#POD snippet

[saiyanwitcher]

POD returns next Thursday!

Hannah tilted her head, the ghost of a grin forming. “You also didn’t tell me how handsome he is.”

Heat exploded in Charles’ cheeks so fast, he thought he might combust on the spot. “Oh my god,” he squeaked, voice jumping a full octave. “Stooooop. You're like my mom!”

Grinning like a cat who’d cornered a bird, Hannah patted his arm mock-reassuringly. “No, I mean it. He’s like . . . stupidly hot. Maybe it’s the nose—”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Charles groaned, dragging both hands over his face in absolute mortification.

He could already feel the mental image forming behind his eyes—the one he tried very hard to keep buried in polite company. Max’s mouth, warm and unrelenting, trailing lower with the kind of focus that made Charles forget how to breathe. That damn nose, nuzzling into all of his most sensitive places, dragging across his skin with a possessiveness that had Charles coming undone long before the artificial sun of the rebel ship was up.

“Don’t touch. Just feel . . . “

His tail twitched under the table, curling reflexively as he tried—and failed—to banish the memory.

Hannah, of course, was utterly unbothered.

“I’m just saying,” she said breezily, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe with zero shame. “He’s hot as fuck. That jawline? Those arms? That voice? You lucked out, my guy.”

Charles looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never resurface. “I’m begging you to stop,” he mumbled into his hands.

[buildoblivion]

listen dracula is my favourite gothic novel for many MANY reasons, but the winner has to be the literal ghost ship with a desperate dead man tied to the wheel in eternal prayer

[polyhexianbirb]

I like to call it "who will the gods pick to torture now that Percy is at college? Local nerd man ofc"

This is just page 1, page 2 will be linked here when completed (most likely tomorrow). Yes, I've worked our who pretty much everyone will be lol.

My man's have beef with some teenagers lolz

[peapodsinspace]

Cool! What's Mustang's 11th about? 😀

Mustang’s 11 is the fic I’m writing with @scarymonsters-andsupercreeps !!

It’s a modern heist au featuring team mustang, the elrics, and a few others.

We’re planning on writing the whole thing before posting it, so effie and I have been slowly chipping away at it :]

So far we’ve been trying to go through a lot of different POVs to feature each character and hopefully move the plot along in a pace that keep everything interesting.

My favorite bit to write as of now was Fuery and Catalina in the van, and here’s a snippet of that under the cut!

“I can’t imagine how you can do this all night,” Catalina said, groaning for what must’ve been the twentieth time.

 

   Kain took a moment to finish chewing and swallow the fried chicken he’d acquired earlier to make up for the fancy dinner he’d be missing. “I’m not exactly sitting around and doing nothing,” he responded, choosing to leave “unlike you” out of his statement for the sake of diplomacy.

 

   “But wouldn’t you rather be out on the floor? Where all the action is?” she continued, eyeing Black Hayate where he laid close to her skirt.

 

   “Not really.”

 

   Catalina paused.

 

   Kain watched Havoc through the camera footage he had onscreen. He seemed to be talking to another employee.

 

   “You really don’t get bored?” Catalina asked finally.

 

   Kain turned in his chair, glancing back at her. “Oh, all the time. I just prefer this to whatever the hell everyone else is doing.”

[demise-seems-dead]

@askingkyborg 's main here to bring you some depressing chip mini fic time because im dying

SPOILERS FOR EPISODES 32-34 AND TW FOR suicidal ideation, self harm, and some mentions of blood.

chip in todays ep was so insane for me i just i couldn't resist.

Mathidle hasn't felt a lot of warmth in their after life, and that's alright. The thing about ghosts is that they feel in opposition to a human. When you're alive, you get a spring to your step. You feel the kisses of the sun bead down over your eyelashes. The wind stirs hunger in your stomach and you fight against it in a little human battle. Your hands get warm when you work for too long, calluses thrumming with your pulse and very very warm. Mathilde knows this to be true.

They don't remember holding a lot of hands, but they remember the feeling, maybe due to its stark contrast to know. When a person is very alive, their hands get warm, and when they are dead and gone, their hands grow cold. And thus for ghosts it works the opposite. When alive hands are as cold as frosty knives but when on the brink of death their hands would be ever so warm. 

Ellgas hands were moderately warm. Not technically undead but having lived multiple life spans she grew warm. With Barney it was impossible to tell. Sometimes his hands felt hot, other times too cold. Hard to discern. By way of logic Chips hands are the coldest of course. Being the youngest of the party somehow, and pretty physically adept, he was the most alive of them all, and thus the coldest. Mathilde can't touch the tieflings hands without a shiver climbing up his non corporeal body. 

That's what made today so different. Chip’s are blazing warm. 

They’d been giving blood to the vanian worker in exchange for currency. Mathilde put themselves close to the brink of death, but for good reason. There is a ghost after all, dying again would be a stunt and a half. Their body has started to float, and their items are starting to slowly fade through their body as he inches closer to full spirit than not. It's not as if they enjoy it, but the familiar tickle isn't a bad thing. 

From beside them a sharp gasp comes from Barney's throat. A head turn shows chip loading up his crossbow, using the cocking stirrup and his foot to slide the bolt back with ease. Its a weird action for someone who had initially seemed hesitant to donate any blood at all. Mathilde raises an eyebrow just as the purple tiefling points the crossbow down at his foot and shoots. A shot of blood stains the white of his shoe and he noticeably grimaces. JJ mews from beside mathilde, circling where his feet are dangling. Mathilde knows kittens know when people are close to passing on, and especially a ghost cat. Mathilde bends a bit to scratch her tiny little grey head to let her know they're okay. It's weird knowing you're close to dying, but as a ghost it doesn't hurt, so it's a bit easier. Another crossbow bolt is shot, and JJ’s ears flatten down a little. 

Mathilde looks back up towards chip. A fuzzy outline is starting to show on him, blue and purple swirly. His face is tight and screwed up, nose pressed into grooves and eyes watering. They can hear a crack of barney's voice, like he's about to say something but pauses. The old man's brow furrows. The teller behind the counter starts counting out money softly, and chip moves in a quick motion. Mathilde momentarily thinks he's putting it away, but after a moment it's drawn, but up by his head. 

“Mon ami, maybe be a little bit more careful w-” Mathilde doesn't finish their thought before the bolt is wedged in chip's neck. It drips a long red string, and mathilde can see ellga lick her lips ever so slightly, but does not ignore the slight worry in her brows. 

Mathilde knows Chip can't take many more shots. Three if he was lucky. Yet it doesn't stop him from moving again. Mathilde closes their eyes as he hears the loading noise, and with the shot the blurry ghost-like outline grows stronger, the purple colour bloombing out more. Another shot. That makes five. He can only take one more. JJ is meowing at the tiefling, who's struggling to stand, blood dripping out of his mouth and leaned over the counter. The clerk seems unphased. 

Mathilde closes their eyes again, and sees a new colour. A soft green pushing the blue and the purple away in the dark. Instinctually, as the light brightens, mathilde opens their eyes. Chip is shuttering audibly, eyes lazing open and shut as he braces.

“Carols gone, what else is there to lose…?” JJ bats at chip’s leg, as if in an effort to stop him. Mathildes face stiffens  at the assassin's comment, and they gently wrap an arm around chip, protectively surrounding him with his wings. 

