards Danny. Her mother wasn’t too far behind. 

Danny’s hand twisted into the cloak, and he averted his gaze. “Look,” he began shakily, “I… I get it if you hate me, and - and I… I’ll let you hunt me down or tear me apart or whatever you want, but please, you have to let me stop all this first, or there isn’t gonna be a world for you to tear me apart in. I just need to - mmph!”

Jazz squeaked and clapped her hands to her mouth as Dad lunged forward. She pushed Frostbite’s paw away to stumble to her feet. She had to get there first, had to stop him from hurting Danny - 

 - but her heart stuttered to a stop as Dad wrapped Danny in a tight embrace.

“Danny,” he said, his voice cracking. “We were so worried… You have no idea…”

A stunned Danny returned the hug as Mom pulled down her hood and glommed on to his other side. “You don’t… hate me?” he asked, his voice muffled by their dad’s burly form.

“Listen to me, Danny,” Mom said, peeling him out of Dad’s arms and holding him by the shoulders. She looked him firm in the eye. “No matter what you do, no matter what you are, we could never, ever hate you. Never, do you hear me?”

Jazz could see the tears glistening in the corners of Danny’s eyes even from where she sat. His lower lip quivered the slightest bit before he threw his arms around Mom’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I should’ve told you forever ago, but I just…”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” their mom said, rubbing circles into his back. “It’s okay. We’ll have time to… to figure it all out.”

“Yeah, assuming the world doesn’t end first,” Wes snarked from his position on the ground. Jazz shot him a heated glare. 

Valerie simply looked away and folded her arms across her chest. Jazz frowned. Something clearly wasn’t sitting right with her, but…

“Wait,” Dad said, furrowing his brow, “what’s this about the world ending?”

“It’s okay,” Jazz said. “The world isn’t going to end. Danny’s going to make sure of it.” Maybe she’d have felt more sure of her words if there hadn’t been a gaping hole in the sky threatening to rip reality apart, but someone had to look on the bright side.

Their parents glanced between the two of them. “What do you mean?” Mom asked slowly.

Before either of them could answer, another wayward ectoblast flew overhead, crashing into the roof of the building right above them. Huge chunks of rubble broke off of the building and began to plummet straight towards them.

Valerie reacted quickly, pulling Wes up by his shirt collar and grabbing Jazz to drag them to safety. Danny and Frostbite reacted just as quickly by throwing up ectoplasmic shields. The rubble slammed into them, then slid off the shields and away from the rest of the group.

Valerie whipped her head towards the battle. “I think I’m… gonna go help them,” she said. She flew off before Jazz could say anything, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in her wake.

“I need to go help too,” Danny said thickly. He stared after Valerie. “It’s… that’s what I’m supposed to do. If I can beat him, everything will go back to normal… Mostly, anyway.” His hand twitched up towards his head.

Mom whipped her head in the direction of the battle. “Him?” she asked, nodding to where Pariah Dark and the lava-haired Ancient were still fiercely fighting each other. To Jazz’s horror, the Ancient seemed to be losing ground. 

“Precisely,” Frostbite said jovially. How he could manage such a tone in these circumstances was beyond Jazz. “Once the Great One is able to defeat Pariah Dark, he can assume the throne and put the Heart of the Infinite Realms at ease! It’s quite simple, really.”

“Assume the - wait!” Wes shot upright. “You’re telling me that dumb crown isn’t just some weird costume?”

Danny flushed green, and his hand flew up to the back of his neck. “I, ah… like I said, it’s a long story.” He glanced at Mom and Dad. “I’m really sorry, believe me, I wish I could’ve told you differently, and I definitely wish it wasn’t the case, but…”

Jazz watched as Mom’s gaze drifted up to the crown on Danny’s head, as if she were just now noticing it. “What throne?” she asked weakly.

“Um… it kind of maybe sort of might be… the throne of the entire Ghost Zone?” Danny replied with a sheepish grin.

Dad scratched his head. “When did this happen?”

Danny’s face grew sober again. “I don’t know. I only just found out a few hours ago myself.” His eyes flicked away from their parents, down at his feet.

A pang of sympathy struck Jazz’s heart. Sure, Danny looked the part of a king, and somehow, she had no trouble believing he was the king, despite her earlier confusion, but somehow it had escaped her that he had barely had enough time to process everything. That everything was happening so quickly. 

And their parents… it had to be equally difficult for them to process. They had only just learned their son’s true identity less than an hour ago, and now they were finding out he was essentially the heir to the throne of a world full of the same beings they had once sworn to annihilate. It would be a lot for anyone.

And so it nearly brought Jazz to tears when she saw Dad fight to plaster a smile onto his face. He placed a gentle hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said in a tone entirely too quiet for Jack Fenton, “it’s okay. Like your mother said, we’ll have time to figure it all out.”

Danny still didn’t look up. “Yeah,” he said, barely audible. “We’ll have time.”

His tone told Jazz he didn’t believe that in the slightest.

An ear-splitting roar shattered the moment. Everyone slapped their hands over their ears. Jazz only just managed to catch a glimpse of Danny gasping and hunching in on himself, clutching at his sternum.

A wave of hot air washed over Jazz. Trembling, she peered around the rubble, only to gasp in horror at the sight of the little girl Ancient bleeding lava all over the four-armed Ancient. She was still alive - as alive as a ghost could be anyway, but it was evident even from a hundred yards away that she was fully incapacitated. Pandora still fought with the knight, but everyone else - Sam, Tucker, Valerie, the other Ancients, even the thrall army - had practically frozen in place. 

The most terrifying sight of all was the evil ghost king, looming over the street, staring straight at her.

No, staring straight at Danny.

“Come and meet your fate, little Prince!” he called mockingly. His voice reverberated over the street, causing buildings to rumble ominously. “Or will you take the coward’s way out?”

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the humming of the rip in the sky. Jazz held her breath as Danny glanced at their parents, then gently pushed Dad’s hand off his shoulder and took to the air.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he called back. “Just… give me the Ring before things get worse.”

Pariah laughed, a menacing sound that sent chills down Jazz’s spine. “Why should I surrender what is rightfully mine?”

Danny's eyes flared. “That power’s not yours. It’s mine.”

Jazz blinked at the sudden shift in Danny’s tone. It was still his voice, yes, but there was something about it…

Pariah roared wordlessly again. “Never!” he snarled. “Kilaris is MINE!”

With a guttural yell, he launched himself at Danny. Jazz could’ve sworn she saw a bright white light flare from the crown on Danny’s head, just momentarily, but when she blinked, it was gone, and Danny too had charged forward. The two collided in a blinding explosion of red and green.

Mom and Dad moved to follow Danny, but Frostbite held a paw up. “No,” he said, his voice somber and heavy. “This is not a fight you can help him with. He must win this by his power alone.”

“Listen here,” Mom snapped. “I don’t care how you do it in your world, but I will not stand by and watch my son fight some impossible battle on his own! I - we are going to help him, whether you like it or not!”

“I understand.” Frostbite flinched and threw up a shield just in time to stop another huge chunk of building from crushing them all. “But though you may not be able to help him in combat, there are other ways you can help him.” He glanced at Jazz. “Keeping your daughter and his friend safe, for one.”

“Pfft. Me? Friends with Fenton? Fat chance,” Wes scoffed. 

“He will be able to fight with a sound mind if you help him protect yourselves and the other humans,” Frostbite continued, ignoring Wes. “And I must go and help my colleague.”

Mom turned, watching the battle with helpless eyes. “But… Danny -”

“ - will be just fine. But we must give him a fighting chance by helping elsewhere.”

“He’s right,” Dad said quietly, taking Mom’s hand. “We have to help get Jazz out of here. It’s getting too dangerous.”

“I told you, I’m fine! I can help too!”

Another explosion rang overhead. Jazz yelped and ducked as an enormous bolt of green energy flew over her head. It came close enough that she could feel its cold aura graze the top of her scalp. 

“Y-you know, on second thought, I think I’m with Yeti Man over here,” Wes muttered, cowering behind a fallen wall. Jazz had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

Her attention, however, quickly turned back to Mom. Again, she found herself wishing she could read minds. She could see the gears turning in her mother’s head after all, but Mom’s stoic face didn’t give her true thoughts away. 

Jazz hated not knowing things.

Then Mom’s jaw tightened, and Jazz’s heart fell. She knew that look. “We’re getting you two to safety,” Mom said. Then, giving Frostbite a pointed look, she added, “And then we’re coming back to help Danny.”

Frostbite closed his eyes. “You will only distract him from what he needs to do. It is not wise.”

“That might be what you think,” Mom said as she bent down to help Wes stand, “but he's my son. I've let him struggle alone for too long.” Her voice cracked. “I have to start… making it up to him…”

“I assure you, the Great One does not bear any ill will towards you,” Frostbite said, frowning in sympathy. “This is not the time to begin ‘making amends’, though.”

Mom opened her mouth to retort again, but Dad laid a hand on her shoulder. “C'mon, Mads. We can figure it out later. Right now, we've gotta help these two.”

It was strange seeing her father being the rational, calm one, but Jazz chalked it up to the weirdness of the day. It was the only way she could keep it all straight in her head. 

Mom shot Frostbite one last hard glare before leading Wes towards the RV sitting down the road. Dad scooped Jazz up into his arms and began carrying her to the RV, much to her embarrassment. 

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Don’t you worry, Jazzy-pants!” he said. His tone was bright as always, but Jazz could tell it was at least somewhat forced. “Soon as you’re safe, we’ll get right back out there and help Danny kick some evil ghost king butt!”

Jazz bit her lip. “What about what Frostbite said? About… interfering?”

Her dad hesitated before answering. “I’m sure he’s wrong. You can’t trust a ghost, after all!” His face froze as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean, uh, not Danny of course! He’s different.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that. That… was a misconception they’d have to clear up sooner or later.

As she peered over Dad’s shoulder, back towards where Danny was fighting tooth and nail against Pariah, she hoped there would actually be a sooner or later.

“Be careful, little brother,” she whispered to herself. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The thread flickered.

Clockwork frowned as he allowed it to flow across his hands and in between his fingers. This certainly was the correct timeline, he knew that without a doubt, but its flickering concerned him greatly. It had been so strong when Vlad Plamius made the decision to allow Danny the Crown, but now…

He closed his eyes as he sifted through time. Before, the future had been as clear to him as any other. Now though, he could only see up to a certain point before it was obscured behind what felt like a thick wall of mist. There was still a future there, yes, but not one he could see.

It was, in a word, unusual.

“My dear Kilaris, what are you up to?” he murmured as he let the thread of the timeline slip from his fingers and back into the broader tangle of Time. Its flicker became swallowed up by the combined glow of the cluster of timelines, but Clockwork knew it was still present.

His eyes drifted to one of his time windows. The same image of Danny exiting the portal that he had watched just an hour or so ago played out again, this time in real time. A thin trail of frost followed in his wake as he flew to meet his family. The frost shimmered briefly in the ethereal light of the rip in the sky above, leaving a silky, glowing strand, almost like - 

- ah. Of course.

“Must you always be so overdramatic?” Clockwork said aloud, the semblance of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

He rested his hands on top of his staff. He knew what needed to happen now. 

It was only a matter of time. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fighting Pariah was nothing like it had been the first time around.

Before, Danny had been fighting in a clunky mech-suit. True, it had helped enhance his powers (until it tried to kill him), but it had made his movements equally clunky and stiff. He’d needed to adapt to the added weight and size quickly, but it still cost him when he took a few crucial hits.

This time he was not bound by any suit. He was free to move as he pleased, using the advantage of his smaller form to move with agility and speed that Pariah did not possess. He could dive in close for a punch or a kick, then turn on a dime and dart away. He wouldn’t have been able to do that in the Ecto-Skeleton. 

There was also the fact that he had the help of the Ancients. True, it looked like Pele had taken some nasty hits from Pariah and would be down for the count, but the others were still going strong especially with Zunje now, keeping the Fright Knight and the thrall army at bay. He didn’t like seeing Sam and Tucker down there in the fray, so close to his own battle with Pariah, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

And then there was the Crown. It remained secure on his head, feeding him a power that buzzed through his veins and his core, making him feel like he’d just taken six shots of espresso mixed with pure ectoplasm. It was an exhilarating feeling, one that made him wish he’d actually used the Crown when he’d had the chance, during his first fight with Pariah.

(A wish he immediately scolded himself for.)

Danny gritted his teeth as he threw up another ectoplasmic shield, this one with a thick coating of ice thanks to the power of the Crown. It helped protect him from Pariah’s elemental attacks, which ran much hotter than his own.

Ectoplasmic fire exploded across the shield, and Danny could feel its heat as it curled around the edges towards him. He had to dig his heels into the air to brace himself against the sheer force of the hit. 

Pariah didn’t give him a chance to fire back. No sooner had Danny lowered his shield did he see Pariah lunging for him, fangs bared and a fiery, maniacal look in his lone eye. Danny yelped and darted to the side, just barely missing Pariah’s fist. 

Danny tried to respond with his own blast of ectoplasm, the Crown’s power coursing through him, but Pariah deflected it easily with his mace. The blast ricocheted off of it and into the street. Danny gasped as it flew right over Jazz’s head, just barely missing her by a foot.

That turned out to be a mistake. He should’ve known better than to let himself get distracted. It gave Pariah the opportunity to take another swing with his mace, catching Danny in the gut and sending him crashing into the ground. 

Danny gripped his stomach and swallowed down a cry. The mace’s sharp spikes were not just for decoration, it seemed; they’d dug mercilessly into his torso, leaving him with deep, ragged gashes. The fall into the street hadn’t been too kind on his ribs, either. He could already feel the Crown diverting some of its power to the injuries, trying to heal him as quickly as possible.

Pariah roared as he dove for Danny, fire exploding to life around his fist. Danny managed to roll out of the way, and Pariah’s fist slammed into the street, cracking it even more. In any other fight, Danny probably would’ve tried to make some snarky comment about how the potholes in Amity Park were already bad enough and they didn’t need more, but he was still struggling to get air back in his lungs. Not to mention he found it much harder to crack jokes in the middle of his more serious fights, mostly because he had to concentrate on not getting beaten to a pulp.

As Danny rolled, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father scoop Jazz into his arms. Mom helped Wes up, and they ran towards the RV, which was still parked haphazardly down the road. Miraculously, it was still standing. 

He could almost breathe a sigh of relief. He still didn’t know if Sam and Tucker were safe or if they were still out there fighting the skeleton army, but knowing his family (and Wes) were safe offered him a little bit of reassurance.

Focus. Do not lose sight of the goal.

Right. The Ring. He still had to get that. Somehow.

It was going to be much easier said than done. Getting it off of Pariah’s hand seemed impossible, especially with the relentless drive of the king’s attacks. Danny barely had the chance to recover and launch his own attacks, let alone come up with a plan to swipe the Ring. 

He forced himself up and into the air. His cloak flared with cold energy as he allowed ice to gather in his hands. That was another advantage he had this time around - the help from his elemental core. His ice attacks were some of his strongest, and he silently thanked whatever unseen force had granted him an ice core as he loosed the energy all at once, freezing Pariah’s entire arm to the street.

You’re welcome, little Prince.

Danny almost stopped in midair. That remark definitely sent a flurry of questions flying through his head, but he had to keep his attention on Pariah. We’re not done with this, he still thought back.

Of course not. You still have much to learn.

He didn’t think the Heart meant it as a dig, but he still mentally stuck his tongue out. Even if he didn’t have time to ask questions, he could still be sassy. No one could take his sass away.

It was strange how much clearer the voice in his head seemed now that he had the Crown on. It had been clear before, but there was a new clarity to it, like when his eye doctor gave him a new prescription for his contacts. He supposed it made sense; now, he had that direct contact.

It still didn’t explain why the voice sounded like his own train of thought sometimes.

Even stranger was the feeling of the power offered to him by Kilaris. It was stronger than the power he’d had while wearing the Ecto-Skeleton, and that had probably been the time when he was the most powerful throughout the past two years. It helped that unlike the Ecto-Skeleton, the Crown did not drain him of his energy as he used it; instead, it continuously fueled him, pouring more and more power into his body, like it could never run out. It was thrilling, this feeling of endless energy. His core practically vibrated from it all.

At the same time though, fear nagged at him. This was how it felt with just the Crown on. How much worse would it be once he got the Ring too? The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he found himself subconsciously beginning to suppress his core. Suppress the ceaseless power flooding into him.

Why stop the power you are meant to have? 

Danny swallowed. 

That’s exactly what he was afraid of.

