#and a command block also floating around

[aipurjopa]

WAIT I CAN GET A DEBUG STICK IN SURVIVAL HERE WHAT

[optimusxwbu]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ mtmte megatron x human fem reader 18+

-> warnings/tags: 18+, rough-ish sex, size difference, tummy bulge.

-> minors dni, you will be blocked!

i’ve been out of writing for 4+ years so may be a little rusty!! (pls be gentle with me) i intend to write a big fic with mtmte megatron but i needed to get the nsfw brainworms out of my head asap <3 also, i posted this before, but didn't realise tumblr would block ppl from seeing it if nsfw was in the tags - so i'm reuploading it!

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It would be a long, challenging, and tiring fight when the mutineered members of the Lost Light rallied against the DJD. Without Megatron, you all would have undoubtedly perished at the end of Tarn’s fusion cannon. You, especially, were truly unable to do anything but hide away in the deceased Necrobot’s home like some sheltered and helpless pet and plead with a higher power that Megatron and the others would be brought back to you.

You were sitting perched on the edge of a desk in a tucked-away surveillance room on the far end of this maze-like place, somewhere Megatron had deposited you before leaving to ensure that you were as safe as could be without him there to supervise.

The skin around your nails was starting to splinter off from how much you had been picking at it, suspension and dread cascading through your system as every minute felt like an eternity, the silent command in the air to be patient and to stay here as Megatron had implored, leaving you here with nothing but the ghost of his lips pressed against yours before making his hurried leave. You couldn’t bear the thought of that being the last time his lips ever graced yours. The last time you would ever see him.

It took everything within your power not to leap off the edge of the desk when the door you were staring at hissed open, the broad silhouette of Megatron filling the open space, his form engulfing any light that would have spilled into the room. A gasp was trapped in your lungs, and your eyes widened as Megatron allowed himself into the small surveillance room.

“You’re here,” you uttered, almost in disbelief, fingers curling around the edge of the desk as though you would float away into a dream if you were to let go.

“I’m here,” Megatron echoed, stability and calmness in his voice that did not at all convey the actions he had just committed against his former student.

The heavy metal door slid shut behind him, eclipsing the room once more with nothing more than the blue light of the monitors behind you to dimly illuminate the room. The blue light bounced off the dull grey of his metal armour as he closed the distance between the two of you, standing in front of you at his staggering height.

His neck craned down to look at you, your eyes glued to his optics as they had a glassy film to them.

“Mass displace, please,” you whispered, almost uncertainly.

Without a word, he followed your request and his form began to fold in on itself, taking him from 38 feet down to roughly 12 feet, still quite a lot bigger than you, but more manageable.

His right servo skimmed over your left hand, both hands still clenching to the edge of the desk, a mute request that you understood, unclasping your hand and allowing him to thread his digits in between your fingers. His other servo came up to gently push a strand of hair behind your ear, moving to cup the back of your head as his helm lowered.

“Did I not promise that I would make it back to you?” He softly whispered against your lips. Your unoccupied hand cupped his cheek, half-lidded eyes falling shut before you made the final movement that allowed your lips to come together.

Even mass displaced, it felt a little awkward to kiss a being that was nearly triple your height, but you had become so accustomed to loving this titan that you couldn’t imagine it any other way. Albeit, your recreational activities were made much easier thanks to the handiwork of Brainstorm, who so kindly created a mass displacement device for you after your perpetual nagging.

“And I never would have forgiven you if you broke that promise,” you hushed into his intake between intermittent breaks of your lips.

The servo that was tangled with your fingers pulled away and instead gripped on the outside of your knee, snaking underneath so that he could hoist your leg up over his hip plating, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk and causing your skirt to slip further up your legs.

“Now we can’t be having that,” the digits tangled in your hair tightening slightly, “can we?”

You huffed a laugh, both arms winding their way around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you as he arched over, accounting for the difference in his height.

“I want you,” you stated simply, hips betraying your self-control by slightly grinding against the front of his panels without your explicit intention to do so, your lips capturing his again.

“Now?” he smirked against the kiss, the air of the long battle already leaving him, only now engrossed in this very moment with you.

“Right now,” you sounded almost breathless, but your hand was on its determined path to find his servo that was holding your leg, tugging at it so that you could lead him where you wanted him. Without hesitation, you guided his servo to disappear under the material of your skirt, your small and skillful fingers singling out only his middle digit as you pressed it up against your clit through your underwear, “and right here.”

A hum rumbled in his vocaliser as he used the flat pad of his middle digit to rub against your covered clit, the kiss deepening as you felt his glossa peek out to run across your bottom lip.

He started with slow circles, making your back arch slightly as you let out a shaky breath through your nose. His finger was larger than you were used to when he’s using the mass displacement device, meaning he couldn’t be as precise as normal, but that didn’t take away from the heat coursing through you at his touch.

Changing his tune, he started to rub long lines up and down, past your clit and against your slit before making his way back up. You whimpered slightly and your fingers clutched onto his chassis.

“Just like that,” you cooed, encouraging him to continue.

The metal under your hands started to heat up as you noticed that you were getting wetter from his delicate petting.

The servo that wasn’t moving between your legs moved to grasp at the material of your top, near where it was tucked into the waistband of your skirt. Strong digits pulled the material up, freeing it from your skirt, and hoisted it up over your chest.

Your hands parted from his frame, doing the rest of the legwork to pull your top up over your head, hesitantly pulling away from his intake to allow yourself to do so. You swung the top to the left of you, letting it fall down to the ground.

With hunger, you greedily took his mouth again, hands more frantic as they now snaked up around the back of his neck, letting your nails mildy graze the cabling that you found there.

The sound that left his vocaliser was divine, your lips pulling into a smirk as you continued to twist your nimble fingers into the intricate layout of his wiring.

His middle finger worked around the edge of your underwear, pushing it to the side so that he had unrestricted access to you. Without a moment of warning, he pushed his digit inside of you, the blunt tip of it making a harsher entrance than when you take the tapered tip of his spike.

You moaned into his mouth at the intrusion, bringing your other leg up to dangle over his hip, offering yourself more freely to him.

His servo wrapped around the small of your back, resting there to keep you as close to him as he could whilst still allowing his digit to work magic inside of you. He curled the tip up, finding the spongy part of your walls that made you see stars when he tended to it real good.

“Please don’t stop,” you pleaded against his mouth, pulling away from his lips for the first time properly to throw your head back, his movements quickening, beckoning you to the finish line.

“How could I refuse when you beg so sweetly?” He mused, lowering his helm further to tuck in between your shoulder and neck, letting his intake latch onto you there and kiss you fervently.

The way he was bent over your form was almost comical; he was still just so large, and a part of you cursed yourself for not bringing the mass displacement device. Who would’ve thought you’d need it?

Your arousal was coating his digit, each second getting easier and easier to slip in and out of you as he worked you further up the scale.

The room was filled with the subtle sound of the monitors buzzing, your weak mewls, and the wet sound of him driving in and out of you, your wetness seeping in between the joints of his digit, something he’ll thoroughly enjoy cleaning with his glossa later.

Your right hand moved away from his neck, skimming down the front of his chassis as you reached his hip plating. You ghosted your fingers over the front panel that was concealing his spike, a gentle thrumming coming from the area, a tell-tale sign that he was aching behind it.

“Open up for me,” you ordered sweetly.

“A-Are you sure?” Megatron retorted, lips halting against your neck and pulling back slightly to meet your eyes, skeptical, as he was well aware of his size right now.

“Please show me your spike,” you looked down to his lips, “I can feel how bad you want it.”

Without a word, you heard the subtle hiss of his panel retracting, allowing his spike to protrude out. You made an effort to lean back and look at it, not seeing it at this size since the first time you tried (and failed) to fuck him, before Brainstorm gave you the mass displacement device.

“Look at how worked up you are,” you teased, running your soft fingers up his length, collecting the leaking transfluid that spilled out of the tip, “would you like help with that?”

You wrapped your hand around his girth, noting how your fingers couldn’t touch. His cooling fans clicked on as his helm nodded, but only shallowly.

“Say it,” you pressed.

“I want- I want you to help,” he confirmed, digit never ceasing to falter inside of you.

You gave a victorious smile and rolled your head, and you pumped his length languidly, making his frame shudder. With a newfound determination, his ministrations inside of your cunt became more desperate, eager to have you squeezing around his digit.

Leaning back slightly, bringing your other hand to place behind you on the desk to keep you stabilised, you looked up into his burning red optics. The eye contact had him hot and bothered, if his rapid cooling system was anything to go by. He loved the way your muscles flexed around the width of his digit.

His digit drove in and out of you like it was the last thing he would do. Your toes curled as you could feel yourself getting dangerously close to cumming, your wrist faltering slightly, focus derailed by how much pleasure he was giving you at this moment.

“Megatron,” you moaned, body tensing and back arching. His lips parted slightly, utterly enamored with the sight of you.

And just like that, you felt the waves take you as your brain fizzled with stars, cunt tightening around him and the moan that left your lips left no room for doubt that you had definitely just cum for him.

You panted slightly, holding onto his spike tighter as you tried to lead him closer to you with it.

He got the hint, pulling his digit from you, allowing your underwear to move back into place slowly and he gently rested the weight of his cock on top of your cunt. You gyrated your hips against the underside of him, giving him a clear indication of what you wanted.

Okay, this could work, he thought.

Both of his servos gripped your hips as you lowered yourself down onto both elbows. Your legs wrapped around his hips now as best you could, but with the size difference, your legs couldn’t reach each other.

Experimentally, he gave a thrust, pulling and pushing his spike against the friction of your underwear, catching your clit on the way. Your skirt was completely bunched up by your hips now, it probably would’ve been better to take it off completely, but you had no desire to halt this moment.

You angled your hips up so that he was at an angle where his spike would glide so wonderfully against your slit. The wet patch grew in your underwear as the pressure of his heavy spike teased you, your body still a little overstimulated from your previous orgasm.

He ex-vented, all of his pent-up energy expelling from him gradually as his hips picked up the pace, optics locking onto your chest, which was still covered by your bra. Even with the coverings, you still bounced beautifully as he manhandled your body.

Adjusting your legs, you brought them further to your chest so that you could lock your thighs around his spike, the balls of your feet resting on his chassis.

“Primus have mercy,” you heard Megatron mumble under his breath, barely concealed by the fans regulating his heat.

You squeezed the muscles of your thighs, peering down to where his spike appeared and disappeared between your legs, feeling the material of your underwear sticking to you from the wetness building.

Megatron’s strong servos gripped your hips harder, causing a whine to bend in your throat. You couldn’t help when your hips bucked, desperate for the feel of him.

His hot pink transfluid that wept from his tip leaked onto your thighs, smearing like a beautiful piece of art as he continued to thrust, your body his canvas.

As if you would vanish if he didn’t keep himself grounded, he pulled your hips onto him to meet his thrusting, your weight meaning essentially nothing to him. He used your thighs and reveled in the soft feel of them, so plush and giving.

You couldn’t help another moan escaping you as he thrust particularly hard against your clit, the sight of his beautiful silver spike with red accents causing your brain to momentarily freeze. You couldn’t control your need for him.

“Put it in and fuck me,” you said, determination littered throughout your tone.

“My love-” he started, hips staggering with the thought of being stuffed inside of you, but his tone showed a level of wariness.

“I can take it,” you insisted, “I promise I can take it.”

And you were sure that you could. Yeah, maybe you couldn’t take it the very first time. But how many times, since having the device,  has he fucked you now? You were sure that your body would be far better prepared to take him now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he hesitated, peering down at the size of his spike against the size of your legs, he wasn’t certain it would fit.

“And if it hurts, I’ll tell you,” you reasoned with him, “then you can stop. But please, Megatron, I need you inside of me.”

You pulled your legs away from him, maneuvering your body to sit up so that you could unclasp your bra hurriedly, discarding it into the same area you threw your top to.

Megatron watched your body, spike bobbing with a burning ache. Who was he to deny you of something that he also so desperately wanted?

Gingerly, he tucked his hands into the elastic of your underwear by your hips, looking into your eyes for more approval, which he found in abundance. With that, he pulled the flimsy material down your legs.

Rather than chucking them with the rest of your clothing, he opened up a subspace and put the underwear in there for ‘safekeeping’.

A giggle left you as you grabbed his spike again, “saving those for later?”

“When I’m through with you,” he allowed you to line his spike with your entrance, “you won’t have enough energy for later.”

That promise was enough for you, feeling a pulse beat through your clit, your eyes gleaming with excitement.

Carefully, he started to push his tip into you, bringing his servos down to wrap around your waist. Like this, the tips of his fingers nearly touched.

Your body instinctively made your back arched as he began to spread you open on him. Your hands came to grab onto his forearms for something to keep you centered as you lowered your back onto the cold surface of the metal desk.

More and more, he slowly eased his ridiculous length into you, taking the very air from your lungs as you felt there was no end to him. He would continue to move into you forever.

His thumbs caressed your ribcage soothingly, “you’re doing so well, my sweet girl.”

“Fuck,” you huffed, eyebrows threading together as your mouth dropped open.

“Nearly there.”

“Mmhm, yeah, keep talking me through it,” you said with a wry smile, only half joking.

You felt the warm metal of his hips against the underside of your thighs.

Fuckfuckfuck, you felt so full. You swore you could feel him in your lungs.

“Look at you, look at how well you take me now,” Megatron praised, and despite his confident demeanour, the threads of his mind were also fraying at the edges from how amazing you felt. Tightness on a different kind of level.

You whined at that, body tingling with excitement as you flittered your eyes to look at his optics, which you noticed were glued down to where the two of you connected.

Moaning, he pulled out before sheathing himself back in. The self-restraint he was showing right now was impressive, but it wasn’t want you wanted.

“I want you to fuck me like you mean it,” you uttered up to him.

Like a dam breaking at the words, he fulfilled your wish. He held onto you and then started to rut into you with reckless abandon, making you give out those sweet pleases and mores and ah-ah-ahs.

He was so big, so much bigger than anything you’d ever taken, but your body accommodated him so nicely.

A moan was caught in your throat, your head thrown back with your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he bulldozed a path through you, demanding that your body bends to his very will.

“Primus, you are… you are so tight,” his deep voice rumbled, “so tight and so needy.”

One servo left your waist, instead grabbing onto your ankle to pull your leg up, allowing more room for him. His servos kept you steady, but this angle had him bullying his spike right against your g-spot. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth because the sounds you were making were downright sinful, you could hardly believe they were coming from you.

You were spread to your very limit on him, he took every inch inside of you and there was no room for anything else.

“No,” Megatron let out, “I want to hear you moan for me.”

Your whole body was radiating heat as you trembled, your hands left your mouth at his request, and one went to find the servo still wrapped around your waist, gripping it as if it could keep you within this realm of reality. Your other hand lowered to the desk, nails scratching against the surface.

Tears pooled in the corner of your eyes as the pleasure was sending you trigger-happy. Your pussy so hot, slick, and throbbing for him, milking against the solid metal of his spike, begging for his release.

The servo that was on your leg moved to the back of your head, lifting it slightly and angling it down so that you could look at the mess that was growing between your legs.

Oh, my good god.

He was so big, and it looked like a monster against you.

“Look at how much of a mess you’re making on me,” he chided.

You could see the milky whiteness of your pleasure pooling at the base of his spike like a ring, making the whole scene a diluted pink with his transfluid. You let out an involuntary moan at the sight.

“Scream, scream for me and scream my name,” he commanded, but his tone was far from demanding, more like begging. He needed to hear it. Needed to hear his name fall from your pretty lips.

“Megatron!” You obeyed, eyes growing foggy with tears until you could blink, pushing the tears over the edge and down your cheeks, “Megatron, please, fuck!” Your voice strained, tone raising an octave or two.

All rational thought dissipated from your mind, leaving you as if you never had any to begin with. All you could think about was him, his spike, and how you could see him in your stomach.

The baby hairs on your head stuck to your forehead as you began to overheat, ears filling with the sound of metal slapping against your skin and Megatron’s low moans and grunts.

Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, it was as if he was activating a chemical reaction in your body that drove you further into ecstasy. Your screams and moans were loud and unabashed, praying to a higher power that none of the crew were anywhere near this room, as they most certainly would have heard what the two of you were up to.

Both of his servos now grasped onto an ankle each, forcing your legs to spread wider. His helm was thrown back as his mind focused on the only task of carving your walls to the shape of him.

Your hand moved down your body, settling over where you could see him inside of you and pressing down on it.

It felt otherworldly to take him at this size. You weren’t sure if you could fuck regularly like this, as you could only imagine how sore you’ll be after this, but every now and then couldn’t hurt, right?

His voicebox glitched as he moaned, optics offlining for half a second. God, it was so sexy to hear him like that. Having him as putty in your hands as he drove his spike in and out of you like it’s the only thing he was built for.

“I’m-” he began, processor working overtime, “I’m gonna overload.”

You mewled in a high pitch tone, “please, inside, insideinsideinside,” you pleaded, “fill me up. Fuck, think about how full I’ll be with your transfluid.”

Your voice shook as your legs trembled in his grasp, your own orgasm not far off.

His intake moved towards your right ankle, pressing his lips against it as he moaned, the vibrations running down your leg as his hips began to falter, he was so close the finish line could almost taste it, like the sweetest engex he’s ever had the pleasure of consuming.

With a cry of your name, you felt the hot sensation of his thick transfluid fill the cavity of your cunt, painting your insides a beautiful hot pink, his biolights pulsing with colour whilst he was buried all the way inside of you.

The mental image of how much fluid was just dumped inside of you took your right over the tophat with him, eyes clenching shut as your body quivered, white heat pulsing through your veins as you let out a weak cry for him, announcing your climax.

Gradually, his cooling fans started to decrease as you lay beneath him, catching your breath as best you could whilst you had that monster still lodged inside of you.

His left servo came under your back to support you as he slowly pulled himself out, leaving the bottom half of your body limp. With hazy eyes, you looked for him and gave a weak smile, too fucked out of your mind for anything else.

