#<— similar vein as prevs

[moondirti]

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐈𝐈 [18+]

familiar! ghost × witch! reader

you are a witch trapped at home by a devastating blizzard. ghost is the demon that answers your call. ( 2 of 3 /PREV )

DEAD DOVE. RATED E. HORROR EROTICA. 9K. – AO3 heed the warnings below and proceed at your own discretion.

warnings: NONCON. graphic depictions of gore. injury. cannibalism. blood licking. slaughtering + ingesting animals. violence. degradation. body horror. hypothermia. isolation. manipulation. corruption kink. religious imagery. dark!ghost. female reader. i know i said 2 parts total but now it's a 3er.

additional tags: groping. tit fondling. rough oral (male receiving). face-fucking. cum guzzling + eating. it’s all a little disgusting and not in the good way i fear.

𝐈𝐈.𝐈

The cottage is halfway buried under snow when you run out of firewood. 

It should come as no surprise, though you stare down your emptied closet like the ground opened up and swallowed your remaining reserve. Out of body, you fail to confront the cold reality that has already seeped into your walls, freezing the splintered wood of your floors, instead standing stock-still as your mind sharpens its critical edge. 

Only there is no one to direct your reproach to but yourself. Weeks ago, your rune casts had predicted a crippling whiteout, thus you set out to collect enough fuel to last you the season. Yet as night waxed on the third day of your efforts, and your hands started tearing bloody from splitting hardwood all on your own, that resolve debilitated rather quickly. Like sugar steeped in tea; your will to live was already in a decrepit state, and indeed, eagerly unravelled at the first sign of adversity. Suicidal, with hindsight. A passive play at death of which you were too fearful to try and seek for yourself. 

It did not seem like that at the time, of course. Rather, you justified the fatuous decision to stop (after cutting down a mere three trees) by concocting an estimate of how long it would be before you could venture out for more. Based on absolutely nothing but a desperation to curl back on your couch, sore but sheltered, you gave it one month. One month until the storm would abate. Of restlessness, fermenting in a prison you call home. To your distorted sense, four-hundred pieces of firewood seemed plenty enough to get you through it, despite admittedly lacking even a basic working knowledge of wood arithmetic.

Counting the days now, you’re almost tempted to laugh. Almost. The shroud of horror that newly accompanies death since Ghost’s lesson triumphs, after all. You are more terrified than you would have been a week ago. Still, you were not wrong – the firewood had lasted a month – only the weather does not seem to be looking up, and you’re trapped inside a quickly cooling cottage with no source of heat to get you to the thaw. The possibility of fatal hypothermia looms closer, more dangerous. Eerily relevant–

(Just a year ago, you watched a man die from the warmth of your ancestral home, face down in fresh snow outside the parlour room window. Your ageing mother had invited the pastor’s son over to help repair the stairs left unattended since your father’s death, and the man had called your fascination with the corpse morbid, nail between two teeth as he hammered down a wooden plank. 

No use starin’ at a dead man, lass. Not for a bonnie thin’ like you.

But you could not tear your eyes away from his mottled skin, the blue-black ends of his fingers. Even at his burial several days later, his face displayed the same, blank expression, perpetually cast by that winter’s frigid storm.) 

You imagine yourself passing in a similar vein. It will take longer, you think. You’ll be dying for weeks as your blood courses slower through you, iced by the winds that howl down your chimney. Protected, but not enough, by these walls you have been banished to live within. Unable to get even a glimpse of sunlight before shutting your eyes for the last time, the snow packed up to your windows effectively burying you without ceremony. A forgotten tomb. 

You wonder if Ghost would intervene, yet your speculation is brief. His words echo like he uttered them only moments ago. Fight or die. He has long established the volitional aspects of your relationship – he owes you nothing unless you ask, and if you do, then you would rather wish you were dead in lieu of what he asks for in return. No. He will merely watch as you take your last breath, satisfied that he was right, then scavenge your carcass for his next meal. Fated to wet his mouth like the picked off crow. A long-awaited feast.

Curling in on yourself, it is all you can do to bury yourself in clothes. Your vulnerability is often a fickle thing, you find, ebbing and flowing like seawater tides gradually gorging on their shore. There are periods you feel invincible; a being made of eternal magic, unmoved by the shifts in nature bid by time. Some sequoia, whose roots pierce deep into the earth and drink from freshwater wells unacquainted with human touch. A thing truly deserving of the title witch. 

Other times – these times being of increasing occurrence since the arrival of your familiar – you cannot help but to shrink back into a girl again. Raw and tender and emotionally volatile. Naked, sore lungs, as you’re pulled from your mother’s womb and forced to embrace the harsh cut of air. Ghost watches from his usual corner, a spectre practically pulsing with this voyeuristic game he likes to play. You know he’s figured out the predicament you’ve put yourself in, can feel yourself quailing at the discredit his judgement affords. The layers serve a dual purpose, then – for warmth, and to grant brief reprieve from his gaze on your shivering form. 

Three pairs of socks. A tunic, a fleece, a cardigan, and a coat. Skirts over your trousers. Gloves and a woollen hat. 

By the end, you have a hard time moving at all. Certainly not enough to cook, or to try tunnelling a way out of the window. No point in reading if you can’t practise your magic, either; so you mutter a quiet ignition spell over the charred firewood from last night, hoping it lasts even half as long, before collapsing on the couch and willing yourself to sleep. 

Only sleep does not come. 

Or, it might. Yet your mind is so occupied with your condition that it does not allow you to fully lose consciousness. You’re attuned to every particle around you, overstimulated in the worst sense, still subjected to an unsettling sequence of half-dreams. Brain flickering through pale mirages of dead crows, ice floes, of capsized rafts in arctic waters, their hulls resembling slabs of marbled meat. As you drown, you shout for help and pique at the sound of it echoing in real life, tangible enough that it shakes you awake. You nearly strangle yourself trying to wind your quilt tighter around your shoulders afterward, burying your nose in a pillow and cupping your cheeks with frigid hands. 

Eventually, time joins the distortion, and you have a hard time discerning whether it’s been hours or meagre minutes. The only indication is the way in which your body starts to ache with a pain so profound, it is as though you’ve been beaten. If you weren’t frustratingly cognizant of your surroundings the whole night, your first bet would have been to blame Ghost, or at least the threadbare couch you’ve been using as a bed erring too long now. Unfortunately, the true cause of your affliction is hard to misdiagnose; a violent, merciless shivering, your muscles made to tremble as if compelled to by electric shock. The teeth chattering kind – and it is exactly the rattle of ivory against ivory that serves as a makeshift timekeeper. 

Click. Click. Clickclick. Click. 

It must be two hours later when you bite your tongue and jolt completely awake from the pain, swathed in your quilt like the nesting doll that sat on your windowsill back home. Though the appendage bleeds, spreading metallic bitterness onto your teeth, you wonder for a brief moment whether you are alive at all. Foggy vision. Taut skin drawing lines down your cheeks from either corner of your eyes. When you squint, it tugs tighter, and you realise at one point you had started crying. It’s hard to tell without your nose hot and runny, or your lips swollen like overripe berries. Instead, you’re rendered to a shrivelled reflection of yourself, dried tear tracks setting the image in stone. The shadow looming above you seems to agree. 

“Not dead yet. But only just.”

You wish you could say his voice is any softer than standard. That the stars aligned, or that this is an ideal world where the antediluvian creature occupying your home has tapped into his small pool of pity. But he nudges your knee with all the detached amusement he prescribes to most things, like he can’t understand why you’re so easily affected by the cold. 

“Ghost?” 

“Almost exclusively.” He mocks.

The couch dips near your feet. You do not register why until he scoops an arm into your quilt, pulling you from warm refuge and onto his lap instead. It isn’t in you to fight, merely mewling like a feverish cat as you reach a hand out to the cushion where you once lay. Wiggling your fingers, kicking your heels. 

He swats your arm until it flops back to your side. 

“If only y’could see yourself like this. Bloody pathetic, pet.” 

“I’m c-cold.” 

“Not doin’ yourself any favours, then. This,” He tugs at the coat barely hugging your shoulders, stretched taut over your bulky layers. “off.” 

When you fail to listen, he takes the initiative for you, pulling it down your arms and towards some distant corner. You don’t miss it, necessarily – it hardly did anything to keep you warm – but you protest the loss as you would have done anything else; noisily, sniffing to suppress the fresh bout of tears spooling over your vision. 

“Think you exhausted every option, hm? All you can do is curl over and cry?” With his hands now at your cardigan, thumbs hooked under the lapel, you search his eyes for indication of what he intends to do. Ghost is difficult to appreciate even on the best of days, but now, without the handy glow of fire or direct stream of sunlight, he’s practically impossible. Like two mountains stood tall with no valley in between them, no line of logic exists that can explain his actuality. 

(And you’ve never been the logical type – there is no precise science to why goat fat and cumin work together to lure someone into love, or why you knew to stay away from the pastor who kept your mother company. Some things exist solely in magical proportions; limiting yourself to rational thought would be doing a great disservice to what they have to offer.

But confronting Ghost on a plane where he has the upper hand is a daunting task, so you stick to what rationale can place.) 

“What are you–you doing?” 

“Shut it.” He folds the cardigan around your hips, clasping a colossal palm onto the back of your neck. Though you’re used to being scruffed when he’s less than pleased with you, the purpose of this is far from dissatisfaction. You know it immediately. His skin, flesh, is warmer than anything you’ve felt in a long time. A quality of comfortable, penetrating heat that sinks into your nape and slowly works to defrost your marrow, your limbs, the icy film clinging to your brain. Your eyes roll shut almost instantaneously, body slumping forward to sink into his chest. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, where the relief of warmth has not yet reached, you worry that he’ll push you off. 

He does not. 

Instead, his other hand slips under your fleece and tunic, smoothing over the knots of your spine to reach between your shoulder blades. There, his heat sinks to swathe your chest, and the weakly heart somehow managing to do its job, pumping blood that tickles your toes and fingertips. It drips down to your tummy too, where it weighs heavy like a tangible mass, and brings your pulse to the bud between your legs.

His touch there doesn’t last long; he pulls away only moments later, a tightness newly lifted off your sternum. One hand still kneads your nape, effectively keeping your face against his broad shoulder, but the other moves to collect your slack wrists together. It strikes you as unusual, sure, yet you’ve since surrendered your inhibitions for sake of survival. A cavewoman tradeoff. Your body purrs at the satisfaction of your baser instincts, happy to resort to this primitive state of impartiality, if only it means you’ll stay snug throughout the winter. 

Yes. If anyone were to ask you right then, you would have seen it as not only plausible but entirely necessary to stay like this for the months to come. Sated and secure and just a hint impassioned, content to doze off on the lap of your tormentor. Already halfway there, lashes fluttering as you battle complete oblivion. 

Only that isn’t what Ghost has in store, and he seems eager to break the illusion you hold in such high regard. 

He releases your neck, guiding you to sit upright upon his tree-trunk thighs. When you object by reaching for his hands again, you find that your own are securely fixed behind your back. Completely immobilised. 

Sensation slowly trickles back to you. Once numb, your skin now comes alive with frayed nerve endings, crackling, hair standing on its ends. What you find, alarmingly, is your place within a twisted example of the lesson Ghost has been attempting to teach. The lightness on your sternum not as metaphorical as you had assumed – rather, the bandages binding your breasts have been unwrapped to treacherously hitch your wrists together. The rough fabric excoriates the surface of your forearms. 

Your breathing accelerates. If you’d been freezing before, you’re thoroughly iced now. Shock races through your system and persecutes everything that lulled you into this position. Stupid, stupid, stu–

“Ghost.” You hiss. “Ghost. This is-isn’t funny.”

He doesn’t respond, rolling your top to reveal the soft stretch of your navel. It involuntarily retracts when he flits over your belly button, dodging the unwelcome spread of his fingers. Your body's way of protesting, for all you lean into his touch. Too tempting not to, really. Something in him burns; perhaps a furnace in place of his heart, or a piece of hell he takes with him wherever he goes. 

That primitive voice grows louder, whispering deceptively in your ear that it’s fine, let him touch you. So long as you stay warm. 

You shake your head as if to jerk the instinct off your crown. Lips pursed tight now, the hand on your belly slowly climbing up. Up. 

“Stop it. Stop this, I d-don’t want it.” 

“I know.” He says, pressing his thumb into your waist. It digs until it hits a rib, tenderising muscle. You’re a lamb on a spit, spun slowly, roasted over an open flame. How silly of you to lean into the burn. Short-sighted to decide that it’s better than the cruel press of winter. You’ll be eaten like this. 

“Then g-get the fuck off me!” You yelp, swaying on your haunches in a bid to knock yourself off his lap. Your arms are useless, but that does not mean you cannot fight. “I order you!”

That pulls a laugh from him. Or, what sounds like a laugh. As with everything, it’s his estimate of a human one, like the cicada mimics the bird; not as melodic, rather striking you with disgust so potent you feel your nausea reawakening. You might just hurl.

“And wha’ will I be granted in return? Nothin’ you have that’ll convince me to unhand you, pet.” Ghost rucks your tunic to your shoulders at last, exposing your bare breasts to bitter air. Though he gives them no time to pebble up, large paws enveloping both mounds and squeezing until your breath syphons from your lungs. “Haven’ seen a pair of tits in decades. Suppose you humans do have somethin’ going for you.” 

Your words startle in your throat. Nothing about it is pleasurable, nor does he intend for it to be. His fingers take your nipples; rolling, tugging, pinching. Nails dig crescent cuts into the darkened skin there, perhaps searching for blood. He certainly treats it as though blood is the aim, and you wonder whether you’re to be hung from your bust to drain onto his waiting tongue. Just as one might press olives, no care for their pulpy bodies but only the rich oil they produce. Grease to slick their pans, to moisten their mouths. 

You’ll be eaten like this.

“Stop, please.” 

“Wonder what y’would look like plump with milk. Nursing my litter, rounded out with another dozen.” He sucks his teeth, contemplative. “Body wouldn’t handle it, f’you ask me. Stronger women than you ‘ave tried.”

Have. It hurts to think about. Hurts more when the insult of his words truly resonates. Stronger women. That is to say you have been exiled for nothing. That with a year of solitude and occult practice, you are just as feeble as before. Is this why he ate your crow? To prove to you that he could? 

The tide pushes back out. In a great swell of loam and brine, your hatred crashes vengefully onshore. You muster all of it, dipping pails into the water and letting it weigh heavy on your shoulders. It is almost negligible, you find. You scarcely feel its burden when fuelled by a focused point to your antipathy. Your teeth stop chattering. You glare daggers. 

“Let me go.” 

Your final plea rolls over him like all the ones before it. “But you’re a witch, aren’t ya? Brew up a little elixir to pull yourself through the whelping. Maybe then you’ll realise how much you long to stay alive.” 

Your neck snaps back. Before you can think it through, you thrust your head towards his face. There’s a crunch, a dizzying moment of choked silence, then a hot burst of moisture down your face. For a naive moment, you think you must have struck gold. You imagine drawing back to find his mask sticky with blood, or tar, or whatever demons have thrumming through their veins. A raw testament to your resolve, if he should ever underestimate it again. 

But the mirage is as naive as your mother. Eventually the pain catches up to you. You realise the iron-tang at the back of your throat is not the dreg of satisfaction. The tears slipping past your lashes no longer wrought from misery. Everything, rather, an immediate response to the sore condition of your nose. Misshapen and swelling already.

Ghost hums. You hoped to see him grovelling in pain by now. The battered expectation somehow makes his condescension worse. 

“Good to see y’find your spirit,” His head tilts, bullying yours into remaining still, fingers knitted firmly in your hair. “but it’s misplaced.” 

Given his derision, you know not to rejoice when his other hand leaves your chest. Your shirt slumps lamely back over your figure as he lifts the edges of his mask, folding it over his mouth. In the dark, it’s difficult to map the nuances of his exposed jowls. There’s a pale curve there, a disfigured line here. Your sinuses twinge when your stare narrows, cutting through murk to place the shape of his lips. 

It’s futile. You have no way to jam the gaps; no way of knowing whether he’s all man, all demon, or a foul mix of the two. 

The one thing that glimmers with definition is the string of spit when he unlatches his jaw, long tongue striking like a wound-tight cobra. You would flinch if you could, eyes pruning shut, but his grip keeps you steady in place as he laves a forceful path up your chin. Tasting the metallic leak of blood, all the way up to its source. 

You see it coming. Still, you can’t help but scream when he works his tongue around your nose. Loosed bones shift under your skin, steadiness fractured, cartilage support dipping inwards against the assault. He groans, and in spite of your impaired sense of smell, you get a whiff of rot-hot breath. It must all be a terrible dream, you think. The hardened muscle pressing against your inner thighs, the viscous web of saliva stretched across your face. It’s cold and you’re sweaty, and everything about the past month – the past year – seems like it has been especially curated to torment you. You would wake from this any second.

He gathers the salty drips off your eyes, the blood, every grief coating your skin. Agony blinds you – so profound it takes shape, colour. You squirm in your binds, ragged shrieks ripping from your throat. 

It echoes even after he breaks away. If it weren’t for the sudden coolness of spit drying within your cupid’s bow, you would think he was still making a feast of you. 

“Tha’ got you to settle, hm?” 

You shake your head, exhausted. “You said–” 

“I said fight, or die.” He huffs. You let silence swathe your lips, pursing them as thin as you can manage without exacerbating your injury. “Yer fighting to die, pet.”

“I just want to be left alone.” 

“‘N’ what d’you think will come of that?” 

“It shouldn’t m-matter.” Your conviction sound hollow when spoken aloud. If he hears it, he uses it as an incentive to strip your top back over your chest. Like a hot wire pushed through your ribcage, his warm hands toast you from the outside in. It is in your best interest not to shiver in delight; though you are still dreadfully cold, and your injury makes it difficult to pigeonhole any alleviation to your pain. “You can’t-t-t defile me on the grounds of greater good.” 

Ghost laughs again. “Ain’ pretending this is for the greater good, pet. The world will thank me if one more witch freezes to ‘er death.” You’re yanked further up his lap. “I let you go, you’ve got four, five hours tops ‘till your heart fails. You wan’ to live?”

You shake your head, fervent tremors batting your pout. A nonanswer seems the only manner of resistance, now. “Not like this.” 

“Clever. Tha’ still tells me you do.” He pinches the knotted peaks of your breasts, twisting until you buck wretchedly onto his pelvis. “And I wan’ to spend my evenin’ playing with your tits. A fair compromise, then.” 

What sort of familiar makes the demands? You contemplate berating him out loud, lunging for the dirty insult to beat at his status like he did yours. With no room for taking the high ground, you will do anything so long as you can later say you bared your claws. So you do not wonder, for countless sleepless nights, if there was something more you should have done. You will be mean. You will go low. You will condemn him to a fate of eternal dissatisfaction, so that no matter how much he eats or kills or takes, he will always feel his stomach a gnawing pit. 

Though something tells you he will not succumb to scrutiny against his honour. There is no code for creatures like him, who floss their teeth with crow meat and pluck the nipples of girls who grant them shelter. Nothing to hold them to expect the conditions of their summons.

Perhaps that’s just it.

You stir. It feels much like magic, when an incantation rolls off the tongue just right and the air shifts to accommodate it. Your heart vibrates behind your sternum, power bloating your veins, ricocheting within your skin. If Ghost feels it, he doesn’t falter.

“Be sure, demon.” You rasp, drawing your intent taut in your chest like a bowstring. He hums but does not stop, kneading your flesh to conform to the creases and calluses of his hands. “Be sure that’s what you want. I could give in without further fuss and be like a docile rabbit on your lap. That way, you will have taken two things from me tonight.” 

The liquid of his eyes shifts quick. You catch its gleam in the little light, and it pleases you enough to deliver the rest of your covenant.  

“By the spell that brought you here, you are bound to do what I sacrifice for.” You pause a moment. “In exchange for the blood you have ingested off my face, you will dig this house out of the snow. And for my virtue, this one evening allowance of which you have already taken upon yourself, you will collect my firewood until the season clears.” 

Ghost makes an indiscernible noise from underneath. You can not tell if he is peeved or pleased, and the ambiguity shakes you. You expected some sort of acknowledgment or counter to your trick. Instead, he does not speak on it. No pitch or complaint, protest or taunt. 

He just sits there, pawing at your chest like a satiated dog. 

(And come morning, when your breasts are raw and tender to the touch, he tunnels the snow around your cottage and returns hours later with a hundred cedar logs for the kindling.)

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈

She prefers him in the daylight

Sun floods her little home when it rises and keeps it bright until it sets. Whereas the dark plays tricks on mortal eyes, oil lamps flickering, casting shadows that always resemble something else. She likes training an eye on what he does in his usual corner; but come night, she can’t trust what she sees. Thus, her confidence strains. She flinches at every sound. Any movement will have her tucking deeper under her quilt. His empty-eyed stare glows more sinister, if anything is to be assumed by the way she will crack her grimoire open and mouth protective spells like prayers.