“Alright, I think that's enough. We’ve got plenty of spending money, right chip?” “...Spendin’ money… r-right, right yeah! Were, were rich!” The brunette moves to pick up his currency and his fingers fumble uselessly, eyes lidded slightly. Mathilde makes their hands noncorporeal and gently scoots the coins to his hands without him noticing, not to make him feel coddled. The alchemist shoots a look over his shoulder at mathilde, and mathilde nods back. The mood remains a bit darker and dreary, but chip seems somewhat stable. Mathilde takes his hand gently. The tieflings hands are warm as can be, and it makes a flood of warmth come over mathilde themselves. 

Weirdly, if just for a moment, he feels a second hand reach over theirs. They close their eyes and see a ghostly outline of a tiefling woman, her hand over yours and chips. She presses a finger to her lips and gives a soft but saddened smile. She mouths to them gently.

“Don't let him down this path, mathilde…” A ghostly wiz-consinite voice whispers in their head. He opens his eyes again to see chip leaning down, smiling at a photo in his hand. Mathilde smiles softly.

“I'm glad she's watching over you, my friend.” they say even though the rogue will likely forget his words from the blood loss. He nods and smiles a bit more. 

“‘M glad too, mathilde…” 

[tk5reader]

I don’t know if anyone’s thought of this, but it came to mind as I was playing SWTOR and remembered playing GW2.

What if the Jedi Order had been more about following the flows of the force? Like, they could have been a nomadic group (split into tribes maybe? I’d use clans, but I want some distinction between the Jedi groups and Mandalorian clans & coverts. I don’t know another word to use so let me know if there is a better one to use!) that followed the will of the force wherever it took them. Which often had them literally going on quests (hence the SWTOR and GW2).

They would still uphold the peace and justice in the galaxy and especially protect the vulnerable, but they weren’t really hindered by the republic? If someone needed help then they would go in and help regardless of if the planet was an ally of the republic; their goal is to help people not follow the republics orders. I imagine it’s kind of like the gaang (ATLA my beloved) when they just show up, complete a side quest with some chaos, and then move on 😂

And about the tribe thing, they would all be part of the order, but in order to travel well, be surrounded by the people they get along with best, and who understand them, they split into tribes. So the Jedi would have temporary settlements or small groups temporarily staying in places where people need help. Perhaps with a few permanent temples around the galaxy for the less free spirited Jedi who wish to stay put and help that sector of the galaxy. The tribes could be fluid in that they would regularly meet up (1:1 tribe meetings, several tribes meeting up, and/or mass gatherings during celebrations) where the groups mingle, bond, update each other in person rather than over holo, hear news, and can change which tribe they wish to travel with so the tribes are ever changing.

What about finding padawans? Perhaps the force guides them to force sensitives that need to be trained. And in this nomadic Jedi universe, they could take Luke’s approach with Grogu in that the force sensitive can choose whether to continue training to become a Jedi and follow the flow of the force or they can stop their training once it’s controllable and stay at their home.

Anyway I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I finally had to just info dump the idea lol

[bunnis-monsters]

Please please please 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Mermaid reader x merman, reader being courted by the mermannn, like, giving her shells, hunting big fish and like that!!

NSFW

A/N: Decided to post this little snippet tonight… you’re getting more merman stuff tomorrow lol… the mermaid pod one is coming and it’s short, but it’s more of me putting an idea out there to see if anyone wants me to continue than an actual story.

You raised an eyebrow as your newfound friend brought you yet another pretty shell, cooing and nuzzling against your leg.

It was the fourth one that day, and when you didn’t sound as impressed this time, he frowned, tilting his head and resting his chin on your knee.

The small deck by the beach had become your meeting place, where the two of you would hang out, swim together, and share gentle kisses.

You weren’t sure if he understood that kissing like that was for couples, but he obviously enjoyed it. And after you kissed his lips for the first time, he started bringing you gifts, expecting a kiss every time he came.

Before you could apologize for not being grateful for the shell he brought, he brightened up and swam away. You were sad to think you may have scared him away.

For the better part of the summer, he had been your only companion. It would break your heart if he had left for good because of your rude response.

But to your surprise, he returned within 15 minutes, the tail of a large fish in his mouth. He dropped it next to you, laying his head in your lap and purring loudly.

And it dawned on you then as he looked up at you expectantly, pawing at your bathing suit.

He was courting you.

Your face felt hot with both embarrassment and arousal. It wasn’t long before you slipped into the water, letting him tear at the thin fabric keeping your fat pussy away from him.

Every thrust felt like heaven, and he couldn’t stop crying out at the warmth your pussy exuded as it clamped down on his fat, slippery cock.

By the end of the night you were stuffed full of cum and being safely tucked away in a small cave where he’d been storing his kills.

Your love was so happy you’d finally accepted his proposal~

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila

[saiyanwitcher]

Interesting things are happening with Charles

Hannah tilted her head, fingers drumming lightly against her knee. “Any dizziness? Mood swings? Weird cravings?”

Charles frowned. “Uh . . . yeah, actually. I’ve been getting lightheaded a lot, especially when I stand up too fast.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And I guess I’ve been kind of . . . on edge? I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with everything going on. My emotions are just everywhere. It’s annoying. I know I should stop ignoring Lando, but I just can't seem to sort myself out.”

Hannah hummed thoughtfully. “And the cravings?”

Charles hesitated. “I mean, maybe?” His tail flicked, betraying his unease. “I'm not sure. I really wanted this purple fruit Max served me for breakfast once the other day, and I don't even know what it's called.”

He thought back to that quiet breakfast Max had made for him on the ship and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before it dropped. Charles couldn't explain it, but somehow he knew Max was hungry, feeling a deep ache in his own stomach. Sometimes, he'd also get an odd twinge in his wrists, or at the base of his tail, and Charles just knew it was Max's energy trying to tell him something he couldn't understand. 

Silence stretched between them.

Hannah was quiet—too quiet. Her expression remained neutral, but something about her posture had shifted. Like she was carefully picking her words before she spoke.

Charles narrowed his eyes. His childhood friend always spoke her mind, and seeing her like this now made him nervous. “What?”

She pursed her lips. “Nothing.”

He scowled. “Bullshit. You’re thinking something.”

“I just . . . ” She trailed off, biting her lip. Then, after a long pause, she said, very, very carefully, “Charles. You and Max were intimate, right?”

[munsonluhvr]

MAMA, I'M IN LOVE WITH A MECHANIC (PART 2)

part 1 & part 3 coming soon... | no warnings

“Thank you for doing business with Munson’s Timeless Tune-Up’s, we appreciative your loyalty,” you say, a friendly smile on your face. The customer across the register from you, a burly man with a thick beard and wiry glasses, nods and takes the change you hold out from your hand. He turns, nods in Eddie’s direction who stands next to you, and saunters out the door. 

Once the customer is gone, Eddie claps lightly. “Well done, y/n.”  

You flush, heat creeping up your neck. You’re well into your first week at the Munson’s garage, and you’ve become efficient in using the cash register – all thanks to Eddie’s help and guidance over the last few days.

Each day, like clockwork, Eddie comes in during lunch time and places himself beside you in the extra chair that sits behind the register. He places his lunch bag on his lap, which consistently holds unhealthy junk food, and kicks his feet up onto the counter. From there, he asks you about your day, enquires about the schedule for the rest of the day, and then questions you about yourself, aiming to get to know you better. Each day, you’re surprised that Eddie continues to come back, yet you welcome his company, nonetheless. 

Your conversations are filled with friendly banter and laughter, sharing little snippets of each of your own lives with each other. You sit on your stool behind the register, the office slowing to a hum with no customers during that time of the day, and you watch Eddie in all his beauty munch on his lunch gracefully. His arms are defined, veins popping from underneath his tanned, glistening skin. His nimble fingers work quickly to open the packaging of his snack-cake, which he consistently offers to you. 