Megatron leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, spike retracting back into his interface panel. You’d have to make sure he cleaned it properly later.

“Did so good for me,” he complimented you, “all mine.”

A hum of approval sounded from you, “all yours.”

Transfluid leaked out of you now, some catching on the desk whilst the majority of it gushed over the edge and dripped to the floor. You would definitely have to clean up before you left this room, but you weren’t sure if there was anything in here you could actually use to clean it.

As if reading your mind, Megatron raised himself from you and clambered on top of the desk next to you, “we’ll clean up later.”

He lifted you from the surface and into his arms, lowering himself so that he was lying flat on the desk, bringing you down to lay on his chassis. Your cheek rested against his Autobot insignia, delicate fingers coming up to trace the elegant markings on his plating.

Your body would definitely ache in the morning, but you couldn’t think about that as he was running a servo over your back gently, lulling you into sleep. 

[jinx-xxed]

hey love, I found your acc really randomly and I’m in love with your writings oml. If you feel comfortable with it, I want to request a commandmentleader!meliodas x goddess!Reader from 3000 years ago ( female or not idk) so reader basically is Elisabeth but with for example her actively fighting or something like that. ( I’m sorry if it’s not really detailed, englisch is not my first language.) 🤍

Heart of Battle

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Hello hello, thank you so much for the request!! I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get around to it omg 😭😭 I’m very glad you like my work and I hope you enjoy this one!! Also sorry if any plot points are wonky, it’s been a while since I’ve had a refresher 🫠

Summary; Taking matters into your own hands sometimes isn’t the best idea.

Content; Goddess reader, Stigma era Meliodas, first Holy War, angst to soft fluff, battle, blood and injury, protective Meliodas, you disobeying orders, fighting demons, Meliodas saves you, he cleans you up afterwards

Wc; 1.9k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Where is she?”

The flaps of the commanders tent open to reveal Meliodas, his brows scrunched with confusion as he peers around the space, clearly looking for someone. His great sword is still strapped to his back, fresh from a recent battle he won to the surprise of nobody. The three generals inside the tent—two humans and a fairy—are gathered around a map scattered with different little pieces to represent their armies and the ones of their enemies. They’re spread out in such a way that it’s hard to tell if one or the other has the upper hand.

“Who, sir?” One of the human generals asks.

The other smacks his breastplate, a knowing smirk on his face. “The goddess, obviously.”

Meliodas nods. “I’ve looked all over camp but I don’t see her. Do you know where she is?”

The fairy hums. “I think last I heard she was heading to some place in the west. Around here?” He floats down towards the map and puts his finger on a little village. One that’s completely surrounded by dark purple figures.

Meliodas feels something in his chest sink as he looks at that map. The area the fairy pointed to had been blocked off by Stigma troops because it became so overrun with demons that nobody was able to get in—it was too dangerous. He remembers how upset you’d been when the order to not go near the west had been announced earlier that day.

“There are still people there! People who need our help. I can do it, I can save them.” You had protested.

You’d been shot down instantly. Everyone told you it wasn’t worth the risk and that you’d die if you tried, including him. He’d made you promise you wouldn’t attempt anything before he left on a recon mission. You looked him in the eyes and told him what he wanted to hear; he should’ve known better than to trust your word. You’ve always been too kind, too willing to put others before yourself, and now you’ve done it again. Perhaps for the last time.

Fear surges up inside of Meliodas so fast he feels dizzy. He curses loudly before turning on his heel and running out of the tent. As soon as he’s outside, his wings of darkness are unfolding behind him and he’s blasting into the sky. He feels the worried gazes of comrades down below, wondering what sent him into such a frenzy, but he’s gone so quickly that no one can linger on it.

He’s never doubted your abilities, he knows how strong you are. But he also knows when and where to pick battles and he knows that this is far too much for you. The closer he gets, the more he can feel you, his second half. He can feel how much you’re struggling, how quickly your strength is diminishing. It makes him use his power to boost him forward, the wind blasting against his body.

He just hopes he’s not too late.

» ☆ «

Blood is sticky on your skin.

You have no idea what’s yours and what’s the demons’ anymore.

Massive, hulking bodies lay strewn all around you and yet when one goes down, it seems there’s two more to replace it. You don’t know how long you’ve been fighting for, your mind instead focused solely on the survivors that huddle in the safety of a small ditch behind you. There’s only four of them—a man, a woman, and two children. None of them are related but they’re the only ones who managed to survive the massacre that happened throughout the area.

You wish you could’ve gotten here sooner, that you could’ve done more. You wish Stigma would’ve been more generous with their troops instead of giving up immediately, deeming this spot unworthy of their help. You also wish you were stronger so that the endless onslaught of demons wasn’t so daunting and you weren’t on the brink of collapse.

You can’t even escape anymore, your wings long since cut and torn, blood turning the white feathers red. Your only choice now is to stay and fight until whatever bitter end is going to meet you and hope the demons will be too focused on your corpse to notice the survivors.

You explode a demon in a flash of golden light, sweeping an arc of power through another. Their roars are deafening against your ears, their steps thundering against the ground beneath you and making your already shaky stance even shakier.

You know you should’ve listened, everybody told you the risks weren’t worth it. But leaving innocent people to die at the hands of the demons without even trying to save them didn’t sit right with you. You’d only told a few when you left, word no doubt spreading quickly across the camp. You were gone by the time anyone could stop you, heading out entirely on your own on what many would call a suicide mission. Even Meliodas had told you to stay put earlier, giving you that stern look of his as he did.

You have no doubt that he’s angry at you and you wonder if he’s back from his own mission yet. If he’s learned of your fate.

You’re torn from your thoughts when one misstep puts you in the hands of a gray demon. You let out a choked yell as the thing roughly grabs you by your wings, bunching them together and crushing them further. You wriggle and squirm as you’re lifted higher and higher, your chest heaving with the effort and pain. You try so desperately to ignite your powers but all you get is a few golden sparks at your fingertips. You’ve used everything you have.

Tears mix with the blood and soot on your face, blurring your vision so you can barely even see the thing about to deliver your death. It stares at you curiously, its teeth clicking together at the prospect of a tasty meal. Some of the demons around it grumble and whine, wanting some for themselves. It’s like being dangled above a pit of hungry lions, all ready to tear you apart.

Just as the gray demon’s mouth opens, its attention shifts to something in the sky. There’s a surge of dark power so strong you can feel it in your core, the hair along your arms rising. Then, in the blink of an eye, the demon that holds you is split in half. It lets out a guttural, pitiful moan as it begins to fall, its clawed hand releasing you at last. You barely even register the fact that you’re falling, your consciousness hardly holding on from the pain drumming throughout your body. You just manage to see all the other demons around you suffer the same fate—a clean slash through their middles that sizzle afterwards with black fire.

You prepare for the ground to meet you, to obliterate the rest of your bones, but you fall into familiar, strong arms instead. You manage to blink through your tears and look up to see Meliodas, his green eyes full of concern while he takes in your sorry state. “Just in time, huh?” He says gently, a sort of sad expression on his face. You know how much he hates seeing you hurt, and how much he hates the fact you did this without him. He sighs. “We need to get out of here before the demons regroup.”

“Wait- the survivors-“ you choke out, no longer having the strength to do anything else.

Meliodas turns to look at the four peeking their heads out of the ditch who found safety in the fact that the roars of the demons have finally gone quiet. They seem wary of him when he walks up to them and he finds he has little patience when you’re actively dying in his arms. He bluntly tells them of a safe path to the east, one that will lead them to a camp that’s full of soldiers and other survivors. Once he at least makes sure they’re heading the right way, he jumps into the sky and begins his flight back to the Stigma base.

Meliodas holds you tightly while being careful of your multitude of injuries. His warmth is a welcome comfort, one that allows you to relax just the slightest bit.

As soon as he lands back in the Fairy Kings Forest, he’s demanding a healer and buckets of water. When people see your sorry state, they’re quick to listen. You’re brought to a quiet, secluded area lush with soft flower beds and shade provided by the trees, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the camp. Meliodas lays you down gently, your head propped up on his legs while a fellow goddess kneels down beside you. A soft golden glow emanates from her hands, spreading warmth throughout your body as her powers slowly but surely heal you.

Your breathing becomes easier, the massive gashes along your limbs steadily close. Meliodas tries to wipe off as much of the blood and grime as he can in the meantime, using gentle movements with a warm rag as you lay there. It’s all very peaceful, a needed respite after the hell you’d gone through.

You’re not sure how much time passes before the goddess is finished. You only notice when the hum of her powers disappears. “There, she should be fully healed. She’ll just need plenty of rest and nutrients in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done. Thank you.” Meliodas replies with a nod. The goddess gives a small bow before taking her leave.

There’s an uneasy silence that stretches between the two of you, heavy with the words waiting to be said. You keep your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re more than content with lying there in the flowers and forgetting how much of a failure you were today. But that’s not an option, of course.

“I told you not to go there.” Meliodas begins, his voice uneasy with his emotions. “Everyone knew it was too dangerous. Including you.”

You huff a breath through your nose, finally opening your eyes to meet his. “Mel… you know I couldn’t just leave it. We need to try and help everyone we can during this war or else there won’t be anything left.”

“That territory is basically like a dead zone because of how overrun it is. You were insane to go there alone for only four people.” He insists.

“Yes but that’s four people who will get to live another day, who may make the decision to join the cause and help us.” You retort. You take his calloused hand into yours, his thumb instantly rubbing along the back of your hand soothingly. “I know it was reckless of me and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have worried everyone- worried you like that.”

He looks at you for a moment, tracing your features with his eyes. He sighs in defeat and you smile, knowing you’ve won. He leans down to kiss you, the messy blond strands of his hair tickling your face. The kiss is quick and sweet, simply a confirmation that you’re still here. He straightens himself and holds your cheeks lovingly in his hands. His head tilts. “Promise me next time you decide to do something so stupid you’ll bring me along?”

You laugh, taking one of his hands and bringing his knuckles to your lips. “I promise.”

[sleepingelvhen]

Perfection in Red Rope 🌹 [NSFW] 🌹

Honkai Star Rail

Sunday/Fem!Reader NSFW

Minors DO NOT interact

Masterlist

TW: Bondage, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Hypnotism, Blindfolds

I found this in my drafts and decided to finish it up and post it.

Every night was easy to forget within the Dreamscape. Not because it was boring. No, the nights zipped by filled with revelry and buckets of Soulglad. You were certain there was gambling, the loud sounds of happy-go-lucky chimes going off as prizes flooded your already straining bags.

 You were also certain you had gone to see the winding streets of Penacony’s off-limits dreams where walking didn’t make sense, and your mind would play tricks on you. Because those stairs just turned you upside down, and that walkway just transported you to the platform you swore was floating beneath you a second ago.

You knew there were metal dogs that carried Soulglad bottles and creatures made of mirrors and crystals. There were carpeted floors with ceilings you could walk up and alcoves home to birds made of paper that spoke to you as if they were kings. It was all extravagant and beautiful and vivid.

Yet, as vivid as these memories were, you forgot them. Every night, as soon as you stepped into The Family’s mansion, the day was gone, and this home was all that needed to matter.

He was all that mattered.

–

His hands were like velvet as they stroked your skin. Pliant within his gentle but commanding touch, your body bent to his will as did your mind. 

It had taken a moment to notice he had wrapped silky red ropes around your arms, knots joining each extra inch as they decorated your skin. It was like you were wrapped in a taught blanket, but you were smart enough to know otherwise. 

What time was it? You didn’t know, and frankly, you didn’t care. Once you entered Sunday’s home – his mansion amongst a dream-bound hotel – everything disappeared and all that mattered was you, him, and The Family. All that mattered was this.

With a sharp pull on the apex of his masterpiece, Sunday had your back against his chest. A low chuckle left his lips at the small gasp you had let out. It was easy to imagine the smirk on his face and those low-lidded eyes. Such a familiar sight that was currently blocked out by the blindfold he had so kindly wrapped around your face earlier.

“You are so beautiful, my dove.” His voice was just as kind as his hands, lips so close they nearly seared your skin. The fluff of his hair and wings grazed your cheeks, and a puff of a chuckle followed him as he moved. “If only you could see this. Surely, you are a blessing from The Harmony Themself.”

Your breath wavered as he said that, fingers gliding up and down your sides, making sure to grip each place where the rope dug into your skin. Sunday hummed a melody to himself, one that was familiar but you couldn’t place your finger on. Your brain was too foggy, and thinking was for those fully accepted by The Family – truly chosen by The Harmony. You weren’t there yet, were you? No. No, not yet.

“Soon.” It was like he could read your mind. Sunday nipped at your earlobe, chuckling as you yelped. “I promise you, they will accept you into The Family. You just need to trust me.”

Warm, gloved hands cupped your breasts then, his thumbs rolled each nipple with care. 

“You do trust me, right my love?”

There was no hesitation in your response, almost like the decision had been made for you. 

“Yes, of course.”

Sunday’s lips latched onto your neck, like velvet as they traveled down in slow increments. Such a simple touch was enough to have you gasping in his hold. Each rub of the ropes only increased the electricity that seemed to travel through every nerve.

“Do you love me?” He murmured against your throat, his hand gliding between your breasts down to your stomach, fingers dancing just above the skin, tempting you with a shiver.

“I do.” Your voice came out too quiet, and Sunday gripped your hair with his other hand, pulling your head back.

“Do you love me?”

“I do,” this time you get the volume right, as you feel his hand loosening its grip. “I love you.”

“Good,” he kisses your cheek, fingers continuing their journey down, down, between your thighs. “I love you too.” That was when his fingers stroked you, pressing those lovely ropes between your dripping lower lips.

The noise was obscene but all you could think was how beautiful it was, knowing it was Sunday making you feel this way. A soft moan left your mouth, joining with Sunday’s own hum of approval.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered, breath warm against the shell of your ear, his gloved fingers pressing the rope so that it parted your lips and dug just barely into your pussy. “Do you like that?”

You nodded breathlessly, small whimpers slipping out when his fingers started rubbing in small increments around your needy, swollen, clit. You wanted to see his face, wanted to glimpse that controlling smirk he no doubt had on his face. Sunday hushed you when you attempted to turn, limbs fighting against the tight ropes.

“Stop moving.” His command echoed in your mind just as he spoke it into reality, one hand digging into your thigh while the other stopped its kind movements in favor of shoving two fingers inside of you.

“Ah!” The suddenness stung, accompanied by a numbing pleasure, and when the warm need was all you felt, Sunday refused to move.

“Will you be good for me?” He whispered again, fingers so still inside of you, it was causing your impatience to grow. 

You wanted to move, wanted to roll your hips and feel his fingers hitting the deepest parts of your body. Aeons, you wanted more than just those fingers. You wanted his voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You wanted Sunday. He was all you needed.

His other hand digging bruises into your thigh interrupted those thoughts, pulling you back into the unsatisfying reality that was him refusing to please you until you gave him what he wanted.

“Will you be good?” His voice had grown sterner, the voice of someone who wanted pure control over everything you did. And Aeons did it make your body quiver in need, your mind going completely numb.

“Yes.”

“Good.” 

His fingers began to move slowly, each meticulous push and pull a strike of lightning through your nerves. There was no stopping the loud moans that left your lips, but you kept your body still just like he wanted. Even when all you wanted to do was ride his fingers until you came undone, you would listen to him forever.

“Such a good girl,” he purred, curling his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that made you scream. “Yes, just like that.”

“Sunday!” You cried out, holding yourself back by a thread. “P-please. May I touch you?”

He hummed to himself, still lazily pumping his fingers in and out of you. You could imagine his eyes glinting in cruel satisfaction.

“How badly do you want to touch me?”

You whimpered, a needy sound that would have embarrassed you any other day. But when you were with Sunday, embarrassment didn’t exist. You felt beautiful when you were with him. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Sunday cooed, the affectionate sound sending a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed your cheek again and he slid his wet fingers from you. His fingers touched your lips, tapping them. A request for you to open which you obediently followed. The flavor that coated his fingers were purely you, the tangy almost sweet flavor reminiscent of the sweets you partook in when Sunday wasn’t around. Treats he had so kindly bought you as a gift to show his adoration.

“Such a good girl, how do you taste?”

“Delicious,” you said softly, his fingers pressed against your lips, stroking them.

“Good enough for me?”

“Yes.”

He hummed again, his little noises musical in nature. “I will need to judge that myself.”

You were guided to one of the couches, bid to sit down so that the roped dug into you deliciously, and Sunday’s hands didn’t hesitate to hold you still so you could feel his warm breath against your thighs and core.

His tongue darted out, tasting you briefly to which he moaned in delight at the taste. A small whimper left your own lips and he chuckled, massaging your thighs.

“You are perfection, my dove.”

His mouth worked wonders when he fully partook. Where his fingers stayed planted firmly to your legs, his mouth sucked and licked into your pussy. He devoured you, as if he couldn’t get enough of your flavor. And the moans that left him were equally delicious. If only you could touch him. But he hadn’t given you permission. So you stayed still, bound in your position, and quivering with each swipe of his tongue.

You couldn’t quite hear the noises you made, your mind foggy and warped so that you only felt every movement against your walls and inside of you with increasing pleasure. But you knew you were being loud. Your throat had grown slightly soar, and you breathing was getting heavier and heavier by the second.

In your mind you heard Sunday praising you endlessly. And when his command came, you quivered and finished into his mouth.

The fogginess disappeared, and the blindfold came off. Sunday was disheveled, panting, and ethereal before you. The roped loosened in their hold on you and fell to the ground.

“Divine,” Sunday murmured, kissing you gently as if you would shatter if he were too rough.

“Thank you, Sunday.”

“No, thank you my love.” He whispered against you lips, brushing his fingers against your cheek.

“You may touch me later. I must go now.”

Work called him and he pulled away from the embrace. Your hands clung to his jacket a moment too long before you realized your mistake and flinched away. His eyes softened at that and he patted your head.