It all passed through his mind in the few seconds it took for Pariah to begin trying to melt the ice securing him to the ground. “Why you little -!” 

More ice pooled in Danny’s hands. “Sorry,” he said as he re-froze Pariah’s hand to the street. “You just looked like you needed to chill out.”

Pariah bellowed, and the ice cracked and shattered. “Impertinent child!” he sneered. “When I am in control once more -”

“Save it!” Danny fired off a round of concentrated bolts of ice in quick succession, forcing Pariah to retreat a little. “I already told you, the Heart’s not yours anymore! It hasn’t been for a long time!”

“And you dare presume it is yours?” Pariah said. He quickly gained back the ground he had lost by leaping at Danny again.

Of course, Danny easily flew out of the way. “I don’t ‘presume’ anything!” he shouted. “I already know!”

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say, and he really didn’t like the taste the words left in his mouth, but if he’d learned anything throughout his career as Danny Phantom, it was that his opponents got sloppy when he riled them up. Snarking at them just happened to be the easiest way to do so.

Is it truly “snark” if you speak the truth?

In spite of himself, Danny almost laughed. If you’re gonna be stuck with me, you better get used to the snark, whether it’s true or not. We come as a package deal.

He ducked out of the way of another punch. He didn’t recover quick enough; by the time he managed to turn around to face the king, an entire wall of red energy was surging at him. There wasn’t time to fly around it. It struck him with a force so strong, he was thrown back more than a hundred yards.

His ribs groaned in pain as he slammed into the concrete and skidded back a few more yards for good measure. Nausea churned in his stomach from the blow, and he had to resist the urge to lean over and throw up. All too soon, Pariah was on top of him again, swinging his mace.

Knowing there was no way he could move in time, Danny turned intangible and allowed himself to sink into the ground. He counted to three, just enough time to get his nausea under control, then called ectoplasm to his hands. With the Crown’s power, the energy’s green glow was so bright, it almost seemed white.

It wasn’t difficult to track Pariah’s hot ecto-signature underground. Danny lined himself up underneath him, then sprang from the ground. His blazing fists collided straight with Pariah’s jaw. It didn’t push Pariah back like he had hoped, but it distracted him long enough for Danny to fire his ectoplasm in one long, continuous blast. 

Pariah growled under Danny’s onslaught before finally bringing up a red shield. “You truly think this will be enough to stop me?”

Danny didn’t let up. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop a monster like you from hurting the Realms again.”

“Really now?” Pariah twisted his shield into a blast of his own. It pushed against Danny’s, and he once again had to dig his heels into the air behind him to keep from being thrown back again. “Then why don’t you?”

Danny’s heart skipped a beat, and his attack faltered for the briefest of moments. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Pariah said, laughing. “I have seen you. I have seen your fears, your doubts…”

“You don’t know me at all!” Danny yelled. Frustration distracted him, and he unwillingly drew on the Crown’s power to fuel his blast. “Just ‘cause you got in my head once doesn’t mean anything!”

“Poor little Prince,” Pariah cooed mockingly, as if Danny hadn’t even spoken. “This is why you are weak. This is why you will fail to protect everything you stand for. You are nothing more than a scared child.”

Danny couldn’t stop the anger-fueled energy pouring into him and, subsequently, pouring out of his hands. The Crown was all too happy to supply it. It just responded to him too easily. It responded to his resentment of Pariah, his frustration at the tyrant king’s insinuation that he was a coward, his rage at the fact that Pariah refused to hand over what was rightfully Danny’s -

Danny screwed his eyes shut tightly. That last one, he knew it was the Crown’s influence, but he couldn’t stop it. It was all coming too hard, too fast, too strong, and it was thrilling. The power flooding through the Crown just felt so right, like maybe he really was meant to have it all along.

He wanted to throw up.

The power demanded a release. It thrummed against Danny’s skin, coursing through his core, making his green ectoblast grow brighter and brighter until it was nearly a blinding white. It would not remain bound for much longer.

And so with a guttural yell, he unleashed it.

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened - the rush of energy leaving him all at once had left him overwhelmed and disoriented - but when he opened his eyes, the whole block had a thin layer of ice covering it, sparkling in the ethereal light of the rip above. Large branches of the trees in front of the buildings had frozen and cracked off the trunks, shattering on the ground below. He could see at least one downed power line. 

Pariah had fallen to the ground, into a huge crater Danny swore hadn’t been there before. Crystals of frost coated his hair and his cape. He slowly sat up, rubbing his head, clearly just as disoriented as Danny.

Danny stared at his hands in horror. Did I really do that?

The Heart didn’t answer him. He couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. 

Probably bad. For him, anyway.

And in that moment, he swore to himself he’d never allow the Crown to give him that much power ever again. Never.

(No matter how right it had felt to control it.)

Pariah’s cough caught his attention. “You…” he muttered before stopping abruptly.

Danny’s breath caught in his throat as Pariah’s lone eye fell on the Crown sitting on his head. For just a brief moment, the world seemed to screech to a halt around them, and a silence filled the air, so thick it left a dusty taste in Danny’s mouth. Even the rip in the sky above seemed to pause in its yawning.

Then a fire sparked to life behind that one eye and a wave of heat crashed over Danny, nearly knocking him over. The roar Pariah let loose chilled Danny to the bone and left a whiny ringing in his ears. He didn’t even bother to try and stand his ground against a rage so strong; he simply turned and rocketed off in the other direction.

Just in the nick of time too, it seemed, as Pariah lunged after him. In an instant, a flurry - no, a storm of scarlet ectoblasts surrounded Danny. He twisted and ducked and dived and put all his flying skills to the test trying to dodge them all. It was difficult, since the blasts were all coming from behind him, but strangely enough, he felt as though he could sense them in the air as they flew at him, like he could just tell where they were without looking. 

“Is that you?” he asked as he narrowly avoided yet another attack.

On the contrary. It is you, little Prince.

“That makes zero se- agghh!” A blast clipped Danny’s side, sending a flare of white hot pain up his ribcage. The blast was strong enough to send him careening off course, and he couldn’t stop himself from colliding with a building and plummeting to the street below. His head hit hard enough to cause his vision to go black.

He groaned pitifully as he laid on the road. The pain shooting through his side felt as though it was trying to burn straight through him, even in spite of the cloak and Crown’s efforts to heal him. Something sticky and wet pooled underneath the hand gripping his side.

For a minute, he just laid there, fruitlessly trying to will the pain away. Unbidden memories of being in a very similar pain in a very similar fight began to well up. He forced them back down. Not right now.

A blood-curdling scream had his eyes flying back open.

Vision half-blurry from the fall to the ground, Danny pried his head up off the street and looked. In front of him was the elementary school, surrounded by a shimmering green ghost shield. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared, since it was after school hours and the building would normally be empty, but his eyes landed on a small crowd of civilians, hovering near the inner edge of the shield and watching the battle with fear in their eyes. The scream had come from a little girl no older than six, covering her mouth in horror and pointing at him.

No, pointing behind him.

With a grunt of pain and a tremendous effort, Danny took to the sky again, wobbling in midair. Pariah’s boots slammed into the street not a second later, right where he had been laying. 

This was bad. This was really getting bad. He was injured, and though the Crown and the cloak kept his energy levels high enough for the most part, he was devoting too much energy to the fight to focus any towards healing himself. Energy didn’t exactly help when it was his physical body that was damaged. 

And now there was the fact that he had a slew of people behind him, huddling underneath a ghost shield. True, it would protect them from Pariah, and it would protect them from stray blasts, but rubble could easily go flying in, or someone could step out of the protected radius. It was too dangerous to keep the battle this close to them.

(Not to mention he saw more than one cell phone out and recording, and that definitely set him on edge.)

He tried to dart away from the shield, but Pariah managed to snag his collar as he whizzed by. He gagged and his hands flew up to his throat. 

“A coward!” Pariah cackled. “That is who you are! Fleeing from the battle? Fleeing from those under your protection?” He threw Danny into yet another building. “And Kilaris dares deem you worthy?”

“So you admit it,” Danny coughed. His hand gripped his side again. “That the Heart wants me over you.” Not that he was crazy keen on that fact.

Pariah’s face morphed into a dark frown. “The Heart’s opinion is worthless!” he snapped. “It is I who controls Kilaris! Its will bends to me!”

In spite of the pain and every instinct telling him not to, Danny shot Pariah a cocky, albeit weak, grin. “Bet.”

He had to keep from laughing at the stunned look on Pariah’s face. It was clearly not the response he had been expecting to his declaration, and the fact that Danny had been able to catch him off guard that badly was priceless.

The humor didn’t last long, though. In the blink of an eye, Pariah was charging at him again. This time, Danny anticipated it enough to be able to phase back through the building. He emerged at the ground level, underneath Pariah, who was still looking for him. 

Danny moved to leap up once more, but his ribs screamed in protest. He hissed as he tried to keep from doubling over.

The cloak’s interior had to be sub-zero at this point, it was working overtime. Another layer of frost was beginning to glaze over it. The Crown too grew colder on his head, feeding pulse after pulse of energy into him.

You have been holding back, little Prince. The power has the capability to heal you and aid you in battle simultaneously, but you must let go of your fears if you are to use its true potential.

Danny didn’t answer. He was too distracted barely dodging Pariah’s mace and firing up a barrage of ice at him to do so. 

There was also the little fact that he didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to… couldn’t acknowledge…

Yet he couldn’t deny just how badly his core wanted it. The memory of how that power had felt just those few minutes ago burned through his head, and his core jumped in earnest. 

He gritted his teeth and forced his core to quiet. It would be fine.

It had to be.

As soon as the ice left his hands, though, he collapsed in on himself once more, clutching his bleeding side. It was long enough of a distraction for Pariah to slam his feet into the street, causing enough of a quake to knock Danny off his feet and to the ground. 

Okay, so maybe it wouldn't be so fine. 

Pariah swung his mace down again, and Danny responded with a green shield. It was too hasty, not properly formed, and it shattered underneath the force. Danny yelped and tried to roll away, but the mace still clipped his back, tearing open the skin there. 

Yeah, definitely not so fine. 

The temptation to give in and let the Crown flood him once more was growing by the minute. Danny didn't know how long he could sustain himself with all these injuries, let alone how he could win the fight and take the Ring. His core ached to be filled by the Heart's power. He knew that if he let it happen, it would almost guarantee his victory.

But his eye caught the ghost shield behind him, where the crowd of civilians stood watching him with horror painted on their faces. He remembered just how badly he had destroyed the block over when he'd let the Crown's power overwhelm him, and his stomach flipped. No way could he put his people in that sort of danger. 

You can control it, little Prince. You are more than capable. 

Again, Danny didn't respond. The battle consumed too much of his focus. Gasping against the flare of hot pain, he took to the air once more to avoid yet another swing of Pariah’s mace. It missed him by a hair. He raised his hands once more to answer with an attack of his own, and - 

“Danny!”

It was instinct. He turned his head at the sound of his mother calling his name. 

It was the worst mistake he could’ve made.

He met his mom’s eyes for just a moment, but it was a moment enough for Pariah to make his move. Danny didn’t register the heat moving behind him until it was too late. He turned around just in time to see Pariah’s hand flying towards him.

Reflexively, he turned intangible in the nick of time. Pariah’s hand sailed harmlessly through his head and out the other side. His tangibility returned, and he reached out to return the attack.

It wasn’t until an emptiness unlike any other hit him like a brick wall that he realized it hadn’t been him Pariah had been gunning for. 

Danny immediately dropped to his knees and doubled over in pain as his core cried out. Just like at Vlad’s, his core felt like it had been ripped straight from his chest and drained of all its energy. Cold air surrounded him as his cloak flared to life, trying desperately to compensate for the lost energy. The only sound was his frantically pulsing heart in his ears, and he couldn’t catch his breath enough to shout.

It hurt. Ancients, it hurt.

And unlike at Vlad’s, the emptiness pressed on. 

Danny managed to look up as panic bubbled to the surface. His stomach only churned worse when he saw Pariah standing in front of him with a wild grin, holding the Crown that had been sitting on Danny’s head.

“You should’ve surrendered when you had the chance, little Prince,” he said.

Danny tried to respond, but couldn’t. It was too much. The void inside him felt like it was about to swallow him whole, just like the void above was threatening to swallow Amity Park. 

Please, he begged in a fit of desperation, help me!

The Heart didn’t respond.

“It cannot help you now, child,” Pariah Dark laughed, as if he had read Danny’s mind. “Not when it is finally back in the hands of its true master.”

And as Pariah laughed once more and raised the Crown to put it on his head, Danny lifted a feeble hand towards him, trying to call up his ice, his ectoplasm, his anything, anything that could stop him. He couldn’t feel his power, he couldn’t feel his core, he couldn’t feel his Heart - 

Pariah roared in pain. Danny’s head snapped up to see him drop a steaming Crown. It landed on the street with a loud clatter as Pariah held his also-steaming hand close to his chest.

“You!” he bellowed, glaring daggers at the Crown. “You will yield! That power is MINE!”

Danny ignored him. He had zeroed in on the Crown and begun to drag himself toward it. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realized he probably looked absolutely ridiculous right now, and it pained him to think about how badly he wanted - needed to get the Crown back, but he didn’t care.

He couldn’t tell if he was simply imagining it, but he could almost feel a little tendril of power, reaching out to him, trying to hook into his core, trying to pull him closer.

Pariah roared again, and Danny had to retreat back into the cooling comfort of his cloak as a wall of heat crashed into him. “No!” he snarled. “If you will not bow to me, then you will have no one!” With a shout that shook Danny to his bones, Pariah snatched the Ring from his finger and threw it down next to the Crown with such force that it formed a little crater.

Danny’s heart began to pound even faster. This was it. This was his chance. He just had to move - 

But he never made it. Pariah unleashed a terrible scream, and then hot, red energy poured from his hands.

Straight onto the Crown and the Ring.

If losing the Crown had hurt, Pariah’s attack on it was excruciating. Danny gripped his head and his core, unsure if he was the one screaming or if it was someone else or if he was just imagining it. 

“Stop!” he managed to gasp. “You - hurting…”

But Pariah paid him no mind. Instead, he yelled louder, and another barrage of energy slammed into the Crown and Ring. Danny reacted as though he had been the one to get hit, falling to his stomach and crying out soundlessly.

He could barely see the Crown and Ring through Pariah’s onslaught, but when he finally gathered the strength to lift his head and look, his entire being froze.

A crack appeared in the Crown.

And now he was sure he wasn’t imagining the scream of pain because it definitely had to be him with how his core cracked too, and there was definitely another voice screaming in harmony with his and Ancients, of course it would be screaming, with the way Pariah - 

“I am the power of the Realms!” Pariah roared, and another crack appeared in the Crown. 

Danny reached out one last time, but he knew it was fruitless. There was no way…

Danny cried out.

The Crown and Ring cried out.

Kilaris cried out.

And then

Kilaris

s h a

t t

e r e

d

[annoyingenthusiastperfection]

Summary : headcanon version¡ Miles (42! & 1610!) Hobie brown , Pavtir Prabhakar , and gwen stacy. Finding out your Mlp collection.

Miles Morales

●It all started with u beeing good at drawing horses. Miles was impressed and asked how you draw so good.

"LIKE HOW??? ARE YOU SO GOOD AT DRAWING HORSES???

"Its cause I drew them alot"

●Miles was amazed on how knowledgeable about real facts on horses and the mythologyical one too. Unicorns? Alicorns? Pegasus? Please you can draw them blinded.

●But no matter what your explanation may be Miles just has a little suspicion that its not just cause your born to draw horses. He caught u doodling a purple oddly familiar alicorn.

"Hey what's that?" Miles pointed at your doodles as you closed your sketch book in emberassment. "nothing!"

●It was a normal day you and Miles on your dorm room studying suddenly beeing called by your roomates outside for some help. Miles was left in your dorm he was kicking his foot til he hit a box to hard making it fall down to reveal....

Ponies???

●You walked in to your dorm Miles brushing celestia's hair. You froze. Your soul leaving your body. Miles turned to you in a innocent smile.

"So you like my little pony? I still remember you drawing the purple one! What's her name? Sprakle Sprinkle?"

"IT'S TWILIGHT SPARKLE"

●It was funny when Miles deliberately or unintentionally mistakes the ponies name and you always corrected him. He once called chrysalis the alien pony. He called Cozy glow a crazy bitch when you forced him to watch all 9 seasons of the show including movies and mlpstopmotion videos.

●Loves the apple family and pinkie pie.