Today, however, Eddie came into the office early, watching as you ring customers out and talking with you in between. 

“Did you just leave Wayne to do all the work?” you ask, glancing over at Eddie as you neaten the tabletop of the register. Eddie seats himself in his chair, opening his lunch bag, and begins to rummage through it. Eddie shrugs, glancing back at you. “The car he’s working on needs it’s turn signal fixed and that’s all, and he can handle that on his own.” 

You hum, nodding as you place yourself on the stool. You lean your back against the counter, aiming your body towards Eddie. “I’m happy to have your company again. The office can be so dull and quiet.” 

Eddie smiles, his dark, brown eyes sparkling against the low lighting in the office. “I used to hate sitting in the office for even just a second. Now, I love being in here and the only thing that’s changed is that you’re in here now.” He winks confidently, then looks back at his lunch he unfolds on his lap. 

Your heart thuds against your chest, every nerve in your body frayed and on edge. You open your mouth to reply, with what answer you aren’t sure, but then close your mouth when nothing comes to mind. 

Eddie has had flirtation on his tongue since the moment he walked into the office on your first day of work. It started with small comments, a few compliments, and has escalated to brushing touches of the skin. Your stomach is filled with butterflies the second you walk into work, smelling the light scent of Eddie’s cologne that lingers wherever he goes. You check out customers in between your daydreaming of him and you constantly sit on the edge of your stool behind the register, waiting to catch a sighting of him. 

Just then, Wayne saunters in, his white t-shirt covered in dark marks. “Look at that,” he mumbles, a light smirk on his face. “Sitting there like two peas in a pod, as if neither of you have no work to do.” 

Eddie chuckles. “What can I say, Wayne? I enjoy talking to your new employee very much.”  

You feel heat creep up your neck, surely a light tint of pink beginning to cover your cheeks. You look down at your lap, not able to meet Wayne’s eye. 

Wayne hums, taking a few steps up to the counter where you sit. He leans over, placing his elbow on the tabletop. “What do you say, y/n? Do you enjoy talking to Eddie just as equally?” 

You look up, meeting Wayne’s eye. You nod, glancing at Eddie who’s looking in your direction, curious to know your answer.  You smile softly, “Eddie is alright.” 

Wayne grunts a sound of approval. “Well then. Since I’m the only hard worker around here, I guess I’ll leave you both to it.” 

After Wayne leaves, you and Eddie catch each other’s eye and snicker softly to yourselves. “Guess he’s not so into us getting along,” Eddie says, kicking his feet up against the chair next to him. 

You shrug. “As long as we get our work done, I think we’ll be just fine.” You offer Eddie a little smile and shuffle papers that have scattered out of place on the tabletop. 

Eddie huffs lightly and pushes himself out of his chair; it creaks underneath his touch and you’re afraid for a moment that the chair has seen its last day. “I should get back to work anyway.” 

You do your best to hold in the frown that you feel forming on your face and nod. “Right, of course.” 

Eddie shuffles around and makes his way to the door that leads to the garage where Wayne works. “Oh, by the way, there’s this party happening this weekend, Friday, and you should come. It’s at Steve Harrington’s house. Should be a good time.” 

Your heart surges with excitement. Eddie Munson inviting you to a party at Steve Henderson’s house? You try to suppress your surprise and excitement. “I’ll see if I’m free.” 

Eddie nods, turning the doorknob in his hand. “Hope you are.” He winks, and slips through the door in the garage, leaving you alone in the office. 

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hello I'm sorry if I'm bothering you but I had an idea about a hazbin hotel request, so what if everyone at the hotel (except Alastor) consider the reader a big sister who takes shit from no one, like will slap someone without hesitation if they talk bad about any of their friends, especially when Valentino tries something will literally beat him up until he's half dead. (If you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright and I wish you a good morning/afternoon or goodnight)

Oh, nonnie, you are never a bother! I love getting new requests, feeds my soul tbh. I love this idea too! As much as I love romantic x readers and NS/FW x readers, I also love me some platonic Hazbin 🤍 good morning/afternoon/evening to you and ENJOY!

Notes: fem!reader, this is kinda short sorry, added Alastor at the end but just a snippet :)

TW: aggression, fighting, swearing

Rough and Tough- Hazbin x platonic!reader

Charlie ❤️‍🔥

Adores your passion and bravery but is often the one to hold you back or stand between you and your foe.

She loves keeping you close tho bc she has a hard time asserting dominance and speaking up for herself and you’re always willing to speak your mind on her behalf. You always help uplift and empower her, she greatly appreciates that.

Charlie also really does see you as a sister. As an only child, she grew up pretty sheltered and lonely, but being with you now is really healing her inner child.

When Charlie is having any kind of issue, she always goes to Vaggie, her darling girlfriend. But, when Charlie feels the need to vent about and get advice on her relationship with Vaggie, she turns to you. When Vaggie is busy and away, Charlie goes to you.

Pretty much every weekend, Charlie invites you and the other girls in the hotel to her room for a sleep over and some fun girly time

You def tagged along with her to the meeting with heaven along with Vaggie and while Vaggie is like “keep a cool head, babe.” You’re literally trying to climb up to where Adam is seated so you can rip that smug smile off his stupid, ignorant, narcissistic face and slap Lute with it.

Vaggie’s just panicking as she tries to keep you and Charlie calm lmao

Vaggie ⚔️

TWO PEAS IN A POD TBH

Vaggie adores you and you are often each other’s impulse control and each others biggest instigators

Vaggie getting pissed that someone is trying to sabotage the hotel and storming up to the traitor with her angelic spear cocked back and ready to kill

Enter big sis pulling her back and trying to talk some sense into her

Also you getting livid when someone talks negatively about Vaggie being a fallen angel, or worse being a former exorcist and being untrustworthy

Bad words and ugly names are pouring from your angry mouth, fists balled up and ready to go, muscles tense in anticipation

Cue Vags hugging you as she pulls you away, whispering that it doesn’t bother her so don’t let it bother you

But it bothers you bc you know it bothers her…she doesn’t deserve that.

As Rosie said, maybe she’s trying to be redeemed too…? Being shit talked is only going to put bad thoughts in her head and you can’t stand to see your family belittled like that

Sometimes, if the situation is just bad enough, you and Vaggie lose it together and no one can stop yall now. It’s honestly just as frightening as when Alastor shows his full demon form, you and Vaggie violently teamed up together like this.

Angry Vaggie + Angry big sis reader = a terrible ending for whoever is at the sharp end of her spear and at the mercy of your fists

Angel Dust 🕸️

Is very intimidated by you at first but grows so fond of you as he gets to know you. He admires your courage so much, he wishes he could be more like you.

He never feels safer than when he’s at the hotel with you near by. He knows that whatever he lacks when up against an opponent, you’ll be there to pick up the slack and watch his back.

Angel doesn’t have many true friends or familial figures in hell, and he misses his own sister so terribly. You fill that empty spot in his heart so perfectly, he wishes you had been around when he was still alive.

You two hang out a lot- his flirty, bubbly, goofy demeanor and your kind, accepting but stubborn attitude makes for some fun late night talks and some exciting outings together

Some dude tries to touch Angel out on the street without his consent? Oh fuck no. Before he knows it, the loser demon is groaning from the hard concrete floor as you grab Angel by the wrist, both of you stepping over the banged up body of the handsy asshole.