“Draw yourself a bath, my dove. You are not in trouble. Tonight, you will have me all to yourself, alright?”

All you could do was nod with a pout as he departed, giving you one last kiss before smoothing his jacket down back to its pristine perfection and leaving the apartment.

As instructed you drew yourself a bath and relaxed, thinking of your lover and how entranced you were by his very existence.

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 3

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

First->Previous -> Next

Also on AO3

Jamie and Danny practice for several days. First just piloting a heavier, human body. Sometimes the clone just pauses to listen, getting used to the sound of a heart beating in his ears. Then there’s the ghost powers. Intangibility, invisibility, flight.

“Great job!” Danny congratulates silently, a small ecto-blast flickers between their fingers at Jamie’s command.

Jamie can even trigger the transformation into ghost form. And now, there is one more step.

“Here we go!” The clone raises his (Danny’s) arms. He pulls and stretches, his tiny cold spark pulsing. Wrapped in ectoplasm, the forming core strains to coalesce. Their shared body is ripe with tension, a rubber band just before the point of breaking.

Danny is flung back, suddenly back in control of his body. Jamie floats in front of him, upside down and grinning.

“You did it!” Danny takes his clone by the arm and swings him around.

Still, the separation does not last the night. A dozen threads connect them, energy trickling from Danny into his twin. Jamie’s forming core refuses to come together, to solidify into something real.

And yet, when Jamie appears human, he is heavier. His body is warmer, he breathes more often. And…

“Can almost feel it.” Jamie mutters, nodding off as he and Danny watch a movie. “Here. Jamie’s heart.” His hand rests on his chest.

“You know, you can use the first person. My heart.”

The clone opens his eyes, brow furrowing, not with confusion. But something Danny can’t quite read. “Jamie’s heart.” He insists.

Sleepy himself, Danny does not argue. Instead, he reaches for Jamie’s wrist, for the pulse that is almost there. “I can feel it too.”

Again, before morning dawns, Jamie’s physical form is gone.

Another day, another attempt to separate, another dinner with Jason.

“Have you guys called Duke yet?” The man asks, measuredly not pointed.

“No.” Danny blushes sheepishly. “I completely forgot. We’ll do that when we get back to the apartment…” He frowns, brow furrowed. “if I can figure out what happened to that number.”

Jamie pauses in lifting his drink to his lips. For a second, hesitance flickers in his eyes “It’s in the drawer near the sink.” He slowly answers.

“Thanks baby bro.” Danny says, offering a disarming smile.

His twin rolls his eyes. “Not a baby.”

“So you’re the older twin?” Jason asks.

“You could say that.” Danny shares a look with his twin, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Jamie gives a half-hearted chuckle. Danny can’t help but notice the anxiety twangling across their bond.

Back at the apartment when Danny goes to retrieve the number, his twin pointedly stands in front of the drawer, blocking it from opening.

“What is up with you?” The half ghost asks.

The other boy stares him down, scowling. After a long pause, he huffs. “You can’t call Duke.”

“Yes I can.” Danny rolls his eyes, reaching around his brother’s side. “Come on. Move”

“You can’t call him.” Jamie insists again.

“Look.” The older twin tugs on the handle. “I’ll call him and ask some about the Foundation. Just to make Jason happy. It’ll be fine.”

“No!” The clone insists more harshly.

“Why?” Danny spread his hands, growing exacerbated. “Why not?”

“Because… because…” His twin stutters.

The older sucks in a breath. “Why not, Jamie?”

“Because…” The younger’s brow furrows, nostrils flaring in frustration. “You call Duke, you ask about the Foundation. Then… then you’re asking them for help. But we can’t… because… because… Jamie isn’t real.”

“Yes, you are.” Danny argues.

“Jamie isn’t real on paper.” The clone grits his teeth. “No documents.”

“Okay, that is true. But-”

“The police will find out. Then the GIW and your… The Fentons.”

The words come with a wave of fear but Danny does not like himself be cowed clone’s feelings. “That’s not guaranteed. We’ll be careful. Just… get out of the way Jamie.” Danny grits his teeth right back.

“No.” Jamie remains stubbornly in place. “Why do you have to call him?”

“Jason will push again if I don’t.” The half ghost starts.

“No. Why?” His twin presses, harsh.

“Jason will-”

“Why?”

The question interrupts once more and Danny’s anger flares. “Because I don’t want to live in this crummy apartment forever! I want to get into college, get a good job, have a real life! I don’t want to be running and hiding forever!” He spreads his arms, wide imploring eyes fixing on Jamie. “Don’t you want that too?!”

His twin doesn’t look away, eyes just as gratingly fixed. “You won’t be safe.”

“Safe?! Safe?!” The older twin lifts his hands. “Nothing about my life is safe! None of this is! Being half ghost, living in Gotham, letting you exist-”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Danny knows he fucked up.

Jamie steps to the side, not even bothering to look at him.

“Jamie! Jamie! I’m sorry.” A cold guilt washes over him, Danny’s pleading eyes fixed on the back of his retreating twin’s head.

Jamie slams the door to the bathroom and in a haunting snap, the tangle of anger and hurt radiating from him cut off.

“Jamie? Jamie!” Panic claws up his throat. Did… did his brother just disappear, fade out of existence? But… no, no rush of energy returning to him. Jamie is still there. He must be.

Heart in his throat, Danny approaches the door. “I’m… I’m sorry. I-”

“Go away!” The familiar voice yelled through the door, the anger more stark and real than any emotion communicated through their bond.

“Jamie.” He tries again, gently.

“Go away!” The words are a roar, a stab to Danny’s heart.

The half ghost slinks away. He opens the drawer and calls the number, despite the shame roiling in his gut. He talks to Duke for a long while, asking his questions about the Meta Human Foundation.

The call ends and Danny slumps back on the couch. He wants to be comforted by what Duke told him. The foundation helps undocumented metas; they could help him and Jamie. And Danny has been denying it for too long but they need the help. He wants better than running and hiding forever for himself. He wants better for Jamie.

Guilt clogs his throat. Jamie, the person he dragged into this mess. The ghost he… imagined into existence. Again, the awe of that hits him. But… the guilt. He feels like an irresponsible parent, unable to provide for his family. Damn, is he Jamie’s parent? A jolt of panic hits him. Is he a dad? Is Jamie his child?

Danny shakes the thought away. It doesn’t really matter. He’s all Jamie has, whether he is the other ghost’s dad or his older brother. And he just royally screwed up.

Heaving a sigh, the half ghost stands up. He needs to fix this, needs to apologize.

“Jamie? Baby bro?” He knocks on the bathroom door. “Can we… can we talk?”

No answer comes.

Danny tries again. “I’m sorry I said that, about letting you exist. I…I didn’t mean it like that. Just… open up.”

No sound comes through the door. Not even Jamie’s occasional breathing.

“You’re worrying me. I haven’t even felt anything from you in a while. Please just let me in.”

Still nothing. Taking a shaky breath, the half ghost opens the door and…

An empty bathroom lies in front of him.

Danny’s heart drops into his stomach. “Please, please tell me you’re just invisible.”

But he knows that is not the case. No familiar cold presence, no translucent figure only visible to another ghost.

Hardly thinking, Danny transforms. Jamie had to have run off. He had to. He tugs on the connection inside him, linking his core to Jamie’s forming one. The… the bond is still there, though silent and still. The slow trickle of energy screams that his clone is still there, not reabsorbed when he wasn’t paying attention.

For just a second he thinks… he could tug on the line, reabsorb his twin’s physical form – still a duplicate if the mind inside is not– back into himself. No, Danny shakes his head, sick with  thought. He will never, never do that on purpose. The thermos instead. He rises from the ground, grabbing it from under the couch. He can capture Jamie if he must, though he hopes the other boy will return willingly

Invisibility phasing through the wall and into the open air outside, Danny follows the tug of their connection. Jamie wouldn’t have gone far, right? Around a corner, passed the bus stop, passed the store where he buys groceries.

A few streets from home, Danny’s ghost sense wafts in his mouth.

“Jamie?” He whispers, a blip of hope. But… no, his twin has never set off his ghost sense. He… hasn’t sensed any ghosts since he’s arrived in Gotham, even if Jason and Damian do both have the aura of someone touched by death.

Gunshots echo off the walls, the sound seizing  Danny’s attention. Another waft of ghost sense… from the same direction.

The half ghost sprints through the air. More gunshots, a man cursing. Then… the sound of a woman’s cackle, a familiar misery-consuming voice. And underneath all the cacophony… an even more familiar whimpering.

Danny blasts around the corner to find… a tall, muscular man in a leather jacket wearing a red helmet. This must be the Red Hood, one of Gotham’s vigilantes. And-

“Stop. Please.” Someone whimpers.

His brother, crumpled on the concrete. The Red Hood stands over him, back to Danny.  A street light flickers above, an island of light in the darkness.

And just visible beyond the streetlight…

“What is that thing?” Hood lets out another curse, another bullet from his gun

A shadow writhes, red eyes burning.

“And… Red Hood isn’t it?” The ghost cackles. “How does it feel to know that daddy cares about a murdering clown more than you?”

Hood growls, hand twitching on the gun.

“Like… a crowbar to the head? Or a pile of explosions? Or…both?”

Danny has heard enough. Rage filling his vision, he pounces.

Another bang. “There’s another one?!”

“We’re ghosts!” The half ghost shouts, dodging the shot. “And she’s the bad guy!”

Danny does not register the vigilante’s reply. Just Spectra’s grinning fangs, her self-satisfied laughter.

A tangle of limbs and shadow, Danny fights. Green shots blast his enemy. Black claws tear at his arm. Danny tears in kind.

Behind him, Jamie sniffles.

Hungry red eyes fixed on his brother. “Too weak to-“

The half ghost cuts off the hateful words with a punch to Spectra’s face. The ghost’s head ripples, black encasing his fist. Spectra’s shadow wraith. Tendrils of oily darkness lunge for his neck, his mouth. Danny flinches back. But his dodge is unsuccessful.

Pressure squeezes his neck, fills his nostrils. He… he can’t breathe.

The crackling energy, warm yellow-orange light cuts through. A glowing blade in Hood’s hand slice through the darkness.

The shadow ghost hisses, releasing Danny. Spectra recoils away from the light. She holds an indistinct limb against her chest. Neon green drips onto the asphalt.

Blades clash, swinging for inky black limbs. Ectoblasts crackle, like breaking ice. Spectra’s darkly joyful grin shifts into something angry, something desperate. She dives for Jamie.

With Danny’s enraged cry, ice shots from the ground. It drives up, skewering the ghost just below her core. “Don’t touch him!”

The clone scuffles backwards on his hands with a yell. Wide, fearful eyes jerk to where Danny floats.

The eyes contact focuses the half ghost’s attention. The thermos. Before Spectra can even begin to struggle free, the cap is off, and she is dragged into the blue light.

Once the threat is captured and the thermos intangibly shoved into Danny’s side for later, he only has eyes for Jamie.

The ghost boy surges forward. Before he has even reformed his legs to kneel, he is pulling his twin into his arms. “It’s-“

A sword jabs, right under his chin. Gasping with surprise, Danny looks up.

Red Hood stands above him, face unreadable through his helmet. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

The half ghost’s eyes flash, teeth bared in offense. “Of course I won’t. He’s my family.”

That makes the vigilante pause, blade lowering. “What even are you?”

“A ghost. Not that it’s any of your business.” Danny scowls.

“You’re in my turf, kid, so it is my business.” The words lack the expected bite.

“Look.” Danny huffs. “I’m just trying to live my afterlife. Sorry about Spectra.” He glares at the spot of ectoplasm on the ground. “She won’t be a problem again.”

Jamie mutters, interrupting. “Can we go home?”

Danny’s attention jerks back to his brother, finally looking him over. The disheveled hair, the bruise on his cheek, his watery eyes.

His throat suddenly thick, Danny feels just as close to crying. “Yeah, of course we can.”

The other boy’s eyes turn mournfully to his ankle. “Twisted it.” It is swollen and discolored, now that Danny looks away from his brother’s face.

The half ghost gently wraps one arms around Jamie’s back, the other under his knees. Carefully, he lifts the other boy from the ground.

“What are you going to do with the other ghost?” Hood cut in, taking another step towards the pair.

“Bury her in the park, probably.” The half ghost hisses darkly.

The vigilante’ head tilts ever so slightly. Gaze unseen, Danny still feels it on the cut on his arm. “How are you bleeding Lazarus water?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” Danny rolls his eyes, floating from the ground.

“It’s-“

“Just give it rest.” The half ghost cut in, anger flaring. “Don’t you see I have someone to take care of?!”

Ignoring Red Hood’s sputtering question, Danny turns invisible and flies away.

Soon enough, he phases back into their apartment. Lowering Jamie down onto the couch, Danny turns human in a flash of light.

He kneels down, a hand taking his brother’s. “I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I didn’t realize you’d left and… how… how did Spectra even find us? Never mind that. Are you okay?”

Jamie just nods. Slowly, emotions trickle down their bond. Hurt, heartbreak, fear. All oddly quiet, oddly subdued.

“Do you want a hug?”

Another small nod.

For a long while, Danny just holds his brother. Finally, slowly, Jamie starts to cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Danny tries to soothe. “Whatever she said to you wasn’t true. Spectra… she… she picks at whatever you’re insecure about, whatever you’re doubting and using that to hurt you. But it’s not true.”

Still, Jamie cries, tears silently dripping down his face. A shaky breath. Chest pressed again Danny’s, the older half ghost can feel the ectoplasm tremble and shake, a storm inside.

Finally, the younger ghost mutters. “It’s… it’s not safe for Jamie to exist.”

In Danny’s own chest, his heart stales. Spectra had used what he unthinkingly said to Jamie, the words already causing him pain, to torture the younger boy.

“I… I’m… I’m sorry.” Danny stutters. “I didn’t mean it. No, I… I didn’t mean it like that. There… there is danger but you’re worth the risk.” He pulls back, out of the hug. “You’re worth the risk.”

His brother does not move or speak, eyes fixed on his lap.

“Jamie, look at me.” The older half ghost pleads.

No response comes, the other’s body ripe with tension.

“Please. Please look at me.” Danny shakes his head. “Just… just show me that you hear me.”

The clone’s head tilts up ever so slightly. His eyes flicker to Danny’s face for just a second, before looking away again.

The acknowledgment earns a shaky smile from the older boy. “You are worth it, Jamie. All of this, anything that could happen, you’re worth it.” He pours all the affection, all the sincerity he can hold into the words. “I love you. I love you so much. I want you to be happy. I want you to get to live the life you deserve. And…” A shaking breath. “Yes, there is danger. The GIW or Mom and Dad could find us. The Bats… Red Hood knows about me now. And who knows what he’ll do? And even Jason… how would he react if he finds out where you really came from? I… I don’t know what’s going to happen but…”

Danny reaches, gently taking Jamie’s hand who returned the touch with a squeeze. “After you talked to me, really talked to me for the first time… I… at first I just thought about me, about not being alone. But you told me you wanted to be real and…” Tears welled, smiling through watery eyes. “I knew I wanted to help you grow. I wanted to see who you were becoming. I… I wanted to be your older brother. I am your big brother. And I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you, no matter what happens.”

The words trickle to a stop, so much earnest passion within them. Danny prays they are heard and accepted.

Finally, his brother looks up. Round, still-watery eyes met his. “Jamie loves you too. Want you to not be alone, to be… to be safe too.”

“I know. I know you do.” The half ghost’s eyes soften. He does know. He can feel the care vibrate down the threads connecting him to his twin, singing through him like a note plucked on strings. “And I appreciate that you worry about me. But you don’t need to.” Danny smiles encouragingly. “Let me worry about the danger. I’ll do everything I can to keep us safe and still get the help we need. You just worry about growing and getting stronger, okay?”

For a second, Jamie’s brow furrows with a frown. Then he exhales. “Okay.” He sounds sincere despite the wrinkle. “Will focus on growing.”

“Good.” Danny sighs, relieved. Still… worry for his brother swirls in his core. “Did Spectra say anything else to you?”

The words fall heavily, followed by a weighty pause. Jamie’s eyes flicker to the side. A complicated mix of emotions flash on his face. But finally, he simply answers. “No.”

An inkling dances at the edge of Danny’s mind, a suspicion that he should press. But before it can solidify…

“Ankle hurts.” Jamie cuts, face screwing up with pain.

Danny frowns down at the joint. “It looks like it.” Swollen and discolored, shades blue and purple paint the skin. It would look like any other bruise, if not for the neon green undertone. The hint of the ectoplasm under Jamie’s skin in place of blood. “Maybe some ice will help.”

The half ghost conjures a block of ice, collecting a clean shirt from their bag of thrift store clothing to wrap it in. Carefully, he unties Jamie’s sneaker and pulls off the ankle sock. His twin lifts his leg and Danny places the block under the swollen ankle.

“Let that sit for a while. Hopefully the swelling will go down.”

Jamie hums in agreement, relaxing back on the couch. “Hopefully it’s not broken.”

“Yeah.” The thought has Danny scowling worriedly. Can it even be broken, considering Jamie is a ghost and ghosts don’t usually have bones? Usually such an injury isn’t even possible for him in ghost form, not something as mundane as twisting his ankle. And yet Jamie just did.

And another conundrum…. Normally an injury of this caliber would cause a duplicate to dissipate. Danny would feel an echo of the pain inflicted or even receive a lesser version of the injury. If he reabsorbs Jamie’s body, will he end up with a partially healed version of his twisted ankle?

Granted, all that could be solved with some ectoplasm to speed up the healing process. “If I could just get my hands on some ectoplasm….” Danny sighs into his hand.

Wait.

The revelation hits Danny like a truck. “I… I can’t believe I forgot.”

The sudden movement has Jamie blinking at him in question. “What?”

The half ghost kneels on the floor, a hand phasing into it. “My go bag… I packed ectodejecto.” He pulls out a glowing green vial.

The clone’s eyes widen, frowning suspiciously as he eyes the liquid. “What is it?”