"I cant believe you watched this as a kid. I can understand how your so good at drawing horses now"

Gwen Stacy

●Gwen and you werent too close in the beginning .It was just you two were seatmates so she notice on your "subtle" referance to the show. Be it the elements of harmony colored gems sticker on your notebook. Your twilight sparkle cutiemark earings. Or just you doodling the treehouse of harmony.

"I like your earings"

"T-thank you"

●It was kind of normal of your friends picking or joking on your mlp obsession. It sometimes makes you left out since you couldnt for the life of God relate to alot of they're series of the month. It was hard for you to not cringe at Live action. You were used to animation. The live action just felt stiff compared to animation. Gwen never understood your friends she thought it was cool how you memorize ponies name cutie marks even backround ones.

●It was lunch time and Gwen went to her classroom early and theyre she saw you watching the wedding of shinning armor and cadence. Face full of food as you watch intently.

●Gwen smiled sitting next to you. "Mind if I sit next to you?" You jolted and fell of your chair luckily Gwen caught you. Eversince that day you watched mlp episodes with Gwen everylunch.

●She loved doing theories. Like why theyre never been a baby alicorn born till flurry heart. The connections of equestria magic and the human worls. Loves the idea of Discord beeing the last draconequus and finding solice in invading worlds to feel not alone.

●Loves the seaponies.

"God I love applejack love her honestyand loyalty to her family! And the cutie mark crusaders are adorable! Sweetie Pie is the cutest!"

Hobie Brown

●He didnt meet you as Hobie brown but as spider-punk. It was an accident when beating up some corrupt cops near by he saw you full pinkie pie cosplay. You wearing a pink wig with a blue , pink , and yellow cupcake dress. It caught him off guard of your ballon accecories. He got kicked in the face becuase he was distracted watching you.

●Eversince he saw you he tried seeing you again but god hates him. He couldnt find for the life of himself. He tried going to cons wandering around finding any familar cosplay. He called it a night at 3rd day going till.

"I am sorry-"

●It was you with the same pink wig , ballon clips , pink , blue and yellow cupcake dress.

"You look dench in that."

"Thank you! I worked really hard on the dress"

●Eversince that day Hobie offered to ask you about the cosplay finding out your suppose to cosplay pinkie pie from mlp. He was a little confuse at first but after watching 4 seasons he gets it. It took him a while to catch up but he thinks the show is enjoyable at the least.

●You convinced him to cosplay twilight as you cosplayed spike. Imagine him with purple glitter extensions , a pony ears and horn with wings. It was funny but he didnt mind. He was Qreally into you wearing loads of spikes on your outfit since you were cosplaying a dragon.

●When he showed up like that on a meeting with Miguel he didnt give a single crap only reapeting.

"I look awesome and you aint doing nothing about it"

●He loves discord and pinkie pie but has a soft spot for thorax.

"The changelings look cool before and after. You can't CHANGE my mind"

Pavtir Prabhakar

●200% already knew about the show. Was actually obsessed as a kid but nobody like to talk about it with him well except for you.

●You two rant about the better element and pony almost every week.

"RAINBOW DASH ISNT A SELF CENTERED FASHINISTA!"

"How dare you ..."

"I am sorry-"

"You say that to Rarity" *caressing Rarity plushie backpack*

●He honestly jsut took potery just to make mlp statues why? To flex on you thats why.

●Will and have bought every single main six plushies but you have the cards of the mainsix and princesses. Even his favourite. Big Mac. This man has begged and pleqded for that card but he held it ONCE.

●How can you hate him so much? It was all for the tease and who got the best merch.

●Loves loves spike and starlight.

"C'mon trade with meeeeee"

Miles G.

●You hid your mlp intrest from him to the point he never even visited your apartment. Not once.

"Hey can we hang out your place?"

"Sorry I have a rat infestation"

●He didnt push it any further and so everytime he asked theyre was a new excuse. The bathroom sink broke. My AC isnt working well. The place is a Mess. A fire recently happend. I almost got robbed so its unsafe. Excuses and Excuses.

●But this time you can't escape. It was you having you having a fever so he had to go your apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary it wasn't to big or to small but when he entered your room.

●Your bed was surrounded with mlp plushies from the main six , to the princesses , to the ponies of pony vill and more. Rapped in a twilight cutie mark pattern blabket sick out of your mind you stood up looking at Miles in you fluttershy pajamas.

"So this is why you dont want me to come here?"

"Ughhhh ... Shut up your lucky I am sick"

●Since you getting sick it became a habit of Miles just watching an Mlp episode or two to cool off. One time Uncle Aaron walked pass him watching the mlp movie and he was flabergasted to the brim.

"The hell are you watching?"

"Something good got a problem?"

●He likes to see your collection of mlp castles his favorite the crysatl empire the little flurry heart jusg warms his heart.

●He loves fluttershy but relates to applejack about family and uses Raindbow dashed motto.

"I GIVE AM 120% AWESOME STFU"

[gripefroot]

Crooked Ways [13/22]

“You love those boardroom meetings, cricket. You’ve been begging to go with me since you were ten.”

“That was before I realized how boring they were!”

“No, no - I remember last year when you got so mad at the accounting department that you climbed on the conference table and threw your shoes at the managers. You laughed all night long. Your mother fretted that you were going insane.”

Bulma was insane.

Fingers tap-tapping on the same conference table, she continued to replay the conversation with Dad to figure out how, exactly, she could have explicitly told him no and still ended up in the Capsule Corp high rise in downtown West City. It irritated her enough that it stopped her mind from going where it wanted to go. 

Remembering what she shouldn’t think about only made her want to think of it more. The immediate response in her body had her sitting up straighter in her chair at the head of the table, uncrossing her legs and blinking in a flurry. At the opposite end, a marketer was giving a presentation that she didn’t care about. Since she read through the monthly reports, she already knew what he was saying. Couldn’t she have attended through video conference? That way no one would be able to see her flushed cheeks…

Vegeta. This was Vegeta’s fault. 

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, exactly where his teeth had done the same the night before. And the night before that. And the night before…

How many days had it been? Since they’d created the strangest nighttime routine, after their daily bickering and respective responsibilities they fell onto the couch in front of the television every night and kissed and kissed and kissed…

It was a much better distraction than any horror movie. Sometimes Bulma wondered what Vegeta was seeking a distraction from, but she’d never asked. 

He’d even given his approval of the new gravity sensors in the training pod in the form of a kiss. She’d expected him to grab her rear, too, but his hand floating down her back had stopped at the base of her spine before drawing away. Disappointing, but Vegeta was full of odd boundaries and cold walls she hadn’t learned to navigate yet. 

“Ma’am? Miss Bulma?”

Bulma put on a dazzling smile, focusing her eyes on the man across the room to give him a few polite, generic comments. He gave a sigh of relief, ending his presentation. She let out a long, slow breath while whispered conversation broke out. The next pale, sweating man stood to make his presentation. Would this never end?

At some point she picked up a pencil, sketching out the battle suit that was at the top of her priority list. And then another, with a few tweaked differences. Looped feet to better stay in his boots. Then another with attached feet entirely. What would he say to that? He’d mentioned that the Frieza Force suits were single pieces. And what about the straps on the armor; would he prefer buckles or elastic that could be slipped over his head and - 

“Thank you,” Bulma said politely when the next man finished. And the next. And the next. 

Vegeta would be training. Probably half-killing himself, but he liked it enough that Bulma held her tongue about it. Some of the time, at least. She’d probably never get used to seeing him sagging and sweating, reopening wounds and barely able to walk up stairs…

Somehow he always found energy for a makeout. She appreciated that about him. 

Next she sketched a half-formed idea that she’d had a few nights earlier. Turning the interior gym into a proper training room for Vegeta so the eyesore of a training pod could be removed from the lawn. Of course, the gravity sensors and technology would have to all be moved, but that was the sort of project she liked…

The managers were packing up their briefcases, muttering amongst each other about dinner. Bulma stood at once, sweeping her drawings and pencil into her purse with a smile for everyone around her. They scrambled to their feet, posturing bow after bow. Annoyance that she was watched so closely, respected so automatically made her steps to the doors too quick. They admired her because she was her father’s daughter, but what about for being her?

High heels in hand, Bulma stepped out of the car at the home compound, the domes turned gold by the light of the setting sun. Instead of going inside to get out of her tight dress or to fill her aching belly with something substantial, she found herself wandering across the lawn to the training pod and the flashing lights visible through the windows. The grass was cool beneath her bare feet, the soil nearly cold. Summer was coming to an end. Only one more summer until…

She beeped her keycard access outside the pod, the whirr of generators and electricity quieting before the door slid open. A cough itched at her throat until she let it out, stepping inside the haze of heat and smoke. 

“Why are you interrupting me? I was almost at my limit!” 

Bulma waved a hand in front of her face to diffuse the smoke clouding her vision. Vegeta hovered several feet above the ground, shirtless and, indeed, sweating. Some of his hair was smoking. That would explain the burning-hair smell that tickled her nostrils. 

“Don’t you want to come inside for dinner?” Bulma asked. A few of the robots, attacks paused by her keycard, beeped. 

“I’ll come inside when I’m done!” The roar filled the pod. She pursed her lips, but said nothing else. His temper would burn itself out in a few hours. She could live with the disappointment in the delay of their nightly kissing. 

“Fine,” she said. “Shower before you come eat, though.” 

“Don’t tell me what to - ”

Bulma was out of the pod before Vegeta finished his sentence. Door sealed shut and explosions resumed, muted by the insulation she and Dad had carefully installed. She hummed a little to herself while she headed to the main dome to ignore the pinch of sadness eating at her heart. 

She was getting too used to relying on Vegeta as a distraction. 

“How were the meetings today, sweetie?”

“Fine.” She served herself in the kitchen, Panchy hovering at the stove while she heated water for tea. “Did Dad make any oh-so-important progress on his submarine issues?”

Panchy sighed. “Oh, if only I knew.”

Oh, if only it was worth wasting my day.

“By the way, Yamcha called for you earlier.”

Bulma nearly dropped the spoon into the rice. “What?”

“Yamcha. He wanted to know how you were coping.”

“Coping with…?” Being alone? Abandoned by my friends? Ignored? Overlooked? Each aggressive answer pushed away the tiny sliver of doubt Bulma had about whether she was betraying Yamcha with Vegeta. Of course she wasn’t - she and Yamcha hadn’t been a thing in months - but…

“He also wanted to know if we have any more of those tent capsules that were discontinued a few years ago since no one was buying them,” Panchy went on, the shrill whistle of the tea kettle raising Bulma’s shoulders to her ears with a cringe. 

“That’s bold of him, isn’t it?” she said with a hint of a snarl, slapping curry on her plate next to the rice. “‘Hi, Bulma, long time no see! Give me free capsules!’”

“That wasn’t what he was saying at all,” her mother protested. “And anyway, I told him I’d look and send them if we have any.”

“You do that!” 

“I will, that’s why I said - ”

“I’m going to my room!”

At some point in the last three minutes Bulma had stopped feeling like a weary, overworked CEO and suddenly like a teenage girl again. She suspected it was when Yamcha’s name had been said. Why, exactly, it triggered her so deeply, she couldn’t be sure. Only that she couldn’t stand another minute around Panchy or waiting for a prince that might never come…

She cried out all the tears she could, huddled on her bed, before pulling her tray of food closer with a sniff. Cold, now. Not that it mattered. Unwinding herself, Bulma stepped off of her bed to open the blinds of her bedroom window. Dark trees obscured the pale indigo of mid-twilight. Not a single sprinkle of star. Regretfully she sat back on her bed, eating without thinking about anything at all. 

Bulma sighed when she gave up on supper, scooting back on her bed until she was engulfed in pillows with her toes tucked in the blankets. What a stupid day. And the conferences at Capsule Corp would last the rest of the week…

She wouldn’t make it. 

A knock at her door didn’t turn her head away from the window. “Come in,” Bulma said, not bothering to raise her voice. A much deeper one responded, the visceral response across her skin to the man in the doorway pitiful compared to what it usually was.

“Are you coming to…watch television?” 

A helpless sort of smile grew on her face. “Hi, Vegeta,” she said. 

“Well?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d be training much longer.”

“I…got hungry.”

Bulma sensed that was a lie. But she said nothing about it. “Look at me, I’m already in bed,” she sighed woefully, finally looking over at Vegeta with a smile. “You can go back to training.” 

His scowl was darker than any night sky. Arms crossed, shirt stretched tightly across his chest. By that time his scent had made it across the room. She smelled soap. Her stomach twisted at the thought that he’d listened to her. With a sigh Bulma rubbed her forehead. Why hadn’t he gone away yet? She needed peace and quiet to finish her pity party. 

“Is that food?” 

“It was my dinner,” she said, pushing the tray further from her with her feet. 

“You didn’t finish.”

“I wasn’t really hungry.” 

Vegeta grunted. Then, without an invitation, he strode right inside and headed towards the bed where he grabbed the mostly-full bowl of rice to shovel into his mouth. A grain stuck to the corner of his mouth when he finished, setting down the empty dish to wolf down the curry, next. Bulma smiled, resting her head against the pillows. He’d kill her if she said it, but he really was adorable, in his own, special way. 

“Not enough,” he grunted when all the dishes were empty and he neatly set the chopsticks next to them on the tray. 

“Obviously,” she said. “There’s more in the kitchen. Why didn’t you eat before you showered?”

Vegeta shrugged. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, his gaze instead lingering on the bed next to where she was reclining. Bulma gave the covers a pat in invitation, wondering why her hands suddenly felt ice-cold. He sat, angled away from her and staring out the window, same as she did. 

“Why don’t you move into a different bedroom?” he asked. 

“Huh?”

“So that you can see that constellation you like.”

“Oh.” Bulma wound a finger around a curl of her hair, already tired at the thought of getting ready for bed and waking up early the next day for more meetings. “Um. Well, it’s only visible during the summer, anyway. Plus I like this room. It has a bigger balcony.” 

“Do you use it at all besides trying to kill yourself when drunk?”

“Ha, ha. I do when my friends visit.”

“And how often is that?”

Bulma jabbed a kick at Vegeta’s sitting rear with her foot beneath the blankets. He just gave her a narrowed look. “Just so you know, I’ve been drawing up plans for a training room inside the main dome,” she told him. “So be nice or I won’t do it.” 

His brows rose. 

“And you have to promise you wouldn’t destroy this place,” she warned, pointing a finger at his nose. His eyes nearly crossed as he stared at the tip of it. “This is my family’s home. We live here.”

“Well,” Vegeta said. “You’d better insulate the room, then.”

“Obviously I would!” 

“So, you don’t trust me?” A cunning smile tilted the corners of his mouth in a thrilling, almost frightening way. If Bulma didn’t know him better she might have been scared. But beyond the smirk was a delicious, dark smolder in his eyes that she recognized well enough to not be surprised when he scooted a few inches closer, leaning with a fist on her bed to keep himself upright. 

Her heart lodged in her throat. Without thinking she reached for him, holding his face in her hands while he closed the distance with a puff of breath warming her cheeks in the split-second before their lips connected. The dizzying sensation was quick to wipe away her anxieties, replacing them with a sultry kind of haze that she would happily live in forever. 

Vegeta cradled the back of her head in his hand, moving her as he pleased to better draw pleasure from the simple act of kissing. When he gave a choked moan, their noses nuzzling when he pulled back, Bulma moaned herself. Tonight his touch was the sharp bite of static electricity. More ashy than usual, like scorched earth instead of rainy moss. When his teeth bit gently into her lower lip she wriggled closer, wrapping her arms around his neck while his hands held her by the ribs. 

“I suppose here is just as well.” His words were muttered before he resumed making love to her mouth, tongue swirling around her mouth before easing inside. 

“Hmm?” Bulma couldn’t form words with his tongue in control of hers. Her questioning noise was more of a whimper, anyway, and she didn’t really care what he meant right then.

“For kissing.” 

“Oh. Ah. Oh…” She tried to lean back, giving in to the arch of her spine wanting to be closer to him, wanting to crawl right out of the blankets and tackle him onto the bed (never mind that her dress would probably rip) but Vegeta seized her skull, tilting her head back down for more kissing. He wasn’t going to take the hint and kiss her neck then. Or lay her back and climb over her…

“I do wonder,” his voice reverberated in her ear a while later, when he’d grabbed her leg out of the covers to drape over his lap. A few more inches and they’d fall back together. “How you’re making so many more glorious plans when you can barely keep up with your current projects as is.”

“Huh?” Muddled, Bulma ran a hand behind his thick neck, fiddling with the hair there. 

“I’m still waiting for my battle suit.” 

“Oh, of course you are.” 