“It’s called consent! Look it up, ya fuckin prick.” Angel gets such a confidence boost being with you, you are the physical threat and he is the voice that tears them apart even further. You bruise their skin, he bruises their ego

Angel can’t help but laugh everytime you lose it for him. He just enjoys your company and support so much. He says he can handle himself and while he totally can, it’s just nice to have someone back him up, someone who truly cares for him.

Husk 🃏

BRO IS SUCH AN INSTIGATOR!!!

While Vaggie and Charlie often try to hold you back and calm you down, Husk cheers you on in any and every tense situation you find yourself in

“Oooooh you’re in for it now, bone head.” He’ll smirk and watch with a pleased smirk on his face as you pummel some sinner who dared to threaten the hotel and its residents

Husk’s fav pastime is sitting back with a bottle of booze as he watches you just go ham on some stupid, loud mouth loser who tried to pick a fight with the former overlord

Husk isn’t afraid of a fight, he’s not afraid to get up close and personal with the action but he must admit it’s nice to feel cared for enough to have someone sacrifice their own safety just to protect him.

The only time Husk has intervened during one of your episodes of frustration and rage is when Alastor said something to Husk that rubbed you the wrong way. Seeing Husk’s terrified and helpless expression in response to Alastor’s threats lights a fire in your chest.

“How dare you talk to him like that! I don’t give a shit if you own him, he’s not your fucking pet, you piece of-“

Husk practically, no literally begged Alastor to let it go and leave you be which he did but only bc he sort of admired your lack of fear and your loving but fierce protective attitude.

Husk also greatly admires your lack of fear and strong will. He wishes you were his family for real, maybe he wouldn’t be so depressed and fucked up.

Sir Pentious 🐍

Admires tf out of you, babies tf out of you.

He sees you as more of a little sis, wanting to coddle and defend you always.

Sees you coming back to the hotel one day with some bruises and bloody hands and hes immediately comforting you, trying to clean you up even tho you’re clearly fine.

But, he must confess he loves teaming up with you bc together you’re the perfect pair- Pentious with his tools and inventions and intricate weapons and you with your amazing strength and hot headed, witty comebacks and your courage and your quick thinking.

When he feels that he needs to step in and keep you from doing something stupid, he does so with all his might. Pentious would rather face your wrath himself than let you go and get yourself hurt or killed.

Go ahead, take your anger out on him but don’t risk yourself just for him.

You two totally bond over wanting to be seen as evil, devious and powerful but you’re both actually soft little sweet hearts deep down.

You two cry together a lot lmao. It’s always him crying first and then his crying triggers you.

He would frequently talk to you about how you are always so brave, fearless, strong, never faltering, never second guessing yourself. He’d ask where you learned to be so sure of yourself, he wants to learn to be more like that.

Alastor 🩸

SEES YOU AS HIS EQUAL BUT WILL NEVER ADMIT IT. CANT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU STAND YOUR GROUND AGAINST EVERY ENEMY YOU’VE EVER TAKEN ON, EVEN HIMSELF. YOU HAVE NO POWERS, YOU OWN NO SOULS, YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS PARTNERS OR BLOOD RELATIVES DOWN HERE SO WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU’RE SO SPECIAL??? YOU’RE NOT SCARED OF HIM? OH, VERY INTERESTING. HE WANTS TO CUT YOUR LITTLE BRAIN OPEN AND EXAMINE IT, YOU’RE JUST AN ENIGMA TO HIM, HE ADORES YOU. WISHES YOU REALLY WERE THE DAUGHTER HE SPAWNED FOR REAL FOR REAL HE’D BE SO PROUD

[sp4ceboo]

SNIPPET FOR MY UPCOMING BAKUGOU FIC!!

genre: merfolk au, fantasy au, merman!bakugou x witch!reader, strangers to lovers, bakugou x f!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: in a world infested with purgers of magic, neither a clandestine witch nor a lone merman can remain safe for long.

tw for snippet: gore, blood, mention of death (fic will be 18+)

UPDATE: READ IT HERE

With a rusty squeal, the door swings wide, and with it comes the same influx of light that always spills greedily through, stinging your eyes and making them ache - the doing of a tiny, wayward star moulded from precious lamp oil. You blink away the tears that well up at your lash line, testament to your accustomation to the dark, and then blink again. Back when you took for granted the warmth of the sun on your face, you lived too far inland to ever see one in the flesh. You were still a witch under the disguise of a healer, though. You’d heard tales, seen artists’ renderings and gorey body parts wrenched off as trophies. None of those could have ever come close to preparing you for the sight before your eyes. A merman. Deep in enemy territory - so deep, in fact, that all those surrounding him, bar you, have murdered more than dozens of his kind each. He is on a galleon rammed bow to stern with killers. And yet, despite it, he has not fallen victim to the purge. Yes, there is a splintered harpoon sunken into his side, yes, he is limp and broken, but even so, shallowly, his chest rises and falls. He breathes. He breathes, and even that is beautiful. The lamp’s light reflects off his scales; he is mainly jet black, but broad swathes of orange run across the length of his powerful tail like they were drawn with the loving stroke of a painter’s brush. In parts, they darken into a ruby red that glitters and winks as the lamp light dances. Or maybe that’s just blood. There’s a lot of it. It soaks into the sheet they strain to carry between them, pools in the dip his weight makes, streaks in smears down his chest and face, coats his hands and is embedded under his sharp nails. You hope that all of it is not his, that he made them regret whatever they must have done to get a merman vulnerable enough and far enough from his pod to capture him. Deep lacerations cut all along his chest and tail, and one of the spines that extend from his sail-like dorsal fin is bent in a way that must mean it is broken. A smattering of scales reach wide across his shoulders and back and down his arms, some of them twisted and bent out of shape. Your eyes fall to the harpoon buried just below his hip, and you feel the bite of your nails digging into your palms. “Heal it,” commands the man holding the corner of the sheet closest to you. “We’ve been ordered to bring back a merfolk to be studied. It must be in peak condition.”

and yeah. so that's what i've been working on recently, it will be over 10k and most likely under 20k and im sO EXCITED!!

there will be a taglist, so if you want to be on it just reply to this post or message me or whatever is easiest :))

praying this reaches the right audience

[irn-bru]

Kevin Conroy as batman??? okayyy let's go!!

finally got up to the crisis arc of the flash which means I have to watch episodes from a whole 4 other shows I don't care about 🙁

[milktrician]

For the wip game, "Your shadow beckons me" ?

This one covers two wips I have but they both center around Shen Yuan being a clone of Shen Jiu, being cloned while he was in Qiu Manor. I might write both of these ideas out someday? This first one covers the idea while in the Qing generation's disciple era:

Shen Yuan wakes to that same young man from before staring at his face. His handsome face is covered in tears, the skin under his eyes flushed and nose rubbed red.

“A-Apologies. Visiting hours are over but Mu-shidi allowed me to stay.” The guy states as he cleans his face with a handkerchief. He takes in a long deep breath before he is able to look at Shen Yuan once more, “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. This one is named Yue Qingyuan by his Shizun.”

“…I look like your friend. Don’t I? That’s why you’re here?”

Honestly he just wants this guy to not cry over him. Seriously, huh? Don’t grieve over him, grieve somewhere else man!

Yue Qingyuan lets out a defeated laugh,

“I suppose so.”

He sits up, noticing the book across his blankets he probably passed out reading.

“Don’t compare me. I don’t think that’s good for your head.”

Yue Qingyuan takes a sharp breath, “Sorry.”

He sighs, “I suppose I should be thanking you though. Aren’t you the one who led them to me?”