Perhaps she’s afraid she caused offence, that he mulls over a punishment to teach her not to make a fool of him again. Perhaps it plagues her that she cannot stop him if that is the case. He does not tell her that, already, the worst possible thing that can confront her has. Though of course she isn’t privy to it, it’s been a month since he decided against making a meal of her. Everything he does now is moderate in comparison. He’s being good. 

Good, yes. In the evenings, he will venture out to do her bidding. The timing grants her a few hours rest, then, and him an opportunity to hunt for his dinner. 

Good, because he waits until he’s a mile out to transform to his truer self. It is easier to strip trees of their branches and snap their spines when he stands over two metres tall. Not so easy to mend the fragile tolerance she’s gained for him, which is sure to shatter if she catches sight of his monstrosity. He eludes the possibility entirely, then. 

Good, because Ghost refrains from agitating her more than he already has. And his intention in doing so does not change that decency. 

That is to say, he hasn’t grown a heart. He does not care for the girl. But the passivity that necessitated his savagery has since come to pass. She’s grown claws. She fights for her say and punches through life with guile. Any more and he would be faulting her for it, like burning the meat he tumbled through mud to slaughter. It is down to him to take it off the roast, now, to revel in the succulent bite. He’s got her right where he wants her.  

With some brief tampering on his part – laying out the temptation like a breadcrumb trail into the woods – she broke her invisible vow not to ask him for anything. Has it not made her life that much simpler? Her hearth burns bright and warm everyday; she does not have to worry about keeping it lit for the remnants of winter. He picks cedar for its aroma, it's even char, and she would not have access to that if it weren’t for his ability to tackle the sturdy tree. All it took was her debauchment, the vitiating of character to match his. 

(And really, how debauched was it if she only endured his groping for one night?)

It isn’t too much to want, he thinks. 

She thinks so too. Or otherwise decides it's worth the risk. 

It is late into the evening and his dinner sits fresh in his belly, fire chewing away at the split logs he emptied into the pit earlier. The air is thick with cloying cedar and the mephitic scent of potion-brewing, his pet crouched over a bubbling pot. She has been at it for hours, the same nightly routine since she broke her nose. Tadpoles and feverfew and sage, chanterelle and wishbone and sand. Stirred, brought to a boil, thickened with spit. Then scooped out and smothered over her sore face. A modest poultice, turned cast, to help her mend correctly over weeks.

He wonders if she considered bothering him to heal her. He certainly can. But it appears as though she enjoys keeping her hands busy. Toiling through time, grinding away like water does the earth. In the aeons he’s been around, he’s seen mountains chipped away, rocks change shape, rivers bend over time – and it is always the same eternal petulance. Stubborn mediocrity built into something larger. Endurance over brute force. He doesn’t pretend to understand it, but he can recognise a reflection of it in her craft. 

But she is not eternal. Every mortal has their limits. 

Ghost sees the iron grow filigree in her eyes, calculations imprinting onto her resolve. When she stands and turns to him, he almost expects it. The past quarter hour has built up to this ambitious ask, whatever it may be, and he’s mapped every battle she’s held within herself over the course of it. She does not want like he does. It is only extraneous circumstance that would lead her to his service. 

“I started it later than I usually do.” She mumbles, lips twisting like maggots. The hollows under her eyes are prominent, both exhaustion and hunger trimming her down to a sorry state. “I need sleep, but this can’t be heated beyond a boil.”

His cock chubs up in his trousers, aching as an array of possibilities occur to him in that second. Would he split her cunt on his fingers? Would he make her set it down atop his tongue? Her skirt leaves much to the imagination, but he imagines it bright and faithful in his head. Darker on the outside than in, glazed with pellucid slick, and shrouded in a matting of hair. The thought alone funnels salivate to the underside of his tongue. 

He meets her eye, shoulders curving inward, poised to pounce. 

Then, her brow spasms, and the wolfish instinct unravels as fast as it materialises. 

No. He cannot push it too far, not when she asks for something so little. It took all her energy to come to him now. She will never consider it again if he exploits that beyond equal measure. 

So, Ghost stands, stalking over to the cauldron and his pet. He often forgets how small she is until she cranes her neck to look up at him, all owlish blinks and delicate fingers latticed together, anxious for his response. 

“I’ll wake you.” He says. The tension in her forehead ebbs immediately, eyelids sagging now that he confirmed her ingredients will not waste. Though she doesn’t move, and he makes her stand there until he determines on an appropriate return. 

Moments later, he wraps an arm around her. His hand finds the jut in her skirt, where it protrudes to lap over her arse, and squeezes around the fat of one cheek. Even with the layers separating them, she is supple like softened butter. She makes a sound like a trapped mouse, jumping to the balls of her feet. The noise doesn’t deter him; he holds it there until he’s satisfied his grip will bruise. 

“There we are.” When he releases her, she stumbles backwards to find her bearings against the cool press of the wall. Puts a safe distance between them. Yet her stunned silence is intoxicating, and he has to actively suppress the gluttonous urge for more. Nothing is sacred when he gets like this. “That’s us even, then.” 

She nods. It is a wonder she manages to sleep at all.

(Unfortunate that the potion to heal her broken nose steals stock from her kitchen shelves. Day by day, he’s watched her sacrifice her fungi and herbs to the cauldron, prioritising recovery over sustenance. Unfortunate that she is still unable to go out for more. The winter whips cruel and merciless winds for anyone who dares step out into its storm.

Unfortunate. But not moving enough. 

It is intentional silence on his part, then. For the day will come where she opens her cupboards to eat and finds them lined with dust.

And on that day, he will be there.) 

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈𝐈

Ghost takes his meals outside. 

That is, when he comes back lugging a dead beast and a tree behind him. You’ll watch from the window as he places the latter to the side, sinking to his knees to feast on whatever he caught that day. It always varies: hares, owls, rodents. An elk if he’s lucky. Today, it is a fox. 

Your heart knots with pity, mourning for the mammal who cannot grieve itself. Eyes blank and jaw swung open. Its fur, which typically strikes as a vivid red, can only look dull when set by the blood it leaves in its trail, tangled in the entrails bursting from its belly. The demon never minds the hair, nor the carnage. He balances on his haunches and pulls his mask up, sinking his teeth into the softest parts of his spoils. 

Though no one holds you to the frosted glass – chanting look, you have to look – you insist on bearing witness. The gore never grows easier to behold; everytime, it is the same revulsion that stews nausea at the sight. But you sit and suffer it anyway. If anyone were to ask you why, you would be hard-pressed to find an answer. 

Perhaps it is to build a tolerance for nature’s brutality. Ghost’s lesson with your crow has carved an irreplicable torment within you, revealing the jeopardy you face should you continue down your meek path. Exposure therapy is good justification, then, when your personal improvement thus far has only wrought merit. Your magic begets greater effect. You feel your self-possession flourish your spirit. Even your familiar has staved off the trouble, and you can not ask for a greater success.  

But that does not capture the core of the matter. Perhaps that is to be found in him, instead.

Because when Ghost eats, his visage will fluctuate. You do not think it is something he’s mindful of. None of it looks intentional – he does not bid whetted talons or teeth, features that would aid him in gutting the fox. Rather, they appear like fish beneath a rippling brook. Swift, transient flashes of another form. 

He sucks down an intestine, and his burly legs stretch so the joints are equidistant. They snap backwards, digitigrade heels extending, before you blink and they’re human once more.

He laps at a puddle of blood, and his mask parts to reveal two ivory prongs that steadily grow from his head. They curl, winding around his temples as ram horns do, only to disappear as your arid eyes burn. 

He tears into cartilage, and his exposed skin flakes like charred wood. The liver; his torso extends and thins. The brain; his breath condenses to black ash, as yours would ghostly vapour in cold air. None of it permanent. All of it haunting. 

The first time you saw it, you chalked it up to phantasm. Lack of sleep, insufficient nutrition. Searching for monstrosity that would better connect to the horror unfurling before you. So you set out to observe. Incessantly. Again and again and again – validating what you saw, though you received confirmation upon the second instance long ago. Sure enough, each day he reveals different parts to a whole. Excrescent spines and lofty feet. Things that have been urging for a spot in the sun, pressing under his skin. 

It’s the nesting doll all over again. Little matryoshka faces, each opening to reveal a smaller version of itself within. If you are the innermost one, then Ghost is the sisyphean effort to close them over each other in descending order. Unfeasible. Too large to comfortably remain within his confines. The wood will eventually snap in your struggle, and all the painted pieces will scatter across the floor. 

(You remember him just then. Craggy charm and blue eyes. Crafty hand – the same to restore your mother’s staircase – whittling the doll when you suggested he couldn’t. He wore a cross no matter the day, a habit of his father’s doing, and the silver pendant would sway with the paring motion of his hands. Lustrous against tanned skin. No doubt forged by him, too.

He used to call you macabre. Though it was footling fun at the time, you can’t help but grasp at what he meant as you track the steaming slaughter outside.)

“Do you like it?”

Water rushes into a tin basin, its metallic clang a forceful, echoing percussion. The noise is insufferable, grating on your ears, but you would rather it than have Ghost tow the pungent smell of death into your home. With his back turned to you, he washes his hands and mouth of dinner’s remnants, faucet spitting frigid reserves into the kitchen sink. 

His head twists a fraction, pupils coasting to assess you in his peripheral. Small talk is not commonplace. In the weeks you have coexisted, you can count your conversations on both hands. They always seem to prefer the path of internal dissection instead, judgments flung at one another through glares and body language and not much else. 

“Be more specific.” He grunts, facing his task again. From your place on the couch, you can see the way he picks his nails for stubborn shreds of fat. 

“Fox.”

A sliver of pale skin, bared where his mask ends at his nape, twitches. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Ammonic. Greasy. Tough all ‘round. Slippery little fucks, too.” His voice is softer when he isn’t being caustic. Skipping over enunciations, the typical rumble in his chest quieted to a hum. “There are easier, more rewardin’ meals.” 

You imagine what he may be referring to. Of every creature on this earth, only one does not have the benefit of evasion. Predators are sheltered by hierarchical canopies, demons like Ghost so powerful that they do not have to watch their backs. Birds of prey have their wings, fish their slippery scales. Even deer – slender and pregnable – are granted fleet-footed instincts rivalled only by the Pantheon’s messenger himself. It is only you, human, that is condemned to spindling, slow inelegance. Perhaps it is why so many are intellectuals, worshipers, terrors – why you yourself are a witch, sapping nature for her wares of which you do not come by naturally. That is the way things turn. Assuming the offensive to offset one’s shortcomings.

And turn back again; your effort has only imperilled you further. There is a cannibal, a monster, a man inside of your home. And you beckoned him here. 

Even as the revelation occurs to you, you can’t stave your ambition. Of course you do not parley with Ghost for the sake of it. There is nothing this new knowledge grants. But since he left to do his day’s errands, your stomach has made its presence known. Opening up like an early grave, emptiness gnarled beneath a soil bed as with roots of a tombstone tree. Every moment, every word, you are reminded of its cavity. Too long, it says, you’ve ignored the pangs of hunger that seized this trench in an iron fist. Priorities, you would reply, as you surrendered food to brew your poultice. And so your nose is healed, great, but your shelves are empty and your head is faint. Hunger surplants the cold as your imminent killer.

“My mum taught me how to fix a good stew.” You begin, rolling your sticky tongue and tucking both hands beneath your bottom, cautious not to set this mousetrap off yourself. The pressure is grounding, at least; you match your breathing to the pulse you feel in your fingertips. “I trust it would be better than raw meat.”

A pause. Ghost’s spine straightens. Then, a panic. You’re thrown off your conviction when your chest flutters and you feel it in your brain. Where is that wily being? The woman who cheated her familiar into a season’s worth of labour? You feel as though you have regressed; screeching infant, lungs flaring with a rush of new air. You cannot face this, you think, but you’re already halfway out into the world. The sink squeaks off. 

You just pray your stomach doesn’t make noise in the new silence. 

“Is tha’ so?” He says, though does not turn to look at you just yet. 

“I could try.” The words bubble like bile in your throat. It is in your best interest to stay quiet. Say no more. He’s being ambiguous so you will reveal too much in turn. The game is transparent. You can see the water-worn rocks on the river bed, so clear it’s like they’re clasped between your hands instead. Yet– “If I had the ingredients for it, ‘course.” 

There. The lip of the cliff. How odd of you to see it only as you plummet towards a frothy scree. Ghost snaps, live lightning in heated air, or otherwise like the rocks that impale you on landing. In two strides, you’re cornered by a creature with scorn harrowing the space between its brows. You were stupid not to plan an escape route, stupid to arm yourself with nothing but flimsy subtlety. There was always the risk of it coming to this, you knew that. 

“You think y’can rummage for loopholes, hm?” He leers, eyes searing holes into yours. “A trick is only charmin’ on the first go, pet. More than once and y’start to stink of stale piss.” 

“I don’t–” 

He snatches your jaw, thumb and ring fingers digging an aching grip onto either side. Your protest warbles pathetically, dies, chokes you with its rot. It’s difficult, no– impossible to decipher what he's mad at. A small, fresh part of you actually hoped he’d see your cunning as artful. But it seems your station has come back to haunt you; another mortal whose brain cannot keep up with her heart. Even if one is in the right place, you will go about chasing it in the wrong direction. Artful is too shiny of a laurel, then. Trick, too, is being charitable 

“Do not play coy with me, girl. I do not take kindly to underhand deals.” Snarled right above you, spit spattering across your face. Your mandible squeaks, bone-deep pain flaring where he tightens the pressure around your face. Fox blood flavours his breath. There is a ringing in your head – shrill, like water in the tin sink. “If you need something from me, you will admit it and cope with the terms I have in turn.”

“I-I’m sorr-eeeee.” Your apology wheezes thin when he thrashes your head in place. It is either that or the relentless force on your jaw that tears a new world of pain down your neck. The tears are reactionary, then. Hot and foggy and not at all a sign of fear. “Ah- I’m sorry! I won’t– I didn’t mean to offend y-you.” 

“S’too fuckin’ late for that. You’ll follow through, before I take wha’ I want anyway.” He shakes his head. “Ask nicely for what y’need then, pet. Go on.” 

“Nothing! Nothing anymore, please. Jus’ let me go, Ghost.” Perhaps the universe disdains your insincerity, because in a hand dealt by its inexorable irony, your stomach buckles and purls a foul sound. Like it heard your words and protests the withdrawal, gurgling out loud to whoever will address it instead. 

And he does. He does. 

“You’re hungry, hm? That it?” He shoves your limp body onto the floor, dismissive of the pleas you now regulate to your feet, thrashed wildly to strike at his shin. Everything he does is callous, mean, agitated like the sulphur and magma that run thick beneath the earth’s crust. And though it is not your first encounter with a creature of that ilk – you have had your run-ins with over-excited men – the intentionality behind it has never been more flagrant. Ghost does it to hurt you. “Yeah, been neglecting you, haven’ I? Forgot pets couldn’ feed themselves.”  

“I’w scrounge somefing up mysef.” You struggle, speech impeded as he crushes your cheeks inwards. Pearl dust flakes your gums. 

“Should ‘ave thought of tha’ before. Even if I end up breakin’ every bone in that fine skull of yours, I won’t let up. Say it, then, you daft thing.” 

The scaling of your options is instantaneous. Even as your immediate conscious lags behind, activity lights the back of your head and cracks its way out of your mouth before you can catch it. It took weeks for your nose to heal, much less your skull. You’re consuming fuel quicker than you can replenish, running on a backlog of quick-burning fat. And all of it can be taken care of if you just give in, to what will likely only be a few hours of degradation. 

(Cavewoman. Primordial. Primitive impartiality, or survival of the fittest. The world has only come so far since then, and even within its concentrated civilizations, there is no aegis but for those who come up on top. You cannot expect your liberties to be met anywhere. That, you know too well.

But here, in this feral forest, at least you can use the violation to your benefit. At the very least, you will not be exiled, cast as witch for taboo of saying the greater word. 

You are already macerated on rock bottom. And at the barren abyss of all leasts, Ghost will not hang a cross pendant above you as he stomps it in.)

He must see the surrender wet your eyes, for the grip on your jaw lessens. 

“I am hungry.” You cry, finally, lashes fluttering shut so as to guard your tears. “I am hungry. This winter has dashed my garden and I do not know how to hunt. The cushions jab into my ribs when I sleep. I feel as though my stomach will consume me from the inside out, and I’m desperate. I am desperate, and I am so, so hungry. And I am asking for your help. Please.” 

If there was any part of you that still believed he would choose pity, it is muffled and killed. You hear the scratch of fabric as he undoes his pants. Final, failing. Rustled hand behind confines, stench of musk stiffening the air. For a few seconds, you opt to remain blissfully ignorant – keep your eyes closed and imagine that the presence before your face is something different. A purifying flame, tender cut of meat, a smiling face before things fell downhill. It all sounds too good to be true, and they are. Sooner or later, you tell yourself, you have to face the misery. 

So, you force yourself to behold it before he takes that upon himself. 

His cock is heavy. Fat and oversized, length not having suffered for its breadth. Ruddy where the head peaks from an uncut tip, hard already, but bowed under the weight of itself. If you had anything to expel, you would’ve done so by now. A thicket of hair fledges his groyne – a shade of dark that pales his scarred skin in comparison – and it reeks of sweat and miasma. 

He taps it on your cheek, prespend sticky and warm. You flinch as though you have been beaten. 

“Just one thing af’er the other with you, pet. Think this’ll give y’something to fix yourself on.” 

“I don’t– I’ve never–” His thumb hooks over your bottom teeth, prying your trap as wide as it can go. Drool slicks the cracked hinges of your lips. “Don’ know how.”

“Not what I’m lookin’ for.” He purrs, cruel humour gracing his tone. Somehow, it is not a reassurance as much as it is a snub. “Jus’ keep your teeth out of the way.” Humiliation washes your neck and ears, rush of blood like white river rapids behind your ears. It is the final swatch, trumpet to armageddon, before your ruin. You suck in a breath and bring your mouth to him.

Ghost meets you halfway, treating the crown of your head as an anchor to thrust forward. Immediately, you let slip his only rule, teeth snapping reflexively at the intrusion. You expect to be backhanded, have your hair ripped from your scalp in relation, or worse. It is a relief, then, when the only force you receive is a knock against your jaw. The rapping shakes your cotton-lined skull, snaps you out of your stupefaction, and you slack all muscles to accommodate his demand.

The mass feeding down your throat vibrates, an appreciative hum coursing through his body. “There you are, little jezebel. Look a’ you takin’ my cock so well.” 

You make no effort to glide your tongue along his veins. To make this pleasurable for him beyond what he takes for himself. True to his word, your familiar does not punish you for it. He knots his hands around your head and fucks your face, careless, cock rearranging the anatomy of your neck as it bludgeons a straight path down. You sway, ragdoll with the motions, knees rubbing abrasively across the floor as he slides you back and forth over it. 

Hypoxia spots your vision, lungs clenching furiously at the obstructed flow of oxygen. You would fasten it all shut, close yourself off from the world, but your eyes bulge a little at the edges, stagnant blood keeping them arid and open. It’s hard to dissociate. Hard to pretend that the steel-wool friction at the tip of your nose, the pendulum-consistent slaps on your chin, are not his pubic hair and balls searing unmistakable marks on your skin. And your series of gags are sloppy, lewd out in the confined air of your home. How could they be anything but damnation? There is no deluding the Maker. 

(No matter how fervently he tried. Marry me, proposed down on both knees. It’ll set this whole fankle right. We’ll hold hands an’ seek penance at the kirk before th’ceremony. My pa will officiate. Yer ma will be thrilled.)

Snot bubbles from your nose, cheeks slick with tears and wayward spit. When he batters forward, it amalgamates in the soft palate beneath your spasming tongue. When he draws out, he takes it with him, viscous strings of saliva bridging the gap. It streams down to your neck, glosses your lips, webs your lashes together. You feel buried beneath its stifling coat, set down into your grave at last. Maggots worm their way into the soft matter of your brain, eat away at the tissue until there’s nothing left but suffocation. Death. Throttling void. 

Your hands flail out, seeking an end to it, but all you find is Ghost.

He slows down once he nears his end. 

The bruising pace he set stutters, balls tightening against your submental. It catches you off guard because, for the past ten minutes, you accustomed yourself to the patterns of his push and pull. For every plunge, there is a retreat, where you will greedily feast on fresh air before being choked back down on his cock. It is a break of tide, an opportunity to paddle your way above water to clear sea-salt from your hollows. A bay to hold onto so you do not drown.