Vegeta went rigid. It took all of four seconds for her to realize how very trapped she was by his shoulders and arms, pinning her against the headboard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He pulled away, frowning deeply. The image was offset by his reddened lips. 

“Everyone wants something from me,” Bulma said with a sniff. “Of course you do, too. That’s all.”

“You decided to make me a suit. I didn’t ask for it.”

“No, but you’re always asking for other stuff, aren’t you? The gravity sensors, stronger robots, this and that and food and kissing - ”

“Yes, and you complain the entire time. What’s your point?” 

The point? She huffed out a breath, crossing her arms just like he did, but without the power of bulging muscles. His face was all shades of blue in the light from the window. Except his eyes. They glittered. From the bickering or the kissing. Or both. Bulma squeezed her legs together, but it didn’t help the build-up of desperate yearning. 

“Yamcha called today asking me for free capsules,” she told him. “I’m just…annoyed. Especially after a day like today. All those stupid presentations.” 

“You’re chewing me out because of what Yamcha did?” Vegeta’s brows drew together in ominous warning, which she ignored. He could have hurt her a million times over since he came to Earth, and he hadn’t yet. Her fear of him had gone stale long ago. 

“No, I’m chewing you out because of you.” Bulma waved a hand, as if the difference was negligible. “You make demands, too. Like you own the place! Maybe I’m tired of doing everything for everyone! How come no one ever thinks of that?” 

“If you’re tired of it,” he said, and he lifted her chin with a finger so that their eyes met in a dazzling bridge. She tried to swallow and failed, a tiny eep squeaking from between her lips. “Then stop doing nice things for everyone. You’re a generous woman, Bulma. People have learned that. And they come to expect that.” 

“You want me to stop working on your battle suit?” The words trembled, but Vegeta didn’t comment on that, his eyes flashing. 

“No!”

“So I should stop doing nice things for everyone but you?” 

His mouth tilted downward in a frown. Very nearly a princely-pout. Bulma wanted to trace it with her thumb. “That’s not what I said,” Vegeta said through gritted teeth. “Cease putting words in my mouth.” 

I could put other things in your mouth, she wasn’t brave enough to say. Yet. 

“My grandfather,” he said suddenly, and then snapped his mouth shut. She waited, too intensely curious to ruin her chances of hearing this undoubtedly private tidbit of information by nagging. Vegeta exhaled, head lowering slightly, the bridge between their eyes breaking into a thousand stars. “My grandfather once gifted my grandmother a planet.”

“Well, I haven’t offered that to anyone yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Krillian or Goku asked.” 

He nodded. The fist he propped himself with loosened and turned into a flat hand, brushing over her bedspread. “My grandfather thought too small.”

Bulma started. She was sure she’d lost the conversation. Where was he going with this?

“I would give you a galaxy.”

Her mouth fell open. Immediately Vegeta bristled, rising to sit straight with his shoulders out proudly. “You doubt my ability to accomplish such a task,” he said, though Bulma had thought no such thing. “Might I remind you I was at the front lines of the Frieza Force. I could give you ten galaxies.” 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” she said, bemused. “No need to get so defensive. But why would you do that?” 

Vegeta blinked. Something unfamiliar swam in his eyes, something deep and regretful and confused. Then he shook his head. “I only meant to make you feel better,” he muttered at last. “I have no interest in your weeping tonight.” 

Bulma hadn’t been in danger of weeping (again) but she didn’t tell him so. Something warm and big was swelling in her chest that she couldn’t quite make sense of. Part of it had to be surprise that Vegeta offered her a galaxy. What would she do with an entire galaxy? She knew how the Frieza Force had worked - did Vegeta think to install her as a tyrannical overlord of conquered planets? She could laugh at the very thought: Bulma Briefs, Dictator, and her right hand man, the villainous and violent Prince Vegeta.

“Why are you laughing?” Vegeta asked sharply. 

She smothered her smile. “I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are! I heard it.” 

“If you gave me a galaxy, Goku would show up to depose me,” Bulma said, and she did laugh, but only a little. 

“And I’d finally have my chance to beat him.” Vegeta’s words took on a dangerously low tone. She didn’t dare laugh, but she smiled. 

“You’re full of it.” 

“Full of what? I scarcely ate even part of a meal.” 

“So go eat! I’ll return to my feminine weeping and hysterics after you leave.” 

He stared at her, likely assessing the truth of her threat. 

“I’m teasing,” she told him, smiling. “Really, go eat. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. I can’t stay up all night listening to your revenge fantasies or I’ll fall asleep during the conference tomorrow.” 

Vegeta nodded. Unsettlingly compliant, for him. “I want my battle suit when those conferences are over,” he said, standing up. The loss of comforting weight on her bed settled an unhappiness on Bulma’s shoulders, which she disguised with an indignant gasp. 

“You’ll get it when you get it!” 

But he just waved her off, just like she waved him off sometimes. 

“By the way,” Vegeta added, already halfway to the door. “You should wear that dress more often. But not around anyone but me.” 

The flash of his smile, more feral than affectionate, was blocked by the door closing behind him. Self-consciously Bulma put a hand to her chest, pushing the neckline closer to her skin as if a pervert would be on the ceiling just to gawk down her front. But she committed his suggestion to memory, anyway.

[0rla-zer0]

One by one by one by one, inevitable, unstoppable, unsaveable, they fall all around her. When is it her turn? She waits, and keeps surviving them. Her turn never comes. Every time they die she dies too. But she’s still here. Always here, marching; always here, at the front, forever; always here, watching them die and unable to die with them. Her family.

There is plastoid armor between them, but as she holds his hand and looks into his visor she knows his eyes are the same as hers, and she knows even without seeing when the life fades out of them. When he’s dead, she has to keep going, with him behind her, where he fell, where a part of her still lies, and there is no moment of silence: there are blasters firing and men screaming and the tinny voices of clankers and explosions and crashes and boots on the ground for ever and ever. This is all there is. She is always here.

Something explodes nearby, belching fire and spewing debris; it flings her body into the air. She slams into something, tumbles, half scrambling and half flailing, and when she finally stops, and sits up, something’s happened.

Is it her turn? 

It’s quiet. So, so quiet. Insects are chirping softly outside, just audible over the steady drone of the grimy old cooling unit in the window. She’s sat up so quickly she’s launched herself half out of the bed. A blanket is slipping onto the floor. Her feet are bare. No boots. No armor. No weapon. Nothing but her tatty old nightshirt and the clammy sweat dripping off of her. Her heart pounds.

Her own voice sounds strange to her for a second as it hisses shaky curses (the voice she had spoken with in the dream had been different). She leans out for the nightstand where her canteen sits illuminated by the cold moonlight. An unsteady hand swipes it up and lifts it to her lips. 

She draws her legs up and crawls further back into the narrow bed. The blanket continues to slide to the floor, and she lets it.

That war is over. It’s been over since she was a baby. She’s in a rented room. Tomorrow she’s on a job. She’s got people to meet up with in the morning.

After another swallow of water, she sets her canteen back down heavily, and with her arm sweeping down in the same arc, rummages in her bag, which is sitting on the floor beside the bed. Out comes her datapad. The ritual begins.

After that first mission with Rex was over, she’d started it. An ongoing log of the dreams. Date of the dream. Rough date of the events dreamt of, if she knows it. Location, if she knows it. If not, a description of the terrain. Anything she remembers about what they were doing there. Battalion, if she can recall it; paint color at the very least. What weapon had been in her hand. Then, of course, the names. Any names she could remember at all. Names of the dead, mostly. How they had died. Any details about them that linger: rank, specialization, preferred weapon, tattoos, scars, how they wore their hair and/or beard. What they were like. 

Finick, she begins. Corporal? Killed by close range anti-infantry round. Never saw him without his helmet in the dream, but I know he had a beard that he was really fussy about keeping trimmed a particular way. Pain in the ass but he was ‘OUR pain in the ass.’ 

Backfire. Sharpshooter. Incredibly blunt, but not rude, exactly. Just had no filter. Sincere, you know? Weirdly chill disposition. Very perceptive. Stylized explosion in red ink on one forearm. Missing in action. Dead?

Cosh. Pilot. He was funny. Swore a lot. LAAT shot down.

Riot. Finick’s last remaining batchmate. Died saving our lives. I was with him. Took his hand at the end.

He hadn’t saved her life, of course, and it hadn’t been her hand in his. She hadn’t even really been there. But it had felt like it, and she never bothers to make the distinction while she writes these log entries. It’d be a distraction. She wants to get all the details down while they’re fresh in her mind. 

Why does she do this? Partly because having something to focus on helps calm her down… but mostly because she wants to remember them. There’s a long list, now, of uncles she will never know except in dreams. This is as close as she’ll ever get to them.

And who is it, out there, who dreams about Finick, Cosh, Backfire and Riot? Where is he? What’s he doing? Is he okay? Will she ever meet him? And if she does, how will she even know?

She takes a deep breath and finishes her notes.

I was injured at the end of the dream. Too close to an explosion, but not so close that it killed me. 

Him, she corrects herself. He is, presumably, still out there somewhere. She thinks. She theorizes. Or is she having dead men’s dreams, too? She supposes there’s no way for her to know for certain. 

She adds the final detail she can remember.

Dark violet paint; 664th Battalion.

Then she saves the document and shuts down her datapad. By now, her pulse has slowed and evened out. She’s not panting or sweating anymore. She looks at the time; dawn in about four hours. Work in about six. There’s some hope of getting back to sleep tonight. But will she?

She employs her usual tactic for getting back to sleep: working out. Tossing the rumpled blanket back onto the bed, she gets down on the floor and does some sit-ups. Then she does some push-ups. She doesn’t count; just keeps going until she’s tired herself out. Then she climbs back into bed.

Lays there, awake.

Come on, she thinks, I have shit to do tomorrow! Let me rest!

There’s a loud sigh as she sits up again. She stares out the window for a bit. Keeps looking back at her comlink. Grabs it. Puts it back down. Picks it up again. Begins recording a message.

“Hey Uncle Rex. Just wanted to check in real quick. Hope you’re doing okay. … Miss you.”

[springvaletales]

((Session 41 is wrapped!))

Lex’s player was unable to attend tonight so we’re pushing her class-changing quest off to next session.

I have no big plans for tonight I plan to just drop a few prominent NPCs in the party’s way and let them do all the steering tonight.

Me, about a Player’s character from a paused campaign: “I miss Honk…” Bagelby/Honk’s Player: “Honk misses you too.”

Geese can only cry tears of rage or pride.

Bagelby’s Player: “Alright everybody…what’s the ultimate flavor of goose?” Sir Carl Jaeger’s Player: “Teriyaki.” Me: “Canadian.” Thiori’s Player: “Cool Ranch.”

“Would you still love someone if they turned into a worm?”

Bagelby’s Player actually has a very wholesome contingency plan for if his fiancee was turned into a worm that include building her a lovely little terrarium, hunting down the dark wizard that cursed her, forcing them to turn her back into a human, and then learning dark magic from said wizard to usurp their position.

Thiori’s Player: “If I turn into a worm, please give me to a bird.”

The party’s first stop was back to town, where they collected the twins Wayne and Zayne, who were…more than a little concerned to see them rock up covered in dirt, blood, and bruises, and lacking both several articles of clothing/extraneous body parts and an entire party member.

Thiori’s Player: “Okay, so…we can’t DISPROVE that we had a cannibal orgy…”

Cue a five minute distraction to discuss hot tubs with corn boilers and if the party could eat Thiori’s crab arms if necessary.

Me: “I want you guys to narrate your travel to and crossing of the Salancian/Kendaran border as if it’s an anime recap episode.”

Ena is drawing lines on her arms to track how far the purple is spreading up her limbs.

Bagelby, flashing back: “…and that time we started a coup…and that other time we started a coup…and that time we participated in a coup-“

Bagelby: “What were you guys’ favorite parts of our journey so far?” Thiori, having war flashbacks to fighting and killing his mutant ‘siblings’: “….I liked finding Erlenmyer.” *pats his horse* Bagelby: “My favorite parts were when I stole things! Like Maritza! And Lord Wiggles’ identity!”

Bagelby, breaking through the fourth wall: “There’s a robot-pirate island?!”

The party met Captain Asteroth at the checkpoint of the Salancian/Kendaran border, and he was not very happy to see Bagelby again, after our lovable rogue filled his office with eggs after their last meeting.

Realizing at the last second that Wayne and Zayne were basically shanghai-ed out of Blackstone City’s ruins and have no passports, Sir Carl Jaeger gave each of them one of his signet rings to get them through the checkpoint.

Bagelby’s Player: “Did you just adopt them?” Sir Carl Jaeger’s Player: “In a legal sense, yes.”

“One day your plot armor will not save you.”

“It takes a country to raise a bagel!” “Actually it takes some light boiling and some salt.”

The party re-entered Kendara in the Aubergine forest, and Ena immediately began foraging for the hallucinogenic Feywild slugs.

The only thing keeping the party moving with Ena and Bagelby high on slug slime is the horses’ instinct to follow the leader.

Thiori is making bear stew for dinner. No-one knows where he got the bear.

Ena failed her perception roll, so she didn’t notice Michael coming out of the woods to sit next to her for a good minute or two. Asahi watched it happen and said nothing.

Vashael and co. are camped out about a dozen feet away on the map, having been in the area to hunt down some of the cultists who had kidnapped them.

“Can you boil water if you’re casting Shape Water to hold it in the shape of a knife?”

“Use it against someone who doesn’t go to wizard school and you’ll cause some psychological damage.”

Both parties camped out together for the night, since they were so close already.

Bagelby made small talk with Naoka by telling her all about how they met her hero, Sebastian Winderwisp. Haaruma got jealous.

Michael asked Ena if she’d gotten his letter. Ena accused Velenna of deserving it for not telling the party all the details. Michael snapped back that he went out of his way to make sure people don’t learn exactly what the party had to drag out of his mother.

Bagelby and Michael did some good bonding over the fact that they both have and love their respective adoptive moms. Ena ate more slugs to cope.

Whenever Michael talks about his missing memories, his friends all pause to watch him.

Ena ate too many slugs and cried on Michael’s shoulder for a few hours before crying on Asahi and falling asleep.

“Horses are terrifying, and I’m thankful every day that they’re not real.” “I’ve got some bad news for you, buddy.”

The next morning, Thiori caught Vashael sparking u the fire again with his fire breath.

“He’s more useful as a lighter than as an adventurer.”

Both parties are heading back to Springvale, so they all saddled up and set out together - Bashur’s horse had extra space, so Sir Carl Jaeger, Wayne, and Zayne hitched a ride.

“You are over the maximum occupancy for this horse, but it’s okay because you’re only going a short distance.”

Springvale is getting ready for the New Moon Festival, and the market squares and surrounding streets are already lined with empty stalls and tables setting up for the party.

Some of the stalls are already active and are selling costumes and masks; Thiori bought a giant hat with a wide brim, and Bagelby stole an entire roguish outfit.

Thiori was given 20 sweetcoins (bread) with his purchase.

The party split up at the main square - Bagelby, Vashael, and Michael headed to Velenna’s house, Bashur went off to do his own errands, and Ena, Asahi, Thiori, and Sir Carl Jaeger & co. went to Bethany’s Tavern to secure lodging.

As soon as they entered the tavern, Bethany spotted Ena, and yanked them all into a vip booth with an enchanted soundproof curtain.

Lore drop: Ena is turning purple because her dragon ancestry has been activated by a sudden exposure to a great source of magic. The Taker would have been powerful enough, but he’s always careful with how much magic he exposes his children to, and when. A night with a dragon princess, however…~

Bethany confirmed that exposure to dragons can extend a mortal’s life, whether the dragon intends it to or not. It’s how she’s made it a thousand years in her prime without looking a day over 60.

Bethany told the group that the color change usually reflects the color of the dragon who donated the genetics (though mutations can occur) and sent them - to Ena’s horror - to the only other purple dragon she knew of….Velenna.

Thiori stayed behind in the tavern while Ena and Asahi trekked off to Velenna’s home, and tried to open the mysterious chained box he’d found in Skaadi’s temple.

The box is a very hungry and very frightened mimic, which Thiori tamed right there on the tavern floor with raw meet and scratches.

The chain around the box is enchanted to tighten when he box opens too far, and snaps it shut until it stops struggling.

Thiori took out his glaive and used it to break the chain around the box…while still on the tavern floor. He nearly hit several patrons and knocked a chandelier swinging.

Thiori was forcibly removed from the tavern.

He still has his reservation, but he must leave his glaive in the stables when he comes back.