“Not to you directly. I was looking for someone else.” Yue Qingyuan seems to frown.

He shrugs at the phrasing, “Hey, you’re still the reason I’m here. You basically saved me, huh? I’d probably be rotting in that plant pod thing and maybe never developed some consciousness. I’m alive because you got to me in time.”

He smiles, because it feels like the right thing to do.

Yue Qingyuan only seems to stare at him, newly formed tears streaming down his cheeks. What the hell he thought he was doing a good thing! Dude, stop crying!

“Hey—don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

He grabs the discarded handkerchief and pushes Yue Qingyuan’s hands out of the way to wipe the man’s face like you would do for a young kid. The guy accepts his touch, visibly slumping in his seat. It takes a few minutes for him to calm down, before he stands and collects himself.

Yue Qingyuan opens the door, turning behind him and muttering, “Apologies for bothering you. I’ll leave you be.” 

“…Okay? Uh, see you later, I guess?”

Yue Qingyuan bites his lip, but leaves nonetheless.

Next snippet is from the other wip of this idea, probably a little bit before pre-canon:

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know what he was doing when he accepted a mission in this city. Perhaps it was the way Yue Qingyuan looked at him during the meeting. Or the way that brute taunted him, or the way Shang Qinghua tried to take the mission off him instead. Who knows why that coward would try his hand at investigating this mess.

But said mess had been dealt with by his senior disciples, and they had a night at the inn to recuperate before heading back to the sect in the morning.

And here he was. Only a short flight away from what used to be a sprawling manor outside the city.

Lazy bastards never even cleaned up the burnt mess, instead it seemed picked clean by animals and looters. The wood that’s left has rotted, and flora have taken the rest of the space for themselves to conquer.

The smell of ash still somehow permeates as he walks along the remains, leaving a mental note to clean all this off of his robes before daylight. What’s left of the structure of the rooms and hallways all seems so small now. Standing tall amongst its remains.

And then his boots press onto metal, a soft clang that alerts him to a hatch hidden under debris. A place possibly untouched after all these years.

He remembers a hatch like this. Briefly.

He was drugged, his vision going in and out as he was carried someplace else. He remembers it smelled musty. Like the earth after it rains. Afterwards all he could feel was a burning sensation in what he now knows is his spiritual veins.

In a fluid motion he clears the debris with qi and throws the hatch open, not caring for the way it dirties his robes as he climbs down. He finds more overgrowth, weeds and plants similar to those outside. They’re different from the local flora he realizes, and must have spread out of this man-made cave.

He feels the massive pool of spiritual energy first before Xiu Ya glows to light the cavern. There, he sees its source. A large plant pod, bigger than any flower or fruit he has ever seen. It’s filled with a mass of spiritual energy, almost as if this plant has cultivated itself on its own. Its roots have spread all across the room and dug through the ground and stone to reach the surface to gather more nutrients.

He moves closer. The qi signature feels so familiar. He closes his eyes as he places a hand on the pod, and the qi begins entering and cleansing his system without resistance.

It feels like…

Him.

Focusing on cycling his qi back into the plant he almost freezes when it enters a system of spiritual veins. When he feels soft breathing through the pod. A heart beat.

His hands tear open the pod, fighting against the sticky substance that’s been holding it together for more than a decade. It spills out onto the floor, viscous, and all of a sudden his arms have encased the figure falling out of its prison.

There’s a young child in his arms, only slightly older than his youngest disciples. His hair only barely touches his back, limbs thin, and uncovered by cloth in this time are the ribs poking through his skin.

The same scars echo on this child's back.

The branding is clear as day.

This is him.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Stretcher - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

An ugly reckoning...

tw: gore, violence, medical trauma, limb loss

cw: suggestions of inappropriate relationships between mentor and student

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Silco walks on.

Inside, the odor of stale chemicals seeps through the air. Jinx's containment pod is a plexiglas sphere resembling a transparent hive. Inside, she is laid out on a narrow cot. Her left hand—the two clever fingers so cruelly excised—is strapped to a splint.  The stumps are a little red, but clean and dry. Each one is neatly sutured with black thread.

Black as the sucking hole in her chest.

Through the covers, Silco can see the delineations of the wound, a map of gauze adhering to her torso.  The flesh is still flayed. But it is no longer a disaster-site of hideous spillage. The raw tendons are scored with tiny stitches. Each one, a testament to Singed’s ruthlessly meticulous handiwork.

The rest of Jinx is bone pale as if the scant pigment on her skin has been sucked dry. Her freckles stand out in stark pinpricks.

Two bags of fluid hang on a metal pole, drip-drip-dripping down a tube into a needle jammed into her arm. The steady flow of antibiotics, morphine, and synthesized Shimmer will bolster her vitals and keep her under.  Her breathing—a tarred constriction of bubbles caught in her perforated lungs—has smoothed over the course of the night.  But it remains an effortful jag: deep, dragging, discordant.

Silco's guts churn. The instinctive grind of rage is offset by guilt.

Then: shock.

Jinx is not alone.

A longer body's curved around Jinx's small one. One arm, the sleeve rolled to the elbow, is flung over her hip. Fingertips splay against her thigh: an anchor. The other arm, metallic, makes a protective arc over Jinx's skull. The cybernetic fingers, tipped with steel, are threaded in her blue hair. The head, half-obscured in lank brown curls, is tipped to Jinx's own.

Their temples mirror. Their eyelashes kiss.  The cadence of their chests rises and falls in concert.

The Hexcore, with hypnotic rotations, bathes Jinx and Viktor in a violet glow.  

From his own extremities, Silco feels pure rage blast open as the Monster unlocks.

"What the hell—?"

Singed looms from the corner of the medbay: tall and fleshlessy thin as a mantis. He's clad in a white smock resembling a butcher's apron. The barest smear of blood is caught in the weave. He glances up at Silco's snarl.

Apart from an expression of insectile alertness, he shows no other signs of concern.

"Ah," he says. "You've returned."

"Open the pod." 

"I beg your pardon?"

"Viktor. What in the frozen hell is he—?"

"He's aiding her retrieval."

"What?"

"Her retrieval," Singed says, in the same imperturbable tone. "From what I understand, a plunge into the Void is not unlike falling into arctic waters. It takes a strong grip to pull oneself out. J17 is a skilled swimmer. But she remains partially submerged. She'll need a guide to drag her to the shore."   

"He has no right to—"

"To what? Hold his companion's hand?"  

"Companion?"

Singed nods.

Silco's jaw locks as the Doctor's meaning sinks in.

Guardians and Mages. He'd known, in his bones, that the bond between Viktor and Jinx held a strange, unearthly resonance. A tie that binds, like gravity does a comet: two celestial forces, inexorably pulled together by the galvanic charge of their shared potential. 

He'd assumed the nature of the bond was intellectual. That their kinship was a matter of mathematics: two minds, one wavelength.  Then Jinx's spells of strangeness and self-enforced secrecy began. He thinks of the audio recordings in the Aerie: the susurrations and whispers. The ungodly silence.

It wasn't sex—no matter the wildness of his paranoia, he knew Jinx was still too innocent, and that her tastes lay elsewhere. But the overtones—of communion, and a deeper, almost otherworldly intimacy—were terrifying.

Now, seeing them together—a tangle of arms, a knotting of fingers—his worst fears have been made manifest.

It's plain, from the ease between their bodies, that Jinx has slept in Viktor's arms before. Plain, too, that it's happened enough times for this closeness to take on overtones of trust.  A trust Silco had invited: to his doorstep, past his threshold, and straight to his daughter’s bed. 