Until now; his forearms twitch and you’re kept in place, forehead squashed onto his mons. You panic, hold on your breath breaking. The heady scent of sweat sweeps over you, laced with the tart products of your mouth – saliva and blood from where your canine pierced your cheek. Prespend, too. The undiluted stink of him. Hair tickles your lips. Your cunt flares, sudden, slickening the chafe of your thighs, but the unwelcome arousal does nothing for you. 

He holds your head down and spurts his load into your gullet. 

There is no room to swallow. It goes in the wrong direction, then – upward – and out your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut, disgusted scream gargling around his throbbing appendage. Distress bloats your head, temples feverish and sweating, nails digging deep impressions into your palms. It’s futile. Useless. Nothing thwarts him but the last dregs of semen spitting out onto your tonsils, pumping himself dry until finally, finally–

Ghost pulls out. You collapse onto the carpet and hack up cum until your throat bleeds. 

The silence afterwards is mortifying, tension palpable enough to writhe up against. Drained, you’ve since pressed your cheek into the puddle of filth, urging pearlescent spend to seep into the fibres below. It'll be a nightmare to clean later, you process slowly. Perhaps you’ll use the bleach, and take the same sponge to your lips.

The monster above you tuts at the display, crouching to your level when you exhibit no interest in rising to his.  

“C’mon, sweet. Wouldn’t want to waste your dinner now.” 

But you’re too weak to lift your head. So Ghost gathers your hair, puppeteering – in a manner rather gentle for your assailant – until you can lap his essence off the floor. 

It tastes like raw venison. You snivel your thanks, and imagine it is exactly that.

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Is it too much to ask for a follow-up on the Human' Effects fic?

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This is more just some more information of headcanons I have and how I like writing the bots. So I hope you enjoy it. This one's more on the differences and similarities between humans and Cybertronians.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: mentions of reproduction, and exploration of body's. Valveplug.

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So this is just a continuation for Human effects. This one also delves into some more information on biological, cultural and different frames and how they interact with each other, humans and other organic Creatures. 

Biological Humans and Cybertronians are vastly different even with quite a few similarities. 

Sparklings and children 

There is a very big difference in the body function of Humans and Cybertronians. Size for one but also Organic DNA and CNA. There are many things which can Line up with the other species but also function very differently 

Such as. 

structure and organ comparison 

Plating - skin

Helm - head

Processor, brain module - brain 

Faceplate- face

Audio Receptors, Audials, Receptor orifices - ears 

Nasal ridge, enstril, olfactory sensors- nose

Optical ridge - eyebrows

Optics, visors  - eyes and glasses sometimes visors are used as optics

Intake- mouth, throat or a breath. 

Denta, denta plating- teeth 

Glossa- tongue 

Mandibles (insecticons) - jaw 

Vocalizer- voice box 

Chin or chin plating are the same 

Chestplate, chassis- chest and higher stomach (abs area) 

Fuel tanks- stomach. 

Backplate, back struts, binary system,  bipedalism - back and spine, spinal cord. 

Servos and digits - Hands and fingers 

Sounder plating - shoulder blades 

Pede - feet 

pump and Spark - heart and soul 

Energon lines - arrays veins. 

Vents - lungs, breath. 

Pelvic plate - pelvis

Aft, tailpipe, skid plate- butt

Interface panel - covered reproduction organs

Spike - penis 

Value - vagina 

Carrier chamber, Gestation chamber - womb

Helm and head

With the fact one is filled with circuitry, coding and wires and the other is filled with flesh, fluid and other organic matter. Humans' heads are covered in hair most times. And even those who aren't their head Is still rather soft and smooth. And the bots love playing with human hair and facial hair when they are allowed too. 

It also leads to humans giving the bots head scratches, and it's something so man you the bots had never thought of and they love it. They will lay their head in their human lap and just enjoy the gentle touches to their Finial, audials, and helm crest. It becomes. Causal thing of the humans using soft little microfiber cloths to clean out dust and dirt from the small crevices in the bots Plating. Head pats and scratches really becomes something that Cybertronians love alot and it makes a lot of humans consider the bots large cats.

Faceplate and Faces. 

One of the things which is very different between humans and Cybertronians is how they show affection to each other. Cybertronians do a thing called a helm hold. Where they each hold their partner's helm in their servos while looking into each other's optics, it's how they show how much they care, because they are focusing only on that one person. And it means alot more after the war, to focus all your attention on just one bots servos shows a lot of trust, affection and love for someone.  

While humans have Hugging, kissing. So the bots are rather confused the first time they are hugged, tensing up not wanting to hurt their human. And they nearly short circuit when the human kisses them it's more out of fear. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is! What if I crushed you!” The bot hisses in panic while looking at their lover. “not to mention the fact that is my Energon Intake! Do you know what energon can do to Humans!” It nearly sends the bot into meltdowns as they hold their lover's face staring into their eyes trying to show them how much they love and care for them. It would break their spark if they accidentally hurt them. 

“it's called a Kiss, I was kissing you” the human tries to explain, their hands cupping around their bots servos. 

“a kiss?” the bot inquired. “Yea I'm sorry if you didn't want it, it's just I thought we were in that part of our relationship” the human begins rambling out of anxiety thinking they had messed up. In the end they both settle for a small gesture in-between. Pressing their head and helm, together as they cradle the other. 

Eventually they will come around to accepting kisses but it is only for very special occasions. Because the bot will make sure that there isn't a trace of energon in their system for their partner's safety. Over time it becomes them pressing soft kisses to each other's noses. 

Skin and Plating 

These are all the parts which somewhat are similar to humans, but also work vastly different than the human body does. So with this listed here are many of the things that vary with the similarities. 

Plating and skin are vastly different due to one being metal and the other being flesh, it's one of the things a lot of the Cybertronians love is how soft Human skin is. They really enjoy just fondling their human companions, pulling their checks, and enjoying how their skin moves. How pliable, warm and squishy they are. Cybertronians finding out about human breasts really takes them by storm. 

“What are those?” the bot asks while pressing a finger to their breast feeling how soft and squishy they are. 

“breast, boobs, tits they have a lot of names” 

“What are they for?” The bot continues to just slowly play with them out of curiosity, not knowing what the human would need them for. 

“they are used for feeding babies, they fill with milk, it's not a constant thing and not everyone's do but they are for feeding babies.” the human tries to explain and it just leaves the bot shocked. 

“You're with Sparkling?” The bot asked as they began fussing over the human more, gently pressing their digits to the human's body more. 

“no, no I'm not pregnant!” They laugh out loud while rather embarrassed. “‘but wouldn't they deflate?” The bot shoots back as their digits begin needing the flesh which makes the humans sigh and lean into the touch. “human babe, don't have the same functions as you.” They tease softly.

 It ends up with one bot having their human lover back pressed to their Chassis. The bot's servos just cupped around their partners breast slowly massaging them as the human leans back just enjoying the feeling because it takes the weight off their back and the cool touch of the metal feels delightful against their skin. 

Heart and spark

The difference between a human heart and spark aren't that different at all. They both pump blood/energon to where it's needed, it's the life provider of the body. Each has a beat or pulse. And the said beat and pulse sounds different. A human's heart beat feels like a thump but to Cybertronians it's an echo. Each beat they can feel and see like A beating light. And they love how it feels laying against them, their spark will actually fall in tune With their heart beat as a way to calm the human.  While for humans a Cybertronians spark pulse feels like electricity dancing across their skin it's like the build up of static but it doesn't zap. The vibration of a spark is like energy building and releasing, the buzzing sound that just resonates through their body as they lay against their bot. 

olfactory sensors and nose

Unfortunately humans don't have the enhanced scent sensors that a lot of other species do, and Cybertronians have one for the most advanced ones, they don't just smell it but they can break down the chemical compound to its base and are able to tell humans emotions based on how they smell. It also leads to bots becoming rather touching with their lovers when they can smell their cycle. It also leads a lot of bots realising they have a breeding kink after being with a human, because the moment they can feel their partners change in hormones they are hovering. It becomes an even bigger thing when they smell the scent of a young spark, they feel the EM Field. 

carriers and pregnancy 

There is a major difference between human pregnancy and cybertronian pregnancy. Humans can only be born from reproduction.  a new spark can be formed in multiple ways. 

-Forged.  

-Cold construct. 

-split spark

- Sparked 

Forged new sparks are bots that are formed in hotspots across cybertron and on occasions sparklings can also be formed from these hot spots. 

Cold constructs are bots that have been made by others for a purpose and were originally classed as 2nd class citizens, miners or lower than other bots, 

Split Sparks made from splitting your spark into another form. It was very rare due to multiple laws being inplace against it. 

Sparklings were formed through spark merging with another and creating enough energy to form new lifeforms. A carrier would then have to host said spark in their Gestation chamber until the spark could grow its own protoform. Then from there they are moved into the carrier chamber where they learn off their carrier's coding, and also receive food, coding and personal information from their Sire via Transfluid. As sparklings are still not able to consume normal energon and it has to be processed down enough for the sparkling. (Similar to how humans breastfeed) from there once they are ready the sparkling will be ‘birthed’ and from their they will need to be carried in a spark chamber until they have fully developed but gives them time to learn the world around them but still have the safety of a parent to protect them. 

This leads the bots and humans to both be horrified at the differences of the others' reproduction. The bots are horrified over the fact a human's pelvis bone breaks just to birth a baby. But also the fact that humans can carry more than one child. They eventually watch a documentary over human birth; it makes a lot of bots short out and crash. 

Humans on the other hand are shocked over the time it takes for a bot to have a sparkling. 100 years is longer than a lot of humans ever live but it's how long it takes for the full process of a sparkling to be formed and born. That's without all the issues with CNA, temperature, spark energy, energon. A Lot of Cybertronian pregnancies don't make it to term due to these factors. 

So when by some chance a human gets pregnant by a Cybertronian it has the whole planet up in a tissy. Not just the fact of how genetically different they are but how it happened. The first human Cybertronian sparkling is a miracle watched by man and documented. And it turns out the human womb is actually the best possible hosting spot for the start of a sparkling, it's the perfect temperature, and it's not a temperature a lot of bots can keep their own frames. The human womb actually short cuts a lot of time over the birth Due to the sparkling Not needing to be shifted from one chamber to another. It comes down to being pregnant for 3 years. It's a long time for a human but it's decades Less than what it normally takes for a Cybertronian if they made it through the full progress. 

And when the sparkling is born it's discovered that the sparkling doesn't have any human traits, defects or appearance. Due to the human body mainly working as a host, the CNA and DNA don't mix when it comes to creating a sparkling but they work perfectly in sync When it comes to helping the sparkling grow. And it also turns out humans are able to sustain more than One sparkling. 

That also brings me to the function of spike and Valves. For Cybertronians spikes and Valves aren't how Sparklings are created, sparklings are created from two sparks merging together and creating enough energy for a sparkling but interface is needed to start the process of how they form. Sparkling needs Transfluid to begin and that is what Cybertronians use interfacing for outside of sharing memories, information and emotions. Most times Cybertronians interface for fun, feeling close, sharing information with a loved one, or to help feed a sparkling the necessary data, fluids and programming. 

so When a Cybertronian and human interface it has a lovely mix of a 50/ 50 chance of getting pregnant due to how the human and cybertronian heart and spark link in a frequency that is almost essential Spark merging. And a human doesn't even need to interface with a Cybertronian to get pregnant.

Here is a list of ways humans have gotten pregnant/ a bot has gotten pregnant. 

-interfacing 

-spark bonding 

-a human touching a bots spark. 

-having enough hated for another you get them pregnant by sheer Anger

- spark And heart syncing 

-A human being on their cycle will make a bot pregnant. 

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Megatron entered the medbay of the Lost Light, feeling unusual warmth and pressure in his chest. "Ratchet," he said gruffly to get the medic's attention. "Something is...off. I feel as if I have consumed fool's energon again, but I know that is not the case." 

He looked down at the medic, his optics betraying slight concern beneath his usual stern demeanour. "Examine me and determine what ails me. I need to be at full function." His pride did not allow him to admit weakness easily, but he trusted Ratchet's skills. 

Ratchet nodded to First Aid and They as they stood ready to assist. He turned back to Megatron with a scrutinising gaze.

"When did you first notice the symptoms? Any other anomalies in your systems?" he asked gruffly, scanning the Decepticon warlord from head to foot with a diagnostic tool. The scans showed unusual activity in Megatron's Gestation chamber.

"Hmm...it appears your spark is pulsing more rapidly than normal. And the pressure you described suggests a buildup of energon flow." Ratchet paused, analysing the data. "This could indicate...no, it's not possible. Or is it...?" He leaned in closer, inspecting Megatron with keen optics.

"We'll need a more detailed scan. Over here, lay back - this won't hurt but may feel peculiar. First Aid, fire up the resonator. Ambulon you're in charge of monitoring vitals."

"What's wrong, ratchet he was fine this morning?" The human asked in concern. 

Megatron lay back on the medical berth as directed, his massive frame dwarfing its size. his expression softened ever so slightly. As the detailed spark scan began, Ratchet's optics widened in surprise. "By the Allspark...it can't be..." He motioned First Aid "Look here. What do you see?"

First Aid peered at the monitor in amazement. "Two distinct spark pulses...but how is that possible?" Ratchet glanced over at Megatron, then back at the others. "It would seem Megatron himself is carrying sparkling. The increased energon flow and pressure were signs of protoform development beginning."

He chuckled wryly. "Well Megatron, it seems that fool's energon was not to blame after all. Congratulations...you're going to be a creator." Megatron's optics widened in disbelief at Ratchet's announcement. Carrying sparkling? It made no sense as far as he knew, spark merging could only occur between cybertronians and he had only been intimate with a human. 

He sat up abruptly, almost knocking First Aid over, and glared down at Ratchet. "Explain yourself, medic! How is this possible? The human and I have been intimate but they clearly lack our means of conception." Ratchet held up a calming hand. "Peace, Megatron. I have a theory," 

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

@ladyofnegativity

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 15: Powerless

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: It's time to make the fight on your terms.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.4k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence, violence with superpowers, murder, this is the most violent one, swearing, injuries, discussion of homelessness, discussion of crime

a/n: If you didn't read the warnings!! Or even if you did! This is your warning for on-screen murder. It's not very gory, but it is very much there. (spoiler, but) we kill our villains in this one lads, it was kind of the whole point of this thing :))) also most of the word count on this one is the fight so help me lmao, why do I do this to myself🤣 With that out of the way, I am super excited for this chapter!! Protective Jungkook now applies to yn maybe more than anyone and hello yes I am here for it (ofc bc I wrote it ksdfghfl) Enjoy!! And do let me know if you like it!💜💜

Jungkook’s hand was still clutched in yours as you crept together through alleyways. Far, now, from your usual haunt, you recognised none of these streets, but Jungkook never hesitated in his steps.

Sure enough, he led you round a cluster of dustbins on one corner and stopped at last in front of a heavy door. Graffiti was scrawled over the entrance and across the entire wall. If you were to arrive here in the dark, you may not have noticed the seam marking out a doorway at all.

“I thought he might choose this place,” Jungkook muttered to you, “this is where Namjoon first picked me up, after I got my powers. He operated from here until his partnerships brought in enough money for the place in town.”

He turned to knock on the door. All you could do was squeeze his hand, eyeing the surroundings. Things must have changed from before. This was where your team had begun, long before you came into the picture.

The door swung open. Jin’s face emerged, morphing instantly from hostility to relief when he saw you.

Then his eyes moved down, and lingered on your clasped hands.

If you weren’t mistaken, a faint smirk lifted his mouth, but he closed his lips matter-of-factly and forced it away. Only a telltale raise of his eyebrows made you chew your lip as he let you both past him and inside.

A murky corridor led to another sturdy door, and then you were in a larger room. It was bare of furniture, the most notable features the peeling paint and a threadbare carpet lining the space. The walls either side of you sported large windows, but the curtains remained drawn; Yoongi could be the only explanation for the room being fully lit regardless. There were no bulbs in the fixtures.

Something in your chest loosened at the sight of your whole team gathered inside. Everyone had got here before you. Namjoon was pacing in the centre. Hobi slumped against the far wall, Jimin beside him, clothes bloody but a beaming smile on his face.

At the clunk of the door, Namjoon whirled around, finally stopping his impatient strides.

All eyes fell on you. A similar reaction to Jin’s outside swept the room. Reluctantly, you and Jungkook let your fingers slide apart, although you shifted a little closer to him.

Namjoon’s stare, intense and unreadable as always, left you in such suspense that you had to look away. Unfortunately, it brought you eye-to-eye with Jimin, who was being the least subtle of them all. His cheeks were plump with the force of his smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You bit back your own grin.

Namjoon, for his part, shook his head and resolved to ignore it. Or deal with it later, at least.

“What did you guys do?”

Or maybe not. Clamping your mouth shut, your eyes widened a fraction. What were you supposed to tell him?

“We, uh-” Jungkook stammered out, before Namjoon pinched his brow.

“I mean with the monster that attacked us,” he cut you off.

You sighed in relief.

“Oh, that…” Jungkook laughed, sheepish.

In three brusque strides, Namjoon marched closer, towards an old television in the corner behind you. A red glow surrounded it as he rapped on the top, and then images flickered to life on the screen.

Blue lights and smoke washed over vehicles rammed haphazardly into a street. Your street.

You didn’t bother reading the fast-scrolling banner below the picture, letting the voiceover fill you in.

“Reports were made of Bolt heading to stop a creature, which he claimed to have escaped from within an operating villain base…” the reporter read, “but on arrival, the beast appears to have been tamed. No damage was sustained to surrounding properties, and a team is working to sedate and control it…”

The screen flashed to a blurry close-up of Frank as you had left him, snoring among the wreckage.

“How the hell did you stop it?” Namjoon demanded, the device blinking back to silence as he turned back to you and Jungkook.

“Well, Y/N, um…” Jungkook gestured for you to take over.

“It’s one of Kuyang’s,” you explained, “there’s this patch behind his ear, it sends him right to sleep. It’s just… a bit difficult to get to.”

“That thing has ears?” Jin echoed.

Namjoon folded his arms and took in the both of you.

“Good work, then. That was lucky. At least it’s lessened some of what Bolt’s trying to pin on us. But this was more than a simple attack.”

He paced again to the centre of the room.

“Bolt doesn’t act on accident; he’s showed us that much. He tried to take us out directly today. He wants to eradicate us. That’s his message, and it’s final. He’ll keep coming for us until one side is destroyed.”

His words bristled around the room, but not with fear. You sensed the rage and determination you shared with your brothers.

You weren’t backing down.

If Bolt was going to make it us vs them, you would just have to win that fight.

Turning, Namjoon met eyes with Jin, who stepped forward to stand beside him.

“At least we know what Bolt has at his disposal,” Jin said, “and what he doesn’t. We know the weapons we’re up against, so I think we can take on any fighters he sends our way. What really counts is the man himself.”

“We’re going to him, right?” Yoongi spoke from his place leaning against the curtain. “I don’t want to wait for him to come after us again. He wants the fight; we make it on our terms.”

Regarding him seriously, Namjoon nodded.

Meanwhile, Jin’s words were stirring something else in your mind. Something you had forgotten in the blur of defeat and panic that had ensued since your fight with Monsoon.

We know what weapons we’re up against…

“Wait,” you breathed. It was enough to snag the group’s attention, tense gazes all finding you. Closest was Jungkook, frowning down at you.

You gulped, and met their eyes.

“When I went after Monsoon,” you began, “I found the shield ray, even if I didn’t get hold of it. But that wasn’t all… He had a collection. And I recognised another one, too. I thought I had burned it up, in the parking lot, but there was another one.”

You had to admit that some nerves crept in at the unsettled silence that followed. Namjoon stared.

“No…” he shook his head, “you’re saying they have the Razer?”

“The one that takes your powers…” you replied, “yes.”

Namjoon swore.

“You definitely destroyed it?”

“Without a doubt,” Jungkook cut in, “I felt the shockwaves in that fight.”

You nodded along with him. Namjoon wasn’t asking to doubt you, though, and took you at your word. You had seen the broken, lifeless shell of that awful gun. No, they had gained another somehow.

“They must have got hold of a blueprint, or a prototype, somehow,” Jin suggested.

“However they did it, it’s best we know what we’re going up against,” Namjoon resolved. He looked around, meeting everyone’s eyes. “You all know what it looks like?”

Nods met him.

“Then watch your backs. We’re still doing this.”

“What was it like?”

By now, you were acquainted with the view from this spot, sitting against the wall in a corner of this place. But how different had it been, when the boys still lived here?

“Hm?”

Jungkook turned to you, resting his head back against the wall. The two of you sat not far from the others, all of you sitting around waiting for Hobi to heal up and for Jin to get whatever results he was hoping for from a beat-up laptop he had pulled from somewhere. You had no idea if he had brought it with him, found it in here, or stolen it. You wouldn’t ask, either.

Though the room was wide open now, you still sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook like you had in that cramped hallway. It was difficult to keep the same feeling at bay too. His presence lit you up where you touched, but in front of the others you had to keep up some semblance of sanity, and keep from pouncing on him.