Thiori now has a little mimic friend of his own. He has not named them yet.

Ena and Asahi found Bagelby outside Velenna’s house with Vashael’s horse Onward, working up the courage to go inside and ask Velenna to mentor him.

Ena told him what she had to tell Velenna, and told him to get his over with first before everything exploded.

Bagelby went inside, and found Michael making tea in the kitchen - Michael sent him out to the back garden for his mother, who was working on her tomatoes with Vashael’s help.

He asked Velenna to take him on as an apprentice, and she said yes, much to his surprise (he thought he would have to sell it harder).

With that out of the way so quickly, Bagelby then took out and showed Velenna the Heart of YAW, and told her about how Sebastian Winderwisp told them it was important.

He did not tell her about the ill-fated trip into Skaadi’s lost temple (yet).

Lore drop: The Heart of YAW is a power source for a Warforged doorman, built by a Warforged demigod, Pax Achilles, who was in turn built by Machine, mechanical daughter of Skaadi, and goddess of deceit, secrets, and innovation.

The Heart is a sort of GPS that lets the doorman keep track of the mystical traveling door to Pax Achilles legendary library, and without it, the doorman is stuck endlessly chasing the door, always one stop behind.

Returning the heart might grant the party access to this mystical library, and the knowledge therein.

Michael brought them a whole tray of tea instead of just a few cups, because he can see Ena still waiting outside with Asahi, Sir Carl Jaeger, and the twins.

When Velenna came to the door to see what all the hubbub was, Ena panicked, and cast Spirit Shroud.

She summoned seven spirits - four fire genasi (three related to her), and eyeless elf, a one-armed minotaur, and an Aasimar woman.

The Aasimar is someone from Michael’s past that he was close too, and even though he can’t remember her, he’s now reliving the trauma of her death.

Michael dropped the tea tray when the spirits were summoned, and all the cups shattered. Velenna’s tea set just can’t catch a break.

Velenna knows exactly what is going on with Ena.

[countrymusiclover]

3 - Who Wears The Key?

Part 4

A God Worthy Soulmate

@queenieala thank you for helping me write this

Ken's POV

I need to meet that girl. There's something that draws me to her. And I don't know why. It must be that she's strong like me or some sort of light…the only thing I know is I must have her as mine.

I made my way through my daughter's worship and stared at the sarcophagus that held my other children. Jen was munching down on her second burger when she noticed her father beginning to look around her workshop.

"Where's the key? "  I demanded, turning to stare at my daughter.

"Give me one good reason I should give you the key." She scoffed, making me growl at her question.

"Give me the key now or perhaps you would like to find yourself in a torture chamber " I threatened.

My daughter slumped her shoulders walking over to a secret compartment opening it and pulling out the key. She holds it in front of me where I reach for it but as soon as I touch it. The key suddenly disappeared in the air.

"What is the meaning of this, if this is another trick of yours dear daughter you better pray to another god for I will not put up with any more of your foolishness" I growled.

"Dad, I swear I had nothing to do with this… the key just vanished " Jen defended

"Enough with your lie daughter, where is the key " I demanded.

"I don't know " Jen yelled out throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

"Watch your tone " I warned.

She throws her hands up walking away from me. "If you're so powerful, find it yourself. But I didn't do anything!" Running a hand through my hair I needed to find that key before someone else found it.

Clarisse's POV

Running through the school I saw my best friend talking with Hope where I looked down at the necklace hanging around my neck. Lizzie sneaks out the back while I waited behind one of the pillars seeing a guy wearing golden armor. He's wearing a flower crown on his head made of gold. Sucking in a breath I felt my heart skip a beat cheeks turning red. He looks exactly like the picture I drew and saw in my dreams. Meaning Lizzie was right that he is in fact Ken the God. Hope slowly walked forward carrying a sword in her right hand. "My father stood for family above everything. This school is my family, so if you want to hurt them, you're gonna have to go through me." Her tribrid eyes glow gold.

"They sent a little girl to challenge a god? I'm almost insulted." He replied in a taunting manner his eyes turned gold for a second too.

She raised her freehand creating a ball of fire throwing it at him. "Maybe you'll feel better once you see what I can do."

"Magic doesn't work on a god." He spoke not affected by it at all.

Hope pointed out with a slight smirk. "No, but it can be very distracting." Lizzie appears behind Ken her hands turning red as she grabs the sides of his head. In an attempt to siphon his god magic from his body to weakon him. But the wind blew throwing her backwards alongside Hope.

"Be careful what you wish for, child. It took me a lifetime to control all of my power." Ken slowly walked forward choking her by the neck holding her off the ground. He then threw her where she gets impaired with a metal fence pole but thankfully it didn't hit her heart.

Hope and I both cried in unison. "Lizzie!"

She got to her feet swinging her sword but he raises his hand throwing her backwards into the dirt again. Rushing forward I quickly transformed into my werewolf form having a light brown fur coat. Growling up at Ken I stand in front of Hope who lays on the ground behind me. He slowly walks up a smirk on his face. "Now you are impressive. What's your name, girl?"

I growled at him annoyed and started to run towards him. Leaping off my back legs I managed to knock him flat on his back. I began to claw at him, He grabbed me shoving me off where I rolled getting some bruises so I transformed back into my human form. "What are you going to do - kill me to show how powerful you are, dickhead!"

He walked over toward me and bent down in front of me, his eyes began to glaze up and down at my naked body in lust and hunger…I soon delivered a slap across his face and pushed him away from me. "You'll pay for that child -" He cut himself short eyes locking onto the necklace around my neck. "You have the key!"

"Key, what are you talking about?" I spat watching him remove his cap throwing it over me. He picked me up waving his right hand knocking me out into his arms before I could fight against him.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Cassian - Hellish Prompt: Reader is an assassin/spy that was caught and azriel has spent months torturing her for information and can’t get anything out of her and cassian eventually goes to see who this assassin/spy is and the mating bond snaps and cassian beats the $hitt out of az bc of the mating bond instincts and rhys has to intervene and break up the fight (i was thinking this could switch between azriel’s POV at the start and then switch to cassian's POV)

AN- this was SO fun to make. Please more requests like this!! I love the idea of unexpected mates!

TW -blood/ blades.  

Drip, drip, drip. Copper smell filled the small room. Blood leaked down the drain in the floor. You wheezed a laugh bitterly and spat on the ground at his feet. Azriel's rage simmered calmly under his dark shadows. They coiled, ready to strike. Wanting to strike. The sound of your feeble laughs was practically the only sound Azriel had gotten from you for the first week of torture.  The second week was worse, even for him. Truth teller revealed nothing when he gouged into your skin from the bottom up. Truthfully, he was impressed beyond measure. But that didnt mean that he could stop the job at hand. He had to know, and wished he didnt have to do this kind of thing to get the information from you. "Listen..." He sighed, cleaning his blade. He was always nervous whenever he had a back turned to an enemy, no matter how well they were restrained. But he trusted his shadows enough to tell him if something was wrong.  "If you just.. Cooperate and tell me where the Queens are, we can let you go. No trouble, just releasing you back to Rask." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he was nearing an exhaustion point. Torture every day for two weeks had its toll not only on the victim, but the dealer as well. His shadows seemed to be growing restless too, waiting for a chance to strike.  He watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. Noted the way your head hanging loosely seemed to gain a bit more strength before you spoke. "Losing your touch, Spymaster?" You revealed a row of bloody teeth to him, and grunted when the chains at your wrists stung the magic that weakly attempted to help you.  Azriel could have sighed. He could have laughed and bled you dry. Have a healer come and patch you up enough to keep you alive. The idea was tempting, but he didn't like having anyone besides his brothers see him in this mode of darkness. He could have brought Rhys down to attempt to break into your mind again. After the first attempt and Rhys' reaction to being blocked, he wasn't eager for that again. So he sighed, and brought out the potions laced with Faebane.  + He was convinced you weren't a normal Fae. After months of his best torture methods he was a wreck. "She just-" He tried to hide his frustration, but his brothers knew him best. Cassian smirked by the fire, warming his wings. Rhys seemed a bit more concerned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Azriel had never been one to spend a long time on torture. Rhys saw the frustration flowing from him after every session with the stubborn Fae in the dungeon cell.  "I dont know what to do anymore. She's the only one to have never broken." He ran a hand though his hair. His shadows seemed weak, exhausted like him.  Rhys considered for a moment, looking between his two brothers. Cassian seemed to be enjoying Azriel's frustration. Maybe a bit too much. Rhys sipped his wine then, with a look of innocence, "Maybe we will have Cassian end it. Perhaps seeing the Lord of Death in front of her will knock something loose."  Cassian's stare whipped to him, a silent plea on his face. "We should leave it to our expert Rhys-" Azriel laughed, cold and bitter. "The expert hasn't got a damn thing out of her. We either kill her or send her back to Rask with all the information she's collected about us. With nothing in return." Shame lined his features. The sense of failure to his high lord was a heavy weight to bear. "Cas...I expect you down there tomorrow afternoon. It will be her last chance." Rhys' no nonsense tone shut down Cassian's retort. His jaw locked with distaste. He hated the cramped cells below the house of wind. Hated the way going underground made his wings feel like they needed to stretch. The worst was when that stale air was laced with the rotting smell of dead mice or old blood. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it.  "Come on Cas, dont you want to see the only one that's outlasted me?" Az asked with a mock grin. He couldn't give the same smile back. Turmoil spilled inside him at the thought of going so far below the mountain.  + Cassian took a long time to go to bed that night. His restlessness about the next day made him wake up over and over, never having more than an hour of peace before being waken up.  Azriel held up a mug of tea to him the next morning. "You look like shit." He handed his brother the mug with a small smile. Cassian glared at him, but took it anyway. He went to the balcony, his heavy wings needing to feel the fresh air. It was like taking a bath after being covered in grime. He sighed in relief, letting the late morning sun graze his body. The cold wind from Illyria was beginning to come in for the winter, and the familiar smell ignited something in him. He felt a draw, but shoved it to the back of his mind. He knew what he had to be this day. "Why the hell do we have to keep them so far down again?" Cassian complained. Around and around and around. Down deeper and deeper into the pit of the mountain that the house above was carved out of. Cassian felt like his lungs were collapsing the further they went. He tried not to let his nerves show, but he knew Az's shadows would pick up on it anyway.  "Remember when you broke your arm chasing down that Attor?" Azriel could have laughed at that memory, but the story surrounding it made the experience soured. More shame on top of the guilt already there.  Cassian hummed in approval, welcoming the distraction the memory brought. He tried not to focus on how each turn of the staircase got darker and darker. How the air seemed to compress around him. He locked his eyes on the scar on one of Az's wings. "And we spent a week fixing the top story of that apothecary?" He asked, keeping his voice steady.  "Yes. Dont you remember how the Attor got out?" Cassian shook his head, and Azriel huffed a laugh. "I left the door open for just a second to get a new knife and..." He shook his head, part in anger and regret, part in shame. "It had escaped before I turned around. I dont know how it happened, to this day."  Cassian stared at the back of the shadowmaster's head. The dark ripples around him seemed to spike. "It happens Az, you can't be perfect."  "It's not perfection, its basic thought. After that we moved all enemies to the lower dungeons. No matter the threat. Rhys even put wards on the arches." He ran a hand over the walls, his fingers catching a few of the grooves that linked each spelled archway to the other.  Cassian left the conversation at that. At least his brother wasn't brooding as much as before. The dim lights began to come into view, and his heart began hammering. Adrenaline singing through his veins. His polished siphons glowed, reflecting red off the dark stone ceiling. He had polished all his black armor the night before, when he couldn't sleep. Something poked, prodded at him all night. Keeping him awake. He figured he may as well make use out of it.  "She's not going to talk to you unless you show..weakness first." Azriel said in a low voice. Cassian nodded, reaching the end of the stairwell with him.  Cassian couldn't see the dark figure in the cell, but he felt the presence nonetheless. The dark draw that you demanded. He wondered how Azriel had dealt with that pull this whole time. The tantalizing draw to you. He shook his head, pushed the hair out of his face and nodded to Azriel.  He opened the door, then began his ritual. At the start of every session he would toss a bucket of water over your body, then a bucket of salt. It made the wounds that handn't healed fully scream in pain. You jolted at the suddenness of it this time. "Good morning, shadowsinger." You ground out, voice rough with strain. Cassian watched in awe at his brother.  Cassian was never one for torture. There was a reason Azriel was appointed to this position. Watching the calm cruelness of him was jarring, but Cassian kept his face straight. He stood behind you, watching the flimsy attempts to pull at the shackles holding your arms up. Lacerations dotted each arm, some light pink scars. Some were still scabbing over. A chill ran down his spine.  "You have a guest today, would you like to see him?" Azriel's voice was cool, calm. Like he was speaking orders to a group of soldiers. He began slicing new lines into your arms, moving up to your neck. He had left your ears in tact, as a last resort if you refused to speak to Cassian. The pull Cassian felt was overwhelming. He walked a bit too quickly around you, plastered on a wicked smile for show, then crouched down. The smile faded when he finally saw your face. Your dripping hair was a horror on its own. Plastered to the skeletal cheekbones, and pale eyes. Those eyes were brighter than anything he'd ever seen. A field of flowers down the slope of Illyrian mountains. His world shifted, drawing the breath from him. "Mine." His mind seemed to roar with that alone, but in a thousand different variations. "Lover, friend, partner, mine mine mine. Mate. My mate." His lips quivered with the realization. With the way his heart soared, and the way he moved without realizing it. He choked a gasp, and fell forward on his knees before you. He saw the same astonishment in your reaction. Azriel dropped his sword, confusion and concern alert on his features. "Cas wh-" Before he could finish, before his shadows could detect that Cassian had even moved, his brother was on top of him. Cassian's knuckles stung with every punch. A new kind of rage flared inside him. It made his muscles yearn for violence. Made his teeth crave the flesh of those that so much as looked at you wrong. There was no mercy for Azriel, it was as if he was an enemy on the battlefield. Cassian held nothing back. You hung limply from the chains that bound you. Crunch after crunch sounded from Azriel. He eventually managed to push Cassian off of him. Then they locked together in battle again. Clashes of armor against armor were deafening. The snarls they ripped at each other were loud enough to make you cringe. Your heart squeezed at the sounds of Cassian's breath. At the scent of blood spilling. You pulled feebly at the chains, your mind roaring to protect him.  Your mate. You tried to watch the battle, but the weakness in your body refused to let you turn more than a few inches. They were panting, Cassian fighting with a ferocity Azriel had never seen. His eyes flared with rage, like he was possessed. "Cas-" Azriel grunted, shoving his brother backwards. His back hit yours, pushing you down and digging those stone cuffs into your wrists. You hissed in pain. Cassian roared and lunged at his brother again, and again.  The darkness that boomed outside the cell was jarring. The stone ceiling shuddered, small rocks and dirt falling from it. Cassian did not stop. He didn't hesitate, coming at Azriel with punch after punch. His fist crushed the wall behind where Az's head had been. 

"Enough." The high lord's cool command was enough to make you still your weak attempts at looking at the two. Cassian's chest heaved as he tried lifting his arm to punch Az again. Pure fury in his heart was enough to make him disobey Rhysand's order.

  Then Rhys' talons gripped him. Freezing his mind, stilling him. Rhys' face shifted to surprise at what he glimpsed at there. "Oh.." He breathed. Azriel panted, backing away from his brother, out of the cell. He locked the cell and wiped the blood from himself, his wings hanging limply behind him. "What- the hell." He panted, nursing his arm. Cassian's eyes locked to your small frame. How your muscles quivered, how your arms shook with the effort of holding yourself up. He felt Rhys' claws recede slowly from his mind, releasing each part of him one by one. He rushed to you.  He picked up Azriel's sword and with a clean, masterful swipe, broke the enchanted stone that bound you. The weak sigh that came from you was heartbreaking. His eyes pricked with tears, and he caught you before you could fall to the floor into the puddle of dried blood. He didnt notice, or care that it was there. He sat there with you, cradled you and shook with you. 

"Cassian... She's.. Cassian's mate." Rhys said slowly, astonished. He didn't take his eyes from his brother in the cell. Azriel froze in place. For a moment, the dungeon was completely still. Totally silent, as if the world waited for what was to come next.

Azriel turned on a heel and left, trudging up the stairs. Rhys dared not touch his mind. "Cassian...." He spoke, trying to get his brother's attention. He did not glance at Rhys, just curled around your body more. Protecting, nesting almost. Rhys knew the feeling too well from the weeks after he and Feyre's bond snapped into place.  "We will check in tomorrow. Be safe, brother." Rhys spoke to Cassian's mind. It was nothing but an ocean of rushing thoughts. Cassian could have bared his teeth, could have tried to fight his brother through the bars of the cell. Hell, he could have probably broken through those bars with the primal strength flowing through him with the rush from the bond. 