A trust that’s been repaid with disaster.

Reflexively, Silco's fists ball.

"Open the pod," he says. 

"What?"

"Open it."

"With all due respect, that is not the wisest course of action." Singed remains maddeningly equable. He could be discussing a minor surgical procedure: the pros and cons of local versus general anesthetic. "The Hexcore—from what I gather—is acting as a buffer. It is protecting both J17 and Viktor as they work to draw her out. To separate them at this juncture would risk a backlash."

"Backlash?"

"I'm speaking in metaphysical rather than medical terms. From what I have gleaned, the Hexcore is a living organism. It has its own will and wants. I am not privy to the nature of the bargain it has struck with Viktor. But I hazard that it is his key to the Void. And that, in exchange for entry, it protects his and Jinx’s corporeal forms. To rip them apart would be... traumatic. For all parties present."

In Viktor's embrace, Jinx expels a sigh.  There's a subtle alteration in her breathing. The Void creeping across her brainwaves, perhaps. Viktor's arm flexes around her. His own breathing—that half-mechanical, half-organic rasp—deepens. His lips touch her temple. 

The Hexcore sings. The pitch is nearly ethereal.

Two spirits: locked in orbit.

Silco's jaw grinds. A vein ticks in his temple. Whatever's happening, it is not something he comprehends. Not something, he suspects, meant to be comprehended.  But that doesn't stymie the rage. Nor the dread.

The former, he can dissect with a cool eye, peel it down to the viscera of what it is: a primal need to keep his child safe. 

The latter, though...

That's a formless shadow stretching over his psyche. The sense of something very, very huge: a force the size of a godhead eclipsing the horizon. And the stormfront, lightning-laced, is rolling across the sea straight towards his ship of destiny.

It's not often Silco feels his smallness. But he does now, and the fallout is brutal.

"You knew," he says, deathly soft.

"Hm?"

"You knew. About Viktor. Compromising my child."

Singed is not a shrugger. Hedging is not his strong suit. But his silence speaks for itself.

"I would not call such a bond a compromise," he says at length. "In some ways, it was inevitable.  Viktor is extraordinarily gifted. J17, a creature of pure potential. They are both seekers in the dark. It makes sense that they'd find each other." A slight cant to his head: a gesture of self-reproach. "I will admit: I should have informed you. But there was no reason to believe the entanglement was of a carnal nature."

"No reason to believe they weren't fucking?"

The vulgarism stirs Singed out of scholarly calm. He doesn't smile. But his lipless mouth shows a glint of teeth. It's the same expression he'd wear when Silco would return to the Cannery after prowling the dank cloaca of the Lanes.

Always: with a plaything on his arm and ill-gotten gains in his pocket.  

He'd often likened Silco's gravitation toward vice as a form of self-medicating. The sex, the drugs, the power-plays: all symptoms of a man whose eye could not close, and needed other means to unwind. Other ways to blot out the light. 

It was a diagnosis Silco only partially agreed with. It was not autonomic impediment that kept his bad eye from closing. Simply the refusal to look away from the world as it was.

Now, his bad eye smolders in its socket. It's a marvel the Doctor doesn't wilt in its heat. Then again, Singed's always been a hard man to burn.

It's what he and Silco have in common.

"No," he says. "That, I do not believe."

"Is that so?"

"Given Viktor's... condition... it's unlikely."

"I'm not sure if you're aware, Doctor—" Silco's tone, beneath the frigid civility, is honed to cut jugulars, "—but there are ways around that."

The glint of teeth deepens. A grin, however cold. "Oh, I am aware.  But I'm also aware of Viktor's nature. I've known him since he was a boy. Frailty's always been his cross to bear. But that has not diminished his drives. Only... redirected them, as it were." 

"Sublimation."

"You sound dubious."

Silco's good eye slits. Singed's grin fades.

"I understand. We're men of pragmatic bent. There will always be a selfish component to our pursuits. A willingness to see the big picture, even if it means putting our better selves on the backburner."  He turns to the pod. "Viktor is different. His nature has a singular trajectory: up. He wants to ascend. To break free of limitations: both inborn and self-imposed. Sex, in comparison, is a dead-end. Love, though? That's something else. Something that can take him to the stars." 

Silco follows his stare. The pair, entwined, are haloed in violet. Their breathing is slow and steady.

A duet.

"The boy's always longed for a taste of the transcendent," Singed muses. "I imagine, in J17, he's found it. A force of pure creation. Pure entropy. It is only in chaos that order can thrive. The sense of a divine plan is what gives meaning to the world. And a multivalent, fractal reality is what allows a scientific theory to evolve into law."

Silco's knuckles pop. He says nothing. 

"If it helps," the Doctor adds, "I doubt the boy's done worse than hold her hand. The way he speaks of her, one would think her a... psychopomp. Someone to guide him to a higher plane of knowledge. Someone whose existence is to be worshiped. Not possessed."

"Worship and possession," Silco replies, in the voice of cold prescience, "often end the same way."

"Oh?"

"With someone on their knees."

Singed doesn't laugh, exactly. The sound's too measured. But his mangled lips stretch to show the full set of teeth. They hold the implacable sheen of scalpels. Each one slitting its careful way through the tissue of Silco's self-control.

"A cynic's view," he says. "And one I disagree with."

"Do you, now?"

"I'll grant there is a physical element to their closeness. But, I suspect, the physical is merely a conduit to that higher plane. A literal touchstone to guide them through the dark. The true roadmap, as it were, is the end each of them seeks."

"That end being?"

"Balance," Singed says. "If my theory is correct, they each serve as a counterpoise to the other. J17, in her unbound potential: a spirit of half flesh, half catalyst. A force in constant flux. Viktor, in his rigid catechism: a being forged in metal and magic. The very dictum of death. Each is, in their own way, an anomaly. Together, they are a paradox. One that introduces a new paradigm."

"Paradigm."

"Cause and effect." The grin's gone. Only Singed's eyes shine: a cold, methodical zeal. "Or, in your language: cost and reward."

A chill steals through Silco.

It's not the first time Singed's dissections of the metaphysical have taken a macabre turn. For the Doctor, the two are indistinguishable: the duality of life and death reduced to quantifiable variables of mess and mass. In his laboratory, Silco's witnessed the results firsthand.

The Doctor's a man who understands that knowledge only goes as deep as the knife cuts.  And Silco, a man who has cut to the marrow of humanity's ugliness, knows there's no limit to the incision when the rest's been pared clean. 

"If your intention was to disarm me," he says flatly, "you've failed."

"Disarm." Singed's chuckle is dry as bone dust. "Old friend, you are not the weapon. Only the steel that whets its edge."

"Flattery?"

"Fact." The corners of Singed's eyes crinkle. "We are, both of us, mere tools for a greater design."

Jinx cries out.

In the pod, the Hexcore spins rapidly. The rotations, faster and faster, become a multicolored blur. The fluctuating glow—sometimes blue, sometimes red—is phantasmagoric. Silco has the sense of something primordial unspooling into existence. The birth of a star, on a spiritual scale: chemical fusion gone mystic.

A subsonic hum fills the air. Jinx's cry spikes.

Her whole body begins shaking: a subtle network of pain radiating, it seems, from the epicenter of her wound. Viktor's embrace holds. But beads of sweat pop on his temples. His breathing goes choppy.  The pod's plexiglas walls turn milky as if with steam.

No—frost.

Silco can see the lattice of ice spreading. The cracks, fanning in jagged starbursts, resemble spiderweb.