“When you first came here,” you forced your eyes away from his softly quirked lips, and to the room. “What was it like?”

To your dismay, his brows pinched into a frown. He eyed the walls, traced them up to the ceiling with its patches of damp.

He shifted his arm against yours in a shrug.

“It was a roof over my head,” he murmured, “at first.”

“Oh,” you stammered, quiet in your shock, “sorry…”

With a blink and a shake of his head, you watched him pull himself back to you. He shot you a disarmingly genuine smile, albeit small.

“Not your fault,” he assured you, “I never told you.”

Instantly, you knew what he was talking about. Just like you, Jungkook must have first moved in after he got his powers. Of course, the balm of the support from (most of) the others had eventually smoothed over the wounds that heralded your arrival.

They wouldn’t be forgotten though.

Nor would you forget your brothers’ wounds. Jungkook had yet to entrust you with his story, the knowledge of those probably painful moments. He had hardly let you near it, all this time.

“You don’t have to-” you said hastily, but he surprised you.

You spotted his jaw tighten, but his voice was level.

“After my dad… I had nothing. The first time I met Namjoon, I didn’t have powers. I did a job for him. I used to steal; it was about the only thing I could do. My dad taught me to fight, once, after he was home late and some older kids tried to break into our place. I fell in with a certain crowd, but half of them were backstabbing sneaks.”

You weren’t sure he even knew he was scowling as he said that. Despite your horror, you couldn’t break your gaze away from Jungkook as he told the story, spelling out what you had always wondered.

He looked over to Namjoon then, snarl easing.

“I guess he thought I was good. He gave me more jobs, paid good money. It wasn’t one of his where it happened. We were taking some kind of reactor – I can hardly remember the plan. Someone wanted power out to rob a string of banks, I think… All that matters is it went wrong. It wasn’t safe, and it… blew up.”

Your chest tightened along with his voice, hearing him straining to keep his throat from closing.

He slumped back against the wall then. Fixed his eyes on yours.

“I got the brunt of it. Two of the others died. One of them ran away when I woke up and asked him to help me. And there was this… this burning I didn’t understand…”

“I remember,” you whispered.

Slowly, he closed his lips. His eyes bled with recognition. You felt it too, conflict constricting your chest. Appreciation that you could share the feeling, understand one another without the need for explanation, mingled with the strain in your heart of knowing he had been subjected to the same torture.

Here you both were, on the other side of it.

Jungkook took a bracing breath, shifted up where he had sagged down the wall – towards you.

“Namjoon found me.”

His voice brightened almost immediately, and he was looking around the room with new eyes of the old memories.

“V came along not too long after I did… It was the boys that made it home. They still do.”

A soft smile took your lips without thought, and you followed his gaze fondly.

The moment your eyes fell on Jin, you saw him perk up, straightening his back. Then he let out a cheerful “Aha!”.

He was the centre of attention that instant, and went on without prompting, fingers still clacking away at the laptop.

“I managed to get into our own system – and Bolt’s taken something!”

“And that’s… good?” you questioned his jubilant tone.

Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, he quirked his head.

“It means I can see where he’s taking it.”

Namjoon came to hover over Jin’s shoulder until they were satisfied. Soon enough, you found yourself refreshing the mental list of what you were about to go up against.

“If he even manages to get it up and running before we get there, it only has three charges per round. This is the first time I’m glad I haven’t improved it yet,” Jin chuckled, telling you about the newest addition to Bolt’s arsenal, the one he took right from your lab. “Jungkook or YN’s powers will take it out easily.”

And so he went on, through power-extending shurikens to the shield rifle Monsoon had stolen, all the things that had slipped through your fingers and how to defeat them.

“And the Razer…” Jin landed on the last one, but tailed off and exchanged a look with Namjoon.

“Just don’t get hit,” the leader said.

Several eyebrows raised in trepidation. You shuddered with an echoing memory of the gun’s piercing cold.

“Hobi,” Namjoon turned away from the subject, “how are you healing up?”

Shifting to sit away from the wall, Hope pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the skin where Frank had slashed him. It was still pink, but completely closed by now.

“Better,” he beamed.

“Okay,” Namjoon fixed him with a stern eye, “but check in. If it’s putting you at a disadvantage, I want you out of there.”

“Yes boss,” Hobi replied with a grin and a mock salute.

From that alone, you were sure he was feeling better.

“I say” – Jin shut the laptop with a clack – “we’ve waited long enough.”

You couldn’t help but agree. It felt good to get on your feet again. Inside your chest, the warmth of your powers bubbled alongside your bristling determination. Just enough for you to feel them, to assure you.

A private smile stole across your face, and you turned towards Jungkook.

He found you first. A gentle touch on your wrist made you glance down. His thumb ran firmly, softly, over the skin there, and when you looked up his eyes were dark and affirming.

You realised then, that his defensive ring of fire had never burnt away. You were only on the other side of it, one of the ones he accepted in. His look was one of complete trust. When he nodded, you nodded back.

Let’s do this.

Having been inside for some time, the lot of you know marched out to find it night, the city drenched in the darkness of who-knew-what hour. Your ‘march’ was actually more of a light-footed sneaking. Setting off any alarm bells just yet would blow the operation. Together, your group wove through shadows out of this part of town, unnoticed thanks to the camouflage Yoongi effortlessly provided.

Up ahead, Jin checked around corners and led you on, the buildings rising further above you at every turn. Neon screens flashed through the night in these neighbourhoods, where the inhabitants had money to spare.

The walk couldn’t have been long, but you were a world away from the run-down hideout by the time Jin stopped, facing one of many high buildings of polished glass and chrome.

“So this is it?” Jimin asked, head tilting back.

Your eyes, instead of trailing up the building like Jimin’s, found a looming structure beside it. A pylon planted firm in the ground, standing just taller than the building itself, up to a spidery convergence of wires webbed over the city rooves.

“Well, that sure is handy for someone like him,” Jin scoffed.

Hobi rolled his neck, already striding towards it.

“And now it’s handy for us.”

His leap up three rungs was unnecessary, really. The rest of you followed behind like the mere mortals you were, clambering as silently as you could between the intersecting beams, the metal cold beneath your hands.

You looked back once, finding Namjoon and Jin still on the ground.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” Namjoon was telling him grimly, “all of us have to fight.”

“I know,” Jin agreed. Then he punched him in the arm. “And I had better, alright? See you afterwards, I mean.”

Your leader nodded, then stepped forward to the pylon. You looked ahead and pushed on upwards.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to find Bolt in a penthouse. Following the others, you hopped from the pylon onto the skyscraper’s rooftop; only Namjoon stayed behind. It wasn’t so tall as Kuyang’s lab had been, but it felt miles above. In the darkness, a few glimmering lights dotted the edges of what appeared to be an eerie garden of sorts, although no plants were in sight. Dark tile slabs ran underfoot, broken up by sculptures you couldn’t discern beyond shadows.

The rooftop was halved, your group gathering on the lower segment while a set of stairs rose another floor to more of the same; Bolt’s viewpoint over the city.  Though your eyes darted between the statues, each one playing tricks on you as if they were people watching, your gaze rested eventually on two large glass doors beside the stairway.

A distant light from further inside showed just enough for you to see beyond the glass. An entire wall was decked in little plates, things you vaguely recognised as city awards, only seen on the screens and papers.

A trophy for each life Bolt had taken would have filled the whole building, let alone a feature wall, you thought.

The small huddle of you poised still, hunters, waiting. In the last few seconds before that silence would be broken, you felt Jungkook step behind you.

“This ends now.”

The voice coming over your shoulder was made of everything he was. Electricity, cold and bitter like metal, aflame with determination. The rows, fists and shouting, the tentative midnight whispers, his kisses.

His hurt and all the things he covered it with.

Namjoon didn’t even have to ask his soldiers if they were ready. He raised his arms and slammed palms back down against metal, and a red glow silhouetted you all like a sinister halo.

Everything went dark.

The meagre light inside the property blinked off. The glare of signs across the road plunged away to nothing. Only the dotted perimeter lights, which must run on for emergencies, remained.

Footsteps behind you brought Namjoon through the pack to its head.

Ahead, something moved beyond the glass. Your gaze sharpened on it as the handle turned, the door swinging soundlessly outwards.

While not in full gear, as he had been when he first attacked you, Bolt’s blue mask was in place. Otherwise, he wore dark, comfortable clothes. Internally, you celebrated the small evidence that you really had caught him unawares.

“I should have known,” his voice carried over to you, inflated with arrogance. “Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

In your ear, a sharp inhale sent your eyes to Jungkook for a second. His fists tightened at his sides.

“You’ve taken enough, Bolt,” Namjoon spoke. If you didn’t know him, you may not have caught the dark rage burning below his even words.

Then he raised his arms, stretched them towards the man in blue.

A great gust whisked from behind you, snatching at your hair, but you stood firm. In front of you, Bolt was thrown backwards by the air, colliding with the glass behind him.

The starting gun had been fired.

As your enemy crashed through a shower of glass, you began to run. Shards of it scattered, glittering, under your pounding feet. You skidded to the doorway just as Bolt drew back to his feet in the shadows.

Raising your arms to continue the offensive, you were cut short. A startling flash blazed in your vision. In that split-second, it illuminated a smiling Bolt, gun ready at his hip. Just long enough for your heart to sink.

The shield rifle, the very one you had failed to protect.

It seemed only right that you should pay the price.

Its impact slammed against you, wrenching your outstretched arm backwards. The pale sphere it had fired, glowing and crackling, caught hold and took you with it, ensnaring your wrist like a constricting snake. Helpless to detach yourself, your body flailed through the air behind it.

Someone called your name.

Just as fast, you jerked to a stop. Below you, your feet flung out above nothing. Your heart jumped.

Looking around wildly, you found the forcefield had snagged on the wall, stuck fast to it just like it did your arm. It was the only thing holding you here.

Somewhere behind you, above you, grunts and thuds assured you that the fight continued. For now, you had to get out of this trap before Bolt could reach you again, attack you in this helpless position.

“Y/N!”

Jimin’s voice rushed closer. It was an effort to crane your head up to see him. Pale pink hair poked over the ledge.

“Grab on!” he called.

You didn’t hesitate. Swinging yourself up with a kick, you grabbed desperately for the hand he reached out. Finding it clumsily, you clutched to his wrist with clammy fingers. Next moment, he hauled you up, clamping both hands around yours until you rolled over the wall and your feet stumbled against solid ground.

But you still weren’t free.

The forcefield bit at your arm when you tried to drag it free. You cursed.

“It’s just energy,” Jimin spoke, frowning at the luminescent mass.

Then he took a breath, frowning in concentration. With one push of his hand, the sphere shifted, as if it was simply a ball from training.

Resisting, you pulled the other way. For a second, it constricted harder, making your heart clench in dread of following it. Then all at once you were falling free, tumbling to the floor as the forcefield rolled out of sight over the edge.

Hurried hands tugged you up and you were wheeling around to face the battle.

“Thanks,” you quickly clapped Jimin on the shoulder. A brief grin from him, and you dived together back towards the fray.

More shining energy fields pulsed against one wall, but it seemed the others had dodged them. You ran past the discarded weapon on the floor. But there were more where it had come from.

A bright blue jet, just like your own, fizzled against a statue and sent it thundering to the floor. Behind it, Yoongi leapt out of the way just in time. He came sprinting towards Bolt, eyes burning white.

In an instant, the hero let out a yell, clutching his eyes. Staggering, he slipped onto one knee. But in his blind panic, he whirled around, lashing out again even without a target to aim at.

Blazing blue roared outwards. Namjoon had been marching towards the fallen Bolt, but was forced to duck for cover. The lightning sliced clean through the top of the stone figure he hid behind.

Even as Bolt’s attack died, something else caught your eye. Fast as a spark from a flame, he tossed a blade into the air. It whistled, carving a streak of seething blue through the night.

A shout shot echoed across the rooftop, straight to your veins. Yoongi.

Falling from his invisible cloak of darkness, you saw a glowing blue shuriken whizz along his back. The current flew outwards across his body, throwing his pained grimace into haunting relief. The blade skittered, useless, to the ground, having wreaked its injury.

“Yoongi!” you screamed as he fell, blue light dancing over his spasming body.

Staring in horror as you were, the next flash of blue nearly caught you. Running on pure instinct, your body retaliated before you did. Snarling, your powers leapt from your palms, clashing against Bolt’s in mid-air. Blue on blue.

In the flare of sparks, Bolt smiled slowly. Never breaking the connection, he took a step forwards, cocking his head.

“So it’s true,” he spoke, “I heard about you.”

Heart hammering now, you pushed back with all your might, feeling his hostile powers wrestle with yours. They may look the same, but they felt all wrong.

“Tell me,” he took a step closer. You barely resisted the urge to draw back. “How did you do this?”

Steeling yourself with a breath, you unleashed a surge of rage, your electricity hissing through the air. It should have satisfied you to feel his power startle, stutter at the sudden attack.

All you could do was glare. He had no idea. He never thought twice about who he killed, what he took.

But as you stared, there was movement behind him. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on Bolt, willing his attention to stay on you. As it was, he had no idea that Jungkook was stalking towards him.

“I didn’t do this,” you blurted out, needing to keep him focussed. Buying Jungkook time as his face came into sharper focus, closer to the battling blue lights between you and Bolt. “You did this to me.”

You spat your words with all the venom locked inside, ready for one last push as you watched Jungkook raise both arms-

WHOOSH.

You snapped the connection, staggering backwards as Bolt whirled around.

It had not been gold that fired. In a blur, Jungkook was slammed to the ground by a column of water crashing into him.

Everyone on the rooftop turned to its source.

“Shit-” you heard someone curse.

“No,” you breathed.

Feet touching to the rooftop up ahead, among a flood of water, was Monsoon.

Another cold, arrogant grin met you all. You stared in horror. Only Bolt laughed, stepping forwards to climb to his ally’s side. They faced you all from the staircase, looking down.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jungkook’s eyes blazed gold beneath dripping strands of hair.

“Jungkook! No!” you cried, but too late.

Gold split the night, but against Monsoon there was no use. Water surged instantly towards him again, and though your powers protested, burning in your chest with the need to act, you could only stand by. You couldn’t fight him.

Shimmering water engulfed the gold strands. Soon they would immobilise Jungkook, the moment it made contact…

Instead, a red glow sprung up in front of Jungkook with only a split-second to spare, sending the deluge spraying around the shield.

“Let’s start with you, then,” Monsoon smirked.

When you looked back to him, you swore your heart stopped beating.

Raised in one hand, pointing straight at Jungkook, was the Razer. Its eerie white form stood out starkly against the night sky.

The dead white light at its centre jumped to life. A whirring began, menacing and low. It rose at the same rate the strands of light started spinning within the sphere, preparing to drain its victim of all power.

It was stupid. It was stupid, you had already failed once before. You had watched Jungkook fail just seconds ago. There was nothing you could do, yet you had to do something.

You fired at Monsoon.

Easily, he raised his free hand to deflect.

But as the water rushed towards you, Jimin sprinted towards Monsoon. Thrusting an arm forward, he sent a fallen statue flying between you, a silhouette. Your eyes widened in realisation.

The inundation hit the stone with such force, you almost thought it would crack. But no – it sent the writhing water shooting straight back at its commander.

Darting forward, you shot without hesitation. Blue burst from you. The bright tendrils wove into the stream, flying like darts through the current and towards Monsoon. There was no time for him to react; only a fleeting shadow of shock stole over his face before the electricity caught him and his eyes rolled back.

You knew how it felt for your muscles to lock in place, for your body to leave your control entirely. You watched as it took hold of him, too, and smiled.

The force of the water, with no way to resist it, knocked him backwards until the floor no longer held him. A blond blur flew past you, just before the white-clad figure that was Monsoon dropped out of sight forever.

Lowering your palms, your chest heaved. Adrenaline rushed through you; this still wasn’t over.

Your eyes narrowed in on Hobi, whose feet made impact with the roof on landing. Clutched in his arms was the Razer, scooped from Monsoon’s arms just in time.

Bolt, apparently, had got over his ally’s demise already. His grief lasted the space of one step, away from the edge, before he swung round. Like you, he honed straight in on the weapon.

And then everyone moved at once.

Diving out of the path of a sinister blue bolt, Hobi rolled away on the floor. Bolt himself thudded closer, making your friend dodge again, leaping up and out of his reach. The air crackled by Bolt’s hand, but before he could summon electricity to chase Hobi down, a sheet of purple fire swept like a curtain in front of him, the fleeting shadow of V disappearing within the flames.

You were already sprinting at the enemy when Hobi touched down next to you. Stumbling around, he glanced behind him with a curse.

Confused, your eyes first darted over your friend. He didn’t seem to be more hurt, so then what-?

A clatter of metal rung through the spitting flames. Frantically searching, you quickly found the deathly white streak of the Razer on the ground, spinning away. In the desperate fumble to escape Bolt, Hobi must have dropped it.

It didn't matter how it got there. Darting to the side, you changed course towards the weapon. But you weren’t the only pursuer.

Bolt was a silhouette in front of the fire, growing rapidly in the corner of your vision. Your feet thudded as fast as you could make them, heart pounding out the same rhythm, and you were almost there, but Bolt was coming in fast-

A flash of blue. Instinctively, you pulled back, letting it cut through the air in front of your nose. Precious distance you couldn’t afford to waste.

Throwing your weight back further, you followed your body’s momentum. Your hip met the tile and you let your speed carry you, sliding over the tiles and kicking out-

Your toes met the weapon hard, snatching it from right under Bolt’s fingertips as he lunged down. His furious glare shifted to you, but he did not stay to fight. Both of you watched, panting, as the white gun hurtled over the staircase, resounding against each step out of sight.

Then Bolt was off again with you not far behind, jumping to your feet. Stairs flew beneath you as you surveyed the scene.

Bolt charged a decisive line towards the still-falling gun. Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook assembled on the lower part of the rooftop, ready to strike.

With relief, you saw Jimin move first. Raising one hand, he brought the gun arcing through the night. Though you kept running, something loosened in your chest the closer it came to the hands of your leader.

So focussed on the gun as you were, you almost missed it. Just as the Razer landed firmly in Namjoon’s grip, something glinted in Bolt’s hand, inches ahead of you.

A sizzle of blue. Another shuriken sliced through the air. Namjoon dodged to one side, the blade sailing past him, a spark of blue losing itself in the darkness of the city.

But another blade followed.

Namjoon clearly decided not to hang around. The low whirring began again, piercing your senses straight away as if it was a chainsaw roaring. White light pounced against the glass containing it. Close as you were to Bolt, you couldn’t help the jolt of nerves fizzling in your chest.

Lifting his gaze from the weapon, Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction. There wasn’t enough time to react. The blue lightning raced straight for his heart.

The image of Yoongi, stricken and fallen, flashed through your mind then. Helplessness burned through every part of you – even as you pushed yourself to sprint, there was no catching it.

Until a shadow leapt in the way. Obscuring your view of Namjoon, they turned in mid-air to face the shuriken.

Jungkook.

Your heart punched into your throat. In a single beat, the blade found its target.

A twitch of pain spasmed across Jungkook’s face. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your trembling heart choked you, the world falling silent for a deathly second.

Then his feet thumped onto the roof, the clatter of the thin blade following a beat later. Though he stumbled against the outer wall, he remained standing. Utter, blank shock painted on his face, he brought a hand up to his chest.

There, a thin red line was spreading where he had been cut. Nothing more.

Heart still hanging on a precipice, you were suspended in your shock. Numbly, you glanced down to the still-spinning shuriken lying powerless on the floor. Powerless. No more sparks surrounded it. No hint of blue, no colour at all.

Where a heartbeat ago there had been panic, now came no movement at all. Your lungs ached for air after your short race, but you hardly dared to touch the silence by breathing. Shakily, you drew in cool air, turning, as you all did, towards Bolt.

Standing in front of the shattered entrance to his home, he was equally still.

You expected some kind of joke. For him to laugh in your faces, or lash out again.

Instead, he looked down in horror. His hands steadily rose, tuning over in front of him. A downwards turn tugged at his mouth when he raised his face.

Then it turned into a snarl, and he lunged, flinging a hand straight towards you. Everyone on the rooftop jumped.

To your shame, you almost stepped back. Phantom burning, from months ago as you fell from a skyscraper like this one, rocketed through your mind. But the pain you braced for never came. No flash of blue. You stayed rooted there, disbelieving eyes tracing the air which should have been ablaze, and instead was dead and dark.

And you noticed another thing: the whirring had stopped.

Glancing to one side, you saw Namjoon lowering the Razer, face hard and a grim glint in his eye.

“You!”

Bolt’s voice brought you sharply back to him. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and his voice was sharp.

To your alarm, his rage-filled eyes, though devoid of blue, were fixed right on you.

“Give them back to me! Right now!”