But he didn't. He stayed, his warm body pressed against yours. Those siphons glowing against your skin like a fire. He stroked your hair soothingly, his tears like rainfall on your body, through your bloodstained clothes. He didn't remember falling asleep there, but it was the most restful, peaceful night he'd ever had in his existence. 

[moonlit-reveriee]

NSFW Alphabet

ft. technoblade

concept: a collection of my own personal nsfw headcanons for techno, one for each letter of the alphabet

@saturnsstufff ‘s discord saw it first ;)

A = Aftercare 

I like the idea that techno actually gets very clingy after sex. He’ll get up and grab a glass of water or a towel if either of you need it, but if he’s able to, he’ll stay glued to your side the whole time. Even if he won’t admit it, he needs to have that intimacy after sex. He loves the feeling of your body pressed against his as you both cool down. Usually, his hands will be absentmindedly drawing patterns over your skin

B = Body part 

Kind of an oddly specific one, but he loves your shoulders. He loves to casually rest his chin on them as he holds you from behind, and bury his face in the crook of your neck as he presses heated kisses on your pulse point. He also considers the way a person carries their shoulders to be an indication of their strength, and how could he see anything but strength in you.

He hadn’t put much thought into his own body before meeting you. He’s learned to love parts of himself because of you. Particularly his scars. They way you gently run your fingers across the rough surface of them, in both intimate and casual settings, made him crave the touch. Now when he looks at them, he thinks of your hands moving across his skin

C = Cum 

Fun fact: pigs have 30 minute orgasms

Early on in your sexual relationship, he was very embarrassed by just how much of it there always was. But once you started praising him for it, that became a very different story. He started to take pride in how well he could completely fill you up without even trying

D = Dirty Secret 

He would probably never admit it to you, but it’s become a habit of his to think about the last time he had sex with you during battles. He starts to make sure you two always have sex the night before a big fight, so his mind can wander back to it during the haze of battle. He’s not sure if it’s a coping mechanism or what but it certainly helps

E = Experience 

You are his first ever sexual partner, but somehow he just.... already knows what he’s doing?? He’s very nervous and considerate the first time, but he does everything perfectly. Once you tell him that, he’s very happy and secretly a bit proud of himself

F = Favourite Position 

He loooves to have you in his lap. Either facing him, back to chest, it doesn’t matter. He’ll do everything with you in his lap. Cockwarming, fingering, thigh riding, anything you and him are physically able to do in that position

G = Goofy 

He’s usually a bit more on the serious side. Sometimes the two of you will quip at each other during foreplay, but once he gets going, it’s all business. In the moment, he likes to treat is as something special (doesn’t mean he won’t tease you about things after the fact)

H = Hair 

He likes to keep himself clean-shaven most of the time. When he’s relaxed and doesn’t have to go to any public events for a long period of time, he’ll let a small amount of stubble grow on his chin. You can always tell when he slacks off on it, cause the stubble on his face brushes roughly against your skin as he kisses down your body...

he doesn’t really shave much below the neck, but he keeps it clean and trims occasionally

I = Intimacy 

He’s surprisingly romantic when he wants to be. It’s definitely a side of him only you’re allowed to see. Alone together in his bed, he’ll whisper sweet nothings to you as he slowly draws you to your climax. Even when he’s speaking the most lewd and naughty things to you, he somehow makes them sound affectionate and full of love

J = Jack Off 

He loves to watch you masturbate. The first time was a complete accident. He came home late one night to find you curled up with his blankets, breathing heavily as you massaged yourself over your underwear. It wasn’t long before you noticed him in the doorway and jumped, worthlessly attempting to hide what you were doing. He wasn’t sure if it was the blush on your face or the fact that the blanket you chose to cover yourself in was his cape but something urged him to sit on the edge of the bed, still in his armor, and ask you to continue. It was beautiful to simply sit there and watch

K = Kink 

He’s a little bit possessive. He loves to mark you in subtle ways so you always remember that you’re his. Especially if you’re going on a trip without him. He’ll drape you in gold jewelry and leave a hickey just out of sight on your neck for good measure. The part that he loves the most about it though, is that you know exactly what he’s doing and show off his signs of possession with pride

L = Location 

He prefers to keep most of your sexual acts to the area in and around his cottage. Other than in bed, he loves to press you up against a wall. Sometimes you two get distracted while tending to the farms and end up heatedly making out in the snow. One time, you decide you wanted to lay out some blankets on the floor and do it right in front of the fireplace. He adored the way the firelight danced across your skin. (He’s thought about taking you down to the syndicate room and laying you out across the table. But he came to the unfortunate conclusion that during meetings, he’d never be able to look anyone straight in the eyes ever again. So he’s shelved that idea for the time being. Maybe once the group has disbanded...)

M = Motivation

He loves to be praised by you. During regular day-to-day life, he doesn’t like to accept any compliments from you, usually just brushing them off or responding with a joke. But when you two are alone together and intimate, he drinks that shit up. How can he not believe it when you look up and him with lidded eyes and tell him just how good he makes you feel. Just moaning against his lips as he kisses you is enough to keep him going for a while

N = NO 

He will never do anything that involves seeing your own blood. It sets off the voices too much. One day, you randomly got a nosebleed while cooking dinner together. He could smell it before he even saw it. When the voices recognized the deep red color dripping down your face, they wouldn’t stop chanting. He tried to help you clean up, but it became too much to ignore. He had to go out back and slaughter at least a dozen zombies before they shut up. And even then, he was left with a pounding headache. You were extra gentle and sweet with him when you cuddled up in bed together that night

O = Oral 

If you’re on the receiving end, be prepared for him to be down there a looooong time. Once he gets his mouth on you, it’s hard for him to pull away. He loves your smell and taste too much. He tries not to get too carried away, but there was one time he made you come 5 times in a row with just his mouth. He was very thorough with his aftercare that night.

He isn’t the one receiving very often. He only really likes it when he’s tired. He loves to sit back in a chair and watch you gently suck him of on your knees in front of him, one hand gently weaving it’s way through your hair

P = Pace 

I always imagine him on the slower side. He likes to savor every moment, making sure that every thrust or movement of his hand is intentional and perfectly placed. He takes time to watch you carefully to make sure you’re getting exactly what you need. He’ll go harder before he goes faster

Q = Quickie 

As much as he loves to treasure your intimate time together, there are times where he just needs it. Every once and awhile, he’ll be desperate for it and quickly have you against the wall before heading out to run some errands. Sometimes he’ll pull you in, make you cum, and head out the door without saying a single word. He usually feels the need to make up for it when he returns, but you’ve assured him many times that you love sex with him at any pace

R = Risk 

Since he’s still fairly inexperienced despite his skills, he’s not super adventurous himself. More often than not, you’re the one bringing new ideas to the relationship. He’s willing to try the new things you suggest. You’ve had a discussion about your limits, and you both understand what goes too far for each other

S = Stamina 

He can go multiple times in a row if he wants to, and for a long time. He lowkey loves it when you tire out before him, and you let him keep going while you lie there sleepily in his arms

T = Toy 

He doesn’t own any sex toys, but he likes to make sex toys out of everyday objects (as long as they’re safe and properly cleaned of course). He likes the idea of never being able to look at that object the same way again, especially if it’s something either of you use around the house frequently. He would get his hands on some actual toys if you wanted him to. If toys are involved, he prefers them to be used on you, not on him

U = Unfair 

He likes to randomly tease you during moments that are absolutely not sexual. Maybe you’re brushing out his hair, complaining about the knots in it. He’ll suddenly respond with “that’s not what you told me in the bedroom last night” leaving you to sit there in shock while he laughs. Or he’ll quote things you said to him during sex completely deadpan and watch as the blush rises to your cheeks

V = Volume 

He’s not extremely loud. When he is loud though, he growls. You’ll be able to feels his chest vibrating when you lean into him. Sometimes you can even feel the vibrations through his lips as he pleasures you with his mouth, which is an absolutely crazy and wonderful feeling.

During very domestic moments, he likes to talk a lot during sex. If he comes home from working all day, and he’s missing you greatly, he loves to tell you all about his day while his cock gently rocks inside of you

W = Wild Card 

This part is definitely just gonna be me fulfilling one of my personal kinks, but I love the idea of techno going through a heat since he’s part piglin. Maybe it only happens like once a year, but when it’s that time, his senses are kicked into high gear and he’s desperate for you. The two of you have a routine for it by now. You prepare the bedroom by gathering every blanket in the house, and prepping a week’s worth of food & water that can be eaten quickly during the moments when techno’s haze of arousal drops. Once he feels it start to set in, he locks the bedroom door and allows his senses to become completely enveloped by you

X = X-Ray 

I like to believe that a lot of the hybrid races are PACKING. It’s one of the many things he’s nervous about on your first time, but seeing the way your able to take him so well every time is such a turn on

Y = Yearning 

Both you and him can be too tired to have sex at times, but if he’s able to have you, he’ll take everything he can get. He loves to take care of you if you’ve had a long day, and he knows you’ll do the same for him

Z = ZZZ 

If it’s nighttime sex, he can pass out as soon as aftercare is over. But if it’s morning or midday, he can have sex and go about the rest of his day no problem. Since his orgasms are so long, he likes to make you cum more often than he does, and watching you cum invigorates him

[littlepadika]

🎀 pink (Din)

🧼 laundry detergent (fake dating)

🍄cottage core (innocent kink)

with some fluff and smut included maybe?? 🥺👉👈💘

Hi @ppslutt I don't think we've interacted so hello! Thank you for this request! Omg i am both soft and amused by this idea. Hope you like this... Din is such a cheeky bb but at the same time a feral fucking machine hehe

500 follower celebration (closed now)

Warnings: Asshole ex boyfriend, protective mando, innocent reader, unprotected piv smut, fingering, 18+

source: @reilink

"Can I sit here?"

Din startled. He had been glaring holes into the metal table at the cantina for so long he almost forgot there were other people around. He was in between bounties. Waiting for Karga to come up with something worth his time.

He nodded at the seat across from him which you fell into. He would usually say no, preferring to be left alone, but you were hardly a threat. Young and apparently unarmed. You looked stressed. Eyes darting all over the room. Were you in trouble?

"Thank you." You tapped your fingertips on the table. "My ex is here and I don't want him to see me alone."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No." You stare down at your lap. "I just don't want to talk to him."

That made sense, but Din couldn't understand why you were talking to him specifically. Most people feared Mandalorians. He expected you to want to hire him or ask him to kill your ex. You glanced over your shoulder. Din followed your gaze, identifying the man in question, an arrogant looking human with his arm around a girl with her back to you both.

"I'll leave you alone in a minute." You turned your attention back to him. "What's your name, sir?"

"Mando." He grunted. You replied with your name. Din's ears perked up when he heard it. The sound of it echoing in his mind. He had never heard such a name before. "Have you ever seen a Mandalorian before?" Din couldn't help but ask.

"Is that what you are?" You felt embarrassed at his amused tone. "Am I supposed to bow or something?"

Din chuckled, which came out as a crackle through the voice coder. "No. But people tend to stay away from me because- because we're killers."

"Oh." You swallowed a gasp. It never occurred to you to be afraid. "I didn't know. I've never been off world."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You snapped your head up to see your ex standing over you, an angry look on his face. "I thought you didn't like going out."

"I-I can go where I please!" You jut your chin out.

"Fucking bitch. You're just spying on me, aren't you?" Your ex spat. Din clenched his fist, not liking the way this bastard was speaking to you. He could easily break this man's arm and hardly break a sweat.

"I'm not!" You cried shrilly. "I didn't know you'd even be here."

"What are you doing with him?" Your ex turned to Mando with a sneer. "Tryin to make me jealous?"

"Obviously it worked." You glared. "Now go away."

"No hang on- you're gonna come with me and we're gonna talk."

"I think it's time for you to go." Din rested his hand on his holster, his voice impossibly low. You shivered in your seat.

"Whatever." The man gave up, backing up a little. "Good luck with this one, Mando. She's a prude."

You looked down in shame feeling angry tears sting your eyes. It was hard to believe you once loved this asshole. Din felt his temper flare in his chest. Your ex finally left, looking over his shoulder a few times to watch you and Din.

"I'm sorry." You wrapped your arms around yourself. "I'll leave you alone now."

"I don't mind." Din said, surprising himself. He hated seeing you so upset. He thought about going up to that bastard and putting a hole in his chest, but that wouldn't make you feel better. "Can I get you something?"

"I don't know." You looked up at the bar trying to read the menu overhead.

"What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?" Din joked, hoping to see you smile. It worked. You let out a small giggle into your hand that made Din's heart constrict strangely. He ordered you a Tatooine Sunset.

"You don't want one?"

"No. Thank you." Din hesitated before adding "I don't remove my helmet."

"Ever?" Your eyes widened.

"Not in front of people."

"Oh." You took a small sip. "It's really yummy. Thank you."

Din noticed the prick from earlier still watching you both. "Come over here, ad'ika." He tapped the seat next to him.

"Why?" You asked, looking up from your cup.

"Because that nurf herder is watching us."

"Oh." You frowned, moving to sit next to Mando.

"Lean into me."

"Like this?" You asked again, tilting your head onto his cold beskar paldron.

"Yes. Good." Din nodded, enjoying the look of anger that passed over that bastard's face. "Sit closer."

"I-I am." You blushed, moving until your legs were pressed against him. He wasn't super comfortable with all the metal.

"On my lap, ad'ika." Din patted his thigh. He was being bold but something about your instant trust in him made him want to hold you closer. Feel your soft body on his. You go bright red as you stand and then perch on his knee. His gloved hand covered your lower back.

"Look at him." Din instructed, smirking behind his helmet.

"Oh he's so mad." You giggled. "This is fun, mando."

"It is, ad'ika." Din couldn't' help but agree.

"Wh-what does adeeka mean?" Your tongue got caught on the syllables.

"It means 'little one'."

"I'm-i'm not a child." You frowned, ducking your head. A weak objection as you were sitting in his lap right now.

"It's not just for children." Din placed another arm around your legs, pulling them more securely onto his lap. He regretted that he was in full armor because he could not feel you but that was also probably a good thing or else he'd be hard. You smelled divine.

"Mando he's still staring." You whispered against his cowl which was surprisingly soft.

"Shall we make him even more uncomfortable?"

"Mhm." You nodded, kissing Mando on his cool beskar helmet, where his cheek would be. "How's that?"

"You can do better than that." Din encouraged, enjoying the little game.

"Oh yeah!" You grinned, feeling your competitive spirit rising. "How about this?" You lowered your head, leaning against his neck, kissing him through the cowl. You could feel his warm neck and strong pulse against your lilps. He swallowed hard, his hand tightening over your thigh.

"We should walk out now. Really make him jealous." Din suggested, mostly to stop you from giving him a full on erection.

"Oh yeah." You hopped off his lap, taking his large leather clad hand in yours. "Come on."

Once outside in the warm sun you laughed at your antics. You had never had so much fun. You used to fear your ex. He was mean and cruel. You felt safe now that you had Mando. You tried not to worry what would happen when Mando was gone. Din watched you hungrily, beaming up at him, your face lit up in the daylight. He subtly turned off his tracking view in his visor so he could just see you without any distractions on his screen.

"Thank you Mando."

"You're welcome." He let go of your hand making your face fall. "What's wrong?"

"I want to keep playing."

"What do you propose?" Din felt his cock twitch behind his flight suit.

"I think he would be really jealous if I had marks on my neck." You suggested boldly. Din shook his head in disbelief.

"You are not a prude, you know that? I'm sorry he said that to you."

"I was only a prude with him. He was ugly." You grimaced but recovered. "You're beautiful, Mando, and I want- I want you. Not just to make him jealous but I want you."

"Oh Ad'ika..." Din chuckled. "We can do both."

This led to Din taking you in the alleyway behind the cantina. First he knelt down between your legs and fingered you until you were dripping into his hand. He wanted to watch your little cunt squeeze and flutter. Your little mewls grew louder and louder until you came with a cry. Din loved how innocent you were. You didn't even know how to be quiet. You didn't hide your pleasure. He hoped your shitty ex was listening. Hearing your sounds that he never got to draw from you.

Next he stood lifting you up with ease onto his hips. You were already delirious from your first orgasm you shot up to the stars when he entered you. You tightened your legs around his waist, holding onto his broad shoulders. All thoughts of being seen or herd left your mind. You were overwhelmed, Mando pushing into every corner of your senses along with your pussy.