“This is what I used to stabilize Ellie. Dad made it to hurt ghosts but instead it makes them strong.”

“And this might heal the ankle?” Jamie asks, one brow raised.

“Maybe….” Danny’s mind races now that he is actually thinking about the ectodejecto, actually considering the possibilities. “Maybe it can do more.” Hope rings in his voice. “Maybe this can make you strong enough to… to separate from me.”

A tentative hope wavers in Jamie’s eyes. “Separate? As in… won’t be a duplicate anymore?”

“Yes!” Danny laughs, elated with the realization. “This might actually do it.”

Still, Jamie eyes the vial, not as confident. “How do we…” He bits his lip. “How do we use it?”

“Last time, I just sprayed it on Ellie and she healed up instantly. So I guess I’ll just do the same thing..” Danny kneels in front of him. “Alright. Here we go. How about you take off your shirt first? Wanna get direct skin contact.”

“Okay.” With a nod, the clone wrestles out of the cotton t-shirt.

“I’ll spray it over where your core should be. That should make it work faster.”

The clone fixes nervous eyes on him, body ripe with tension. Still, offering an encouraging smile, the older twin depresses the nozzle and sprays.

The cloud of mist falls on Jamie’s chest, the green fading from sight in a blink. The next, and Jamie is leaned over, panting.

“Hey, take it easy. Just breath.” Danny offers comfort, rubbing his twin’s back.

“Look.” The clone breathes shakily, eyes fixing on his out stretched ankle.

Danny’s gaze follows. In the span of five seconds, the ankle’s swelling disappears. The color shifts, lightening from dark blue and purple to a sickly green-yellow. Another heartbeat and the skin is its normal pale peach.

“It healed.” Danny’s eyes widen, hope blooming. “Did it… did it finally work? Did we separate?”

Jamie’s brow furrows, a hand on his chest. “Don’t know. Maybe?”

The older brother reaches for the familiar pulse point. “I’m definitely feeling something!”

The clone hums thoughtfully. “Good.”

At Danny’s insistence, the younger twin takes a shower and changes clothes. The two settle down to relax before bed.

Danny slowly falls asleep, excitement and nerves dancing in his gut. The same feelings trickle across his ever present link to Jamie. The bond itself takes a different hue though, no longer a slow moving stream of energy. But a simple comforting thread of brotherhood.

In the morning, Danny awakes to Jamie asleep on the couch above him. Air softly whistles out of his nose, chest slowly rising and falling.

The half ghost’s heart sang with joy.

[lullabyes22-blog]

i just discoveredd this immaculate rarepairing of yours, and i was immediately obssessed <33

idkk if someone asked this butt after finishing mal de mer, i just kept wondering what would Silco be like around a laboring Mel— is he the going to be beside Mel holding her hand while Mel's crushing his or is he going to be the type of husband who just stands outside the room?

Thank you so much<3 I'm so thrilled the Melco agenda is spreading :D 

Interestingly, in the Mal de Mer timeline, when Mel goes into labor, Silco is actually overseas on business. He and Mel have been keeping in touch via missives. But as fate would have it, he gets stuck in a particularly remote village which delays his mail for days. She writes to him that the contractions are coming closer together now, and that it won't be long before she finally goes into labor... 

And then he never hears from her again.  

Naturally, this sets his paranoia off into overdrive: not knowing how she and his unborn child are doing. It's worse when he gets a Morse landline code from Sevika, alerting him that Mel's ready to go into labor, and that it's much more risky than initially anticipated.

The message ends with 'RETURN ASAP' — no other updates. 

Silco makes haste home by commandeering the fastest vessel, traveling at warp speed towards Piltover without rest, the desperation churning inside him like sea-froth against jagged cliffs.

His worst fears only seem to manifest, because when he arrives back at the mansion after nearly a week away, he finds Mel's penthouse aswarm with Piltovan doctors and chemists.

Sevika is waiting for him outside, flanked by blackguards. There is also, berthed at the nearby wharf, a Noxian medevac zeppelin which Silco doesn't recognize, and dread settles deep within the pit of his stomach. 

Sevika, reading his grim silence as 'explain,' wastes no time describing exactly how things deteriorated after she'd sent her last telegram. Mel was hit by preeclampsia, which escalated into severe HELLP syndrome once active labor started. It was so bad, the Topside doctors had to induce general anesthesia. The baby, in her mother's haywire body, had gone into fetal distress; she had to be pulled out via forceps.

Unfortunately, the blood loss from the procedure and her internal hemorrhage sent Mel spiraling into multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. With sepsis rapidly overtaking her body, the doctors informed Sevika that she'd be lucky to live another twenty-four hours.

It would take a miracle cure to save her. 

Right around this time, Ambessa —  who'd been docked at their port for two nights already, ostensibly to be at hand in case of crisis, and in Silco's estimation to kidnap the baby —  stepped in with her own personal squad of doctors.

She'd locked herself inside with Mel. Her guards have been blocking everyone else from entering ever since. 

Hearing this, Silco's panic boils over into rage. He elbows his way past the guards, Sevika on his heels, bursting through the door to Mel's room only by dint of force— 

— and stops dead in his tracks. 

The sight greeting his eyes is nothing short of a tableau straight out of H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos.

Mel is submerged in some sort of cylindrical aquarium that resembles an autopsy tank; the water is tainted dark red, almost black. Inside the glass, Mel floats unmoving, swathed in the same translucent gossamer gown she wore the night they consummated their marriage. Her long hair wafts out in tangled streamers, giving her the appearance of a drowned siren.

An horde of Noxian chemists cluster round, administering solutions from various tubes fed into the tank itself. Whatever the solution is, it has rendered Mel's skin deathly translucent.

She isn't moving, except to drift slowly, suspended as if weightless in the eerie darkness. 

Ambessa, her tall figure with its back to Silco, turns just as he enters. There's no surprise on her face. She lifts one gauntleted finger to her lips, commanding him to silence.

And Silco, stunned, finds himself obeying, rooted in place.

Because nestled in the crook of Ambessa's arm... is a baby. 

Though clean and freshly-bathed, it's obviously newborn. At first, Silco doesn't register what he's looking at. The shock has caused all cognitive functions to momentarily flee his brain, until he finds himself moving automatically, gliding forward with both arms outstretched to seize it, because he doesn't want Ambessa touching something so fragile, not when he constantly senses something profoundly avaricious about this woman, no matter that he perhaps owes her his child's life, no matter that they are ostensibly allies.  

Ambessa, for her part, hands it — no, her — off without protest. Once he has taken possession of the bundle, he looks down, seeing her face for the first time: scrunched up features, pouting lips, wispy curls. She's feather-light, fitting easily in the space between his wrist and forearm. 

He stares, transfixed. 

His child.  

There's no doubt it's his; the resemblance to himself and Mel is undeniable. Though he will, at his soonest convenience, summon Singed to administer a blood test. He wouldn't put it past Ambessa to swap his heir with a decoy, and smuggle the real deal back to Noxus.

"You're fortunate," Ambessa says, imperiously. "If I were a few hours late, they'd both be dead."  

And she slants her glance towards the tank where Mel stays motionless, floating like a sea witch under a spell. The tank's contents, she explains, are a breathable vapor from the Shadow Isles; just being submerged within it is enough to neutralize most of the patient's inflammation and endotoxin. Since it's classified as a controlled substance outside of Noxus, Ambessa had it brought all the way over in that huge airship moored nearby. 

"You expected this to happen," Silco says, accusingly. 

"Childbirth is fraught with danger. A battlefield, some might call it." Ambessa lays a hand, contemplatively, upon the tank holding Mel. "And the Medarda women have a history of fighting the bloodiest campaigns of all." 

She tips a nod to her doctors. Obeying, they drain the tank of its solution. As it flushes out through the grates set near the bottom, Mel sinks in tandem, like a puppet cut from marionette strings, still clad in that lacy shroud.

If she really is healing as promised, then it certainly can't be seen on her wan, unconscious features. 

Silco moves closer. Before he's able to pull her up, Ambessa leans over and does it herself, lifting Mel bodily out of the empty vat and laying her on the bed.

To her credit, the older woman's touch is careful. Almost tender. 

"She will heal now," she says. "Though it may take several weeks. Keep the babe close to her, so she knows it survived." Here, she flicks a near-pitying glance at the bundle nestled against Silco's chest, then at Mel. "And heed my advice. Don't expect any future whelps after this." She raps the glass tank with her gauntlet, once. "Even this vapor can't save a lost cause." 

Silco's bad eye smolders. He says nothing.  

"Also keep your harridan Head Wife well away," Ambessa continues, nodding to Sevika looming in the doorway. "Mel will need every bit of peace and quiet for the weeks ahead. Not a jot of stress. My guards will be posted at all entrances; any attempts at aggression, even of the verbal variety, will result in ejection from the premises." 

Sevika glowers, taking issue with being addressed as Silco's 'Head Wife' but otherwise holding her tongue. Her stance, however, radiates just how badly she wants to deck the Noxian matriarch across her sneering mug. 

For Silco's part, he says nothing. Nothing about the absurdity of Noxians crawling all over his property, or the ridiculousness of Ambessa giving orders while under his roof, or his newborn being brought into the world via forceps, as if to foreshadow the bloody conflict she'll soon inherit. 

No. All that matters is Mel's safe delivery. The rest is a bridge to be crossed later.

And they've got their whole lives for that, don't they? 

And so, all he does is gently lay the baby girl onto the bedding next to her mother's unconscious form. His gaze never leaves Mel, who slumbers so peacefully that it could almost pass for death. 

"You have my thanks," he says, without looking at Ambessa. "And my utmost gratitude."

There's no inflection, but nor does it seem obligatory politeness. 

Ambessa takes it as victory. Her grin shows teeth. 

"No thanks required, Eye of Zaun." Ambessa lays a possessive palm over the baby, as though asserting her own ownership. The touch is gone after half a second, but her meaning is clear enough. "But you will repay me this favor, in due time. Never doubt that." 

"Get out," is all Silco answers, weary of the games and gambits. "Before I decide the debt's been repaid in kind already." 

And Ambessa, cognizant of when she's overstayed her welcome, nods.

Gesturing to her guards, she takes leave — sweeping imperiously past him, trailing expensive perfume, bloodlust and a palpable sense of wickedness, which will remain until well after she's back aboard her grotesque warship and setting sail out of sight. 

Once Silco hears her party exiting belowstairs, he finally exhales the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

With steady fingers, he touches Mel's pulse. Her heartbeat is strong, thudding against his fingertips. As he smooths the curls from her clammy forehead, a soft sigh escapes her. One arm slides reflexively around their child, cradling the baby as naturally as if she'd been awake all this time. 

Sevika, watching them in silence, finally ventures: 

"Congratulations, sir. At least you know the kid's inherited your lucky streak." Seeing Silco's bridling lip, she elaborates: "Dodging death." 

Silco, looking over at Mel and the sleeping baby, smiles a smile that isn't wry, or bitter, or, for once, tinged with rage.  

"I suspect," he says, pulling up a seat at Mel's bedside, "she'll inherit a great deal more than that."  

Sevika, conceding with a grim nod, and takes her leave.

Alone, Silco doesn't break the stillness except to gently caress his daughter's cheek. He stands guard over his two treasures — alert, protective — until sunrise starts filtering in through the windows. 

Then, naturally, Jinx gets wind of her brand-new sibling and sets off a whole fusillade of fireworks to wake up both cities and chase sleep right the hell away. 

But that, again, is a story for another day... 

[angrybathbomb]

TOUCHSTARVED FANFIC

“Are you two a couple?”

  MODERN AU

Touchstarved LI x gn! Reader

  SUMMARY: On a coffee date with each ts LIs, both of you are stopped by what one can assume a street interviewer/youtuber who seems to be quite eager on talking to couples. What do our lovely LIs have to say?

WARNINGS:  None tbh, fluff, slightly suggestive joke cracked once but it’s just implied and said as a joke/banter nothing explicit, Ais calls you sparrow and says one of his signature line he said in the demo (will be in italics).

NOTE:  This is my first time writing a fanfic, please go easy on me if I made some mistakes as I am still learning. Constructive criticism and tips to improve are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

(also y/n == your name)

INSPO: I saw a YouTube channel (meetcutenyc) and felt like writing this for our lovely ts LIs!

WORD COUNT: <1.5K

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-PROLOGUE-

Strolling leisurely down the bustling streets for a cozy, romantic coffee date, fingers entwined, greedily savored each other’s warmth. Each step the two of you took, resonated with a rhythm on the footpath that stretched ahead in the bustling cityscape. Amidst the bustling chaos of the city, snippets of conversations floating around and the distant hum of traffic, a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you with occasional exchange of shy yet mischievous glances and tender smiles.

However, the romantic stroll came to an abrupt halt when a young guy holding a camera, most likely recording, blocked the path ahead of you two.

“Sorry to interrupt, but are you two a couple?”, he inquired with a friendly smile. His eyes, subtly reflecting guilt, silently apologized for the sudden intrusion.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AIS

LEANDER

VERE

MHIN

KURAS

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

      AIS

Ais regards the guy with a cold look as he answers his question with a terse nod as he pulls you closer to him, his hand wrapping around your waist protectively which was interwoven with your fingers so lovingly just a moment prior to this, a stark contrast to the possessive hold he has now.

“Do you need something?”, he adds with a callous tone, his impatience evident. “We have somewhere to be,” he finishes as he guides you behind him, shielding you from the camera.

Sensing his defensive demeanor, princess begins to growl at the stranger. Her instincts kick in, mirroring Ais’s protective stance towards you.

The stranger, noticing the tension in the air, quickly raises one hand above his head in a gesture of surrender. He begins, “I just wanted to ask,” his tone sincere,” Would you mind sharing the story of how you two first met?”, his voice carries a curious yet respectful tone.

Ais, sensing no immediate threat, whistles lowly, a familiar command for Princess to calm down. Obedient to his command, she relents, but remains watchful as she settles between the two of you. 

Ais exchanges a brief glance with you, you nod slightly signaling your willingness to share a part of your history with him. He smiles softly as he turns his gaze to the stranger,” It’s a long story,” his tone softening ever so slightly, “But I suppose we have a moment.”

The stranger beams with delight,” And I have all the time in the world!”, he reassures, grateful to have a story to share with his viewers.

You laugh quietly touched by such an innocent remark and quite frankly amazed at how eager he appears. A surge of shyness envelops you as memories of your first encounter with Ais floods your mind.

“You want my version or his?” you ask, offering the stranger a friendly smile as you lean into Ais’s warmth, he squeezes your hips in response, his hold on you not budging one bit.

“Both of yours!”, the stranger chirps up with childlike glee. A teasing smile plays on Ais’s lips, “How about you go first, hm Sparrow?”

“How kind of you,” you roll your eyes, all too aware of the mirth swimming in his crimson gaze. You shift your attention towards the stranger, your eyes alight with memories as you begin recounting the story, “I was wandering down the aisles of what used to be a Public Library, known as ‘The Senobium’, quite renowned for its vast collection of books, holding knowledge on the most bizarre subject imaginable. If any place held answers, it was the Senobium.” You continue your ramble as Ais listens patiently, silently admiring you, a fond smile adorning his sharp features.

“I was specifically looking and gathering books to research about this conspiracy theory floating around the internet that had caught my attention – The Groupminds”, you continue painting a vivid imagery of the fateful day to the eagerly listening stranger ,”Amidst the pile of books I had in my hand, more than I could possibly handle, my line of vision was blocked and I was trudging ahead, one step at a time, until I collided with this gentleman over here,” you gesture towards Ais , impishness painted all over your face.

“It felt straight out of a classical romantic movie,” you recall with a bashful smile as your gaze meets Ais’s, who responds with a playful wink and a fanged grin. “The next instant, all the books slip from my grasp, and I am stumbling backwards, teetering on the brink of hitting the cold hard floor. That is until, a warm hand catches my lower back and guides me back up to my feet effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing,”

“As I recover from the shock, I shift my gaze to take a better look at my saviour,” you pause, studying Ais for a moment before continuing,” there he stands before me, radiating an air of self-assuredness.” Your lips curve into a wry smile, “I say my thanks, anticipating a courteous ‘you’re welcome’ but instead, this bastard has the gall to quip back, ‘Watch your step, Sparrow,’ his words dripping with smug satisfaction, as though reveling in my plight.”

You pout playfully,” Thanks to his good looks, I let it slide. My hands were itching to leave a red imprint on that stupid handsome face,” you confess, your cheeks flush a deep red. Ais, not missing a beat, retorts with a smirk,” But you just did last night,” he teased with a suggestive glance, a coy smile dancing on his lips.

“Have some shame,” you roll your eyes, swatting his chest playfully. “What's that?”, he feigns oblivion, secretly relishing the sight of your embarrassment.

The stranger smiles at the shared mischief between them before turning to Ais, “What about you Sir? What’s your version of the story?”, curiosity evident in his tone.

Ais considers you for a moment, fondness evident in his scarlet orbs, before he addresses the stranger,” Let’s just say their version conveniently leaves out the part where they nearly caused a book avalanche in the middle of the library.”

You merely roll your eyes at his playful jab,” Perhaps you could have watched your step and not get in my way,” you fix him with an accusatory look,” All of it seemed as if it was planned all along.”

“Took you long enough to figure out,” responds Ais with a devilish smirk.

The stranger chuckles in amusement at the light-hearted banter between the two lovebirds before he interjects with his next question,” Could you two share your first impressions of each other?”

“First impression, huh?”, you paused for a moment, adopting a deadpan expression, before replying, “Bastard.” Your blunt response elicits a roar of laughter from both men.

“You wound me Sparrow,” Ais remarks, his six- foot frame shook with mirth. Before he answers for himself, he grins and teases,” Ah yes, I remember thinking, ‘Is this sparrow lost, or did the sky misplace its most charming songbird?’ Thankfully, they landed right here.”