With a sudden start, he marched towards you. You actually stepped back this time, in no hurry to be the target of his new warpath.

“You- I gave you those powers!” He ranted, “My powers! You can give them back to me the same way. Do it now!”

Disgusted, you could only shake your head.

Another step and he was right in front of you, reaching for you. That same face which hadn’t looked at you twice when he sent you hurtling to your intended death. The man that had since become the face of your elusive fear, sending others to attack you, never getting his hands dirty unless for a media-worthy cause.

His hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

“I made you what you were,” he pleaded – you saw it now for what it was – “you were nothing before I gave them to you-”

“Get off me!” you snapped, yanking your arm roughly from his grip. When he made to reach for you again, you barely kept control of your powers. You were sure to let just enough slip through that your eyes would light up blue with a reminder.

It clearly found its mark. He stilled, stunned. He had never been in this position before, unable to fight, and he would do well to remember it.

“I was someone before you,” you spoke, low and level.

Bolt seemed robbed of words.

Then his glare flicked to the side. Jungkook stalked up to stand beside you, drawing himself up to his full height. There was a special venom in his eyes, reserved only for the man who had ruined his life.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat.

Something in Bolt snapped. Closing his mouth, his feet scrambled beneath him. He hurried in the opposite direction, staggering a few desperate steps backwards before wheeling around, racing to get inside.

You didn’t move. Any one of you could easily kill him from where you stood – in any case, it wasn’t needed.

Someone was waiting for him.

Stepping from the dark hallway, broken glass crunching underfoot, Jin emerged into the dim light of the rooftop.

He reared back a fist, and brought it down in a blur to collide with Bolt’s face. The moment the fallen hero hit the ground, Jungkook strode forwards. Bolt’s usually vivid mask was finally dislodged, lying dull against the tiles where Jungkook’s boot crushed it against the floor.

Calmly lifting a hand, he fired gold, but not right at Bolt. Instead, you watched the molten light latch around a large shard of glass. The burning ring made dappled gold ripple in the glass, a golden dagger, the brightest thing on this dark rooftop.

Unsteadily, Bolt was getting his hands beneath him again. His ragged panting almost stirred pity in your chest. Almost.

Jungkook pushed his palm forwards, his power moving with him. The dagger struck Bolt’s back. You did not smile, but watched as it plunged ruthlessly into him, making his back arch and drawing a pitiful cry from his mouth.

No one was around to hear it, or to care. Tonight was as desolate as the night you had woken, alone and afraid, in a dark alley, left to die.

It wasn’t painless, but it was quick. Looking to Jungkook as Bolt fell silent, you found his hardened face awash with gold, like it was made of the metal itself. Only the twitch of his jaw as he yanked the glass from its victim belied the impression.

A thump as the body slumped among a soft chorus of grating glass.

The gold faded from Jungkook’s eyes. They turned to you, and you took his hand.

Thank you for reading this far into the series and sticking with it!!💜💜

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[azalearanger]

In a similar vein to my prev thought, but despite the race of Men being given all sort of names (the Sickly, the Mortals, the Strangers, the Self-cursed, etc), I am particularly captivated by this description of them:

" West, North, and South the children of Men spread and wandered, and their joy was the joy of the morning before the dew is dry, when every leaf is green. // But the dawn is brief and the day full often belies its promise."

Wowow I just think this is such a cool window into the character of Men, who are described above all as joyful, and are yet mortal and brief and fickle.

[milogoestogreendale]

trobed fic recs?

i take my job as an armchair tumblr connoiseur of trobed content way too seriously so here's my giant masterlist of all my favorite trobed fanfics. i didn't cross check this with any previous lists so there may be some overlap but this one is more extensive and will include some older fics. also if it's not listed here that doesn't mean i don't love it, these are just the ones i specifically remembered to write about. please send the authors some love if you have the time to check their works out!

also i did go through all 87 pages of content on the troy barnes/abed nadir tag in order to find some of these. no, i haven't read them all, but i have read most of them.

fitter, happier, more productive by Toft: i've reread this fic so many times and i regularly forget it's over a decade old. if you haven't read any older trobed fics you are absolutely missing out

Advanced Cohert Dating by Aria: classic trobed fic, so cute and in character

Beginner's Relationship Detecting by KlavierWrites: in quite a similar vein to the last one, but i like both!

Fundamentals of Self-Awareness by Rainbowcat: a great lighthearted read, it's one of the most popular trobed fics for a reason.

Homosexuality and Homosociality in Queer Cinema by ama: this might be the first trobed fic i ever read? still so good and a must read for any gay troy barnes truthers

Annie, Abed and the Long Con by callmealvinandthechipmunks: know i've talked about this one before but it's just so great. the shrack plotline is genuinely one of the most canon things i've ever seen written for greendale

Introduction to Unconscious Bias by theimprobable1: i'm a sucker for the trope of troy thinking hes homophobic when he's actually just gay for abed

cardiovascular endurance and the art of recovery by clonetrobed: you guys know i love my abed h/c especially when it's to do with abed's bullying.

His Innermost Thoughts by LeetSpeak: my favorite trobed high school au, definitely inspired me while i was writing mine!

My Angel by orphan_account: trobed ghost fic that did make me genuinely sob

never could be sweeter by clonetrobed: this fic is just straight up a work of art.

Advanced Emotional Reconciliation and Anti-Clone Catharsis by Luuuna03: been a minute since i read this one but it's a great multi chapter reunion fic!

Fits Like A Glove by human_tennis_elbow: super cute trobed proposal!!

just you and i tonight (why don't you figure my heart out?) by r3medialcha8s: the day r3medialcha8s starting posting on a03... you just had to be there. their impact

the things we don't write in our autobiographies by fffggghhh: similarly to prev, the fic that put user troybarnesbabygirlconfirmed on my roster. god bless my insanely talented mutuals

Assignment Extension Rejected by ChrisSucks: speaking of talented mutuals this fic is criminally underrated

when it comes to a lot of the authors on this list i could put like every single fic they've have ever written, and there's so much i didn't get to, but this post took me ages so im gonna call it done.

[heelycular-manslaughter]

Hellbreak, the working title for one of my more "official" (very, very low bar for that term) TTRPG projects uses a modified version of Spencer Campbell's Lumen system that I havent thought of a good name for, but it started with my FPS-inspired game Luminous Vein, and focuses a lot on using actions, moves, and a third thing (in Hellbreak they're Casts) as resources for each turn in combat. Besides Lumen, my primary inspirations have been Hades and Kill Six Billion Demons. idk why i sound so official now the game is just a bunch of words on a text document i just think some of its kinda cool

In the last update I showed one of my gimmick weapon options, but this one is a little more conventional (or at least easier to write). Its similar to the Soul Daggers in Lumin. Vein and the Puppeteer class I made for Slayers and never mentioned before so idk why im bringing it up now.

Puppet Daggers

Used only by nameless ones throughout history. 

Twin Blades: You start with only two blades. Enemies attacked by Throw are tracked as having a dagger embedded in them. If there are 2 daggers embedded in enemies, you need to use Pull before you can make any other attacks.

Puppet Daggers Actions:

Slice: Can use a cast or an action. Deals 1 harm to a target in Close range. 

Dice: Deal 2 harm to a target in Close range. 

Throw: Deal 2 harm to a target in Near range. This action can be used twice before requiring the Pull action.

Pull: Bring a dagger within Beyond range back to you, dealing 1 harm to the target the dagger is embedded in. 

Puppet Daggers Aspects:

(Costs 1 Titan Blood) Aspect of the Puppet: Throw moves you with the daggers, moving you to Close range of the target.

(Costs 1 Titan Blood) Aspect of Thieves: All coin drops and rewards give you +5 coins.

(Costs 2 Titan Blood) Aspect of Mercenaries: Slice deals +1 harm.

(Costs 2 Titan Blood) Aspect of Assassins: Throw's range is now Near-Far. 

(Costs 2 Titan Blood) Aspect of Air: you can dodge one attack per turn.

(Costs 3 Titan Blood) Aspect of Puppeteers: Replaces the Puppet Daggers action list with the following:

Throw: Deal 2 harm to a target in Near range. This action can be used twice before requiring the Pull action.

Pull: Bring a dagger within Beyond range back to you, dealing 1 harm to the target the dagger is embedded in. 

Pierce: Deal 1 harm to a target in Close range.

Redirect: If an enemy has a dagger embedded in them, you can force their next actions to be directed wherever you choose.

Stop: If an enemy has a dagger embedded in them, you can make them not have an action on the GM turn.

I'm a bit less freakish about the themes of control than I am with other puppet-themed abilities i've made but dont worry im still a pervert about some of the other stuff in this game

vote for the next thing if you'd like

prev update (Plaster Yo-Yo)

[softie-rain]

Step On Me

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth/Coriolanus Snow

Summary: “It’s not easy for me, you know. I wish I was still alive, so badly. I spent, and will spend, all eternity wondering what would have happened if I had listened to you.” Sejanus spoke again, tilting his head to the side. “Do you want to know what it is like to love you, Coriolanus Snow?”

Notes: omg I am SO excited for you guys to read this one. It's my favourite, and personally I think it's very sad (cried while writing it) but I hope you will enjoy it! I'm posting it a day earlier as tomorrow I'll be super busy and probably won't have time to post <3

chapter: 3/7 (weekly updates!) prev. chapter

read it on ao3 here

“You look ravishing, Mr. Snow.” 

Coriolanus jumped at the voice, turning around to face the intruder.” “You need to stop doing that.” He said annoyed once he saw Sejanus, going back to check himself in the mirror. He fixed his hair and tried to tighten the tie around his neck. He groaned in frustration when he failed, not understanding how such an easy thing was so hard at the moment. 

It was all Sejanus’ fault, clearly, for distracting him. He gulped when he saw Sejanus walking towards him. He stopped right behind him, observing Coriolanus through the mirror and gently passing a hand on his neck, his touch ghostly, like he wasn't really there. Yet he could feel the warmth of his fingers on his skin, and though he hated himself for it, he relished it.

“Here, let me help.” Sejanus murmured, gently turning Coriolanus to face him and helped him knot the tie. He observed as the other boy's fingers worked quickly and precisely on the soft fabric. When he was finished he clicked his tongue satisfied, “Done!” He said, allowing Coriolanus to look at it in the mirror.

“How funny,” Sejanus laughed, “I tied the rope around your neck just like you did to me all those years ago.” 

Coriolanus’ eyes went wide at his words, blood running cold in his veins. His eyes immediately went down to his neck as if to check that it was a tie and not the noose, almost out of instinct. Sejanus noticed this and laughed again. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.” He added, with a grin.

Coriolanus scoffed and pushed him away, not amused by his friend's behavior. “That metaphor doesn't work, idiot. I sent you to death.”

“And you're about to get married. Seems like a similar fate to me. Although to be fair, I didn't force you to marry Livia Cardew.” He snickered, flopping down the couch. 

Coriolanus glared at him, irritated by his still so childish manners. He assumed it was normal, because Coriolanus had his whole life ahead of him to grow into the man he was slowly becoming. Sejanus didn't. But that didn't mean it couldn't annoy Coriolanus.

But he wasn't wrong about who he was getting married to. Even Arachne Crane had been more tolerable than Livia. Listening to her squeaky voice every night at dinner, talking about the latest gossip she heard during the day, was comparable only to being stabbed in the chest by a thousand knives all at once.

She was beautiful, sure, but Coriolanus was pretty sure he had never met a more superficial and boring woman than her. Yet she still somehow considered herself better and superior than everyone else. After that day's ceremony she'd become First Lady. That was certainly going to enlarge her ego even more than it already was.

But he had no other choice. Livia had been raised to be the perfect housewife, with all the fierce values to be a respectable rich woman. She obeyed Coriolanus and did anything he asked, never contradicting him or going against him. She played the part of the politician's fiancèe (and soon wife) perfectly, and she was excellent in pretending they were in love during their public appearances.

On top of that, Coriolanus despised her. Which made Livia the perfect companion for him. 

“I'm happy for you, by the way. If this is what you really want, I support you.” Coriolanus wanted to throw something at him, but he couldn't. Not without attracting the attention of the guards outside.

“Why?” He asked coldly, trying his best not to yell at him. Not even five minutes had passed since his arrival and he was already getting so worked up. 

“Because I'm your friend.” Sejanus replied simply. “I won't lie and say I don't wish it could be me promising eternal fidelity to you, and you to me, but to love is to be happy for the other, to cherish their wins. And I'm happy for you Coriolanus, truly am.” 

He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream at him, he wanted to slap and punch him until he bled, so maybe then he'd have proof he was actually there with him. Sejanus shouldn't be happy, he couldn’t be. He was supposed to be mad, upset. 

He was the one who was supposed to be wanting to yell at him, not Coriolanus. He was the one who was supposed to be angry, not Coriolanus. He was the one who was supposed to be driven crazy by the other, not Coriolanus. Why was he so calm?

“Why are you still in love with me?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt inside. “Why? I ruined your life. I took your life.” No point in lying to himself anymore. 

Sejanus stared at him in silence, without even parting his lips to answer. He simply looked Coriolanus in the eyes, seemingly daydreaming. It was similar, he realized, to when they took history classes. During those hours Sejanus seemed to escape reality, getting lost in whatever memory of District 2 his mind could master up at the moment. He told him that once, when Coriolanus had asked him why he seemed so lost in class. 

“It’s awful,” he had confessed, “To hear him talk about the districts like that. He’s so full of lies, always telling bullshits So I just zone out and pretend I’m home- in district 2 again. If I actually had to pay attention to what he says, I’d have told him to go fuck himself many times already.” Sejanus had laughed it off. It was the first time Coriolanus heard him swear.

Coriolanus was brought back to their current conversation when Sejanus finally spoke. “Because I fell in love with you when you were a good person. I saw the person you could be, desperately and hopefully fell for him, and I never recovered I guess.” He explained. “If it helps, it hurts me as much as it hurts you.” He said, serious.

Coriolanus walked over to the couch. Sejanus shifted his legs to make space for Coriolanus, who sat next to him. They stared at each other for what seemed hours, without speaking a single word. 

“It’s not easy for me, you know. I wish I was still alive, so badly. I spent, and will spend, all eternity wondering what would have happened if I had listened to you.” Sejanus spoke again, tilting his head to the side. “Do you want to know what it is like to love you, Coriolanus Snow?”

He was taken aback by the question, unsure on what to respond. Did he? He definitely wanted to know exactly what Sejanus felt, but was he going to like the answer? Probably not. But as usual his heart didn’t follow his rational thoughts, it never did when it came to Sejanus. “Yes.”

He sat up, legs crossed and now he was face to face with Coriolanus. “If I had the chance to do it all again, my head would be filled with doubts: would I help Billy Taupe? Would I still help them arrange that girl's escape? Probably not. Not if I know that I will die. And I feel so much shame for it.” Sejanus’ tone was low, almost as if he was shy and scared of what he was telling. He made it sound like a secret, one he wouldn’t even tell his ma’. 

“But that taunting shame,” He continued, “It’s nothing compared to having the certainty that if you had a second chance, you’d still turn me in. Every single time. Maybe you’d think about it, but each time, each second chance you might get, in every universe, you’d still press that recorder. You’d still betray me like you did the first time. Because your love for power is so much stronger than anything beautiful and happy you’ve known in your life. And I’d still love you.” 

His words hurt so much. They were daggers getting thrown at his back, he felt like his heart was being ripped out from his chest and Sejanus was stabbing it, smiling while he did so, and Coriolanus couldn’t do nothing but stare and let the boy utterly destroy his heart and soul, like he always did.

Coriolanus would like to yell that he was wrong, that he would never do it again, not when he knew the outcome of his actions. But, for the first time in his life, Coriolanus couldn’t lie to Sejanus’ face.

He was so focused on his own feelings he didn't notice immediately that Sejanus was crying. The perfect, calm and quiet mask he put on for each one of their encounters finally fell down. Now he could see him for the desperate, small and scared kid Sejanus truly was, and if he wasn’t as hurt as he was Coriolanus would smile in satisfaction at the scene. But he hadn't yelled, which left a taste of disappointment on Coriolanus’ tongue. 

“Sorry about the waterworks.” Sejanus apologized, sniffing and wiping away the tears. “I guess seeing the love of your life getting married to someone else has this effect.” He chuckled, trying to stop the tears from coming out. Coriolanus didn't know what to say. 

So instead he acted upon instinct and took Sejanus’ face in his hands and leaned in, kissing him.

Kissing Sejanus was nothing like what he expected, but then again he never really thought about what it would have been like. Not enough times to have a vivid image of his expectations anyway.

It was a wet kiss. He gave the fault to Sejanus salty tears for that, but he was weirdly drawn into his lips even more because of it. 

Coriolanus could feel that the other one clearly wasn't expecting the kiss, too surprised to kiss back at first. But it only took Coryo to caress his chin with his fingers for Sejanus to immediately reciprocate the action. His hand flew to the blonde's waist, pulling him closer. Coriolanus didn't mind, and instead sighed on his lips at the touch.

“Is this considered cheating?” He mumbled, pulling away for air. Sejanus was clearly much more touch starved than he was because he immediately pulled Coriolanus back in his arms, accidentally (or was it on purpose?) making him fall on top of him on the couch. 

Sejanus shook his head and, in between kisses, replied. “Not really. I'm dead, am I?” Ignoring the fact that rationally Coriolanus was probably making out with thin air instead of the pretty boy laying below him he nodded, as if it made total sense.

He was about to get married to a woman he loathed, it sounded only fair to him to have a few last moments of freedom before walking towards his cruel destiny. 

Coriolanus obviously knew it was his own doing, and he wouldn't change his mind about the wedding. It was a small sacrifice he had to make, for his greater purpose. That didn't mean he couldn't wish it was Sejanus he was about to spend the rest of his life with.

For some absurd reason when their lips touched the chaos of thoughts he heard in his head stopped. The storm he had inside ceased, and for once Coriolanus was at peace. 

He didn't feel guilty, not one inch of his body felt any shame for what he was doing. He didn't even care that he was being weak in front of Sejanus again. For that there'll be time later, right now he had to taste the moment as best as he could.

He wondered how Sejanus was feeling. Or, how the real Sejanus would have felt in that situation. Was what was happening a realistic representation of the real Sej if he had ever grown the guts to kiss him when he was still alive? He didn't have time to ponder on the thought more because Sejanus pulled away.

Coriolanus tried to chase his lips again, but he stopped him holding his index finger in front of him. He frowned confused, wishing Sejanus would just go back to kiss him already, when instead he parted his lips to talk

“You need to go, Coriolanus.” He whispered, as if anyone could have heard him if he spoke louder. “You have a wedding to attend.” 

It took all of Coriolanus' self-control not to slap him. Why would he bring that up now? Sejanus gave him one last peck, and he was about to protest when a knock on the door grabbed his attention.

“President Snow? You've been there quite a while now. Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, I'll be out in a minute.” Coriolanus said. He looked down again to give one final glance at Sejanus, only to find him gone already. He was going to fire that peacekeeper.

[apteryxparvus]

L ♡ V E R ⇌ L ⦻ S E R — chapter 6

Chapter six — My mama always told me if i don’t have anything nice to say…

Pairing — Scaramouche / Female Reader

Content warning — swearing • mentions of bullying

Summary: In a twist of unfortunate events, you find out that being exposed as the target of Kunikuzushi middle school bullying escapades was just the beginning of your troubles. To your dismay, you’re thrown even deeper into the glamorous but artificial world of celebrities. Oh, and the cherry on top? You’re forced to pretend to be in a long-term romantic relationship with none other than said ex-bully. All because of a careless misclick by his social media manager.

prev • masterlist • next

You can’t bring yourself to respond to his message, leaving him on “seen” for several hours. The weight of everything settles heavily on your conscience, and you lie on your bed, a throbbing headache serving as a painful reminder.

Kaveh finds himself in a similar state, confined to his own room. He slips out of his room once to grab some snacks.

Your phone pings with a new message, and you peel yourself away from the warmth of your blanket, heart skipping a beat as your fingers unlock the screen.

Despite the anger that courses through your veins, you can’t deny the exhaustion that washes over you. You snuggle under the warm blanket, as you seek comfort in its weight — it embraces you like a shield against the outside world.

Tomorrow, you’ll contact his manager and sort out this whole mess. But for now, you just want to unwind and let go of the stress that’s been building up.

Just as you close your eyes, hoping that the sleep would wash away the tension engulfing your being due to his prickly words and acidic taunts, your mind suddenly jolts back to reality.

“Shit,” you exclaimed, practically leaping out of bed. “The goddamn dating rumors! I forgot to ask!”

Author’s note: welp, a bit of a late update, but life got in the way AGAIN 😅 also sorry for the short chapter 🙏🙏

Taglist — @scaramoo @bananasquash @yukiipc @theblueblub @feiherp @scarletttcroww @farelady-fate @skyoverkill1 @reversearrowhead @magica-ren @sakurapeach @lazy-sanns @siasseltzers @gatorcatally @atlaincorrect

[bluerose5]

Zevran & Astarion Banter Pt. 11/?