Meanwhile, Viktor and Jinx may as well be under a full rig of stage lights: both of them are simmering in their skins.

Jinx's pallor is engulfed by a bright pink flush. Her breath comes in rapid drags. Her good right hand, fluttering, finds Viktor's good left. Their palms align, fingers twining. The twin rows of knuckles, flesh and bone, are deathly white.

The Hexcore's singing deepens. Jinx's own cry climbs to a keen.

Silco races forward. "Jinx!"

Before he can touch the pod, Singed seizes his arm. The grip is cold, cadaverous, yet somehow comforting.

"Not yet," he urges, as Jinx's wails echo and re-echo. "It's not done yet."

"Let go! She needs me—"

"No." Singed's grip is as unyielding as his gaze. "She needs to finish this. As does Viktor. Let them see it through."

Silco stares. Blood beats in his temples. He understands, remotely, that he is terrified. Paralysis, its predictable residue, clings like a second skin. It's a heaviness he despises. It's why he is so quick to reassert self-dominion with a dose of violence. To defend himself, monster and man, from threats that would otherwise devour him.

But what if the threat's taken root in the tenderest parts?

What if it can never be excised?

(Is that fatherhood?)

Tossing her head, Jinx screams. Viktor, gasping, shudders.

The Hexcore's pulsations go critical.

Then—with a flash of brilliant blue—the humming ebbs. The pod's opalescent frost, in icy bloom, evaporates. Within, Jinx and Viktor subside into stillness. Their hands are still twined, their foreheads together. Both breathe in unison. 

But there's a dissonance in the rhythm. A harmony, that, while still in tandem, is their own.

Viktor is the first to wake.

His arm loosens its cradle around Jinx. His head stirs, the dark crown dislodging against its blue perch of her skull. The gold eyes—with their black-rimmed core—flicker. They are glazed in shock.  Then he blinks, and they regain focus. The lineaments of his expression—grim-lipped and hollow-cheeked—are ones Silco knows well.

The sense of a spirit coming to the limits of its endurance, and shattering the barrier.

Now he's unsure what awaits on the other side.

Slowly, the golden eyes swivel. They find Singed. They find Silco. Then they fall on his and Jinx's still-linked hands. Something flickers across his wan face. Not a smile, exactly. But a certain softness around the hard brackets of his mouth.

As if he'd held on to a fear for dear life. And now, finding it unfounded, can let it go.

With a gentle tug, he unthreads their fingers.

Jinx doesn't stir. But she lets off a long slow exhalation that could be sadness, or a deep release of tension. Viktor disentangles their bodies. He does so with a delicate, deliberate care, keeping a light contact of fingertips all the way down her torso. Silco follows their path to Jinx's ribcage.

Under the gauze, the wound is closed. The meat is seared like a brand. But there's no trace of torn skin. Even the stitches—each raw suture point—have shrunk into a smooth pink furrow.

Jinx breathes. Each rise and fall—seamless—is a small miracle.

Silco is not a devout man. Contemptuous of all matters devotional, he treats prayer like a poor business transaction: an unstable currency of sacrifice, with no guarantee of success.

Now, the gratitude that floods his lungs is nearly a baptism. He hates every iota: the helplessness, the loss of agency.

But loves, gut-wrenchingly, what it's restored.

With effort, Viktor straightens. His bare feet, touching the tiles, let off a metallic clink. One hand grips the bedframe. The other reaches for his cane. Every muscle delineates the difficulty of keeping his balance.

The sheer exertion of willpower in holding his mind and body together.

As with all impossible endeavors, he does not falter.

"It is done," he says, hoarse but steady.  "She is back."

"Back?"

"Within herself. The Void... has touched her heart. She has seen its own. But she is intact."

"Intact?"

"She will recover." He swallows with a liquid click. "In time."

Silco nods.

On the rumpled sheets, Jinx sleeps. Her breaths hold a deep-sea serenity. Her delicate features are preciously girlish and lost-looking. The sight suffuses Silco with a tenderness that yet calls up the horror of it all.

He takes himself to a place of stillness, and allows himself to feel it. Not just last night's ordeal. Everything leading up to it. Strategy after strategy, error after error, so the outcome is the same as when Zaun first emerged from its ravaged shell.

His child in a sickbed. His paternal devotion in a deathmatch with politics. His and Vi's blood game no more than a war against specters.

A war they've both lost.

Badly.

Silco's eyes pass from his sleeping beauty to the man who'd saved her life.

"Doctor," Silco says. "Open the pod."

Singed does not argue. With a deft touch, he flips the controls. 

The plexiglas shell retracts. The air, trapped, is instantly sucked out. It is unseasonably warm from Jinx's and Viktor's body-heat. The smell holds a sterile bite of disinfectant. Underneath, a faint trace of musk lingers.

The unforgettable odor has been imprinted on Silco's olfactory landscape since Jinx began working with the Hex-gem. The permeating ozone-stink of night sweats and lightning strikes.

The afterglow of the Void.

Now Silco detects the component he'd not dared to put a name to: that singular, almost sexual tang. Two spirits, intertwined, coupling in a realm without flesh. 

Right under his roof.

His eyes lock on Viktor's. The younger man's ambivalent features, caught between exhaustion and relief, shift. Wariness creeps in. It's not the fear of reckoning. More the full awareness of a gamble gone sour.

Now the ruin, no matter how cataclysmic, must be accounted for.

The gold eyes—infinitely patient, infinitely reckless—do not waver.

"I believe," Viktor says, "you have questions."

"I do," Silco says. Then: "Doctor. Fetch the stretcher."

Singed's head takes on an insectile slant. As if he's caught the taste of blood in his mandibles, and is trying to parse its source.

"Stretcher?" he repeats. "Whatever for?"

"Viktor."

"The boy seems perfectly—"

Crossing the distance, Silco lays a hand on Viktor's shoulder. A steadying, almost paternal clasp.

The Monster, unsheathing its claws, rakes down.

His fist slams into Viktor's gut. The young man staggers with a strangled cry. His cane clatters. The rest of him slumps, jelly-legged, as Silco follows with a snapping right hook, smoking it straight through the boy's frail defense and connecting with his jaw.

There is a satisfying snap of bone on bone. The sound, visceral and rich, kickstarts a tidal wave of blackness that seethes from the balls of Silco's feet and climbs all the way to his hairline.

The Monster is awake, and it is hungry.

"Doctor," Silco says, as Viktor crumples to the floor. "The stretcher."

Wisely, Singed obeys.

[nyoomerr]

For the drabble request, could I ask for a post-canon snippet from "shallow water weather"? Maybe some Bingqiu daily life fluffy snippet or maybe Shen Jiu's reaction to finding out that his baby brother now has a surprise courtship going on?

here's a lil drabble of lbh trying very, very hard to get his laoshi to consider taking their courtship to the next stage(s)!

(original fic here)

---

Luo Binghe wants something. Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure what, exactly, but whatever it is must be a larger ask than the things Luo Binghe usually wants - pretty trinkets, play wrestling, or other such things that very naturally come with being the spoiled mate of a pod lead. 

(Shen Qingqiu has to take a moment’s pause there, as he usually does when he accidentally lets himself think of Luo Binghe as his mate instead of just a very successful courtship partner. Stop stretching out your fins in such a disgusting display of pleased showboating, Shen Qingqiu, there’s nothing to brag about just yet!! No such official mate has actually been secured!!)

Ahem. Luo Binghe wants something, and it’s a big enough ask that he’s very clearly been buttering Shen Qingqiu up for it for days, now, which is especially alarming coming from a mer that Shen Qingqiu is quite used to simply taking whatever he wants and then asking forgiveness later.