“That’s the biggest load of nonsense I’ve ever heard,” you retort with an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised in mock indignation. Ais leans in to press a firm kiss to your forehead, unfazed by your tough facade.

“Mouth off all you want, I happen to like your shitty attitude,” he says affectionately while you remain stoic to appear indifferent to his tender gaze, but the telltale blush creeping onto your cheeks gives you away.

“Any tips you would like to give to a new couple?”, the stranger poses his final question.

Ais smiles sincerely, his gaze thoughtful as he offers his advice,” Be honest and real. The right person will love you for who you really are,” he says as a matter of fact, looking at you for a moment.

You nod in agreement before adding your own perspective,” If you have to pretend to be someone else, even with your lover, well, how long can that last?” you continue with an earnest expression,” If you and your partner cannot accept each other’s worst, you have no right to enjoy each other’s best either. Putting up an act doesn’t work in the long run.” you finish, a kind smile gracing your lips.

“Thank you so much! You make such a lovely couple,” the stranger remarks warmly before asking, “May I ask your names?’

“(y/n)”, you introduce yourself with a warm smile. “Ais”, he follows suit.

“(y/n) and Ais,” the stranger repeats the names, the syllables harmonizing so well, their love seems destined.

“Thank you for your time! Good day!”, the stranger expresses his gratitude as they prepare to part ways.

“No worries, it was lovely talking to you.”, you respond with a sweet smile, eyes reflecting genuine warmth. Ais offers a nonchalant wave as a farewell, but the content smile etched on his face betrays his enjoyment of the conversation.

Together with Princess, both of you set off on your way to your long-awaited coffee date, the air around both of you filled with sweet anticipation.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End note: Tell me about your thoughts in the comments! I will be writing for other LIs soon! Thank you for reading my work 😊

[silvernyxchariot]

Helloo :)

I was wondering if you could do Childe x Reader oneshot/ scenario where the reader gets injured and Childe helps or protects them. (Also if you don't do Childe, Kaveh would be good instead. And if you are more comfortable with doing headcanons instead then idm either)

Childe x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Reader is injured in combat, and Childe takes care of them

⚠️Warnings: sickeningly sweet/fluffy at the end, 2nd person pov⚠️

Word Count: 845

~ ~ ~

~ ~

~

What did he do this time? Wait, no. How did a Geo Vishap get into a Fatui base!?

For you and Childe, this was at best a mop up job, killing an elemental beast that threatened many of the other agents’ safety. Childe had been instructing his subordinates to exit the facilities and to get outside. However, his bow was ready, at his side and in hand. He trusted you to hold back the ferocious beast until he got there. “Don’t hog all of the fun for yourself now,” he said before unlocking the base. The doors to the outside world popped open.

Metal dropped down, shaking the base and resounding echoes, and scalding steam spewed from each broken pipe. The blocked your vision somewhat, but the massive beast flailing around made it all the easier to strike. But its armor and hide prevented you from causing any major damage. The Geo vishap swatted your attacks away like they were fruit flies, small and annoying.

A spray of cool mist crept up behind you, “Duck down,” Childe commanded. He leapt over you with a jet of water and fired Hydro arrows into the Geo vishaps eyes, blinding it. The beast roared and slammed the ground with its armored fists. Stalagmites thrusted out of the ground. They distracted you long enough. “Watch out!” Childe turned to you at the last second.

It struck you from the back. The Geo vishap controlled a chain of rocks and whipped it around like a tail. Bones crackled and snapped causing internal damage. You coughed up blood and got slammed into the wall. The impact on your head knocked you out and the last thing you could see were Childe’s boots, bow at his feet, and blades of Hydro energy manifesting into his hands before losing consciousness.

In the darkness of your consciousness, it felt like floating in the depths of the ocean. The weight of all the water around you kept you from moving or lifting a finger. But it wasn’t cold as one would expect.

The creaking of a wooden chair and the crackling of a fire nearby woke you from your slumber. You were buried under a thick mink blanket. Your torso was wrapped in bandages and dried blood. Someone was changing your wrappings while you were unconscious. When you opened your eyes, the décor indicated you were still in Liyue. Childe was sitting in a simple wooden chair, his hands behind his head, one leg over the other, and his eyes were closed.

“I knew you couldn’t be kept down by a little push.”

‘A little push’ was an understatement. Your body felt like it was dropped from the very top of Qingyun Peak. You groaned as you tried to move, but Childe placed a hand over your chest to restrict your movements. A little smile on his face teased you in your weakened state.

“Hey now. You’re tough, but I’m tougher. You’re not ready to start moving around.” Childe shifted your blankets and helped you sit up in the bed by stuffing pillows behind your back. “Three broken ribs,” Ajax raised his fingers as he counted your injuries, “a little crack above your orbital, and some ripped muscles. But we can always retrain them.” Ajax seemingly lifeless eyes softened, and a little shine appeared. He scooted into the bed with you, facing you with intimacy.

Ajax kissed the bandage that covered the healing wound above your eye and caressed your cheek delicately with his gloved hand. “Don’t worry me like that again,” he said with less authority or teasing. His soldier-like seriousness dissipated, and he gently placed a arm over your stomach area, avoiding your recovering ribcage.

“If you ever need to retreat, just know that I’ll be there to finish the job.” Another kiss but to your temple, “But you did well to hold off a Geo vishap until I arrived. It was unexpectedly larger and all the moodier than any normal vishap.”

“Ajax,” your sore throat let you croak out. Childe offered you a small cup of water from the nightstand by your bed, gingerly placing it against your lips.

“I’ll bring the world to its knees for you,” he said simply, like it was an everyday mantra, “you know that. And besides, not everyone can be a strong as I am.” A little hint of his usual over-confidence shined through. Ajax rested his head on his arm and sighed contently while he snuggled into your resting form. “Now rest,” he said sternly, “I’ll be here when you wake again. It’ll be easier to change your bandages when you can hold yourself up.”

Ajax pressed his nose to the top of your head and gave you a long, sweet kiss and trailed down to your cheek. A gloved hand cupped your cheek, a gentle finger dragged down until it was under your chin, and he tilted your head until you looked into his sapphire blue eyes. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours before tucking the both of you in.

A/N: Teeheehee, 👉👈 I suppose this is repentance for my angst earlier.

On a side note, I really like how the CHN and JPN voiceovers are supposed to have a more "dutiful soldier" vibe for Tartaglia. The playboy mischaracterizations are just... disappointing but not at all surprising coming from the Genshin fandom.

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐀

two / masterlist / wattpad

summary: after befriending one of the Natblidas, you don't expect for her to become as important in your life as she is. But she's only on track to becoming Commander, so your feelings can never come first.

warning/s: usual warnings that come with the 100 such as mentions of violence and injuries etc.

author's note: okay so i've literally had writer's block for what feels like forever and this was requested a while ago. I've finally finished it (though i'm not content with the ending and couldn't for the life of me think of an alternative lol). Nonetheless, I hope you like it! It'll have two parts in total :)

also if anyone thinks Lexa is ooc, this is just how i imagine her to be growing up and pre-Costia okay, sue me

6 years old...

I followed my father as we approached the Tower in the centre of Polis. Apparently it was where the Commander lived, at least that's what everyone said, but I'd never actually seen him before. He was always protecting Polis, fighting enemy clans, hunting and other Commander-stuff – my dad said so – which was why he was hardly out in public.

For whatever reason, he was more of a figment of my imagination than an actual leader, but I'd never admit that aloud. Despite this, I always found his home – the Tower – very impressive, and whenever I'd accompany my father on visits, I'd be forever fascinated. My father was an apothecary and regularly made deliveries to the Commander's personal healer in the Tower, and so he always brought me with him.

I followed him through the winding corridors and past some guards dotted around and then we reached the healer's room on the ground floor. As usual, I was told to wait outside whilst business was conducted, but this time it took longer than usual. I heard laughter from inside the healer's room and figured my father and the healer were having a nice catch up which, from experience, would take forever.

Naturally, I wandered off momentarily, down the familiar hallway and peeking through open doors. My eyes drew to a particular room that was filled with a dozen or so young children, near enough my age though some a little older, and I knew who they were instantly.

The Natblidas.

I'd seen them around before on previous visits and also heard a lot about them from others in the city. They were black-blooded and able to take the Flame that the Commander had. Only those with black blood could be a Natblida and next in line for the throne once the Commander passed. They were scouted constantly, brought in from all different clans, trained to fight in Polis and eventually fight in a Conclave once the Commander was dead. The last one standing would lead next.

It was a difficult concept to grasp, especially so young, but I knew enough to know it was important. I didn't know any of the Natblidas personally, but whenever I saw them, I was always intrigued.

"What are you looking at?"

I jumped, startled at the voice from behind me. Turning around, I was ready to defend myself in case I was about to get in trouble, but all my words betrayed me once my eyes landed on the young girl before me, no older than I was. She was a little taller than me, had long curly brown hair and the brightest green eyes I'd ever seen. I wasn't sure what was so different about her to other kids I'd met, but I was certain she was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen in my little life.

"Hello? Do you understand me?" she asked in fluent Trigedasleng, quirking a brow.

"I– yes," I answered quickly, acutely aware of the butterflies in my stomach. Though, at the time, I'd never experienced butterflies so I wasn't sure why I felt like I was floating. "Sorry. I was just waiting for my father. He delivers medicine to the healer."

She crossed her arms, eyes looking me up and down with an air of maturity that other kids in the city didn't possess. "What's your name?"

"Y/N. What's yours?"

Her eyes met mine again, though this time her shoulders relaxed. "Lexa."

I smiled a little, offering out my forearm as I'd seen my father do whenever greeting others. "It's nice to meet you, Lexa."

She did the same, gripping mine and shaking it slightly. "You too, Y/N."

"Are you a Natblida?" I asked curiously.

She nodded.

"Wow," I muttered without meaning to, and then a small smile graced her lips and the butterflies only intensified.

"I have to get back to class," she said with a hint of amusement. "Will you come back? Next time? With your father?"

I nodded a little too quickly. "I always do."

She pressed her lips together, nodding, before moving past me to return to her class. But not before glancing at me once more, saying, "Goodbye, Y/N. See you next time."

I stupidly gaped at her, managing to wiggle my fingers in a goodbye wave, before catching the sparkle in her eye as she closed the door behind her.

I suppose you could say that was where both my friendship and crush on Lexa truly began.

It was from that point onwards where I would see her almost every time I visited the Tower with my father, which was, at most, a couple of days a week. Between finding moments to chat whilst my dad did his job or watching her train with the other Natblidas, it was safe to say my crush, and our friendship, blossomed with time.

I learnt about her experience as a Natblida, including how she'd been there the longest of all the other kids because she'd been brought to Polis as a two-year-old and had been training since. It explained why she was so mature for her age and why she took her role as a Natblida with the utmost seriousness. Nonetheless, she was still a kid like me, and that was why it was so easy to befriend one another.

She asked me tons of questions about my life, since our day-to-day responsibilities differed so much. Her days were filled with training, learning and shadowing warriors, whereas mine were filled with shadowing my father, learning about medicine and exploring all there was to know about the human body. I wanted to be a healer when I was older and so my dad was preparing me for that all he could.

It was easy enough to become closer to Lexa, so much that she began sneaking out to spend more time with me outside of her Natblida responsibilities. It was easy enough since she was practically a top student, so nobody ever suspected a thing.

And that was how we became best friends.

—

8 years old...

"You should let me train you more."

I scoffed and pushed Lexa off me with my sword, making her laugh as she backed up. She had the afternoon free from her Natblida responsibilities, so we were training together in the woods so she could get the extra practice in but also spend time with me.

"I'm not the one training to be Heda, so I think I'll stick to medicine," I retorted knowingly.

She rolled her eyes playfully before getting into a stance with her sword once more.

"This isn't fun for me, y'know," I reminded her as I, too, got into a stance. "Can't we go swimming now?"

She swung her sword just as I finished my sentence and I was quick to raise my own, otherwise my face would have been sliced in half.

"Soon," she got out between swings.

I struggled to keep up with her, not as accustomed to sword fighting as she was. Sometimes it was easy to forget this was all she knew, and our ideas of spending time together were very different.

She swung her sword with force, knocking mine from my grasp. I watched it clatter to the ground before hers found the tip of my chin with satisfaction.

"Not fair," I grumbled, and her grin was staring across from me, mischievous glint matching the glint of her sword.

"It's too easy," she said between a chuckle, before lowering her sword.

I feigned annoyance as I went to grab my sword, picking it up from the mud it landed in. This gave me an idea and I began to smile to myself as I grabbed my sword, as well as dipping the tips of my fingers in the mud.

"Your fighting is very good, Lexa," I complimented her, standing up and approaching her. "But you have to be fierce if you're to be Heda. Didn't you know that?"

She furrowed her brows, almost offended. "I am fierce!"

"I think some face paint would help," I said nonchalantly, using her momentary confusion as opportunity to swipe my mud-covered fingers across her cheek with a grin.

She squealed as she stepped back, eyes scrunching shut. I laughed at her expression as she wiped her cheek subconsciously, only spreading the mud further across her cheekbone.

"There," I spoke with pride. "Perfect."

Her bright eyes met mine competitively, an attempt to intimidate me, but I knew her long enough to find it anything but. Soon enough, her pursed lips curved into a smile and she was laughing alongside me.

"I suppose I deserved that," she admitted, shaking her head.

"You could actually wear some war paint though," I said after studying her face a little longer, both from genuine awe at how pretty she looked, even after training, and pure curiosity. "It suits you."

Thinking I was teasing, she shoved me back slightly, and I chuckled at the pink dusting her cheeks.

Looking back, it was how we discovered she actually did suit war paint, and it did indeed make her look more fierce. I was touched when I saw her wear it properly from then on out.

—

12 years old...

"Lexa, slow down!" I exclaimed, hands gripping her waist tightly.

Her laughter rang through the trees as she continued to ride her horse quickly, galloping through the forest and back to Polis. We had gone on a horse ride and picnic for lunch, or more of a late afternoon snack since it was the only time she could sneak off, but she always purposely rode fast, knowing it made me nauseous and dizzy.

Eventually she slowed down as we approached the edge of the city, coming to a halt by the west entrance. As soon as we stopped, I let go of her and slipped off the horse dizzily, leaning against a tree for support.

"I hate you," I mumbled, trying to steady myself.

"No you don't," she said between laughter, jumping off her horse and holding the reins.

I glared at her, half joking, before taking a deep breath. Once I was sure I wouldn't vomit, I straightened up, ready to walk the rest of the way.

"C'mon," she said, voice void of teasing and a gentle smile on her lips as she held out her hand.

I sighed but accepted her hand, letting her pull me to her side as we walked together. It was quiet as we walked through the city, though steadily getting busier as we approached the centre. As we walked, I remembered I wanted to share something with Lexa. It was actually the whole reason I wanted to hang out with her today, but the day got away from me and I completely forgot to mention it.

"So, I have some good news to share," I said, glancing over at her.

She quirked a brow, intrigued, returning my stare.

"My father set me up with a volunteer position," I started, pocketing my hands.

"Wow, really?" she asked excitedly, stopping to give me her full attention. "Where?"

I smiled a little, appreciative of her genuine interest. She knew I was trying to get some sort of official volunteering work from a skilled healer so I could learn.

"Well, you know how he delivers to the Commander's healer regularly?" I hinted playfully.

Her eyes widened slightly. "Really? You're going to be working with the Commander's personal healer?"

My smile widened as I nodded bashfully. "Yeah. It's only temporary, but–"

"Y/N, that's amazing!" she cut me off with a bright smile, before pulling me in for a hug. "I'm so proud of you!"

My whole face grew warm as she hugged me, not expecting it at all. It was safe to say I still had a huge crush on her, but I was too afraid to say anything, so it was little moments like these that I'd cling to with delusion.

"Who knows? Maybe when I become Commander, you can be my personal healer," she said once she pulled away, emerald eyes meeting mine with amazement.

I chuckled, shaking my head at her overexcitement. "You'd be sick of me by then, Lexa."

She glared at me playfully, shoving me in the shoulder. "Never."

I sighed, rolling my eyes with a ghost of a smile on my lips. Secretly, I hoped we'd stay in each other's lives forever. But neither of us knew what the future held, even if we liked to plan it out anyway. 

—

14 years old...

The volunteering job I took with the Commander's personal healer turned out to be more permanent than I thought, as even two years on, I was still working with him and learning more than I ever could have learned anywhere else.

Doing so meant I was at the Tower every day, learning about different medicines, which thankfully I knew a lot about already because of my father, and first aid. I was learning stuff my father couldn't teach me, like cutting out an infection or cauterising a wound. And those were just the little things.

Being at the Tower so often also meant I saw Lexa more and more, without having to find time around her busy schedule. Of course, it was quite literally that – seeing each other and that was it. She was still training as a Natblida and I was still working as a volunteer, but catching a glimpse of her smile every now and then was enough to leave me on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Of course, as Lexa's cohort grew older, it meant the pressures were getting stronger, and it was certainly having its effect. The last place I expected to see Lexa one afternoon was knocking on the door to the healer's room.

"Lexa," Nyko, the Commander's healer, noticed her first. "Is everything okay?"

Lexa avoided his eyes shamefully as she stepped inside. "Yes. Well– no. I was out hunting and a wild dog bit my arm..."

Only when she said that did my eyes lower to her forearm that she was clutching, black blood staining her sleeve.

"Come in, come in!" Nyko encouraged, before giving me a look that I knew all too well. "Y/N, will you…?"

I was already making a move to clear a space on the bed for her, though this time I was more concerned than usual for our newest patient. In my two years since volunteering, Lexa had never needed to visit. She rarely got injured and when she did, it was never anything serious.

She took a seat on the bed, stretching out her arm on the table next to her for Nyko to take a better look at. I stood beside him, though my eyes were trained on her. She was avoiding my gaze, distracted and seemingly unbothered by her wound. This was very unlike her and I had a million questions on the tip of my tongue.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I'll have to cut your sleeve," Nyko said gently, to which she barely shrugged in response.