By request of @nithven for Zevran and Astarion having the "who would you drink from?" talk.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

...

Astarion: Mmm...

Zevran: See something you like? You are staring rather intently, my dear.

Astarion: Oh, just thinking about last night. I can still taste you on my lips. Your blood was absolutely exquisite.

Zevran: Glad you enjoyed yourself! It was definitely an experience unlike any other.

Astarion: Hopefully one you'll be open to trying again in the future.

Zevran: I could be tempted...

Astarion: Good to know. Although, now I'm curious, and I know that I can trust you to humor me. Hypothetically speaking, of course, if you could take a bite from anyone, who—

Zevran: Withers.

Astarion: I, uh—Withers?

Zevran: Sure, why not?

Astarion: Why not? Maybe because he is a skeleton?

Zevran: Ah, yes, but we are speaking in hypotheticals, are we not? Plus, look at him! He is positively flush with life!

Astarion: Ugh. It would be like eating dirt, then you would get a lecture from the dirt for trying to eat it.

Zevran: Haha! Okay, fine. Let's see, Let's see. Raphael, maybe?

Both: ...

Both: No.

Astarion: Nope.

Zevran: Never mind that.

Astarion: Sounds like a decent idea at first, very tempting.

Zevran: Until you're left with a weird aftertaste lingering on your palate for the rest of the day.

Astarion: I imagine Mizora is similar in a way. A delectable treat at first that quickly becomes cloyingly sweet the more you drink. Then, you later realize it's because her veins were laced with poison.

Zevran: A fun surprise for all! Okay, now, consider Zevlor.

Astarion: Huh, usually I wouldn't entertain the idea of paladins, what with their righteousness and all. But one that broke their oath? *shrugs* Perhaps I could be convinced.

Zevran: I bet his blood would taste like a nice cinnamon treat, filled with a heat that warms the body but with an underlying sweetness that makes for a perfect blend.

Astarion: Interesting. That's how I would describe the taste of your blood. Absolutely mouthwatering.

Zevran: Heh. You know, on second thought, why entertain thoughts of others when you would clearly be my first choice?

Astarion: A fellow elf of refined taste, I see, but perhaps it's best we discuss something else for now. All this talk of blood is making me rather thirsty.

Zevran: In that case, feel free to come to my tent tonight.

Astarion: I wouldn't miss it, my sweet.

[g1deonthefirst]

im not prev anon, but in a similar vein im actually kind of scared for alecto to come out. imo alecto v much reads like a victim of sexual assault, but i feel like ppl will either decide she's not a "good" victim or that she can't have been assaulted b/c she's more powerful than john (yes, the same john who forced her into a body she didn't want and locked her in a tomb for 10,000 yrs. sorry for the rant, i'm just worried)

yeahh :( i definitely feel a similar apprehension about how alecto the ninth as a whole and alecto in particular as a character will be received. i mean already for the past year and some change the fandom has been hyping her up as a Powerful Sexy Barbie Doll Eldritch Monstergirl. which is fine for memes i guess but when that's all you see in alecto, you're really overlooking the fact that the only reason she's in this state to begin with is because, as you say, she was forced into a body that she never wanted and then locked away when john no longer wanted to deal with what he'd created. i also think that there's an idea out there that alecto is going to be ultra-powerful and i honestly don't know if that's true considering that, yeah, john was able to lock her away, and we know that only part of the earth is actually in alecto, another part having been eaten by john which gave him the god-like powers he has when we meet him.

my honest expectation is that the parts of the fandom that vehemently believe that john is not a sexual abuser and alecto is not a victim of assault by him will probably continue to believe that to the extent that they can in light of atn, which will lead to some shitty takes and bad discourse as usual. that being said, because she's a brilliant author i do expect that tamsyn muir will portray alecto in a way that honors all the complexities of her character and give her a narratively satisfying arc, so in that sense at least i'm excited for atn.

[thisismeracing]

https://www.tumblr.com/thisismeracing/735716044352700416/bonoreader-nicknames-bono-babybaby-bono-pretty?source=share

bono!reader nicknames (cont.):

my girl: used by mick and everyone’s heads turn when it slips out of his mouth forgetting that he was in public and it wasn’t just him and bon. cause what do you mean your girl???? she’s our baby and if anything she’s our girl. get in the back of the line bucko we were here first. with all of the love in the world because the team just loves teasing him when it comes to him and bon’s relationship

darling: this one gets used by lewis, i don’t have a reason for why i just think it fits

honey: used by susie, in a similar vein idk why but i can hear susie referring to this girl with this nickname

mija: used by nando and to not sound like a broken record i'm just gonna go on to the next nickname but ya know the two “explanations” above also applies to this one

lovie: bono uses this nickname for his daughter quite a bit and sends daggers at anyone who tries to use it because he shares so much of bon with others as a result of deciding to raise her in the village also known as f1 that somethings he reserves the right for himself such as this nickname

love: different than lovie and is a nickname bon and mick have for eachother. at first it was only mick that called his lover love, but then bon tried it out and it just stuck

kultsi/kulta: used by kimi most often when she stops by for her semi-regular chill sesh but it’s not too uncommon to hear it outside of that setting. but i will make the distinction that i dont think valtteri uses these for bon, he has a different relationship to her than kimi. i think w/ kimi it more parent-child than val’s big brother-little sister

[ok that’s all, got some new hcs in my head after writing this ask so i will be working on writing those down after i send this in]

☕️

prev link

yes to all of those! also bono having one exclusive nickname with her is just so accurate

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 11: Right Beside You

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: Jungkook has you to thank, if only he knew how.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 5.7k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, swearing, past trauma (mentioned assault and torture), mentioned homelessness

a/n: the found family is strong with this one😌🥰 hi everyone, thank you for joining me for this next part of the journey! sorry for being super offline this week, it's been an exhausting one and I'm still a bit mentally checked out as I write this note, but all of the positive comments have been lovely to see🥰special note for the anon who wanted a sneak peek, I just couldn't find a good spot to post for this chapter and didn't have the energy to comb through for one either. I'll consider for future parts when I have more time to do so, but in the meantime I would love just to hear what you enjoyed so far💞enjoy the chapter!

Jungkook didn’t speak to you about that night. Barely even looked your way the next morning when you slunk in to have breakfast.

It was entirely unfair that he was there bright and early, looking completely put-together in that handsome way he always did – or maybe it was one of the perks of having a face like his. A lucky side effect of his stubbornly ignoring you was that he didn’t seem to notice, certainly not acknowledge, your envious staring at him, before you were able to catch yourself and rid your mind of these thoughts.

You, however, had only gone back upstairs when you felt your eyes drooping again, long after Jungkook had disappeared. Even then, it was to fitful sleep. All the midnight epiphanies in the world weren’t about to make you forget your guilt over Hoseok.

So now, it was safe to say you were tired.

Hunching over a plate, you said little, but at least tried to smile at Hope, who caught your gaze. Yoongi eyed between the two of you, and you shrank again, unable to stand the thought he was also wary of you. Maybe Jungkook was just the most open about it.

You wondered over your toast whether Jungkook had a similar reason for being awake last night. Whether he knew yours.

Did he realise that you had been up because of your guilt-ridden nightmares? Would that make him feel better, to know you were being punished for your actions by your own psyche?

You hadn’t thought to question his own presence in the training room at night until now, though. Not that it was a particularly pleasant train of thought. Did he have nightmares of his own? Worse still, were they the same as yours? Had your near miss caused him the same fear it had you, enough to invade his sleep?

At the end of the table, Jungkook spoke in a low voice to Jin. There was no chance for you to guess what they were talking about.

Yet you were still watching. You couldn’t look away, almost wondering if you could see inside his head if you looked hard enough. Puzzle him out.

A scraping sound and movement beneath your hand jerked your attention away.

Your eyes darted to your plate – or where it had been. They followed as it dragged itself swiftly across the table, stopping in front of a clasped pair of hands. And Jimin’s eyes, intent on you under raised brows, made you shift.

“Well, if you’re not going to eat it,” he smiled innocently.

With a pout, you made a swipe for the toast you had abandoned on your plate in your (rather long) moment of distraction. The plate, of course, swiftly darted away from your reach, then switched directions.

Huffing, you gave up, slouching back sulkily in your chair while Jimin laughed.

Another hand reached over to slide your breakfast back to you, this time met with no protest. Jimin was still laughing, glittering pink dying in his eyes, and you smiled gratefully to V, your food restorer.

Lesson learned, you did keep your attention to yourself this time as you finished without looking back up.

As such, you missed the sharp eyes that had finally turned towards you.

At a loss, and not keen as usual to head to training, you followed Jimin and V over to the couch and sunk into it after breakfast, ready to waste away some of the morning. The other two kept muttering between themselves, but you were happy to let them go on unbothered.

A weight dipping the cushion beside you made your head turn in surprise.

Hope flopped against the back of the sofa, looking up at you with a smile.

“Did I ever tell you how I got my powers?” he said, tone casual.

Meanwhile, you tried not to widen your eyes. While all the boys, for obvious reasons, knew about the cause of your powers’ arrival, you weren’t sure about theirs. It wasn’t something you could just… ask.

Or so you thought.

It had been one of the worst nights of your life, so you imagined it was similar for them. Why should they want to share that with someone they didn’t trust?

Maybe Hobi did trust you, though. Because when you shook your head, he shifted his elbows onto the back of the sofa, leaning forward to confide in you.

“I was a student,” he began the tale, “training for stunt work on the side. I had to work this shitty all-night convenience store to afford it… not exactly in the safest end of town.”

You could only imagine it all too well. You realised Jimin and V had stopped their chatter, lapsing into silent attention to the story, although they must know it already.

“One night, some random guy tried to rob the place. When he started attacking a customer, I vaulted the cash desk to stop him. He beat the shit out of me. Had a crowbar and everything. But then, when I was on the floor – couldn’t move anymore, not even stand – it’s like I suddenly woke up. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Watching his face carefully, you found no words. It was clear the experience had been terrifying, his expression clouding for a moment as he told you the worst of it. You had never seen him look so serious.

He shook himself lightly, meeting your eyes again, and the normally permanent smile returned to his face.

“Suddenly I got the energy to fight back. Since then, I’ve moved faster, been stronger, than I ever was before. It turned a few heads on the stunt team, which is how Namjoon got wind of me.”

“Wow, that’s… scary,” you settled for, though it didn’t do his story justice.

“Yeah,” he nodded, before turning fully to you, a look fixing you in place. “Nothing compared with a slip in training.”

You wilted at the painful reminder which blindsided you. So that’s what this was about?

Hope clapped you on the shoulder.

“I still trust you, yeah? That’s not up to Jungkook.”

Nodding, you finally managed a weak smile of your own.

“Thanks.”

Not knowing how to settle back into the sofa, you shifted and spied V whispering something to Jimin. Jimin shifted back to look him in the face, brow tilting in question. V nodded.

Then Jimin spun to you.

“Tae also wants me to tell you… how he got his powers.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Really,” you shifted your gaze to V, “don’t feel you have to. It must be tough-”

“It may be hard to talk about, but you should hear it,” Jimin assured you, “we want you to know.”

Your heart softened at this double show of trust. Giving a nod, you watched Jimin take a bracing breath.

“I was the one who found him,” he began, “Namjoon sent me. He heard about the place, wanted to investigate… it was a testing centre. They were keeping him there like a prisoner, seeing what stuff they could inject until he…”

Jimin choked off the sentence. You didn’t want to hear the end of it.

Jimin’s eyes were wide and betrayed such dazzling emotion you could hardly look. It was no wonder he was such a fierce protector of V, that they loved each other so strongly.

“In the end, they gave him fire. We’re not even sure if they meant to, if they knew what they were doing. But they were using him, and I had to get him out of there.”

Letting silence stretch for a moment, you waited until it was clear he wasn’t going on.

“Good,” you spoke quietly. Shifting your eyes to V, you found him looking at you calmly, though the darkness in his eyes was heavier than normal. “I’m glad you made it here.”

Jimin squeezed his hand.

Though you tried to swallow it down, you couldn’t help your next question. You wouldn’t ask what happened to Hope’s would-be killer, but this…

“What happened to the lab?” you whispered.

V’s gaze remained unblinking.

“Burned,” he said, in that rare, low voice.

Not leaving his gaze, you only nodded.

You may have been accepted by your friends. Their trust bolstered you, it did, only… Something didn’t sit right while you were still so perplexed at your precarious footing with Jungkook.

When he did show up, Jungkook seemed oddly distracted all morning. Weirdest of all was that his mood didn’t drive him away to the gym like usual. He sat at the end of the sofa until Yoongi arrived, fishing controllers from the dreaded Drawer of Cables. Playing a few rounds of video games was fun, but you still found yourself glancing a little too often at the detached Jungkook. When a controller got passed to him, he nearly won without breaking into a sweat, only to apparently zone out and fall off the map near the end.

The others laughed at him and yelled their own victories, the two of you the only ones not joining in. At least you cracked a grin, but Jungkook seemed to have drifted.

Maybe, with the others knowing him better than you did, their lack of notice was a good sign. Surely you couldn’t be the only one caught so off-guard by his silence? Or maybe it was because of last night. None of the others had heard your odd midnight conversation.

With Jungkook acting this way, you had wondered how training would play out. If he would even show. You wouldn’t blame him after yesterday with Hobi, and… whatever that had been last night.

No, you wouldn’t blame him, but strangely you found yourself hoping for the opposite in any case. Some sign from him about what last night meant… or at least that you should forget about it.

In the event, your wondering was never answered.

Namjoon marching into the room wasn’t what any of you had expected. Usually, that meant business. And today was no exception.

“Are you guys ready to head out?”

Which meant that if you weren’t, now was the time to prepare. All you needed to do was grab shoes, and then you were following Jin as he grabbed keys and headed down the front stairs to the garage.

Behind you, Hobi was desperately searching for a second shoe, only having found one in his room. Yoongi had been begrudgingly roped into helping, and his sighs filled the air at regular intervals as he found yet another spot empty.

Jimin was hopping around as he tried to run to the door before tying his laces.

Namjoon walked through the sudden chaos, unfazed, raising his voice slightly.

“Bosun’s just had to flee his place at the edge of town. Says there are people inside already. So we’d better move.”

The garage door slid open as you reached it. Jungkook was already waiting. He had been the first one to his feet when Namjoon entered with a battle plan, and you got it. Some good action would force unwanted distractions from your mind like nothing else.

He pushed away from the wall, squaring his shoulders as he stepped towards the waiting cars. And stumbled.

You bit down on your lip, but it was as if he could sense your instinctive laughter. Yours were the first place his eyes glowered as he recovered balance.

Ducking your eyes, they landed on a sneaker strewn on the ground.

“Oi, Hobi!” you called, launching his missing sneaker up the stairs past Namjoon, who was now descending.

“Thanks!” came his call, and then he was beside you in an instant, yellow light flashing in his eyes.

“Hey, only one of us has speed powers!” Yoongi complained, jogging down the stairs last.

Namjoon’s eyes flickered over the lot of you and then you were piling into cars. Jimin tugged you after him and V into Jin’s car, while the others took the neighbouring one.

With the unexpected attack already apparently underway, Jin cut all the corners he could as you sped across the city. You remembered seeing Bosun’s name in one of the various files Jin was sifting through as he and Namjoon desperately tried to strategise their way out of this game already in motion. Clearly, his wasn’t one of their top places of concern as he hadn’t been relocated yet.

You were beginning to see why. The streets you passed grew less and less maintained, cracks, weeds and broken signs whizzing past your window. This was more similar to the end of town you used to live in, before Bolt. And you would assume it to be way off his radar.

Apparently not.

Jin pulled up in some alley beside an unassuming and leaky-looking warehouse. Fumbling to open the glove box, he passed you each a small receiver along with instructions.

“Jimin, V, take that side. The back entrance is around there. With any luck they aren’t expecting us, but be ready for anything. Y/N, go the other way, check it’s clear. Then head to the front where you’ll meet the others.”

Nodding hastily, you all scrammed from the car. Jimin patted your shoulder and flashed you a grin – a nod from V and they were sprinting away to the left. You peeled off right instead, focus setting in the moment your feet were in motion.

Rounding a corner, you were faced with a near-identical alley, narrow and shadowy with puddles nestled in cracks in the concrete.

Eyes scanning, you first checked the windows in the long expanse of wall. There were few, high up and tiny. From here, you could see no one looking back out at you. Hopefully that meant the surprise factor was still on your side.

It was when your eyes returned to the street in front of you that your steps faltered. Closer now, a figure became clear in the shadows that you hadn’t made out before.

Slowing, you squinted at them, hands already twitching. But they hadn’t made any move, although they had clearly seen you. Crouched against the wall, they looked directly your way as you approached hesitantly. Maybe they just didn’t know who you were? But if they were guarding this place, surely any passerby could be classed as a threat?

So why weren’t they attacking?

You stopped fully, now only paces from them. You saw it was a young man, maybe even a teenager. His eyes were large as they looked at you from below unkempt hair, and while they had a hard edge of practised hostility, all you read there was wariness and fear.

Hands retreating under fraying sleeves, he shifted uncomfortably the longer you stood in front of him. Worn-out shoes with a hole in the side shifted near to a puddle.

Frowning, your eyes caught sight of a bag he was sheltering with his body.

Breath slowed uncomfortably in your throat as it dawned on you. He wasn’t with the people attacking the warehouse – he probably had no idea anything was even going on in the building behind the two of you.

“You should get out of here,” you met his eyes again.

He didn’t need telling twice. Since you had showed interest in him, his discomfort had been clear, and he finally shot to his feet, still clinging to the overstuffed backpack behind him.

Then your eyes were torn from his nervous ones by a blast from the end of the alley.

Whipping around, you were briefly dazzled by a burst of gold light. Inexplicably, it put you at ease – or the knowledge of who was behind it did.

What had you instantly back on edge were the two silhouetted figures that now ran across the entrance to the alleyway. The sight of weapons clutched to their chests had your fingers flexing, feeling your powers simmer defensively.

It had begun.

A second after the armed people emerged, one of them was sent to the floor by a human-sized bullet – Hope. Their gun skidded away, landing in a shallow puddle with a splash.

Starting forwards intently to aid your team, you spared one last glance back at the boy you had found in the alley.

Those same fearful eyes were now fixed past you at the violence unfolding as it spilled from the warehouse entrance. Rigid, he seemed frozen to the spot.

“Go!” you barked, “I mean it!”

And then you were running. If he had any sense, the kid would get moving.

Another sharp blade of gold light descended, nearly knocking over the remaining assailant ahead of you, but they ducked and staggered on, the blast clashing with the neighbouring wall. Tracing the source of the attack, you spied Jungkook’s vantage point on the roof, his head visible though only a brief blur as he raced after his target.

Fixing your eyes front, you charged head-on at the fleeing man.

And he spotted you too.

Whatever weapon you were facing now, you didn’t fancy finding out. He was aiming it, giving you a clear view down the barrel.

Your step never once faltered. You didn’t need to reach for a weapon.

You were one.

Blue fired from your fingertips before his could move on the trigger. It caught him, flinging him backwards, flipping before slamming against the ground.

Still hot-footing it to the heat of the action, you glanced to Jungkook, smirk already lifting your lips, ready to share the momentary victory.

But he hadn’t changed direction. Instead, he was flying towards you, descending from the rooftop on a pillar of gold, and his other arm was aiming behind you-

Turning, you caught sight of the fleeing boy, almost out of sight now.

Your heart dropped in slow motion, but your body acted without waiting for permission.

Well-aimed gold streaked down the alley. Hand raising, you threw an arrow of blue to meet it. Lightning collided in the air, your shot throwing his off, a missile of sparking blue and gold smashing against the warehouse.

Outrage painting his face, Jungkook hit the ground, already dashing towards you and the boy. Readied his arm again…

“Jungkook!” you cried.

Not stepping out of his path, the two of you practically crashed into each other. Your hand caught his shoulder, restraining him as you twisted to look behind you.

The boy was on the ground, metres from the impact. As you watched, he scrambled to his feet, hoisted his backpack over a shoulder and ran, finally disappearing into another street.

“He’s not with them,” you panted, “…he’s just a kid.”

Turning back to Jungkook, you expected rage, frustration… but not this. His eyes were fixed on the spot the boy had fled from. As his eyes tracked, slowly, back to your face, he inhaled softly. Held it. Slack-jawed horror washed over him.

Struck by the force of emotion surfacing so suddenly in his eyes, you lightened your grip and took a step back.

A heavy frown pressed on Jungkook's brows, gaze once again growing distant, drifting to the alley behind you.

“I didn’t think…” he mumbled, but his lips stilled again, parted in horror.