Perhaps - does he need more enrichment? Would he like to go visit some deeper waters? Shen Qingqiu could come, but he’d have to prepare both his body for the higher pressure of deep waters and his pod for his absence, and -

After the fourth time that Shen Qingqiu nearly destroys the fragile Bone Eater’ Fish he’s trying to carefully disassemble for parts, he resigns himself to the fact that he’s far too distracted to work in the lab today, and slinks back to his cave early. 

Unfortunately, Luo Binghe is already there waiting for him.

“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu greets, flicking his tail in mild embarrassment at the sound of his own voice, layered with a pleased trill that seems impossible to get rid of when he’s around Luo Binghe.

“Laoshi,” Luo Binghe greets in turn, with far less shyness. “I’ve missed you!”

Shen Qingqiu’s ear fins flare in smug satisfaction - he missed me, he missed me, my mate thought of me while I was away! - and smiles softly as Luo Binghe swims a lazy lap around Shen Qingqiu in the cave, looping his tail around Shen Qingqiu possessively. 

“I was hardly gone that long,” Shen Qingqiu says, even as he returns Luo Binghe’s greeting with a quick curl of his tail around Luo Binghe’s. Then, more indulgently: “If you missed me, you could have come and seen me.”

“Laoshi always kicks me out of his lab when I visit,” Luo Binghe whines, draping his arms over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders so he can lean in close and nip at Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. 

Shen Qingqiu tugs on his hair in mild protest, but doesn’t move his face out of the danger zone of Luo Binghe’s teeth.

“You could have come and seen me if you were capable of being in the lab without distracting me,” Shen Qingqiu amends. 

Luo Binghe clicks his teeth at Shen Qingqiu, but his expression is still bright and happy, so Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother to placate him.

Instead, Shen Qingqiu straightens up a bit and bites the bullet.

“Binghe,” he starts, perhaps with a bit too much hesitancy for what is really a very capable pod lead simply asking if his courtship partner wants something specific. “Recently, you’ve been…”

“Very good?” Luo Binghe suggests, gently butting his head against Shen Qingqiu’s. 

Shen Qingqiu flicks a fin at him in mild scolding, but returns the head butt anyway.

“Too good,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “So: what is it that you want?”

“Laoshi sees right through me,” Luo Binghe says, clearly pleased. “Mm, I want something, and Laoshi has to consider it properly before answering, because I’ve been very good for him recently.”

Against Shen Qingqiu’s will, his fins flare slightly at the challenge. “I always consider Binghe’s requests.”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe agrees, “so you must also consider this one.”

Suspicious, Shen Qingqiu pulls back slightly to get a better look at Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe lets himself drift slightly downwards, so that he’s looking up at Shen Qingqiu through his lashes. Shen Qingqiu’s suspicion doubles.

“Laoshi,” Luo Binghe says sweetly, “would you give me guppies?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fins flare out far wider than they had before, and his mouth opens to instinctively refuse. 

“You promised you’d consider it!” Luo Binghe whines before Shen Qingqiu can get even a single word out, and Shen Qingqiu, reluctantly, has to close his mouth before letting his knee jerk reaction take over.

Little guppies with Luo Binghe, would be - troublesome. They’d undoubtedly be too energetic and curious and sticky, and they’d probably latch onto Shen Qingqiu’s tail to be dragged around behind him all day, and Luo Binghe would teach them awful habits that would only make their teething phases way worse. 

Shen Qingqiu, horrifyingly, finds that he quite likes the idea of it.

Still, he won’t go down that easily!

“Guppies are -” Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly, tries again. “Guppies are a lot of responsibility, especially for an unmated pair…”

Luo Binghe’s expression turns bullied. 

“We’re only unmated because Laoshi won’t ask me,” he says mulishly. “Laoshi was so bold when he announced our courtship, and yet in the last year he hasn’t even tried to ask this mer of his to spend a mating season together!”

“You could ask too!” Shen Qingqiu cries, ignoring the way his voice cracks on the words.

He pauses, fighting all manner of embarrassing and very physical responses that would surely give himself away to Luo Binghe, who is still watching quite closely.

“...You’d - not be opposed?” Shen Qingqiu asks after a long moment.

“I’ve been trying to get Laoshi to mate me properly since before he announced our courtship,” Luo Binghe says with no small amount of pettiness, his gills flaring in a sigh.

“Ah,” Shen Qingqiu says, feeling a bit faint.

“So guppies are a perfectly reasonable thing to discuss,” Luo Binghe concludes.

“Ah,” Shen Qingqiu says again. Then, finding some of his old resolve: “I - can’t carry them. It would put the pod in danger, if their lead was in such a precarious state…”

“Naturally, I’d carry them,” Luo Binghe says, coiling his tail tighter around Shen Qingqiu’s possessively. “In fact, if Laoshi had suggested I didn’t carry them, I’d have been very cross with you.”

Shen Qingqiu despairs inwardly. This little guppy of his, asking for more little guppies, and so neatly taking care of all of Shen Qingqiu’s worries!!

Still, guppies were - a lot. To think about. For a mer that had only just realized he could formalize his mate as such, even! But… a couple sticky little guppies really… really didn’t sound so bad…

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze dips down to Luo Binghe’s navel. 

“I’m not familiar with how your deep sea blood might affect the process,” he admits. “On average, for a deep sea mer - do you know how many eggs would be viable?”

Would they have to try for awhile to get one to take? Shallow water mers could have clutches of up to five, but only a couple would be viable at once, so for mers that live in more treacherous waters - 

“We can have clutches of up to thirty,” Luo Binghe says, clearly smug.

“Thirty -!”

Luo Binghe’s expression turns sorrowful. “Though, it’s really only ten or so that will be viable,” he adds apologetically.

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, and then promptly passes out.

[girl-lostconnection]

Now that I’m really thinking THOUGHTS on the clones idea, imagine the horror of being in your body except it ISN’T you. Every scar and injury you’ve ever taken, ever made yours is just gone now, your body lacks every bit of damage it’s ever taken so suddenly after you’ve gotten so adapted to your old appearance.

The body dysphoria of it all, especially if the clones are younger versions of you from when you first joined the helldivers. So not only do you lose the scars you worked so hard for, but also every bit of your age to the point where you look like a cadet again. Wouldn’t it be traumatic to see the person you once were? To see the version of you that’s so, SO, young and undamaged in every mirror/surface you pass instead of just occasionally seeing it in the cryo pods

Jesus, that’s some good horror right there. I read a post on here (can’t remember whose it was) that irl healing magic would be so fucking uncanny because you are a soldier with no scars. A soldier that looks so young but isn’t. A soldier who’s shiny and new and it even feels wrong because that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

Also, while writing previous snippet to your ask I thought about the Helldiver that approached 141, because yk I wrote that his fingers are scarred. So he does have scars. And then my mind came back to this ask of yours and I started to think about scars being kind of a sign of how old the Helldiver actually is? Because imagine if once in a while they need to make new copies of your body because command found out that apparently looking 18 again fucks too much with minds of Helldivers.

So what if every five years or so you’d need to make a new copy of the body you’ll be “reinforced” into? And this way at least some scars will get transferred.

So Helldivers are actually able to tell how old the Helldiver in front of them is if they can see the scars, kind of a professional thing for them. And yk the more scars Helldiver has the more it could signal to other divers that this one is not just old — they are good.

They survived each time, they got back without losing their body, without the need to get “reinforced” into their younger unscarred version.