My attention fell back to her arm, where Nyko was uncovering her wound with some scissors to her sleeve. It was a nasty bite with sharp, deep teeth marks and a black bloody mess left in its wake.

As usual, Nyko began to explain what he was doing as he did it, cleaning the blood and disinfecting the wound, which elicited a soft groan from Lexa. Then he began to spread an ointment over the top to stop any bacteria infecting the area further before holding out some bandages towards me.

"Think you can wrap her up?" he asked.

I nodded, accepting the bandages and trading places with him. Carefully, I wrapped her wound and taped it off, glancing at her as I did. She still wouldn't look my way and it concerned me.

"Looks good, Y/N," Nyko complimented, patting me on the back, before glancing at Lexa and noticing her distracted self too. "I'll be back. Need some more water. You okay here?"

It was obvious what he was doing, knowing a little of our friendship, and I appreciated it massively. Nodding his way, he offered me a small smile before leaving the room.

"Lexa," I said softly, squeezing her hand gently to earn her attention. "What happened?"

She sighed. "I told you. Dog bite."

"I know that, but... how?"

She shrugged, letting go of my hand and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I was a little distracted I guess."

I frowned, taking in her expression. She looked more tired than usual, her eyes darkened with fatigue.

"You can talk to me," I reminded her. "It's me."

She licked her lips thoughtfully before finally lifting her gaze to meet mine. She stared for a moment, as if debating whether to share how she was feeling, before saying, "Anya asked me to be her second."

Unsure if I'd heard correctly, it took me a second longer to respond. "What? She– what? Lexa, that's– that's great! Isn't it?"

Anya was one of the Commander's most esteemed warriors, having risen through the ranks so quickly at such a young age. For her to recognise Lexa's talent and ask to be her mentor was huge! So, what was the problem?

Lexa creased her brows as she looked down to her hands, one of which was already picking at her bandage subconsciously. I placed my hand on hers, stopping her, and she paused but didn't look up.

"What if I'm not good enough?" she said in such a quiet voice that it didn't sound like it belonged to her.

I raised my brows with disbelief. Lexa was never one to doubt herself, ever. She had no need to! But it made sense why she was so distracted lately. She'd clearly been putting a lot of pressure on herself.

"You're kidding, right?" I asked.

She gave me a disapproving look, upset.

"Lexa," I spoke truthfully, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You're seriously one of the most talented Natblidas there are. Clearly Anya recognises as much if she asked you to be her second."

"I know, but–"

"It's not a test," I told her, eyes flickering between hers. "She wants to make you better. To teach you all she can so you can go on to win Conclave when the time comes. You want that, don't you?"

She nodded weakly.

"Then you're going be okay," I reassured her. "You're more than good enough and she should be lucky to have you."

Lexa swallowed thickly, still uncertain. "Aren't you biased?"

I couldn't help but laugh a little. "Probably. But I also know that everybody sees how amazing of a warrior you are. You're seriously talented. You're intelligent. You're everything the future Commander needs to be. You shouldn't doubt yourself."

She blinked, eyes softening at my words, and I knew I'd said the right thing. Standing up, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and hugged me tight, tucking her head into my shoulder. I smiled slightly, returning the hug and rubbing her back.

"Thank you," she muttered, not quite breaking away just yet.

"I mean it," I replied, holding her for as long as she wanted me to.

After a moment, she pulled apart, though her hands lingered on my shoulders for a moment, and mine on her waist. My eyes naturally fell to hers, enamoured by the flecks of gold in her irises, and then I started to admire how beautiful she looked, how she was growing into her features more and more every day. For the first time since knowing her, I really wanted to know what it would be like to kiss her, and that's when I knew I was in too deep.

She had the weight of her world on her shoulders, and the responsibilities of a Natblida weren't light. The last thing she needed was her friendship in ruins because I couldn't keep my thoughts to myself.

"Now, please get some rest and pay attention on your hunts," I said with an awkward smile, taking a subtle step back to distract myself from thoughts of her. "You worried me with this injury of yours."

She cracked a smile, looking down shyly, only intensifying the butterflies in my stomach. "I will. Sorry."

She was my best friend, nothing more. I had to keep telling myself that, that was all.

—

16 years old...

The day that nobody expected had finally arrived. It was a day like any other, myself working with Nyko in the Tower – I was officially in his employ as of last year – when word spread about the Commander's passing.

He'd died in his sleep last night, succumbing to wounds from a battle with Azgeda that took place days ago. It was shocking, since Nyko and I had done all we could and genuinely believed he'd pull through, but his body wasn't as young as it used to be so it only made sense.

His death meant Conclave had to take place immediately, the following morning, and the first person who came to mind was Lexa. I wanted to go see her as soon as I could, but there was no time because of all the preparations that were taking place. All the Natblidas were off limits until the morning, so I couldn't stop by until then.

I thought I'd missed my chance when I slept in and realised the first fight was to take place within the hour. Relief spread through me when I spotted Lexa following some other Natblidas down the hall in the Tower, no doubt to join the rest of them on the battle grounds. I wasn't too late.

As soon as her eyes found mine, they widened with surprise before she slowed down her steps, letting the others walk past her subtly. I joined her side instantly as they left the hall, the two of us meeting in an embrace.

"I thought you weren't coming," she said uneasily, making my heart prick with guilt.

"I'm sorry, they wouldn't let me yesterday and I was running late this morning," I explained apologetically, pulling apart to meet her gaze. "I could never not come to see you, Lexa."

She swallowed visibly, nodding. Though she was as prepared as could be for Conclave, it was still a daunting experience and she seemed nervous.

"You're going to be fine," I told her, taking her hands in mine and squeezing them. "And when you become the Commander, I'm still going to be here for you. Like always."

"If," she corrected.

I shook my head. "You're going to win, Lexa."

"Luna is just as good," she pointed out.

"And you've trained longer than her," I retorted. "Longer than any of them. You can do it."

She pursed her lips, exhaling through her nose.

"I'll be watching front row," I said, eyes darting between hers. "Waiting for you when it's over. When they announce your win."

Her jaw tensed uneasily. "If they don't, this'll be the last time we speak."

I tried my hardest to keep smiling for her sake, but the truth of her words hit me hard. I didn't doubt she wouldn't win, but in the tiniest of chances she didn't, then I'd lose her for good. And then what? Who would I have left?

"We'll speak again," I said with certainty.

She wasn't as confident as I was, her gaze faltering, lip trembling ever so slightly. "But if we don't, Y/N, I... I need you to know that you mean the world to me."

"Lexa, don't–"

"No, just listen," she said firmly, squeezing my hands. "I never had a family. Anya is the closest I have, but it's not the same. Not like it is with you. I couldn't have done this without you, Y/N. Any of it."

I scoffed, teary-eyed at her words. "You definitely could've."

"No," she disagreed, licking her lips.

My heart soared in my chest at the way she spoke, like this would be the final time. It couldn't be, and yet– what if it was? What if this was the last time I could ever tell her the truth about how I'd felt about her all these years? She just opened up to me, so shouldn't I? Could I?

The words were stuck in my throat, as they'd been since I first met her. I wanted to tell her the truth, even if it was the last thing I ever said to her, but I couldn't. I was a coward, as always.

"What is it?" she asked with concern, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I smiled sadly, shaking my head. Even as she watched me with a tender gaze, I couldn't bring it in myself to ruin this. Not now, not when it could be our last moment together.

"Nothing, now come here," was all I said, pulling her in for a final hug so she couldn't see the tears slipping from my eyes.

Maybe a coward was all I would ever be.

—

It was no surprise that Lexa won Conclave and was crowned our new Commander. Even as I watched her fight, occasionally faltering at the swipe of a sword or a lucky punch, I didn't doubt she wouldn't make it. My heart was in my throat a few times, sure, but she always pulled through.

That same evening, she received the Flame in a private ceremony, whilst the rest of the city celebrated the appointment of their new Commander. Meanwhile, I was counting down the minutes until I could finally go and visit her, congratulate her, hold her.

It was late, well into the night, when I was finally allowed upstairs to the Commander's quarters – Lexa's new home – to see her. As soon as the doors opened, I pulled her in for a tight hug.

"You did it," I breathed out with relief as her hands wrapped around my waist. "I knew you would. Congratulations, Lexa. Or should I say Heda."

She chuckled slightly, also relieved, and didn't let go of me just yet. Finally, after a moment, she pulled apart and met my gaze. I couldn't help but notice the cut on her lip and the bruise darkening around her left eye. A small price to pay for the win.

"I have a surprise for you," she said softly, not letting go of my hands.

I tilted my head, confused.

She continued, "You've been working your way to becoming a healer, like Nyko. You're almost there. And as Heda, I'll need my own personal one."

"And you have one," I reminded her. "Nyko."

She shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "That was the previous Commander's. I need my own and Nyko said he trusts you. He will still work for me, but I want you to be mine." I quirked a brow, and she quickly corrected with pink cheeks, "My personal healer, I mean. I want you by my side like we always said."

I swallowed hard, taken aback. "Are you sure?"

She laughed, the room brightening at the sound. "Of course I'm sure!"

I exhaled quietly, smiling all the same. It was hard to believe what she was saying. Yes, we'd discussed this as kids, but I never saw it actually happening. And so quickly? She'd only been crowned Heda hours ago!

"I'd love to," I said appreciatively.

Her smile widened, eyes sparkling with excitement. I almost got lost in the shades of green and gold, heart soaring at the fact that she was still alive, mostly unhurt, the new Commander and right by my side again. The high I was on was unmatched and I truly considered lightening the load even more by telling her the truth about my feelings for her.

But it was the wrong time. She'd just been given a massive responsibility. I couldn't add to that. And I'd been rewarded with so much, including her safety. I needed to be grateful for what I had, not risk ruining it with what I didn't.

[betweenlands]

It takes exactly two seconds between Impulse looking up at the top of the Secret Keeper and him realizing what he's actually seeing up there to decide he is officially sick and tired of seeing ghosts.

There are seven entire ghosts around the thing today -- a couple appear to be tinkering with the secret delivery mechanisms. Impulse squints at them.

"What are you doing?" he says.

"Trying to figure out how to load more tasks into this thing," one of them replies, kicking one of the blocks with buttons on them. He's got a full beard and some weird green glowing mushrooms poking out of cracks in his face. It's definitely... a look, Impulse will give him that. Very Mycelium Resistance. "But whoever designed it used freakin' command blocks, and you can't even see the randomizer run."

"How many times did your randomizer break again?" one of the other ghosts calls from up on top of the Secret Keeper.

"Never!" the mushroom ghost protests, causing at least two other ghosts to crack up laughing. "It worked completely flawlessly except for user error."

One of the ghosts, someone who appears to have a floating cactus block for a head, snorts. "And programmer error."

"You shut it," the mushroom ghost responds.

"He's not wrong," the more normal-looking brown-haired ghost over by the command blocks says absently, purple eyes clearly focused on trying to trace the wiring back to the actual command blocks.

Impulse just stands there, bewildered -- both because the ghosts are actually talking to him, and also because these are extremely weird ghosts to be talking to who look nothing like anyone he's even vaguely heard of.

"Fine," he says, "you know what, I'll bite. Why are you guys here?"

"Checking in," a ghost sitting on one of the lower rocks says. He's wearing blue and yellow, looks to be a little more transparent than the others. "Y'know, new season and all that?"

Impulse squints at him. "No, I meant, why are you following me?"

"Ohhhh!" The ghost laughs. "Hadn't looked into what you were doing yet, and these guys wanted to see if they could get some of their tasks into the machine, so I just brought everyone along."

"That's not really a good answer," a ghost leaning inside the alcove under the Secret Keeper says. He's got a mask pulled up over his face, though his voice doesn't really sound muffled at all.

"What," the blue and yellow ghost says, "am I supposed to say something like it's because you're one of the people with no hard-and-fast thematic associations to stick to and therefore easier to facilitate a meeting with and freak him out more?"

Impulse squints harder. "Are you guys Watchers?"

The blue-and-yellow ghost snorts. "Hah! That's Martyn's lore, bud, not yours. Nope, nothing to do with the Watchers."

"Aren't you technically--" the ghost in the alcove starts.

"Tsssssshhhhhh," the other ghost replies by way of shushing him aggressively, "spoilers!"

"Alright," the alcove ghost says, spreading his hands in mock defeat, "fine, have it your way. He's right though. Not Watchers."

"Lowercase-w maybe," the brown-haired ghost still inspecting the redstone with the mushroom ghost says, "but otherwise, no."

Impulse is starting to feel like he's wandered into something way above his pay grade.

The alcove ghost snaps his fingers. Impulse notes somewhat absent-mindedly that he has, like, a lot of piercings on one ear. "Hey," he says, "come to think of it, we might be able to help you out with some stuff."

"I swear to God," another ghost says from on top of the Secret Keeper, "if you try to sell another person on your weird coffee god thing again-"

"I wasn't going to!" he responds. "Honest! I was just gonna say, it looks like there's a plains biome here, that means oxeye daisies, that means suspicious stew with regen if you can get a good source of mushrooms."

"Unfortunately," the mushroom ghost says, looking up from where he and the other ghost appear to now be trying to cram books into the ground, "the space for the hearts seems like it just kinda vanishes when people get hit. At least, if I'm not misunderstanding the programming."

"If you're misunderstanding the programming then we're both reading this code wrong," the brown-haired ghost says. "And I'm pretty sure I used something similar here for Dark Path stuff, so probably not?"

"Dang," the alcove ghost says, then tilts his head back towards Impulse. "Maybe make splash poison potions, then? That'll take out a good chunk of someone's health if they can't regen."

"He is green," the cactus-headed ghost says. "Why's he gotta make poison potions right now?"

A shrug in response. "Never hurts to prep early."

The blue-and-yellow ghost leans forward, squinting at him. "Alright," he says, "one of my wisps give you that idea or what?"

Another shrug. "I mean, what if they did?"

"Last time you started listening to his wisps," the brown-haired ghost says, "they told you to try and kill everyone just because I beefed it before the dragon fight."

"It would've worked if you hadn't warned them," the ghost in the alcove replies. "I can't believe you tried to sabotage my attempt at avenging you."

"I can't believe you listened to them in the first place," the blue-and-yellow ghost says. "They're bloodthirsty, they don't really give good advice."

"And I," Impulse says, having inched his way over towards the new task button, "am going to take my task and leave, because you guys are weird."

He hits the button and flips through the taskbook.

"End every sentence said to another player in a question?" he says, squinting down at it.

"You're already doing better than some of us were!" one of the ghosts on top of the Secret Keeper yells down.

"Oh my god, shut up!" the mushroom ghost yells back, and then turns to Impulse. "Hey, by the way, have you considered getting a pet parrot?"

"That's still a bad loophole and you know it," the blue-and-yellow ghost cuts in.

"I heard him just fine," the brown-haired ghost says. "Hey, hang on -- that's one of ours! It worked!"

Impulse decides he's not even going to bother trying to be polite about leaving. He has had entirely enough of these ghosts in particular.

[dancingtotuyo]

2. a clouded mind and a heavy heart

Woman | Joel Miller x Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: No, Joel Miller isn’t stalking you. He just knows what you do every night.

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader. Age Gap. TV characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, grief, talking & illusions to death & loss, references to cannon events & violence & other topics.

Words: 2419

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Joel looks out his front window. The sun dips past the mountain tops. You live next door to Tommy and Maria’s place presenting him with the perfect view of your front porch. You walked out 30 minutes ago, breathing in the fresh air, before setting out on a walk.

It’s a warm Monday night. He opens his window to let in the breeze while he waits for you to start your third and final lap. The promise of summer floats into the house.

While he hasn’t talked to you since that day in the clinic, he’s picked up a lot in the week he’s been here. You have a toddler, a boy named Carter. Tommy shared that piece of information. Joel remembers you had a brother named Carter too. Tommy didn’t respond when he asked about the boy’s father. You either feel comfortable enough to leave Carter sleeping in the house or his father is a shut-in, but he also notices the facing windows left open between yours and Tommy’s house. Maybe he’s out on an extended patrol.

Every night since he’s come back, you walk 3 laps. It’s so normal in a life before Cordyceps way, so suburban. He remembers you walking the block with your parents, friends, and sometimes Sarah.

He watches you every night, curiosity piqued. Tonight you step out in a fucking pajama set: a thin green shirt with matching shorts that show off your legs. He ignores the tug of desire, not quite recognizing it at first. He’s grown unfamiliar with it in the last year. There hasn’t been time for silly things like that, or anyone around. Besides, where does someone find a matching pajama set these days?

His feet carry him out to his own porch without thinking. You’re just about to start your final lap when you spot him. You raise your hand in a friendly wave. Again, it takes Joel back to the old way of life: polite waves and nods when you pass people, block parties with people you only talked to twice a year. Joel hated small talk then- still does, but he’d been raised not to be rude.

The wave isn’t an invitation by any means, but Joel finds himself meeting you in the middle of the road. You haven’t talked since he came into the clinic last week. He wasn’t home when you brought over the device to help his hand.

“Howdy neighbor,” you say.

Joel cocks his head to the side. Another slice of life. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Haven’t used that one in a while.” You mimic his movement. “How’s the hand?”

Joel instinctively rubs his thumb through the palm. “It’s alright.”

“You doing those exercises?”

Joel looks back at his porch, his thumb now moving across his bottom lip. He seems to be contemplating something. He looks almost out of place. You’ve never seen Joel Miller not hold command of the space he occupied.

“So, I’ll take that as a no.”

He bristled. “Say, would you care for some company? On your walk.”

“You stalkin me, Miller?” You cross your arms.

You know your routine is predictable. Most people in Jackson know you walk every night weather permitting, but the idea of getting Joel Miller to admit that he noticed it stirs a sense of pride in you.

Joel contemplates his words carefully. “Saw you walk out earlier. Looked like you might be going for another lap.”

Of course, he won’t admit it. Maybe one day you’ll pull the confession from him. “Wouldn’t mind a little company.” You step into motion and Joel follows.