“You’re not supposed to expect it,” you whispered.

Eyes fixed on Jungkook’s intently, you caught the sharp flicker as they returned to you. Lucidity flooded back to him and his throat bobbed in a hard swallow.

As he looked at you, his frown eased imperceptibly, realisation widening his eyes instead.

“He would be dead.” Jungkook’s voice was brittle.

Your heart was only now slowing in your chest, the shock of adrenaline subsiding. All it took was another blow from somewhere behind the pair of you, ringing out through the confined space, to pull you away from Jungkook.

His head turned; you stepped to see around him. Dropping your arm fully at last, you broke into a sprint once more, knowing even before you heard his steps that Jungkook would be right beside you.

You eyed the warehouse and alleyway disappearing in the rear-view mirror. Soon they were eaten up by the maze of roads taking you back into the city that was none the wiser.

There hadn’t been many more attackers. No one of note, only bolstered by weapons of Bolt’s previous acquisition. In the end, the group of you had driven them out with relative ease.

Which was good. Bosun had shaken hands with Namjoon outside in relief as he found his work still intact.

But you wondered if you were the only one nagged by another win without sight of the orchestrator. Bolt seemed to follow you everywhere, without ever showing his face. You took your eyes from the cars around you to a news stand as you drove past. Blue splashed over the front cover, Bolt took his place in the glorious spotlight, right where he wanted.

Did the readers know what he had working behind the scenes?

The weapons these fighters were decked out with, you knew them. But you also knew Kuyang had never made so many of them as you were now encountering on each shout.

“Do you think Namjoon-hyung will mind if we skip training?” Jimin was nudging V with that playfully devilish grin of his, “we basically had a workout already!”

Glancing at the rear-view, you saw Jin raise a brow and shared a private smile with yourself. You didn’t think Namjoon was the one Jimin should be worrying about.

Then you sat up.

“Hey, Jin?” you spoke.

He hummed, glancing to you in the mirror, but your eyes had caught something else.

“The same car is still behind us.”

Jin’s hands tightened on the wheel and he shot a look to follow yours.

“You’re sure?”

He braked a little too sharply as a car pulled from a turning ahead of you.

“I’m sure. Not that red one, the black one behind it, do you see?”

Narrowed eyes scanning the mirror, he nodded.

“Since when?”

“A good few roads. Since the lights.”

Jimin had gone quiet, all three of you now watching Jin closely for an answer as he pursed his lips. Though you sincerely hoped it was simply a harmless coincidence, you had left the busiest roads and were nearing home. Best not to take chances.

“Let’s see what they’re about,” Jin said, voice low and calculated.

A challenge.

A turning approached, so he indicated and slipped into the right-turn lane. Tentatively, you turned your head, enough to eye the black car. It carried on behind the red one and you relaxed – for a moment.

Then, just before you were obscured by the corner, it, too, switched lanes.

Your car took a collective breath in.

Jin tilted his head.

“Interesting.”

Chewing your cheek, you glanced sideways. The same nerves were reflected back in Jimin and V’s eyes.

“Jimin, can you text Namjoon that we have a potential tail?” Jin asked, tone suddenly lighter, “might be late. And in the meantime-”

He turned again, taking you down a much smaller road. The opposite direction to your original destination.

Driving straight on, he waited until the black car showed itself behind you. There was almost no doubt in your mind now.

“Joon says he’ll see us back home,” Jimin said, lifting his phone up surreptitiously to snap some images of your stalker, “and that they’re all clear. Although maybe whoever’s following them is just more subtle about it.”

Jin chuckled with him, but it was brief.

“Well, without Y/N spotting it, I’m not sure I would be much the wiser,” he mused.

Another glance in the mirror, and the black vehicle was indicating, pulling between parked cars. Didn’t tuck itself all the way in, with what could be an effort to keep a view clear of your car heading further down the road.

“Oh, were heading this way after all, hm?” Jin asked dryly.

Looking back to the road with determination, he took a right. Not long after, another right, where he swung around and stopped, facing out onto the road you had just left.

It didn’t even take that long. Your lungs hadn’t even started straining from the breath you held.

The car drove in front of you.

Jimin was ready, taking another picture as the driver passed, but there was no double-take or visible glance your way. They had a hood up, mask and dark glasses on.

The car carried on, but this game wasn’t going to last. As Jin pulled out, they were already slowing down, turning onto the road parallel to yours.

A burst of speed had you pressed back in the seat.

“Jimin, can you stop this guy? I’ve seen about enough.”

Jimin hummed a casual agreement, but you saw the smirk that grew on his lips, the glint in his eyes before pink light bled into them.

Sure enough, at the next intersection, the black car was right there. Jimin held a hand up, splayed his fingers, and that was all it took. Your stalker hit an invisible wall. The tyres froze, car stuck fast on the road it had been speeding down.

Jin put his foot down.

Several turns and roads later, with no more signs of the same vehicle, or of any repeat followers, he finally turned on himself, resuming your intended route at last. Didn’t stop you all keeping lookout, even as you waited for the hidden wall to slip aside and let you home. Especially then.

It was a relief to spill up the stairs to the scents of cooking – tteokbokki, if you weren’t mistaken.

The second lot of relief came when you saw Yoongi was the one behind the stove. Bound to be a solid meal, trusting him.

While the group noticed your return, Hobi jumping to his feet and Namjoon striding forwards, checking on all of you, you paused on the top step. Just cast your eyes around, for a second. Sometimes these moments would hit you from nowhere. Some outdated part of you expecting to have to cook for yourself after getting back from an already exhausting day, only to find your team making things easier.

In the small ways, just as much as the big, your life had changed. In the small ways, it was definitely for the better.

Letting a fond, awed smile slip onto your face for a second, you breathed in.

Jimin’s laugh met your ears, and you turned back to the moment. He clapped a chuckling Jungkook on the shoulder, giving a playful shove before he moved on towards the table. You moved to follow, only to find Jungkook hadn’t budged.

Residual smile still on his face, eyes wide and cheerful, his gaze rested on you. There was a slight hesitation, his smile growing fainter, nervous as he appeared to stall in front of you.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. It would almost be conversational; if only you had had a casual conversation with the guy, you would know. “Glad you’re all back safe.”

At your stunned stare, he squeezed a hurried smile back in place, and fled to Yoongi’s side in the kitchen. Your mouth hung open, eyes following Jungkook’s back even as Jin marched past.

“Yah, trust me to take care of the kitchen hyung,” Yoongi complained to the back of Jin’s head as he bent to sample a spoonful of sauce.

“I’m just taste-testing,” Jin defended a second later with a cheeky grin on his face.

Yoongi didn’t bat an eye.

“Well if the inspector’s not happy, report me,” he harrumphed, “go sit down.”

Jin allowed himself to be shoved table-wards, self-satisfied smile permanently on his face.

Still hovering beside Yoongi, Jungkook finally looked back at you. It would have been subtle, too, if you had been able to tear your eyes from him yet. He gazed up from below his hair.

A small, startled expression flitted across his face – not so intimidating now, huh? – before your view was mercifully blocked by Namjoon.

“I heard you noticed the tail back there. Good spot.”

Smiling, you bobbed your head.

“Thanks,” you eyed the floor, “I don’t even know what made me look for it.”

“Whatever it was, I’m glad you did. It got us all back here. I’ll be working on finding out who they were, though, and what they were doing after us.”

Your eyes flicked back to his face, a flicker of unease shooting across your expression.

He sighed, his turn to drop his gaze this time.

“I’ll keep you all posted. For now, it’s done. And I believe dinner is in order.”

Stepping aside, he ushered you past, only somewhat assuaged. That hadn’t been some usual attack which you could put down all-guns-blazing. Someone following you… that was different. Someone playing a long game. And there was one person you could already think of who was running one of those.

In the time you had been speaking with Namjoon, Jin had somehow returned to the kitchen, though Yoongi was silent about it this time.

Yoongi passed dishes as Jin scooped food into them, Jungkook rooting through the cupboards for something too. Slipping into a seat, you watched them idly. Jin set the steaming plates on the side, which is when Jungkook leaned over to chop chives over the top. You sure were in for a luxurious meal. A decent reward, you thought.

Turning with the next plate, Jin paused. Didn’t set it down. He stared, frozen, at Jungkook.

Catching on a second later, the younger man looked up like a caught puppy. Even if he hadn’t been doing anything nefarious.

An amused smile stole over Jin’s face.

“Since when do you cook so fancy, Kook?” he grinned.

“F-fancy?” Jungkook blinked. “Isn’t this… how you make it?”

Jin shrugged, setting down the plate and turning to grab the one Yoongi proffered impatiently.

“Never thought to add them,” Jin mused, “looks nice though. Tell me, where did you pick up such cheffing tips?”

Jin was half-joking, still plating up, but something was dawning on the younger man.

Jungkook looked comically horrified, gaze darting between the green chives in one hand and the scissors in the other. He paused like that just a little too long to sound casual when he finally regained his voice to mutter:

“This is how Y/N likes it.”

Any hope of sounding nonchalant died as Jin’s eyes bulged from his face. Yoongi froze, eyebrows raising, before looking over his shoulder to you with a questioning smile.

Namjoon, mercifully, looked down to his lap with a private smile, but he was the only one. Hobi broke into a grin and Jimin spun to laugh openly at his younger brother, who looked thoroughly grumpy now. Jungkook’s mouth was fixed in a solid pout, his hard glare not helping in the slightest as the declarations of joyful surprise clearly got to him.

In the face of Yoongi’s now wiggling eyebrows, and a disconcertingly intense stare from V, you laughed weakly.

For a second, your eyes met with Jungkook’s. He snapped his gaze away an instant later, firmly hiding his flushed cheeks with his turned back, recommencing his chive-chopping rather more aggressively.

Jin clapped him on the back exaggeratedly, before scooping a dish up.

“I think this has the most,” he smirked, sliding it to rest right in front of you, “the Y/N speciality, made just for you.”

With a roll of your eyes and an exasperated laugh, you took the bowl.

“Yah, leave off! You brought this on yourself, you know. Why not teach Jungkook your way?”

“Wha-” Jin broke off, flicking a dish towel at Jungkook’s back, “how many times have I made tteokbokki with you, punk?”

Shoulders a little looser, Jungkook ducked out of the way.

“You mean made for me,” he defended.

Leaving Jin to splutter behind him, Jungkook marched over to the table with two more chive-topped bowls of food which he set down a little too hard, landing with loud clunks.

The others dutifully moved on to other things as the plates all reached the table and the lot of you dug in, grateful after an eventful day. When Jin made a comment about the added flavour of the dish, it was genuine and not a dig at their youngest.

Still, Jungkook picked quietly at his food. It may have been bold to claim he was avoiding your eye, as you couldn’t really remember a time he had sought it out, but though he was only a seat across from you, he didn’t once look at you. What was worse was that you couldn’t help but notice. Couldn’t stop your attention straying to him among the boys’ chatter which should have been distracting you.

At least he ate it all.

You made a point to collect his plate once you had all finished. Namjoon had already disappeared, Jimin gathering the rest of the dishes to wash.

Rounding the table, you lifted the empty dish from under his nose, making him look up.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you said, before he could look away. You didn’t smile, just returned his startled gaze with your own steady one.

He had to know you weren’t laughing at him. Even if a sprinkling of chives was nothing to be embarrassed about in the first place.

Ducking his gaze after a long second, he followed the others to flop down on the sofa.

Watching with amusement, you had to force yourself to move too. You placed the dishes on the pile and distractedly grabbed a towel since Jimin had started washing. It was funny… Not long ago, you wouldn’t have thought the abrasive, menacing Jungkook you knew then could ever look like a deer in the headlights.

“What are you smiling about?”

An elbow from Jimin brought you abruptly from your reflections. Yelping, you swatted him away.

“Nothing,” you insisted, grabbing desperately for a dish to dry.

Your response only encouraged the teasing smile spreading across your companion’s mouth. You didn’t like the way his eyebrow quirked. He fixed you with a scarily knowing look that had you gulping.

Then he shrugged and turned back to the dishwater.

THE CHIIIIVES😂Thank you for reading! How are you enjoying them all getting along?💜

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[lovelyney]

⎯⎯ CHAPTER THREE, ACROPHOBIA❞

DESC. acrophobia: the fear of heights

WARNINGS. none!! except it gets a tad angsty towards the end.

SONG. POM POM ― Lilypichu

PREV. 《 MASTERLIST 》 NEXT.

©2023 loveloxcked ― please don’t translate, upload or copy.❞

YOU yawned, peering out the window and waiting for Xiao to return from his early morning adeptal duties. he mentioned he also wanted you to meet someone. you wondered just what this person was like, given how err—cutthroat Xiao was. in any case, it wasn’t a facet you minded. he treated you with a decent amount of kindness, and that’s all you could ask for. 

you diverted your attention to Kazuha, who sat at a desk and penned a poem. “w—would it be okay to say i’m a little worried? i know that Xiao’s a lot more. . . assertive than you.” you acknowledged.

the samurai chuckled and set his pen down to properly look at you. “i can understand why you might feel a bit nervous. . . but please don’t let it get the best of you. Xiao might seem rough around the edges, but he means well. i’m sure he isn’t going to have you do anything too extreme; he does care about you, after all...” he assured. “don’t mention this to him, but i don’t think he would’ve offered to carry you the whole back last night if he had bad intentions.”

in an attempt to hide your smile, you pursed your lips straight. “well, you got me there...” you uttered.  

“i’m back.”

you flinched and immediately turned around, sighing in relief when you came face to face with xiao. “archons, you really know how to make an entrance, Xiao,” you said without much thought, hand over your chest to calm your racing heartbeat. your cheeks erupted in crimson at the way he arched his eyebrow; you could almost hear his offended tone despite him not saying anything. 

fear quickly pulsated through your veins as you bowed your head apologetically. “wait! that—that came out more accusing than i wanted! i’m sorry! i—i didn’t mean it that way.” 

Kazuha stood up and carefully ruffled your hair, hoping to loosen up some of your nerves. “where have you decided you’re going to meet? it would be a lie if i said i wasn’t curious…” hummed the ronin. 

Xiao approached you, prompting you to recoil slightly before reaching up to brush the hair out of your eyes. “we’ve agreed on Mt. Aocang since there’ll be no interruptions,” he answered, a sense of guilt forming in his stomach when he regarded how you flinched.

every muscle in your body seemed to tighten at the mere mention of a mountain. although you climbed an entire peak, you were only up there for a brief moment. . . staying so high up for a prolonged period made your heart plunge to the bottom of your stomach.

a faint sigh fell from the adeptus’s lips at your silence. “there is no reason to fear, (NAME). i will ensure nothing bad happens to you in that timeframe.” he said.

you shook your head dismissively and smiled sorrowfully, “it’s not that i don’t trust being under your care, Xiao. it’s just that. . . you know where you caught me from.”

as if pierced by a sharp blade, his heart ached — similar to when you first woke up and accused of him saving you because he was “required” to. he sharply inhaled, “y—yes, i’m aware. . . but i vow that you won’t even come close to repeating that experience. that is—that is my promise to you as your protector.”

Kazuha gave a content hum, cradling the side of your head and pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “you hear that, kaze? you have nothing to fear. so enjoy yourself, mhm? don’t get into too much trouble without me,” he teased playfully.

you rolled your eyes. “what kind of trouble can you get into on a mountain? jumping off?” (I’M SO SORRY MY INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS WON ME OVER ON THAT ONE).

Xiao grabbed your wrist, snatching you away from the latter. “we’ll be back before sunset.” he conceded before teleporting the two of you outside, his fingers smoothing down your hand and braiding with yours.

you blinked and adjusted your eyes to the sudden blinding sunlight. rubbing them with your free hand, you realized how protectively Xiao held your other. what’s with these boys and holding your hand? again, you didn’t mind. . . just a genuine curiosity. 

you practically hugged Xiao’s back as you walked, the silence pivoting in the air making your anxiety freeze. “should i step back? i feel as if i’m too close...” you pondered to yourself.

your movement halted as you heard some kind of noise — one that didn’t sound human. you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to ignore how your heart nearly pounded against your ribcage.

“what’s the matter?” your friend asked, trying to conceal the concern in his voice.

“i—i think i heard something...”

Xiao closed his eyes and listened in, trying to make out any unusual sounds. letting out a low growl, he pushed you behind him. “stay behind me; do not move an inch until i say so. do i make myself clear?” he ordered and pulled out his spear, voice weighing thick with rigor.

you nodded and took a step back, allowing him the space needed to survey the surrounding area. it was times like these you wished you had a vision and knew how to properly defend yourself.

you shrieked as a group of hilachurls charged at you. you wouldn’t have felt as scared if it was just them, but followed was a shielded mitachurl — one much stronger than the others.

in the blink of an eye, Xiao scooped you up with one arm and cleared the area of all varmints. letting out a sigh of relief, he took a quick look around. “are you hurt?” he worried and looked you over for injuries, his gloved hand pressing against your cheek.

the simple press of his hands made your face burn up, his honey-colored irises staying locked on you as he waited for an answer. “no, i’m fine! t—thank...” your voice fizzed out as you felt his hands tighten around your waist. “thank you.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “hm, you say that, but your face is flushed as if you’ve suddenly fallen ill. . . do not lie to me; if you’re feeling unwell, then we must get you treated.” he said and brushed his fingers against your forehead.

you let out a weak laugh, “i’m—i’m not lying, i promise! it’s just that. . . you’re still, um, holding me, and it’s a little jarring...”

Xiao’s eyes dilated as he resisted the urge to drop you at the realization. “um, let’s—let’s just skip the walk there...” he grumbled.

your head tilted; not quite sure if you liked what that implied. before you could question how that was possible, you were taken to a completely different location — one much higher than the last.

your legs buckled from beneath you as Xiao carefully planted you on the ground and dusted himself off. you opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a choked breath, the fear in your system hijacking your ability to form words.

the anemo user’s hand cupped your jaw, guiding you to look at him. “keep your eyes on me, (NAME). don’t even bother looking out there. . . you’re safe with me; i won’t let you fall.” he mandated, fingers caressing your cheek.

you took a deep breath and nodded tentatively, hand clutching your heart to help ameliorate the anxiety that swallowed you — the warmth of Xiao’s hand grounding you to a certain extent.

“ah, there you are, Xiao. . . i must say, i wasn’t expecting to meet someone so close to you. a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.”

Xiao swung around and cleared his throat, resisting the urge to shake your hand off his arm for the sake of his pride. “Rex Lap—Zhongli. um. . . this—this is (NAME). and no, we—we aren’t exactly close, she’s just. . . under my care at the moment,” informed the adeptus, carefully guiding you forward. 

you flinched, his words slightly dulling your positive thoughts. “maybe i have been misreading the situation...”

Zhongli smiled warmly, “(NAME) is it? a lovely name for a lovely girl, i see. it’s a pleasure to meet you; you may call me Zhongli. i’m a good acquaintance of Xiao.”

bowing your head politely, you felt the tension in your body dissolve a little at the warmness of the stranger’s voice. “t—thank you, Zhongli.”

Xiao quietly scoffed and yanked you closer to his side, an unsettling and ugly feeling taking hold of his heart. “i met (NAME) under. . . unfortunate circumstances. you’ve been alive for millennia, and you’ve also saved my life countless times. . . do you think you could tell her what you know of mortal life and how it’s worth pursuing?” he requested, his hand hesitantly capturing yours.

he chuckled, Xiao’s actions not flying past the archon’s eyes. “of course, please follow me,” he smiled and beckoned you to follow behind him.

your legs trembled as Xiao stepped forward with you still clutching his arm. he glanced back at you with what you took as a sign of annoyance, causing you to drop your hold on him promptly. “i’m sorry! go on ahead, i’ll—i’ll catch up…” you stammered, (COLOR) irises flickering to the edge of the mountain.

he sighed, frowning at your rattled expression. “you’re under my care, petal. what makes you think i’m going to leave you alone when you’re too scared to even lift a foot off the ground?” he countered and hesitantly took your hand in his, flinching from the unnerving feeling in his chest. “archons, please don’t let my karmic debt hurt her. . . not when she needs me the most.”

your heart did cartwheels as your mind processed his words. somehow, hearing him address you by a nickname made you feel safer and closer to him. “you—you called me by a nickname. . . i, uh, thought we weren’t close...” you squeezed his hand as your legs regained their stability.

he opened his lips to speak, but all that came out was a long sigh. the way you worded that made it sound like you were disappointed. were you? he didn’t even mean to call you by a nickname, too; he considered them relatively meaningless, but he thought it suited you almost perfectly.

nervously taking his eyes away from yours, he pulled you forward to trail behind him. he refuted, “i—i didn’t mean to call you that. . . it—it was an error on my part.”

“ah...”

“b—but if you’d like me to keep calling you that. . . then i supposed i see no issue with it.”