"Fuck..." Din grunted, feeling your hot walls suck him to the hilt. It had been so long he realized how sensitive he was. And you were so tight. He held your ass up, pulling it to grind into him with every stroke.

"Oh Mando!" Your head fell back against the wall. "This-it's so good."

"Mmm you feel amazing, ad'ika. So fucking perfect." Din watched your face slacken with the pleasure he was giving you, your plush lips teasing him. He wanted to feel them. He wanted to put his lips over every inch of you. Your eyes were drooping, staring right into his visor.

"Stay with me, little one. Look- look at us." He fucked harder, leaning back slightly despite the ache in his lower back, watching the point where your flesh met. Your little swollen clit was sitting right on top of his dick, smashing against his pelvis with every stroke.

"Oh-Maker-I'm gonna cum again." You cried, scrabbling against his shoulders for better leverage. You wanted to fuck him back. Din readjusted his grip allowing one hand to be free to circle your clit.

"Who's making you cum?"

"You! You, Mando!" You cried feeling your stomach go incredibly tight then spasming with your orgasm.

"You think anyone else could make you feel this?" Din sped up also nearing his own climax. His voice was rough and torn up, cracking and stressing the voicecoder.

"No-no one else!" You answered eagerly, wanting to please him. "I don't want anyone else."

"Good girl. Fuck- you want to be mine?" He felt his cock twitching. He was seconds away from cumming inside of you. This was the last chance to pull out.

"I want to-be yours- please." You nodded vigorously, looking up at him so he could see you meant it. You dug your heels into his lower back. His grunts became short and quick with each thrust then he came abruptly, crashing his forehead against yours. You gasped feeling the spot where you were joined grow incredibly wet.

"Stars..." Din hissed feeling his pleasure prickle down his spine into his cock. "You mean it, ad'ika?"

"Yes. Show me the stars, Mando."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[bananasfosterparent]

You look at me like you could see through me, But I can see a bit of you too. So when you act like you do not know me, I know that you’re just playing it cool. I can be your sandpaper. ⚔️ www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXyn4q… ⚔️

A little scene illustrating how Araduna and Vilkas got... acquainted. 

I wrote up a short story to go along with this drawing and give it more context. I will add it here in the cut below.

But here’s a quick little perspective on the whole situation:

From the start, Vilkas was skeptical of her, and her titles. He had never heard of this particular Thane of Whiterun. And he certainly couldn’t imagine her being the Dragonborn. She came to them with no connections, no professional references. She claimed the Jarl had given her a housecarl, but this servant was no where in sight. He sees her using magic as a crutch and finds her self-righteous traits repulsive.

Araduna is skeptical of Vilkas as well, suspecting he is hiding something from everyone. She can hear him groaning and growling in his sleep from her cot. The sounds only a guilty man with intrusive night thoughts would make. On top of this, his brooding and negative ways are frustrating beyond no end.

So neither of them are fans of the other and both tend to be hot-headed. 

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️ They had given her new armor. While it felt much more secure than the tattered Thalmor robes she had snatched from a dead body just before arriving in Whiterun, it was still an unfamiliar sensation on her body. The scale mail and hide felt so different from the chitin armor she was used to. But it would have to suffice. After all, they gave her the armor out of kindness. At least, she assumed it was kindness. The Companions were such a strange bunch. Compared to many of the humans Araduna had met, they seemed to be much more...liberal. If nothing else, they allowed her to rest and train with them without giving her strange looks or muttering under their breath about her. If they had a problem with each other, it was spoken out loud and dealt with. Usually with fists. That was something Araduna could certainly respect. Since being invited into their sacred halls, Ara discovered some kinship with the only other mer of the group, Athis, a fellow Dunmer. While different experiences had lead them to Jorrvaskr and he'd seem to have fully conformed to the culture of Skyrim, they felt some solidarity. Araduna found herself yearning for home again. Almost two weeks had gone by and she had been involved in more rigorous training. If only to pass time as she collected coin for her long voyage home and healed from prior injury. But she had a feeling it was going to be a long, long while before her feet would be on familiar soil again. Especially with all this prophecy and dragon nonsense. All her life others had been telling her of her potential, her mysterious destiny, her bright future ahead--she wanted no part of it anymore. Especially now. She was going to take charge of her own life for once and for all. Why should it be her responsibility to uphold the standards others placed on her life? She wasn't a good person, and she was okay with that. She wanted no part in some other land's prophecy and wasn't inclined to believe it should have any business with her either. While practicing one-handed combat with Athis proved to be a great distraction during the days, Ara was growing restless. She had come along on a few missions so far, but nothing exciting. She sat in the mead hall of the Companions, sipping on a half-empty tankard. The drink wasn't good, but at least it took the edge off. Athis sat close with a seat between them, munching on bread and tending to a small cut she had dealt on his arm during their practice. The table was huge, peppered with lit candles between plates of food and drink prepared by Tilma, the maid. The other Companions were still in the courtyard with the last of the sunlight, clashing blades for practice. Only she and Athis had come in to take a breather. She stared at the doors leading out to Whiterun and sighed. "If real combat does not find me soon, I may 'ave to hunt it down. I feel so useless 'ere." she mused, holding her hand up to eye-level.  Small sparks crackled between her fingers. It had been so long since she used her magic. The Companions weren't exactly fans of the arcane arts in combat, and she longed to let the sparks spill from her fingertips. She wasn't feeling up to venturing out on her own just yet, but she was gaining her strength back. The male Dunmer lightly scoffed with a raised brow, finishing his snack. "Well, don't look at me. I'm not gonna be the one to bail ya out of trouble." There was a haughty but slightly playful air in his voice. "Think I fancy meself a nap." He pushed back on his chair, rising from his seat to retire for the evening. Araduna smirked. While conversation with Athis was often... dry, hearing his familiar accent was a small comfort. She threw her head back, gulping down the last of the liquid in her tankard and wincing at the awful taste. "If you're not happy here, you should consider leaving." Another voice broke her moment of peace. This one gravely. Harsh. Nordic. The dark elf turned her head to the courtyard doors; her clouded gaze meeting the icy stare of Vilkas. He still had his great sword in hand, clearly coming back from practice. His stoic expression was highlighted in the bouncing candlelight. She wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, but it creeped her out just a bit. While most of the Companions either welcomed her fairly warmly or were civil at best, Vilkas did little to hide his skepticism. He made it clear from the start that he was not comfortable with accepting this new recruit. "I will, once my strength is renewed." she stated plainly, looking down and swirling the last drop of mead in her cup. "But I'm doing little more than the maid 'round 'ere. My blade thirsts for a real challenge again." The rhythmic sound of metal armor clinking against itself could be heard as Vilkas come closer to the long table. His face was covered in a mix of sweat, dirt, and faded warpaint, which only made his piercing blue eyes more prominent. "Kodlak allowed you to join our ranks, and I trust his judgement, but you're not one of us. Not yet. Not until you've proven yourself worthy." He reached up with his weapon, sliding his great sword into its sheath upon his back, and stepped forward to grab a bottle of mead. "Besides, that little axe you carry won't do much. You need a real sword." He put the mead bottle to his lips and threw his head back, chugging the entire thing. Araduna blinked, watching the almost barbaric display. She couldn't look away, but forced herself to refocus on his words.   She stood up, resting her hand upon the hilt of her elven axe. While it wasn't exactly special itself, she had fought tooth and nail with a bandit in order to get it. It had gotten her this far through this strange land and she was developing something of an emotional attachment to it. "It's quick and agile. At least I'm not lumberin' 'round with an iron bar on my back." She crossed her arms, stepping closer to the Nord. But her face involuntarily scrunched at the smell of sweat and BO he gave off. "This 'iron bar' can divorce a man's head from his shoulders in the blink of an eye." Vilkas stated, grabbing the hilt of his sword behind his head. He was clearly offended, setting down the empty mead bottle with some aggression. "I'm sure you're... sufficient with your blade. But it takes more than brute force to be a good warrior." Araduna smirked, shifting her weight to her hip. Vilkas exhaled sharply. "I fight with all the skill of a true Nord warrior. The very skill of my ancestors." He boasted, placing his knuckles against his hips and tilting his head up in a prideful manner. Araduna snorted. Nords seemed to make a habit of bragging about their Nord-ness so much that it was a bit laughable. "Alright." Looking the scruffy man in the eyes, she stepped forward to challenge him. Maybe his smell didn't bother her quite as much as she initially thought. Besides, she didn't smell much better. "I bet I can best ya in combat." It was Vilkas' turn to snort. He then gave a hearty laugh, pointing to the aged axe upon Araduna's hip. "Not with that children's toy." "Fine." Araduna rushed up the steps to where a weapons rack hung on the wall. She grabbed an iron sword, placing her axe in the now empty spot on the rack. "I'll use this." Vilkas scoffed, clearly making fun. It was barely half the size of the colossal blade upon his back, but could be just as deadly in the right hands. "A sword's a sword. Now..." She quickly turned toward the doors to the courtyard and stepped through them.   The Nord warrior chuckled to himself, amused at the tenacity of this dark elf. She was a feisty one for sure. The pair met in the cobblestone training grounds outside the hall. The other Companions had begun to retire and were sitting down on the outside benches, chatting. They went quiet as they witnessed Vilkas and the new recruit squaring up. "Let's do this." Araduna said before charging forward. Vilkas smirked, easily blocking her blade. Araduna tuned her face up, preparing another blow. "You're too eager. Try to find your center and shift your balance as you swing." Vilkas explained, shifting into his 'teacher' voice. Ara huffed. She was not doing this to get combat advice. She wanted to knock him down a peg. The pair continued to go at it, becoming more and more aggressive as neither one seemed to back down. Sparks flickered in their faces as their swords clashed. The Companions watched the show from their seats. This was far more entertaining than just sitting and chatting. Aela the Huntress sat back with her feet resting on another chair. She rested her hands behind her head. "Looks like I'm seeing sparks." she laughed to herself. Ria, another newer recruit sat not too far from her, drinking mead and following the action. She slightly turned her head to Aela, without taking her eyes off the dueling pair in front of them. "Isn't that bad for the blade?" she asked, resting her tankard on the wooden table. "...Maybe." Aela smirked as she grabbed Ria's mead and gulped down the rest of it herself. ⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

[tfwriting]

Soulmates :: Starscream x Reader Rating: G Summary: Soulmate AU where you can draw something on your skin and it appears on your soulmate's skin too. Starscream likes to annoy their soulmate, The Reader, even though they haven't formally met or realized they're soulmates Words: 527

You didn't believe in this "Soulmate" junk. Your creators first told you about it before the war happened. That's how they met.

You didn't believe in that. You knew better. As the war broke out you were sent to earth. You met with the Autobots. They offered you safety in their base. Suddenly, one day you awoke and you met with the Autobots. That's when Smokescreen noticed you.

"What's that on your paint job?"

You didn't know what he was saying.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"There's a drawing on you." Smokescreen points to writing on your armor.

"Wait… a drawing?" You said.

"Yeah!" Miko said she walked up to you and looked at it. It had a heart with the words Starscream in it.

"What?! Did you get Starscream's name on your paint job?!" Wheeljack asked.

“What no?” You rubbed your eyes, you had no idea where it came from. You got up and brushed your arm off. You didn’t know what the frag was Starscream's name doing on your paint job. Optimus heard the ruckus and walked in.

“What’s the commotion?” Optimus asked. You scoffed.

“Nothing really, you can go back to your office.” You said, the Prime didn’t want to be dismissed though and gave you the “look” you sighed and gave in.

“Smokescreen noticed the drawing on my arm. Like, I don’t know what drawing it was but he noticed the drawing on my arm. It was a heart with Starscream in it. And they think I would put a stupid decepticons name on me, like. I didn’t know where it came from, I was unaware someone like Wheeljack would put such a disgusting thing on my paint job as a prank.” You said glaring at the flirtatious wrecker, he just shrugged.

“It wasn’t me, honest.” Your mouth widened as he said this.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” You demanded.

While you went through everyone, who was cleared, Optimus finally found the solution.

“Well. it could be your soulmate. Whoever was your soulmate probably drew on your arm, and it appeared on your paint job.” Optimus said.

“Pfft. Yeah right, I don’t believe in sappy junk like that! It’s been that way since I was an sparkling.” You said, Optimus sighed.

“That’s the only explanation.” Ratchet said he was angry that the noise was distracting him from his job.

“Whatever.” You said. You walked back to your room and had a nice long think about it. Was it true? If it is, then who was the fragger that drew on your arm? Would you ever find out? What if you never meet your soulmate? The more you thought. The more you ignored more drawings being formed on your body. You scoffed as you finally noticed the drawing. You sighed. You hoped you find who your soulmate is.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Fictober ‘22 Prompt No. 2 — “Nobody warned you about me?”

Category: Original WIP: Thriving series Rating: T Timeline: this is...an AU. I took some, uh...liberties. CW: Some choice words !! and violence and blood. y’know the drill. Word Count: 1,841 Additional Notes: if you like piña coladas...and getting pissed at my work

***

Two hours after the kitchen of Prince Hyret’s Blue Palace shut down for the night, the cover of a vent in the ceiling rotated out of place. A small canister fell to the floor with an inconsequential clatter, and thick, green smoke hissed out in waves, over every surface and into every nook and corner.

Guetry, tucked safely above in the duct, narrowed his eyes into the dark room. He swiped his finger over his temple, and after a moment, he could see the thin red laser lines crossing large sweeps, intersecting at just about all points...except for a tight square directly beneath the vent.

He shifted himself and dropped down with no louder sound than the soft tap of his boots against the marble floor, instantly ducking into a crouch, concealed by the smoke. He shook his wrist to activate the volumetric touchpad on the arm of his armor and raised its white glow to his face.

“Go, baby,” he whispered.

Purple reflected off the chrome walls of the chef’s island as the scar on his temple and the tattoo on the right side of his neck all lit up, pulsing and sending a dull tingle into his hand. A muted series of beeps indicated the cameras in the kitchen had been remotely deactivated. The lasers vanished.

“The shutdown has alerted security,” Scotty said directly into his brain. “I estimate ten minutes before they’re able to rectify the situation, and less time than that to arrive at your location.”

Guetry eked out a small smirk, standing. “Who’s a good little AI?”

“I suspect it’s me.”

He jogged to the service elevator—essentially a dumbwaiter—and folded himself inside, making sure his long mohawk ponytail didn’t catch in the door as it shut automatically. He pressed into the wall and drew in a deep breath as the elevator began its rapid ascent with a jarring jolt.

After what felt like far too long a journey, the ride stopped. For a while, other than Guetry’s steady breathing, it was silent.

The darkness of the cramped space was interrupted by Scotty’s glow. “The antechamber. There are four sentries currently posted, two with visuals of your position. They will see you as soon as you exit.”

“Distraction?”

“I can divert the attention of the two with immediate visuals. You will have to handle it from there.”

“Go.”

Guetry counted down from ten before shoving the elevator open and rolling into the antechamber. He got a brief look at the two hulking Morrite sentries standing in front of a malfunctioning electrical panel in the bulkhead across from him, conversing in their language, voices purposely hushed.

He slid two knives out of his hip sheaths and gripped them firmly, stalking behind the other sentries. As quiet as a breeze, he jammed the blades into their wide throats, drawing his silenced pistol and taking out the farther sentries the minute they heard the bodies of their colleagues nosily collapse.

“Okay,” Guetry murmured, heart thudding against his ribs. He bent to retrieve his knives and stuck them back into the sheaths, blood and all. He looked at the enormous door and took one of the sentries’ assault rifles, alighting it neon cyan when he yanked the lever to load it. “That fucker better be alone.”

“I detect no other life signs other than the Blue Prince.”

A radio in the armor of the sentry from whom he stole the rifle sounded off. Guetry glanced down at the body, his veins already filling with adrenaline.

“A check-in,” Scotty said. “They’re informing them of the disturbance in the kitchen.”

Guetry squatted, bringing his face close to where he guessed the radio would be. “Wrong room, cunts,” he growled.

With that, he strode to the door and waved his wrist again. The control panel flashed erratically, as did his tattoo, and the locking mechanism whirred to life, granting him access.

Scotty was in his head again. “It will take approximately six minutes for reinforcements to arrive, and—”

As soon as Guetry set foot in Hyret’s chambers, a fist the size of a basketball slammed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the floor. A discouraging whine erupted in the ear under his implant, but he blinked it off and swung the rifle up to aim at Hyret, pointing the laser sight right into his eyes.