You walk until the houses end, the cow pasture coming into view. They’re farther out tonight, looking like ants in the distance. Joel is quiet at your side, but the company is nice. You haven’t had company in a long time.

The two of you walk the fence line. You stare out at the pasture, toward the mountains as the breeze dances in your hair. You push it out of your face and in the dying light of day, Joel notices the fading light flicker off the gold on your left hand. He turns his head out toward the field clearing his throat. Shut-in husband it is. “So, how long have you been in Jackson?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. The gold band glares at him in his periphery. He didn’t see it on you at the clinic. Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

Joel looks surprised. The Jackson settlement hasn’t reached its 9th birthday yet.

“My grandparents had a vacation house a couple miles north of here. I was there with a group of friends when the outbreak hit. Jackson was already pretty quiet. Everyone who was here either panicked and left, or got loaded up by FEDRA.”

“No infected?”

“A few, but we took them out pretty quickly.”

Joel nods. “You avoided the evac crews.”

“We were at the house. It’s far enough out that we weren't in their search perimeter. My friend Kerry went… we told her not to.”

“Do you know if she made it?”

You shake your head. “We told her she couldn’t contact us, or tell anyone we were here.”

“Smart.”

You shift your weight from foot to foot. “How did you get all the way to Boston?”

Joel shrugged. “Just happened.”

“Tommy’s version was much more thrilling than yours.”

“Well, it’s Tommy.” He stops, leaning against the fence. The wind jostles his curls. He reminds you of a farmer looking over his herd.

Your hip rests against the fence post. You take in his profile. He’s still a beautiful man you think and then you toss the thought to the cows wary of the trap set before you.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you say.

“Sounds like you already know.”

You nod. Tommy doesn’t talk about it much, but you’ve pieced things together over time, holding Maria’s hand when she came to you in crisis after Tommy told her.

“It doesn’t bother me, Joel. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It should bother you.” He says. “Should bother me.”

“Survival is a cruel game.”

Joel’s eyes finally land on yours. Something charges in the air. It sends electricity crackling through your bones, igniting something you haven’t felt in a long time. You swear he’s reading your thoughts.

You turn, heartbeat pounding in your ears, and head back on your well-worn route. You don’t know what to do with those feelings. Joel follows.

“You managed out here for 12 years? Alone?”

“After Kerry left, there were four of us: Anne, Denise, and my brother, Carter. We raided the houses around us. We found some stores that were relatively untouched. Everyone else left with the evac crew.”

Joel wracks his brain trying to remember meeting people by those names. You pick up on it. “They’re all gone. Infected or killed by raiders-” it’s been a long time, the death of your friends was hard, but losing your brother was the hardest. You push the memories back.

You can’t finish the sentence, even after all these years. Joel doesn’t ask you to. It’s the ending you’ve both encountered too often in this world- one less seat around the table.

Joel nods. The two of you fall into silence, but you’re okay with it. The quiet is nice. There’s a thrum of liveliness coming from the Tipsy Bison. A group of kids gather to play a game of kick-the-can out by the pasture in the growing dusk.

You catch Joel’s eyes roam around, absorbing it all.

“They even have town dances.”

You can’t quite pin Joel’s reaction. Bewilderment perhaps?

You remember the weirdness of it all. The Jackson group had fun, even before settling within the protective walls. It was an adjustment for you too.

You’d run like a fawn when the group came through. Maria sent a few people after you. Gabe was the one who tackled you in the autumn leaves. You landed a killer kick to his kidney and a fist to his eye before the others caught up.

They’d welcomed you into the group after assuring you were alone and a non-threat. They’d thrown a party after securing the original gated community. You can still see Gabe standing in front of you, hand outstretched smiling ear to ear with his swollen, purple eye. He wore it like a badge of honor. It sends a pang through your chest as your thumb plays with the gold band around your fourth knuckle. You haven’t been to a town dance since his death.

You finish the loop, drawing to a stop between your front doors. Joel turns to face you. Something flickers in his eyes, disappointment maybe. You wonder if he’s as lonely as you are.

His eyes lock with yours and you feel that charge again. The air seems to thicken, and you do the unthinkable. You let the trap snap. Just a small one, one you can control.

“You wanna take another lap? I bet we could fit one more in.”

Joel pauses. He’s never seen you do more than 3 laps. He feels the charge too. He’s playing with fire. The ring on your finger says so.

“Your husband okay with that?”

“If he wasn’t, he shouldn’t have died.”

Your own answer shocks you. It shocks Joel. Then, it creeps up on you, growing slowly- Gabe’s laughter. You know it’s all in your head, but he would have appreciated the humor. It spreads through you until the bubbly laughter escapes your mouth.

Joel tilts his head to the side. He can’t explain the way his chest feels lighter. “I'm glad you find it funny.”

He wonders if you catch the tension easing from his chest and the way his lips til upward. He doesn’t fully understand it yet, but he knows there’s something brewing inside him. Eight months ago, he would’ve run for the hills, and shut down whatever feelings he had, but it’s like opening up the gates for one person cracked it for more, but he’s still cautious. More people to care about is just more to lose. Ellie has him worrying enough as is.

His mind drifts to Tess- how he could never tell her what she wanted to hear. How he could never feel what she felt. Sure, Tess was like family to him; he cared for her in ways that were beyond a friend. Partners seemed to best describe it. He mourned her loss, but he’d shoved any greater feelings away long before that.

“I really don’t.” It spills over again. You cover your mouth. Joel raises an eyebrow. “It’s just that- he would’ve loved that joke”

Joel chuckles. You embrace the laughter, feeling lighter than you have in years. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes, forcing you to wipe them away.

Joel wants nothing more than to keep that smile plastered to your face. He recognizes it. It’s the very one Sarah used to pull from you. He needs it, craves it. Because now that he’s seen it again, he has to make sure it stays.

“Sounds like he had a good sense of humor.”

You manage a nod. “He sure did.”

“And Carter is okay?”

You cross your arms. “So you know I have a kid and his name? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

“Tommy told me.” He kicks at the dirt feeling a little silly. “He didn’t mention your husband.”

You bite your lip. “He and Tommy were close. They patrolled together, drank together, caused trouble together. They were like brothers.”

Joel nods. There’s a little stab in his chest with the reminder of the years he lost with Tommy. He sits with the feeling until it eases. He’s thankful for the family Tommy pulled together here.

You start on the additional lap without warning, but Joel follows. You’re unsure if you should open up. Do you want to open up? Does Joel want to hear it?

“He called me Doleful.”

“Your husband?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Gabe would say- Doleful: the eighth dwarf that never was- that’s you.”

Joel’s eyebrows furrow, a deep crease forming between them. “That doesn’t seem very flattering.”

“It wasn’t- but it suited. I didn’t smile hardly ever. Didn’t joke.” You think back to the times before the group settled here, after your brother’s death. You don’t know how you kept on or why. “He made it his mission to made me laugh.”

Joel tried to picture it. You and Sarah were always laughing about something. You took Tommy’s shit and returned it, but he knew how this world changed people. “How long has it been?”

“2 ½ years.” It comes out so quickly. You imagine you could give him the number of days or hours if he asked. “I feel like I’m just now coming out of the fog. If it weren’t for Carter-“ you don’t let yourself finish the sentence, but you know you’d be a mad woman pacing your house like a ghost for the rest of time.

Joel nods. “Took me 20 years to come out of it. That ache never really goes away.”

You meet Joel’s eyes with a nod. “No, I guess I doesn’t.”

Your final lap comes to a close in silence. Lights from front porches illuminate your path home. You find yourself slowing your steps, extending your time together, but it’s not enough. You stop where you met, Joel turning to you.

“Thanks for letting me walk with you. I enjoyed it.”

“Anytime.” You wrap your arms around yourself. The thin pajama set provides little protection now that the sun is gone and the breeze has picked up.

Joel nods. You think you catch his eyes travel over your body. Warmth ignites inside you at the thought.

His voice seems to deepen. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He says, turning back towards his new home.

The nickname is oxygen to a flame creating a raging fire inside you. Chills rush across your skin. He’s called you that before, offhandedly, years ago in another lifetime. It had been completely innocent then: a side effect of living in the south, but you still melted whenever he did. This is different. Whether he intended it to be or not.

He’s already reaching for the door handle when you call out.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Joel looks almost surprised, but manages a nod. “Same time tomorrow.”

You don’t see the trip wire leading to the biggest trap of all.

[cor-obscenum]

Yeah no I’m also not a fan of unhappy endings with dark cardiophilia. Nothing crazy in mind I would just like to see femdom Aurora :)) -🫀

Omg so sorry for taking so long to reply, I was having a really bad case of writer's block for this one... Hopefully you'll like how it turned out!

There Will Be No Tenderness

Picture from Pexels, edited. Title is a reference to the song "Hatefuck" by The Bravery (check it out, it's a banger)

Pairing: Swiss x Aurora.

Summary: Swiss wants to try something different in the bedroom with Aurora. More specifically, he wants her to torture his heart.

Contents: 16+, but still fetishy, dark cardiophilia, self-inflicted arrhythmias, heart pressure, femdom Aurora, medfet, latex kink, stething, trampling

Word count: 1.218

Read on AO3

"So, let me get this straight... You want to use your quintessence to mess with your heart rhythm? While I press down on your chest?" Aurora asked coyly, delighting in seeing a blush crawl in Swiss's face.

"Well, yes, haha" the multighoul replied, barely containing his nervousness.

"Well, I suppose this can be arranged... I never tried anything like that, but if it floats your boat... Is 10 PM an okay time for you?"

"It's perfect."

"It's a date, then. See you in my quarters at 10 PM and let's see how can I play with your heart..." The air ghoulette finished, placing a peck on her boyfriend's lips.

Swiss spent the rest of the day feeling like he was walking on clouds. Daydreaming about Aurora dominating him in all her dainty glory and abusing his heart. He could barely focus on his ghoul duties from the anticipation, everything was a blur to him.

9:59 PM. His heart pounded on his chest as he knocked on the door of Aurora's room.

"Come in" her cute voice sounded front the other side. Swiss bit his lip as he turned the doorknob, and the vision he got made his heart just about stop.

Aurora was wearing a skin-tight teal latex dress, a nurse's cap and a stethoscope around her neck. She smirked as she saw her lover enter the room, flustered and ready for his treatment.

"Welcome, my patient. Have a seat." She commanded, her voice soft yet firm.

Swiss obeyed and sat on the bed, giddy from the excitement. Aurora started putting on black latex gloves, stretching and snapping them seductively. The squeaking sounds of the latex made Swiss just about pass out from the expectation and growing arousal in his crotch.

"What brings you here in my office?" The air ghoulette asked in a stern tone.

"Well, let's say I haven't been happy with my heart rate lately... It's a bit boring, you know?" Swiss replied.

Aurora stared at him for a couple seconds with a smug expression, really living up to her dominant persona.

"That's certainly an unusual reason for seeing a doctor. Aren't you aware of the dangers of playing with your heart? It could put your life at risk."

Swiss gulped, taken aback by the reply. Time to play the needy sub.

“Eh, yes, I am aware, but I want it anyway.”

“Why?” Aurora questioned, still looking impassive and stern.

“It’s that… It seems dangerous and exciting, like an extreme sport, you know? I really want it.” Swiss said with pleading puppy dog eyes.

“Well, if you want it so much, I guess I can oblige, then.” She finally gave in. “But first, let me check you up to see if your heart is healthy. Would you mind removing your shirt?”

Swiss unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the side at an impressive speed, such was his eagerness for the “checkup” to start. Aurora got very close and placed two gloved fingers on his throat, feeling for the carotid pulse. Her free hand cupped his cheek, running a latex-clad thumb across his cheekbone, which made the multi ghoul visibly blush from the fluster. The friction of the gloves against his skin was so tempting, so sensual that made his heart rate rise significantly, which the air ghoulette definitely noticed.

“Pulse seems normal, just a little elevated. Now let me take a listen.” She put the earpieces of the stethoscope on her ears and placed the chestpiece against his chest. This move alone made the multi ghoul’s heart race, his arousal and excitement already over the stratosphere. It was beating so fast that Aurora's eyes widened in surprise upon hearing the freakish thumpthumpthump through the stethoscope.

“It's so fast…” She commented, faking concern. “Are you feeling okay? No dizziness, shortness of breath or anything?”

“I'm fine…” Swiss replied with a breathy voice, not even trying to contain his fluster anymore.

Aurora listened for a few more delicious seconds, letting her partner relish in the feeling of having his heart listened to. Then she took the stethoscope out and placed it in his ears, earning an awkward moan from the multi ghoul.

“I'll let you listen from now on, since you seem to be enjoying it more than I am. Now let's monitor this ticker.” She said, moving away to look into her bag, where she picked up a pulse oximeter and put it to Swiss' right index finger.

Swiss felt like he was between heaven and hell.

“120 beats per minute. Not bad for a pathetic little simp waiting to have his heart tortured, like he himself requested.” Aurora commented smugly on the reading of the oximeter. She leaned in closely, lips brushing Swiss’ ear, and whispered: “Are you ready? Can we start with the procedure now?”

“Yes, please” Swiss pleaded, his voice an octave higher, almost a whimper.

The air ghoulette shoved him into the bed, forcing him to lay down. She placed both hands on his sternum as if she was going to perform CPR and pressed down, releasing her body's weight on him. The multi ghoul channeled his quintessence to her hands, which multiplied the pressure on the organ and made it literally struggle under the ghoulette’s weight. The fast, tortured beats sounded like the most beautiful music through the stethoscope.

“Is that all you can take?” Aurora teased. “I'm not even trying and you're already looking so done. What a weakling you are.”

“No, I want more, please” Swiss muttered, almost out of breath from the pressure on his lungs.

“And you shall have more. But first, let's take a look at your numbers.” She pulled away to allow him to take a breath, and checked the oximeter. “160 beats. That was just the warmup.”

She pressed down on his chest again, and this time the quintessence flew more strongly, which made the air ghoulette tremble. With her low-cut dress, bending forward, she was a sight to behold, and the vibration of the quintessence made her tits jiggle beautifully to the multi ghoul's delight. His poor heart struggled, pumping vigorously as if he was running a marathon, and soon he could feel the rhythm becoming irregular - just the way he wanted. At first it faltered in faint, fluttery skips, until the beats became erratic, bordering on a life-threatening fibrillation. It was so dangerous, yet so delicious. Swiss’ heart was struggling so much, if he was hooked to an EKG, the graphs would look like rough scribbles - nothing like a normal heartbeat.

Aurora pulled away, legitimately concerned upon feeling the irregular beats.

“I think we should stop now. Otherwise your heart is not going to take it.” She said in a condescending tone, looking at the oximeter in Swiss' finger. “220 beats! Now that's impressive. I'm proud of you and your little ticker, working so hard to stay alive, despite my abuse.”

“Thank you” the multi ghoul muttered between gasps.

“Now I need you to promise you're gonna take good care of your heart, okay?” Aurora asked in a gentle tone, trailing kisses from Swiss' chest upwards, until locking lips with him. The multi ghoul sighed, contently, basking in the warmth of her passionate touch. Sweet aftercare ensues.

Taglist: @runscold-runsdeep @boomerangjr

[watcherwingedcat]

Niche kin appreciation 22! Create a beginners guide for your kin!

Watchers 101

(divider by @astrumaur)

What are they?

Watchers are beings that are made of the matter of the universe. Internally, they don’t have organs, bones, or concrete form. They’re made of energy that shows itself in the form of eyes. By analyzing its body, its made of stars, dust, darkness… That is to say, they are made of the universe. They take the form of eyes and wings to fulfil its duties more easily. They can change form to whatever they please, but this takes energy.

Biologically, they are technically not alive, but they’re also not dead. It’s some kind of in-between. They can’t be killed, they are immortals, but they are more or less bound to the rules of its worlds. Watchers don’t need to sleep, eat, drink, etc. Because they are not technically mortals, they can’t die “normally” (of old age), but they can still bleed and get hurt by external forces (they can’t starve to death or be poisoned, for example).

They have four “main components”: Its cape, its mask, its wings, and its form. 

Its cape is a gift from the Universe, made of void and stars. It’s used to hide its inner form to players and mobs, so they don’t get scared of its. A Watcher’s true form can only be seen by other Watchers. To the outside World, they are invisible. 

Its mask is made of a solid material, and it can’t be destroyed. It’s usually white with eyes and the EVO symbol drawn in it. A Watcher can’t Watch worlds without its mask, otherwise it won’t be able to concentrate on what they need to do. 

The wings were a gift from its superiors, to get around the worlds. They are big, feathery, black and purple. They have eyes on them, to Watch better. To Watch, Watchers need to extend its wings.

Watchers don’t really have physical forms unless they posses human bodies. However, in its own dimension they have its own form, but only other Watchers can access it. Mortals can’t see this form, as it, they literally can’t see it. It’s so complex and so powerful that their mind can’t comprehend it.

Usually, they are seen as humanoid entities with purple wings and capes. They are usually really tall, and nothing about its true form is seen. Under its capes its body are only formed from eyes, wings, and Universe matter. They usually wear its capes at all times. They are not for protection, but so that they don’t touch elements from the world (so they don’t corrupt it accidentally). Its wings are mostly what helps them Watch; whenever they are open, they can Watch at full capacity.

Where do they live?

Watchers’ dimension is located deep in the End, at the other side of the gateway. This place is impossible to reach to normal players, as its located above, beyond and under the Void. Only Watchers know its location. They don’t pass through a portal to enter its realm, though. They can do it using the command /teleport.

Their world is made of void. No stars, no moons, no suns. Just the Void and the Watchers. After flying for a few hours, they will appear a few little islands. These don’t look like the End normal islands: They are made of a white, like-dust material. The void starts to shift from pitch black to a slightly more purple shade. 

Some islands have small buildings. Nothing that a player could have made, but Watchers are known for their hatred for building. No-one knows who built these builds. After a while, the center of the little village is shown: A huge end city that looks more like a temple. 