AN HOUR LATER⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⟢

Xiao watched in irritation as you chatted with Zhongli, a cup of tea in hand. he let out a quiet huff, focusing on how your expression seemed to brighten with interest as you talked.

“one senses you’re feeling troubled, adeptus Xiao. . . perhaps, you’re feeling jealous because the girl’s attention isn’t focused on you?” Cloud Retainer, who showed up 10 minutes ago, pointed out. 

blood rushed to his face as he swiftly tore his gaze away from you and, instead, to the grass. “jealousy is a deplorable mortal belief that i don’t involve myself with. . . and—and i’m only watching over her, that’s it.”

she laughed, “you cannot fool me quite so effortlessly, conqueror of demons. one has been alive for decades and knows when another is smitten with someone. you say her name is (NAME), correct?”

Xiao would’ve chastised, “have you no respect for the ways of the adepti?!” if it weren’t for her actually being an adeptus. instead, he shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling the heat of mortification creep up his neck. in truth, he hadn’t labeled his feelings for you, and hearing cloud retainer say that he was smitten with you startled him because what if he was? 

“yes, her name is (NAME). . . and what of it?” commented the boy. the longer he stared at you, the louder his heartbeat became; maybe he was smitten by you. . . the way a smile graced your lips as Zhongli refilled your teacup, the way your (COLOR)-colored eyes seemed so trusting yet so. . . glossy, almost as if you expected something to go wrong at any moment. who wouldn’t want to take care of you?

“she seems rather. . . conflicted towards her surroundings. if one may be so bold to ask, has something occurred to have her hold such distrust towards the world?”

exasperated, Xiao looked in the direction of Qingce Village. “she hasn’t disclosed much information of her past, but what’s apparent to me is that something or someone hurt and/or traumatized her. . . i plan on finding out who; no one who purposefully hurts others deserves to walk this world. nonetheless, a mortal as pure as (NAME)...”

SUNSET⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⟢

“it’s clear to me that (NAME) is more than “under your care,” Xiao. . . you care dearly for this girl, do you not?” Zhongli concluded, staring fondly at the boy. 

Xiao’s face blossomed in red, an overwhelming feeling attacking him. relief? uncertainty? embarrassment? he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. “of course i care for her. . . you would too if you knew what she had gone through.” answered the adeptus, his eyes trained on you, who sat picking apart the petals of a qingxin. 

he smiled, “why hide such an endearing feeling from her? i’m sure it’d be an ample comfort to her that you care for her. . . she doubts herself in many ways.” 

the latter winced, the truth biting him harder than anticipated. he crossed his arms and stared dejectedly at the dirt. “these types of feelings are foreign to me, Zhongli. . . i—i don’t know what to do with them. (NAME)’s been through enough torment; i don’t want to add to it just because of some petty mortal feelings i don’t understand,” he confided, keeping his voice low.

Zhongli nodded, a thoughtful hum leaving his lips as he considered what to say. “sometimes, the ones we think we might hurt end up hurting themselves more than we could ever think of,” he acknowledged. “(NAME)’s a pure soul, a lost one, but pure, nonetheless. . . she needs to know that people see and hear her. it seems she places a lot of trust in you; i highly advise not to let that go to waste. . . there aren’t many people like that in the world.” 

“i’ll be on my way now. . . i do hope you greatly consider my words for (NAME)’s sake.” 

Xiao sighed and walked over to you, sitting down next to you on the cliffside. “how. . . how’re you feeling?” he questioned, his voice coming out as hesitant. 

you murmured, “i—i don’t know. . . i’m almost angry at everyone who’s deprived me for so long.”

the flame in his eyes flickered at your words. he plucked a qingxin from the ground and tucked it behind your ear, his gaze following yours out to Qingce Village. “so someone did hurt her...” “you. . . should’ve been angry a long time ago, (NAME). i don’t know what kinds of things you’ve endeavored, and i won’t make you tell me, either. . . but no one should ever feel like leaving this world is the only way to save themselves, not when mortal life is so delicate,” he expressed and admired how the colors of the sunset reflected in your eyes. “such pretty and sorrowful eyes...”

“sometimes, the ones we think we might hurt end up hurting themselves more than we could ever think of.”

slipping off his gloves, Xiao carefully took your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your skin—an aching feeling gnawing at his emotions.

the feeling of skin against skin startled you, promptly causing you to turn to him. you withered at the sadness clouded in his eyes—the kind a sad puppy would have. “Xiao? are—are you feeling okay?” you worried, observing as he fumbled with your fingers.

“your skin. . . it’s as soft and pretty as the flowers that blossom on this mountain. yet you taint it with poison that you think you deserve...” he lamented and met your flustered stare. “if—if i vow to stay as your protector. . . breaths in and your. . . friend, would you handle yourself more gently?”

you laughed weakly as he fit his fingers between yours. “Xiao, you don’t—you don’t have to promise me anything. you’re not obligated to stay with me. . . not now, not in the near future.” you said, trying to ignore the bittersweetness that hung heavy over you. 

although you tried to suppress the pain hidden in your eyes, Xiao recognized it almost instantaneously. he countered, “who said i felt obligated?”

you bit the inside of your cheek. “ah. . . it’s a little rude to assume such a thing, i’m sorry. . . it’s just that i have a gut feeling that you find looking over me more of a chore than anything,” you uttered and looked at the ground in shame, voice as fragile and light as glass. 

a suffocating guilt infiltrated Xiao’s emotions. “archons, where did she get that idea from? have i really acted so harshly, or is it her self-doubt that’s speaking?” taking a deep breath, he raised your chin so he could look at you. “(NAME). . . i’ve already stated that looking over you isn’t even close to being a burden. i. . . i want to take care of you, and so does Kazuha. we’re doing this because—because we care, not for any other reason.” he clarified.

your heart skipped a beat as your nails scuffed the dirt. “i’m so scared to believe that someone wants to help me because that’s how i got to where i’m at now. . . but then i look at you and Kazuha, and i feel guilty for that mistrust. it makes me so angry that people plowed my trust in everyone because of how wrongly they treated me,” you spilled, biting back tears for your own sake.

Xiao nodded thoughtfully, sun-colored eyes softening. “petal, who. . . traumatized you? who cursed you with such awful thoughts?” 

your (COLOR) irises dulled with the sky, an alien wrath that had slept inside you, now finally awakening. squeezing Xiao’s hand, you finally decided to break the eternal silence your parents barricaded you in—shattering the clasps that bound your wings together. 

“my. . . my guardians abused me back in Qingce Village. . . they locked me in there so i couldn’t tell anyone. on that night you found me, i snuck out and climbed the peak to try and free myself from the pain they forced me to undergo...”

[ashiemochi]

anubussy - xi (i)

✠ Anubussy ↳ sorry, i don't want your touch ↳↳ it's not that i don't want you

➶ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ➶ genre: fluff, more angst, gore, longer smut/suggestive themes ➶ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

prev -> next

Running down the corridors with Chris was crap because he was pulling a Speedy Gonzales on her with his long ass legs. 

Running down the corridors without Chris was even shittier because she seriously had no clue where to go. Nonetheless, Chris knew how to leave a mark behind. 

Like the dead bodies of Arias’ associates. 

She could take the rifles they had but as deep as her hands were in blood and murder, looting a body wasn’t on her list – unless it was for information on how to get rid of the chip. 

So Ah peeked around the corner, focusing her hearing on the distant heavy thuds as if some giant was walking. Ugh, she did not want to encounter that tyrant or George right now. Her eyes located two dead bodies right outside a room, the thumping of footsteps and gunshots came from inside. 

That must be important – Chris’ must be inside. 

Moving quickly towards the room, she stopped at the entrance just as she saw Chris fly across the room and hit the wall with an audible groan. 

Huh?

Then a big figure made its presence known – oh god, it’s Bane’s dad!

He essentially looked like the Hulk from those comics Leon said he owned – just not green, and actually horrifying to look at. She much preferred when he was far with a minigun at hand because then his face wouldn’t be the last thing to see before she’d be crushed to death.

Every muscle in him was enormous with metal appendages over his spinal cord. He also had giant steel bracelets screwed into each wrist, the metal trailing down to his knuckles and fingers, acting like brass knuckles. Tubes protruded from his chest, attaching themselves to his shoulder, similar to the ones on his upper chest as if they were collar bones.

His metal faceplate covered his actual figure like a mask – she could only imagine how he really looked under it. 

She didn’t want to imagine it actually, fuck that.

Remembering the A-Virus was flammable, she hurriedly took out the incendiary grenade from her belt – sadly, the only one she stole borrowed. Whatever the big guy was, he didn’t seem to have noticed her yet, his entire focus set on the BSAA operator.

Then a metal clanked by his foot, stopping him from proceeding. He stepped back to look down. It was a red grenade. He snapped his sunken eyes to the girl by the door, seeing a pin hanging from her finger with an oh shit look on her face.

For only a split second, he most likely mimicked it before he was set ablaze.

He bellowed into the air, the fire covering him completely. He barely thrashed before he fell to the ground, seemingly dead – and still on fire.

Chris squinted at the flames and looked over at the panting girl, “Who gave you the bomb?”

“I… Did.” So Ah answered coyly, stepping inside the room and eyeing the giant warily, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” He huffed out, pulling himself up to his feet, “Shouldn’t you be with Leon?”

So Ah gave him a silent look and then heard soft laboured breathing. Rebecca was on the bed, chained to it. 

“Oh my god, Rebecca.” She skipped around the body to her and Chris joined her. 

She was in a wedding dress, oddly enough, and her skin was as pale as snow with her prominent veins coloured in deep blue. 

“You okay?” He asked her, a hand on her shoulder. 

Rebecca whispered hoarsely, ever so relieved to finally see familiar faces, “Chris… So Ah…”

Chris seemed a bit lost, looking down at his watch only to see less than ten minutes left before she’d be too long gone. He turned to face the doctor in the corner and approached him with rage in his eyes.

“No, no, no.” The doctor stammered, “Wait, wait–”

Chris pressed his boot against his chest, pinning him to the ground with a gun in hand, “Where’s the vaccine?”

“Nice dress,” So Ah gave Rebecca a small smile, not paying attention to the interrogation happening behind her.

Rebecca barely smiled back, wheezing, “Thanks.”

So Ah looked up and to the side – stars appeared in her eyes. Right there on the wall, is a map. She jogged up to it, basically running over it with her eyes like a scanner. 

“Chris! Look!” So Ah beamed, catching his attention and she pointed at the wall, “A map! That means the vaccine must be…” She trailed away when he stepped up behind her, locating the green A icon in one of the rooms, “Here!”

“Okay, we get Rebecca safe at the Osprey, then I’ll get the vaccine.” Chris planned out, rushing to unlock the chains. 

“You got it, captain.”

✠

The night breeze was the first thing to greet them and So Ah blinked at the distant smoke clouding the city. It must be the aftermath of Nadia and DC handling the tankers. Chris had Rebecca hanging onto him, his arm around her back with his hand on her shoulder. 

So Ah had her gun out, scanning the wide roof from her spot as they went to move but gunshots stopped them. Rebecca shrieked, a bullet grazing her leg, and Chris stumbled away to hide behind the wall. 

“You just had to try to save her.” Arias’ voice came from the other side of the roof, “You’re so predictable, Chris. That’s your weakness.”

So Ah skipped back, eyes shocked at the unexpected attack as Chris lowered Rebecca to the ground. The Han girl went down in front of Rebecca, worried as she let her eyes check on the wound. 

“It’s just a graze, but it’s best to cover it.” So Ah informed, reaching for her knife but it dawned on her.

In an instant, her mind went back to Leon – was he still okay?

Chris noted her expression before lowering his voice, “Notify the Osprey to come around – I’ll take care of him.”

“Okay,” She nodded and he went to stand behind the wall, shooting at Arias before his gun clicked. With a curse, he switched to his handgun and went off once Arias stopped shooting.

So Ah gave Rebecca a sympathetic look, helping her lean against the closed elevator doors. She pressed her two fingers into her earpiece, pinging her location.

“DC, Nadia, are you there?” She asked, keeping her eyes on Rebecca’s wound.

“Right with you,” DC’s voice came through.

She flinched at the repetitive gunshots from the other side of the roof, almost stammering, “I – Chris needs you to get here as soon as possible.”

“Roger that – coming your way right now.”

“Okay, thank you.” She breathed out and shifted her attention to a quietly breathing Rebecca. 

She set her hand on her shoulder, “Rebecca, you’re going to be okay, just hang on a little longer.”

Rebecca looked at her through half-lidded eyes, “So Ah… Is Chris…”

So Ah frowned deeply, peeking from behind the wall to see Chris and Arias were in a strange-looking fight with a single gun. They kept yanking it from one another like a kid’s toy. 

“He’s okay.” She told her. 

“So Ah…” Rebecca wheezed out, paling eyes widening at the virus spreading in her, “You have to kill me.”

A sense of familiarity washed over her, exactly like it did when Helena Harper was severely injured and would tell her it was no use saving her. She hated seeing people close to her get hurt – and while she wasn’t as close and was still alive, she was still her friend. 

Tears stung her eyes at her lost eldest sibling, she just met Rebecca and all she was offered was kindness. Rebecca was just a science geek – in Nadia’s words – and she did not deserve any of this. Not one bit. 

“I’ve got you, I promise.” So Ah declared with determination heavy in her tone, “I’m not letting anyone innocent die – not while I’m here.”

She gripped her hand, giving her a stubborn look, “I’m not gonna fail you either, okay?”

Rebecca nodded tiredly, reaching up for her arm to let the Han girl help her stand. She swung her arm over her shoulder and held it there, then wrapped her arm around the back of her waist.  

They started walking just as Chris ran up to them and So Ah looked at him.

“Where’s Arias?” She asked, not finding the body anywhere. 

Chris gestured to the broken glass terrace, “Taken care of.”

“I notified DC and Nadia – they’re on their way.” So Ah informed, keeping Rebecca leaning against her, “We need to get the vaccine. I remember where it is, I can go get it. You stay with her.”

“Look who’s placing orders now,” Chris commented lightly, glancing at Rebecca and then back at So Ah, “Okay, let's get her someplace safe first.”

“What about that room over there?” She suggested, nodding at what seemed like a dinner or a meeting room. 

Chris looked over at it, “Yeah, c’mon.”

He helped with carrying Rebecca to the other side of the roof, earning a small raspy from her. 

“God, both of you… Stubborn.”

So Ah giggled a bit when Chris chuckled, “Yeah, well, we want you around.”

A distant roar echoed faintly, causing her to stop. She looked over at the glass terrace, brows furrowing in concentration. Chris snapped his eyes to her, confused as to why she stopped. 

“What is it?” He asked and she returned her eyes to him.

“Did you not hear that?”

“Hear what?”

As if triggered, heavy footsteps shook the floor beneath them. Whatever it was, it was climbing the walls. It proved so when a large clawed hand gripped the cemented hedge, followed by another. Her heart dropped to her stomach at the sight – why must they always be horrendous to look at?

“That.” So Ah whispered just as the head popped up.

A smirk was on his flesh face as he bellowed, “Redfield!”

Chris released an exhausted sigh, obviously scared but really; a boss fight?

Mutated Arias climbed over the little hedge and stood in front of them, towering over them with ease. He was definitely bigger than Bane’s dad – oh, and the other guy’s face was on his chest. Disgusting guts-looking wires going through his wide open mouth and eye. 

The rest of his body was covered in something black along with bits of flesh here and right to remind you like hey, these are the muscle! 

Both arms and hands were black with sharpsharp claws. What caught her eye other than the disfigured face of his bodyguard was the pounding red glowing heart in his right chest.

Great, just what they needed.

Arias swung his large hand at them and they parried it by going down, earning a gasp from So Ah and a whimpered pain from Rebecca. 

“So Ah, get her away!” Chris ordered, standing up protectively in front of the two girls. 

So Ah instantly complied, hanging onto Rebecca to get her further from the fight. She had her lean against the glass wall and looked over her shoulder, seeing Arias had swiped Chris into his grip, tightening it by the second and earning muffled groans from him.

She knew she had to leave and find the vaccine. That was their plan – the plan she came up with. Yet, she hesitated to go, knowing Chris needed the help. 

But Rebecca had a limited time.

Chris let out a strained grunt, causing her mind to begin panicking. She could only stare in horror before she jumped onto her feet, bringing out her Matilda. 

“Let him go!” She yelled, shooting Arias in his arms in an attempt to get him to drop Chris – Arias wasn’t affected at all.

“Ah, Miss Han,” Arias grinned at her, “With everything he’s done to you, I’m doing you a favour.”

So Ah took in a shuddered breath, glancing over at Chris, “He had no hand in any of this – but you… You used my blood. You want me, not him.”

“What a generous offer, So Ah,” Arias cackled, his dagger-like teeth showing, “But I’m afraid I’m going to pick him over you. It’s not personal.”

He’s insane, She thought to herself, he’s gone absolutely fucking mad.

Ding!

Huh???

So Ah and Arias looked towards the direction of the elevator sound.

What now? 

Rabid zombie dogs learning how to use the elevator?

A rumble of a motorbike caused her heart to skip a beat. It grew louder and rounded the corner, revealing Leon was more than okay – and on the goddamn bike. 

He took out his gun to shoot Arias but the crazed mutant moved Chris to the front, blocking Leon from taking the shot. 

So Ah could only watch incredulously as Leon tilted the Ducati to the side low enough to let it slide and knock Arias over, jumping off of it in the process.

A third question mark joined up on the top of her head.

How in the hell did he fit that bike in – ugh, whatever. I’ll never get the answers I need.

[7roaches]

in a similar vein to prev cool post good decent freaks and weirdos r welcome here forever

[heelycular-manslaughter]

Not sure if I should explain this on every post or not but I'm lightly working on a Lumen game inspired by Hades & Kill 6 Billion Demons, all about you escaping a randomly-generated hell using a weapon of your choice. The weapon system is a core aspect of the game; it's similar to my other Lumen project, Luminous Vein, though you'll only start with one weapon instead of two. It might seem like a downgrade, however-

This is one of the (currently) two weird gimmick weapons with questionable function and clashing aesthetics. The yo-yo has a mechanical focus on gaining Casts - which if you haven't played Hades is essentially a little projectile you can fire that's usually disconnected from how your weapon attacks - but is characterized as being cool and doing tricks & shit. also I've been playing Penny's Big Breakaway so honestly I might change it to add more references and maybe make it more usable. The core combat system isnt too complicated but I dont really want to explain the whole thing in each post where its important, but I can answer any of the questions you have probably

Plaster Yo-Yo

Not a conventional weapon, made as a toy for children in Hypercrash and Cloud 9. Unlike the other weapons, though, this can be pretty easily smuggled into hell, and still used as a tool for violence. 

Stylish: Instead of actions being for direct violence, the Plaster Yo-Yo's actions can be used just to look cool. When you spend an action, you can describe an interesting way for it to play out, and gain an additional Cast for the rest of your turn. When you spend all your actions and none of them deal harm, you can also gain a Cast for the rest of your turn.

Plaster Yo-Yo Actions:

Toss: Can use a cast, a movement, or an action. Throw the yo-yo one range, dealing 1 harm to any enemies in the way. The yo-yo stays in that position until using Recall or moving.

Recall: (Can be used after using Toss) Can use a cast, a movement, or an action. Bring the yo-yo back, dealing 1 harm to all enemies in the way. 

Tornado: Requires 2 actions; deal 1 harm to all enemies within Near range. 

Plaster Yo-Yo Aspects: 

(Costs 1 Titan Blood) Aspect of Style: Gain +1 Cast (for all turns).

(Costs 1 Titan Blood) Aspect of Spinning: After using Toss, the Yo-Yo deals 1 harm to any target in Close range of it, and deals 1 harm to any enemies in Close range of it at the end of every round until it returns to you.

(Costs 2 Titan Blood) Aspect of Break: Recall can move you toward the yo-yo's position.

(Costs 2 Titan Blood) Aspect of Pose: When you gain a cast, cause all enemies within Near range to lose an action.

(Costs 2 Titan Blood) Aspect of Sticky Hand: The yo-yo can attach to a targeted enemy, who will move with it, taking 1 harm for each obstruction or enemy they collide with.

(Costs 3 Titan Blood) Aspect of Sawspinnin’: replaces Plaster Yo-Yo action list with the following:

Rip-It: Can use a cast, movement, or an action. Send a Sawspinner into the arena; if it hits something, it will deal 2 harm before bouncing to another target. Any additional harm added to this action counts as a separate attack. 

Arena Center: any Sawspinners in the arena will begin to orbit towards you, moving 1 range toward you at the end of each turn, dealing 4 harm to any enemies in their paths.

Sawridin’: use Rip-It action, then spend another action to jump on the Sawspinner and move with it. Any movement effects are applied when you bounce off an enemy

the final aspect turns it into a beyblade idk if thats clear or not

anyway vote on what you want to see next pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasif you want. idc

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