He took the second Hyret had his shark eyes screwed shut to hop back onto his feet. Hyret recovered quickly, though, and Guetry got a few shots into his tree-trunk arm, backing as far into the chambers as he could in order to get distance between them.

Accompanying a feral roar only fueled by decades of hard drugs, Hyret charged at Guetry, knocking the rifle from his grip and tackling him into the wall by the picture window. He got his fingers around Guetry’s comparatively delicate throat, throwing him into a flashback of the last time he’d been there. Hyret had picked him up like a ragdoll just like this, had him helpless, and for the second and hopefully last time in Guetry’s whole life, he did not enjoy having someone choke him out.

The difference, it appeared, was whether or not he’d be alive to actually get off to it at the end. A minute, but crucial difference.

Guetry whipped his knives from their sheaths again and thrust them into Hyret’s chest. Hyret screamed and released him, stumbling backward until he all but crashed into a pillar. As Guetry scrambled to breathe again, his hand went to the handle sitting in an armor pouch at his waist.

“Insolence!” Hyret bellowed, pulling the knives out with a wet squish. He held both in one hand. “Give me your name so I know what to carve into your bleached skull, human!”

Now able to breathe somewhat better, though now sporting a gnarly headache and getting more concerned by the second that he hadn’t heard from Scotty since he walked in, Guetry carefully slipped the handle out of his pouch. “The name...is Guetry Sympa.”

Hyret cocked his arm back, knives pointed at Guetry. “Insignificant.”

Guetry smiled, pressing his thumb to the button on the handle. A whip sprang out, and he snapped it at Hyret. It caught his face, under the eye, and the knives flew out of his hand.

“Insignificant?” Guetry retorted, creeping closer to Hyret. He cracked the whip at him again, leaving an oozing welt in the center of his forehead. “Nobody warned you about me, did they? Nobody advised you that I could be back, did they?”

Hyret opened his mouth to speak, but Guetry cracked the whip a third time, this time snapping the metal braid around his throat and activating the current. It sparked bright, clicking repeatedly, and Hyret screamed again, rumbling the walls and the floor. Blisters formed where the electricity met his flesh.

“That’s a little disappointing to hear,” Guetry sneered. “I would’ve thought killing Warren Cougar would leave a deeper crater, but I guess that goes to show that tyrants don’t give a shit which lives they take, do they?!” Guetry activated the current again. “They take and take and take until all that’s left are crumbling ruins...in people, in civilizations, in galaxies...isn’t that right, Your Highness?! I know it’s been oh, just about a decade since you slaughtered half of my team, so I suppose all the other atrocities could’ve crowded your memory just a bit, right, Your Highness?!”

The chamber door exploded off its track, and Morrite security opened fire, piling into the room, shouting after Hyret and Guetry.

Guetry cut the current and dodged gunfire, which gave Hyret the opening he needed to pull himself together with enough energy to charge once more at him. They went through the supposedly unbreakable window, out into the vacuum of space, along with everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor of the chambers.

Silence. The void throbbed in Guetry’s ears, and the Blue Palace shrank away faster than he would’ve liked. He lost sight of Hyret.

His vision blurred.

He lost feeling in his body as a figure floated past him in the opposite direction, grabbed...Hyret? Slithered, wrapped their arms and legs around him as they spun out of control...curled their fingers...into Hyret’s mouth...

The figure slammed their hands apart, separating Hyret’s jaws. Guetry closed his eyes against the sight of Hyret’s head splitting into two.

He didn’t know how much longer passed before arms wrapped around him. He lost consciousness sporadically until he felt sudden gravity and the person was on the floor with him, still holding him, smoothing his hair to his head, stroking his face, embracing him from behind.

“S-Scotty,” Guetry wheezed, shaking violently. He couldn’t regain his limbs and he wasn’t sure if that was due to being in unprotected space or because of his clearly damaged implant. Tears streamed out of his eyes and it would be a while before he could see clearly again. “I can’t—I can’t...”

“Shh, shh,” the person whispered into his ear. “I know.”

It was Orthrive’poliea. Of course it was.

...Of course it was.

Much later, when Guetry was sedated and curled up in bed in the med fac, hooked up to a terminal and awaiting news on his implant, Thrive stepped inside. He looked great, all things considered...the beard growth was a new development. His once sparkling emerald eyes looked duller in color, but that was probably Guetry’s imagination.

For a few minutes, all they did was stare at each other. Without a word. Then, as if removing himself from a deep trance, Thrive took a long breath to speak.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone.”

“I did what I had to do. I did what you would’ve done.”

“Right.” Thrive nodded vacantly, breaking their eye contact. “...It’s...good to see you.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re right,” Thrive said, voice hard. “It’s not.”

Guetry sniffed. “I’ve told you a million times to stay with me, old man.”

Thrive shook his head, almost robotic in his movements.

“Yeah,” Guetry murmured. “...‘Cause Warren would’ve loved to know that the two most important people in his life couldn’t even look at each other anymore.”

Thrive abruptly turned and left the med fac. Guetry stared at the bulkhead until he fell asleep.

—

On the way back to the Consortium Node, Guetry found Thrive on the observation deck of his ship, sitting on the floor. Watching the stars pass, lost in his head. Guetry made his way over and sat beside him.

Thrive turned as if to ask him what he was doing out of bed, but he kept his mouth shut. He kept it shut even as Guetry leaned in and snaked his arms around him.

After some time, Thrive returned the embrace, clutching the back of Guetry’s hoodie and burying his face in his neck.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Thrive whispered.

Guetry’s skin erupted into a chill and he fought back the emotion about to leap out of his throat. “Same, man. Same.”

Thrive didn’t let go. Guetry didn’t make him.

[fett-djarin]

Hand to Hand Practice

helo its another Paz Vizsla x f!reader!

MINORS DNI

Crossposted to AO3

Rating: 18+

Length: 2.2k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT, sparring, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, PiV, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), slight spanking, somewhat of a size kink? Please let me know if I missed anything!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Thump.

Your back hit the floor. The breath was knocked from your lungs from the impact. That bastard--he threw me!

“Come on girl, that’s the best you’ve got?” Paz taunted you from a few feet away. You huffed, swiping a hand across your forehead to wipe away the sweat that dripped from your temples.

“You know I can’t throw you around, Paz,” you snapped back at him, glaring venom at the ceiling. His amused chuckle crackled through the vocoder. The dark T-visor of his helm appeared above you, looking down at your prone form. Paz held a hand out for you to take. His palm dwarfed yours, and he pulled you to your feet with seemingly no effort.

You groaned, feeling your spine pop as you stretched. Paz moved back to his spot. He bent his knees, crouching slightly and distributing his weight in a defensive stance. He beckoned you forward with a curl of his fingers. “Again.”

There wasn’t much room to spar in his ship, so Paz had shoved everything not bolted down to the sides and tossed a few heavy blankets on the floor in place of a mat to spare you from being thrown straight onto metal. Because you were thrown. Quite often. Paz let you get a few hits in before bodily lifting you and ending your assault. You were a good shot with a blaster, one of the best--you were hardly ever in close-quarters combat. You knew the basics, but hardly ever used them or practiced. One bounty got too close for comfort, and you sported a new scar on your arm because of it. After it healed, you asked Paz to practice with you, maybe teach you some new maneuvers.

And to teach you, the big Mandalorian challenged you to take him down. You couldn’t knock him off his feet, he easily weighed over 300 pounds with his armor on. Trying to get him to move was like barreling into a tree. The best you could hope for was to outmatch him in speed, and not let him pick you up.

You shook out your arms, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Paz had taken his beskar off--save for the helmet--so he was only in his padded armor and you wouldn’t break your knuckles throwing punches. He cocked his head, and you knew he had a smug smirk on his face, waiting for you to launch yourself at him again. You moved.

You dodged the swipe he took at you, instead landing a hit of your own on his side. Paz was unfazed. He laughed, making another grab at you, which you danced back to avoid. The two of you circled each other--you, waiting for an opening; him, countering every movement.  The next time you darted in for a swing, Paz grabbed your arm. He easily twisted you and had you pinned. You struggled against him knowing it would do you no good.

His hand settled at the base of your throat--not squeezing, just lightly resting there. You froze like a spooked tooka as a bright spark of pure arousal settled in your core. Oh, Maker…. He knew exactly what to do to have such an effect on you. Paz was so big--his hand was so big, dwarfing the delicate line of your neck. If he applied the slightest bit of pressure you would probably melt into the floor and then wither away from embarrassment. You wouldn’t be able to bear looking him in the face--visor? ever again. His thumb traced a light line over your collarbone. Heat flooded your face and you swallowed thickly.

“I win,” his rumbling voice murmured right by your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You steeled yourself, shaking off your feelings and stomping them out of your mind. “Again.” Then his arms tightened, drawing you back against his chest. Something thick and hard pressed against your lower back and you squirmed, pulling a groan from him.

Of course, sparring got him hard. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t work you up too.

“One more round,” you insisted. You ‘accidentally’ pushed your hips back against his erection as you squirmed out of his arms. Paz grunted, letting you go. You didn’t expect to win this round, even with his new distraction, but you didn’t want to. If you worked him up enough, maybe he’d snap. The thought of what he would do sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You readied your stance. Paz did not pull his punches, not that you expected him to anyway. This was a game to him. He did manage to surprise you, though. For as big as he was, he could be fast. You had just ducked out of his reach when you felt him grasp your hips, and then you found yourself on your stomach, fall cushioned by the blankets. His weight settled on the back of your thighs. You couldn��t even twist to try and throw him off balance--he had you pinned.

He slowly leaned down, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in. “Did you even try that time?” His fingers traced down your spine, then the warmth of his hand slid up under your shirt, teasing your skin. “Or did you just want this?” and he rolled his hips for emphasis, grinding himself against your ass and making you gasp.

When you didn’t answer, he chuckled. “Yeah. I thought so.”

His hands continued to skim up your sides, each touch building warmth in you. When you wriggled and whined, he paused. “D’you want this off, baby?” he asked with a light tug on your shirt.

“Please,” you breathed. Paz chuckled, then guided your shirt up and over your head. Your bindings followed shortly thereafter. He traced a finger down your spine, making you shudder. You tried to subtly press your thighs together to take the edge off, but from his seat on your legs, Paz felt your muscles tense. He tutted, rubbing his fingers over your clothed pussy, the barest hint of pressure making you all the more desperate.

His fingers hooked in the band of your pants and tugged lightly. His weight shifted off you and you lifted your hips to help him pull your pants and panties down, leaving you bare beneath him.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, palming your ass. “Pretty girl.” The gentle smack against your flesh made you gasp. You shifted your hips back against him, trying to entice him to move his touch to where you were wet and warm and dripping for him. Paz was a tease, but he was also not the most patient man. His fingers dipped down to your heat, rubbing light circles over your clit before pulling back to tease your entrance. Then he pulled away.

Your confused noise cut off as the warm glide of his tongue swiped through your folds from behind. A wanton moan left your mouth as your hips arched up, off the blankets piled on the floor, trying to grind back against his face. Paz’s big hands spread you apart, holding you open for him as he explored you with his tongue. Each lick, suck, and kiss was a warm wave of pleasure suffusing through you, building until you were squirming against his hold.

“Paz, Paz, please--” you choked out, teetering on the edge. He wouldn’t give you that last little push you needed to reach your high. You moaned, hips bucking against his hold, desperate for the final bit of stimulation your body craved. Paz held you steady, giving you pleasure as he saw fit.

“Cum on my mouth, pretty,” his voice, deep and gravelly and not filtered by the modulator, sent an extra spike of pleasure through you. His lips wrapped around your clit and he hummed, the little vibrations doing enough to coax you into orgasm. You weren’t bowled over by sensation as you sometimes were; instead, this orgasm was a slow, thick, rolling wave of heat spilling through you, spreading through your limbs and leaving you loose and boneless.

You just knew Paz had a self-satisfied smirk on his face seeing you blissed out and jelly-limbed on the floor of his ship. You hummed as his weight settled over the back of your thighs once more, the rough canvas of his pants dragging against your sensitive skin. He didn’t strip, instead opting to pull his cock from the confines of his clothing.

The thick length of Paz’s cock rested on the cleft of your ass. He groaned at the sight, your plush rear and the peek of your dripping pussy from between your thighs, his cock nestled between your cheeks, showing just how deep he would reach sheathed inside you. You tried wiggling your hips, enticing him to fuck you, but the steady weight of him on your thighs and his hands on your waist held you in place.

“This what you wanted? You didn’t wanna train--y’wanted to get fucked,” he punctuated his words with a thrust, grinding his cock against you.

“Yes, yes, fuck me--please, Paz, want you--” you babbled, hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. You rocked your hips against him. Paz’s breathing stuttered, and then he was spreading you open to watch as he sank his thick cock into your wet heat.

The press of the head of his cock had you gasping into the blankets, and then as he buried himself inch-by-inch, you couldn’t stop the little moans and whines that left you. You tried to relax your muscles, taking as much of him as you could, but your cunt spasmed around the intrusion. He grunted behind you, feeling your walls flutter around him as they stretched to accommodate his length. When his hips touched your ass, you shuddered, stuffed to your limit, the ache turning into a pleasant warmth licking at your core.

Paz rocked his hips slowly, only sliding an inch or so out before thrusting back in, and you clawed at the floor. You lifted your hips to the best of your ability, pushing yourself back against each thrust. He started slow--every time was like the first time, you were so tight around him, especially in this position. He didn’t want to hurt you--not in a way you didn’t ask for.

He squeezed your ass, massaging your hips and tugging you flush against him. He stopped moving, holding himself still while encouraging you to roll your hips against him. "That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my cock,” his voice was rough and dark, sending shivers through you. You whined, driving yourself back harder, desperate for more stimulation. You squeaked, trailing off into a moan as his hand cracked against the plump flesh of your ass. “You want more? Needy thing.”

He fucked you, and when Paz fucks, you’re gonna feel it for days. His hips pounded down into yours, each thrust sheathing his cock deep in your core and driving against that spot inside you that made you clench around him. Raw pleasure shot through you like unrefined electricity, burning bright along every nerve. Your toes curled in the blankets beneath you. The muffled sound of his clothed pelvis meeting your bare skin, mixed with the wet noise of your arousal, filled the ship. Each brutal snap of his thrusts drove you closer and closer to the edge, breathless moans torn from deep in your chest. The walls of your cunt fluttered around him, strangling his cock.

“Gonna cum for me, pretty baby?” When you didn’t answer, one of his hands wrapped around your jaw, tilting your head back and forcing your back into an arch. The angle made him spear even deeper into you and you nearly squealed. “I asked you a question.”

“F-fuck, yes, please, please, please--”

He shoved his hand between your hip and the floor, wrapping around your front so his big fingers could rub circles over your clit while he continued to fuck into you. He pressed demandingly at your clit and your legs trembled while you grasped desperately at anything within your reach to ground yourself, unaware of how loud your moans had grown. The dam of your orgasm finally broke, and you soaked his cock and the blanket beneath you as you came. Devastating waves of pleasure rocked through you and you clenched helplessly around his cock as he fucked you through it, his fingers continuing to tease your clit and making you jerk in his hold.

The tight, hot clamp of your cunt around his length had Paz following shortly behind you. Half a dozen shallow but firm thrusts, and he came with a rumbling groan as he sheathed himself inside you.

You trembled beneath him, flushed and sweaty and so, so deliciously boneless from the intensity of your orgasm. Paz gently pulled out, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back. You whimpered at the loss of his warmth, the comforting weight of him on your body.

“Easy,” he murmured. “‘M right here.” He would have laid down beside you, except the floor wasn’t the most comfortable, even with the blankets he had thrown on it--so instead he maneuvered you into his arms and lifted you with ease before placing you in his bunk. He quickly stripped off his heavier clothes before crawling in next to you and wrapping you in his arms. You curled into his chest, legs resting on either side of his.

Tentatively, you rocked your hips, the slickness of your combined releases dripping from you easing your motion. Paz squeezed your thigh in question and in warning. You grinned devilishly up at him.

“One more round?”

[cdroloisms]

originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol

(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)

but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3 

i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)

tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault

Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.

Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.

“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.

“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”

“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages  and then we get here and nobody’s here-”

“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.

“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”

Sam pauses.

“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”

“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”

The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”

“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”

Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.

“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”

Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.

“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”

“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”

Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.

Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”

Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.

“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”

Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.

“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”

“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”

“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”

Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.

“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”

“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”

Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”

“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”

“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”

“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”

The world goes white.

[Dream was blown up by Dream.]

[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]

[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]