It’s made of purple blocks and decorated with white end rods. It looks almost ethereal, magical. This is the Watchers tower, a huge building with a lot of halls and corridors. Every room has a purpose, and yet there’s too many of them. Because Watchers don’t sleep, eat, or play, they don’t have their own rooms, just rooms with purposes.

Only folks with wings could enter the palace, because it’s floating in the middle of the void. The halls are really, really big and insanely long. 

There’s a library, full of books and scrolls to study, but that no-one reads. There’s a room where the top Watchers supervise everything. In every room there’s at least a little pool where they Watch the world below. They also have a room for training and weapons.For Archivists, the most important place is the Archives. A giant library full of forbidden books, filled with knowledge on future updates and beta and alpha versions no longer available.

How do they communicate?

Watchers are really intelligent creatures. They communicate through riddles, so that players can decipher them. They are more skilled in writing than speaking.

They speak many languages, like Galactic and Common, tho they are more skilled in Galactic. Because they are Creators, they get bored really easily, so they communicate with its worlds sometimes. They are more intelligent than players, because they need its knowledge to successfully revise the code, all of the worlds and servers, find and fix issues, and correct imperfections.

They don’t create the worlds, that’s the player’s own doing, but they maintain them. They help the terrain generate when the player moves, sewing the matter of the universe in front of them. But the player never notices them, of course.

What are their abilities?

They are some kind of guardians and protectors, they Watch the worlds created by the player or the Universe. They fix bugs and help the world and its mobs move from version to version. 

They can only Watch. They are not designated to Hear, Touch, Taste, Smell. That’s why, when disguising as humans, they will have these senses weakened. A Watcher whose eyes don’t function properly is a weak Watcher.

Watchers magic is very powerful, but also limited to its own dimension. Its abilities inside of its dimension is unlimited: They can fly, create energy, create elements of nature, manipulate matter, manipulate energy, change its form, and teleport.

They are very skilled on writing and inventing. They created the updates, after all, and the end poem. 

They could harm players and erase an entire server at will (they would only do this if there was a corruption or a virus).

They are less like passive guardians and more like observers. We can’t intervene, we can’t change reality. We’re just… There. We aren’t power hungry monsters either. We are just doing our job. To ensure everything works as planned.

What are their weaknesses?

Watchers don't have many weaknesses. However, they are not invencible, and they would die like any other creature. Physical attacks are the most hurtful, along with manipulation of their own code.

They are very powerful, but sometimes that power translates into arrogance. They won't pick fights with mobs or players, but their pride can easily be hurt, leading them to act on instinct and not on logic.

Why are they called Watchers?

They are called Watchers because that's what they do, mostly.

[tiny-cloud-dragon]

FF7: Random Bits 03

A disembodied Angeal Head floated across the velvety black screen of Cloud's memory, bouncing slowly in random directions like the ghost of an old Windows Logo screensaver.

"Go take a walk!" it commanded with each ricochet.

It was joined by a Zack Head, which also began bouncing randomly around and repeating "No, don't eat him!"

Cloud scowled to himself as the memory flickered unbidden across the backs of his eyelids.

1st Class SOLDIER Timothy Titsworth burst into the conference room with the force of an angry soccer mom who has just found out her little angel had been allowed to watch a PG-13 movie.

Known as "Tiddy" (because there was no joining an army without acquiring some kind of weird, cool, humorous, or downright embarrassing nickname that you either loved or hated), Timothy showed great promise as a SOLDIER, but he was overly ambitious, and more than a bit egotistical.

"What the hell, Tiddy!" Angeal barked, rising from his seat at the conference table, where he had been discussing plans for the upcoming Games with Zack, Cloud, and President Rufus Shinra.

"What the hell, indeed, Sir!" Titsworth snarled, saluting as an afterthought. "I want to be assigned to a higher level training mission-!"

"No." Cloud said firmly as Angeal apologized to Rufus for the interruption. "I already told you that you aren't ready. Get out, now. I am in the middle of a meeting, and you are out of line, Private Tiddy." he continued, deliberately stressing Titsworth's rank as an unspoken reminder of who he was speaking to, and unintentionally making a pun that caused Zack to make a very un-General like snorting sound.

Titsworth looked at Zack like a miffed child hoping that Daddy might say 'yes', even though Mommy had already said 'no'.

"General Fair, I-!"

The room was suddenly full of angry dragon. Papers scattered, people made exclamations of surprise, chairs tipped, and someone laughed as Cloud Shifted into his ELIETE form and, with mouth gaping, lunged across the desk at Titsworth.

Zack jumped on Cloud's long neck, landing just behind his head, and managed to grab the long, whisker/tendril/moustache/feeler thingies trailing from the sides of his snout and hauled on them like reins while shouting "No, don't eat him!"

Massive jaws with long fangs snapped shut inches from Titsworth's face and Cloud goose-honked in pained surprise, pulling his head up and back, twisting it from side to side while backing up as he tried to relieve the sharp pulling on his face feelers. He Shifted back to his normal shape, leaving Zack sitting in mid-air for the length of an eye blink before gravity caught up with reality and he crashed to the floor.

Zack immediately bounced up and grabbed Cloud by the arm before he could lunge at Titsworth again.

"Go take a walk," Angeal snapped at Cloud, who was hissing like a deflating tire.

"But what about-!" Titsworth began from where he had fetched up against the wall. Like a terrier with a rat, he was not about to let the argument go, out of either a poor sense of self-preservation, or out-right stupidity.

"Shut up, before I tell General Fair to let him go, and we end up having to send your mother an 'In Sympathy for Your Loss' card!" Angeal snapped with that tight-lipped, angry-eyed expression that most teens didn't even have to see to know it was being made. It was an expression that had its own sound.

Titsworth huffed, but closed his mouth. He remained on the floor, sitting very still as Cloud stormed out of the room. Dragons were like cats. They would go after anything that moved.

Cloud shook his head at the memory, causing the Heads to bounce violently around and collide with each other with a double "ouch!" before they faded away. He was only mildly annoyed by now, having walked several blocks, but he couldn't help but feel unjustly put-upon. It wasn't like he'd chosen his ELITE form, and he couldn't help that it would sometimes take over. It wasn't his fault that dragons had a very simple idea of what constituted 'conflict resolution', and that it mostly involved eating whomever caused the conflict.

Go take a walk...

Cloud would have rather gone out for a nice long flight. It was much more fun, and relaxing, but it did tend to stir up the city's inhabitants. There was just something about a black winged shadow passing overhead that would send people screaming in panic. Old instincts died hard, and deep in the most primitive part of their brains, people were still just small, soft-bodied squeaky creatures hiding under leaves and flinching at shadows.

He turned a corner and continued walking briskly along the shop lined street, noticing that other pedestrians were trying to avoid him without looking like they were avoiding him. It might have worked, if it had been one or two individuals. There is just nothing subtle about an entire crowd suddenly crossing to the other side of the street.

Cloud found himself completely alone on the sidewalk. That was fine with him. Atleast he didn't have to feel like he was in the middle of a school of salmon during their running season.

The ponderous growl of a heavy engine pulled Cloud from his musings. He paused and turned just in time to watch one of the army's humvees pull up to the curb beside him.

Zack, grinning from ear to ear, leaned toward the open passenger side window and said, in his best Creepy Witch Voice, "Need a ride little girl?"

Cloud hissed at him and resumed walking, forcing Zack to drive slowly along beside him.

"Come on, Spiky! I'm sorry I pulled your face feelers!"

Cloud pointedly ignored him.

"Don't be salty,"

Cloud kept walking.

"Don't be like that-!" Zack steered around a parked car and rolled back along side Cloud. "I'll let you work my stick-shift!"

The offer was met with an icy side eye and frigid silence.

"I'll pay you," Zack venture playfully, with a cheeky grin.

"You can't afford me." Cloud replied curtly.

Zack's grin froze, then shattered into an open mouthed gape as the comment hit him like a cast-iron lightning bolt. The hairs on the back of his neck rose at the feeling that a white-hot icicle had just been fired through his brain.

"I...did...did you...just...?" he stammered, the humvee stalling as he briefly forgot how to drive. Well, I'll be dipped in shit! Now I know how Dr. Hyansen felt! Zack thought after he recovered enough from the unexpected sarcasm that he was able to get the vehicle restarted.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" Zack called as he caught up to Cloud and parked. "Just get in, okay? Look," he said, holding up a brown paper bag, "I brought shrimp yum yum sitcks!"

Cloud's eyes were instantly glued to the bag. The scent of shrimp and vegetables in a crispy wrapper covered in toasted sesame seeds hit him straight in the olfactory receptors. He struggled with himself, pushing for Caution, while the dragon part of him drooled all over Common Sense.

It's obviously a bribe, Cloud warned the dragon.

Shrimp yum yum sticks!

No, he's using food to-!

Shrimp yum yum sticks!

But, listen, he-!

NO! SHRIMP YUM YUM STICKS!

Cloud's stomach growled, and he gave in. As he climbed into the passenger's seat, he had to laugh at himself. Hey little boy, I've got some candy in my van, he thought with a wry snort.

"What are you laughing at?" Zack asked.

"Nothing." Cloud said slightly irritated at how he would do almost anything for those stupid sticks. It was a good thing Zack hadn't brought canned cat food... Cloud snatched the bag from Zack and took a big bite out of one of the sticks while the dragon part of him happily chanted Shrimp, shrimp, shrimp, shrimp, shrimp!

"You can still work my stick-shift if you want," Zack offered jokingly, patting the shift handle. He completely missed the slight tightening around Cloud's eyes, and the tiniest of upward curving at the corners of his mouth.

"I'll pass," Cloud replied, the words coming out slightly distorted as he shoved another yum yum stick into his mouth. "Your knob is too small."

"Wha-!" Zack all but yelped, a full body cringe slamming down his spine as his body tried to physically force the word 'knob' back out through his ears.

"The knob," Cloud repeated as Zack cringed again, "It's, too small so it makes your hand hurt on long drives."

Zack shot him a suspicious look, but it merely ricocheted harmlessly off the look of genuine sincerity and yum yum stick crumbs on Cloud's face.

"Maybe I should put in a request for bigger knobs..." Cloud suggested, "Bigger knobs would fit more comfortably in your hand and make them easier to manipulate for longer periods of time, right?"

Zack flinched and Cloud could almost see his brain shudder as it tried to use its own stem to tear out his eardrums.

"Stop it!" Zack snapped.

"Stop what?"

"Saying...'knob',"

"What's wrong with the word 'knob'?" Cloud asked, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion while Zack cringed.

"You saying it. It's just...wrong,"

"I'm saying 'knob' wrong?"

"NO! Just stop saying it!"

"There's nothing wrong with knobs," Cloud chided. "Lot's of things have knobs," he continued while Zack cringed and flinched along.

"Like radios. Radios have knobs. And tv's have knobs. Dressers have knobs. Oh, and cabinets have knobs. Beds have knobs, and you can put a knob of butter on your toast. Trees have knobs too, and hands can get knobby, and even people have knobs! My mom had knobs and she said that when I annoyed her I was 'twisting her knobs'...or was that 'pushing her buttons? I forget-!"

"Stop saying 'knob'! Zack wailed, hands clamped protectively over his ears.

"Why are you getting so bent out of shape over the word 'knob'?

Zack bristled at the word, his hair lifting like the hackles of an angry wolf. It was then that he noticed the slight crinkling around Cloud's eyes.

"You dick!" Zack snarled, annoyed. "Play Backwater Dummy with me, will you?" He leaned in close, and with a malicious grin, started wiggling his eyebrows.

Cloud recoiled, Shifting into his half-form and hissing shrimp yum yum stick all over Zack's face as memories of a certain Inspector's rather mobile eyebrows rose up to haunt him like a greasy meal at 3am after six beers.

Unperturbed by the macerated mist, Zack continued wiggling his eyebrows, laughing evilly, "How do you like that huh? Say 'knob' again, you little turd!" He reached out to playfully poke Cloud.

Out of pure reflex Cloud bit the offending appendage.

Zack yelped more out of surprise than pain, and snatched his hand away, retreating back to the driver's seat to inspect the damage.

"Not cool, man, you gave me a noodle hand!" He said with a pout, illustrating his grievance by flapping his now numb hand around on the end of his wrist.

"I didn't mean to,"

Zack started using his left hand to rapidly and repetitively smack his right arm against his thigh.

"You want a rag...or... something?"

Zack paused, eyeing Cloud suspiciously. Almost afraid of the answer, he risked asking "For what?"

"So you won't be walking around the rest of the day wearing that shrimp facial."

"Oh. Yeah." Zack replied, realizing that the remnants of shrimp yum yum sticks were quietly getting crusty on his skin. He took the napkins Cloud fished out of the crumpled bag on the floor boards and awkwardly used his left hand to wipe his face.

"How's your hand?" Cloud inquired, a note of guilt hovering in his voice.

"Hanging in there," Zack replied with a lopsided grin, demonstrating by allowing his arm, numbness now creeping up past his elbow, to hang uselessly from his left hand.

Cloud signed into his hands in mild irritation at Zack's penchant for making jokes out of everything.

He felt Zack patting him on the shoulder. There was something awkward about the gesture that had nothing to do with the current atmosphere.

Looking up, Cloud saw Zack using his left hand to hold his numb arm up by the elbow and slap the appendage down on his shoulder. He imagined that this was exactly how it felt to be patted by a zombie. Cloud snorted in reluctant amusement and shoved the dead arm off his shoulder. The limp limb bounced off the back of the seat and slithered down the armrest to swing loosely at Zack's side.

Both men stared at the arm mutely until it stopped swinging like a slowly winding down clock pendulum before looking at each other.

Zack arched an eyebrow and said, "What? You like the angle of the dangle?"

Cloud rolled his eyes so hard he almost became the first person to find out what the backs of his own eye sockets looked like.

Zack laughed and started the vehicle.

"What are you doing?" Cloud asked in alarm, "You can't drive like that!"

"Sure I can. I'll drive, and you can work my stick!"

"Move, I'm driving."

"Fine. Killjoy.

Want me to shift your stick?" Zack asked as Cloud settled into the driver's seat.

"No thanks, I can do it myself."

"Riiiight!" Zack drawled, doing a single finger gun.

"Do you want two noodle arms? Because that's how you get two noodle arms."

"Okay, okay. It's gone, see?" Zack pretended to chuck the offensive appendage armament behind him.

"You know, it's a good thing we aren't too far from Base." Cloud said as he pulled out into traffic.

"Why?"

"My hand won't have time to cramp up because of the--!"

"Don't say it--!"

"Knob."

Zack's distressed cry of "Stop saying 'knob'!" rang in the air before dopplering into silence as they drove away.

[dogboygirl]

i had a dream there was a new mob in minecraft called WAR and it was like. i want to draw it actually because it's simple enough to do so

the appearance and scale of it was like this and it would come out of portals and float around and it was technically a boss? but they would spawn in large numbers and if you killed them they would like. explode in an atomic bomb kind of way, like just completely devastating the area surrounding where they were killed and also changing the biome it was killed in into IRRADIATED_WASTELAND_BIOME. and in my dream i just dealt with it by using a kill command or going into peaceful mode but there really was no good way to cope with them spawning in.

there was also a new Alien mob that would take all the blocks of your build and telekinetically rearrange them into these weird alien spires……. and they just looked like little aftonsparvs tbh. not very threatening other than making your builds Cooler and Weirder

[lord-of-hollows]

I rewrote that scene in Wind and Truth

SPOILER WARNING: Frankly, this scene bothers me:

I feel like it's a little bit too cheesy, as if Sanderson is writing in breaks for applause like it's a Marvel Movie. I also don't love the therapist line. So I decided to see if I could write something I liked better:

This was what the Heralds felt, every hour of every day? Kaladin had an intimacy with this feeling, but not at this intensity. Everything was in this feeling, cradling Tien on a battlefield, a brand on his forehead, staring into a chasm, breaking his bond, refusing the words, streaking through the air up the Tower with a singular goal in mind, he felt it all at once. A thousand different flavours of misery, thrown in a pot and left to simmer and reduce into a thick black broth. His body commanded him to wither, accept the pain and wait for death, never rising again.

Storms, I have to help them.

It starts with someone, if things were as bad as they could possibly be, then whatever he did couldn't make this feeling worse. There was a freedom in understanding that, a knowledge that in the here and now, if he stumbled and failed then what he did mattered as much as if he did nothing. Syl, Szeth, the Heralds, they could not feel worse.

Forcing himself, he tried to stand. The oppressive darkness in his mind resisted, but in his mind, he built back an army to push back the darkness. That army had no soldiers, simply people. Tien showing him his rocks, Oroden giggling at some floating blocks, his father organising tinctures and tools, scraping crem off a roof with his mother. Sitting around a camp fire, Teft smiling through his beard flecked with stew, Rock lathering up the bridgemens faces, Sigzyl testing his lashings, Lopen stuck to a wall. Knowing that despite everything happening, Shallan was probably smiling right now. Knowing that somewhere in Azir, Adolin had probably more lives than he could quantify. He thought of Seth, and knew the Assassin In White himself was not beyond Kaladins help. And far off to the east, in Urithiru the man who he had saved, and in turn had saved him stood against a different kind of darkness. Finally, he thought of Syl, simply perched on his shoulder.

He could almost feel the strength of all those people pulling him to his feet. He couldn't save everyone, but even when it felt hopeless, even in the face of this power demanding he lay face down and wait for a highstorm to wash him away, he could find no reason to not try.

Finally, through tremendous effort, he stood. With that, out of the corner of his eye, Szeth looked up at him. Through the bond he was aware that Syl too, was trying to stand, to let him know he didn't fight this alone. But she didn't need to, he already knew.

He walked forward, toward the Herald Ishar, who stood over Szeth, staring at Kaladin.

"How?" Ishar demanded, "What are you?" He gestured to Szeth, "His spren? His God?"

"I don't know what I am to him, I'm just trying to help."