#cog distort

[trickibe]

oooooo art gonna be making a blog for my stories so get ready for it

[myfictionaldreams]

I you are interested I wanted to offer a possible request.

It would be a smutty mafia!stucky one (you can pick which one of them or both if you want)

So I was thinking about the reader topping one of them, but not in a dominant way. Like she was good or something and wanted to reward her by letting her pick anything she wanted and she wanted to ride them while they were restrained.

So (whoever was picked) would be bound to the bed with a blindfold and the reader gets to use them for her pleasure with free rain and cause of the blindfold they feel and hear everything more intensely so they can hear how wet she is as she uses them for her reward.

So she's not dominating them just getting a free use card and can move however she wants unprompted, cum how many times she wants, overstimulate (whoever is used) until she is happy and can use toys on herself too but all they can do is lay on the bed restrained and wait for her to be satisfied before being let go.

This came to me so randomly so I thought it might be an option for you maybe if you liked it. Have a nice day!

Being on Top // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: I've thought about this request so much. Thank you so much for sending it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, anxiety, mention of gunshot wound, free use, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, rough sex, oral (f receiving), cum eating, cockwarming, overstimulation, restraints, blindfolds, vibrator, begging, praise kink, riding, dom/sub, rough cock play, masturbation

Words: 5.2k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Bucky watched intently. Fighting the urge to blink and wet the dryness itching at his eyes, he continued monitoring the situation before him. You were vacant. Eyes glassed over, and your body curled in on itself like you were attempting to make yourself as small as possible. It wasn’t this that concerned him; it was that you couldn’t look Steve in the eye despite trying to glimpse him out of the corner of your eye every couple of seconds.

Steve was watching with just as much concern as the bodyguards throughout the room, Sam and Natasha. Unbeknown to you, however, your gaze flicked towards Steve again but then swiftly landed on the spot on the carpet that had so thoroughly captured your attention.

Bucky had been trying to work the cogs in his brain for over an hour now, trying to figure out what was happening in your mind. The visible signs of distress he’d witnessed before when you were feeling fragile, whether it be due to being needy and submissive or because you were beginning to feel unwell with sickness. The first was most likely as you were displaying any visible signs of being ill; your heart rate was fine, and the same with your breathing; he knew he’d been counting and listening carefully. For once, he thanked his unique abilities.

The most likely answer was that you were experiencing some sort of mental health decline, but when you were needy or in the form of subspace, you would crawl into either his or Steve’s lap, not look frightened even to look the latter in the eye.

Risking a look away, Bucky caught Steve’s eye. The same level of concern was etched deep into his face; brows furrowed so deeply a line had formed between them. His teeth were clenched so hard that he looked like his jawbone would snap as he held his tongue, trying and failing to think of the right way to approach his girlfriend. The one person who shouldn’t be scared of him now looked as frightened of him as the enemies who cowered at his feet.

Bucky was running out of options as you began to chew on the corner of your recently done red-manicured nails, one of the many treats gifted to you by him and Steve for Valentine’s Day. It was never a good sign when you fell into old habits, and Bucky was on the verge of ripping out his hair and trying to decide what was best. Ask what is going on or approach you like a scared animal.

As his mouth opened, however, a flash of red distorted his view of you as Natasha stood directly in front of where you were curled up on the couch placed in Steve’s office for your comfort.

Natasha looked down at you, giving you a casual grin as she held out her hand with the matching manicure on her nails gleaming back at you, the red almost the same shade as her hair. Your eyes darted between her wiggling fingers and the welcoming smile as she nodded toward the door.

Taking her hand without a single word, you unfolded from your curled-up position and stood, mindlessly following her out of the door. Natasha pulled you into the elevator at the end of the corridor, riding down a couple of floors before arriving at the food hall with a private kitchen. One of the main perks of owning the entire building for the gang was that the sky was the limit concerning the facilities that could be added.

“Sit”, Natasha instructed, pointing to the table closest to the kitchen side as she began to boil some water, pulling out two mugs from the cabinets. “When I was a child, I used to suffer from nightmares, well, I still have nightmares. I’m just old enough now that I can drink something a bit stronger. But back then, when my hair used to be blue, I’d make myself a hot cocoa”. As she finished explaining, she placed a steaming hot drink before you, topping off the sweet beverage with a squirt of cream and marshmallows.

Sitting down opposite you, she took a moment to let you settle in, feeling thankful that you cupped the drink and allowed your hands to warm as you didn’t shut her out.

“Do you ever think about how fragile we all are?” you asked after staring into the mug in your hands.

Natasha frowned, opening her mouth to make a sarcastic comment of ‘not really’ but refrained as she saw the seriousness in your expression. “What’s brought this on?” You didn’t answer at first, but she noted how you uncomfortable shifted in your seat, shoulders hunching forward to mirror how you sat moments ago.

It took her a couple of minutes, but then it all dawned on Natasha as she sat forward in her seat, leaning on her elbows on the table. “Does this have to do with what happened with the boss three days ago?”

She knew she'd guessed right From how your eyes flinched and teeth began biting your lower lip. Steve had been shot whilst out for dinner with you and Bucky. It had been a well-calculated attack, and no one blamed themselves more than Natasha did for not spotting the attacker before it was too late. She was his bodyguard and had yet to fail at her job, and even though it was a superficial wound and, thanks to Steve’s accelerated healing, was already just a pink scar on his abdomen, Natasha still cursed herself.

Steve didn’t blame anyone other than the asshole who shot him and had spent many hours with him the previous night, getting his revenge and delving into all of his secrets. He’d been more concerned and out for revenge due to the distress it had caused you to see Steve shot. Hysterical was putting it lightly.

You’d screamed until your voice croaked, cried until your eyes were swollen, and become completely overwhelmed by the situation, needing to stay by Steve’s side entirely without sleeping until yesterday evening when you’d all but passed out. With Bucky staying by your side, Steve was able to sneak out and finally get his revenge against the shooter, and when he returned, you were swift to motherhen him even though he insisted that he was practically healed and back to normal.

“Talk to me, Sweet. I can’t help unless you tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours”, Natasha encouraged, leaning across the table and grasping your hand.

You sighed, squeezing her hand back as you tried to find the right words to explain your feelings. “I just realised how useless I am. I mean, Steve was shot, and I completely froze; I think all I was able to do was scream. I didn’t even put pressure on the wound or hold his hand. After everything I’ve seen whilst being a part of this gang, you’d think I’d be more aware of intense situations and how to handle myself, but everything just flashed before me and how close I was to losing one of the men I love. And Steve - god, I’m so embarrassed! I’m too scared to look at him properly for fear of seeing shame in his eyes at how I reacted. I mean, what kind of a girlfriend am I to the infamous Steve Rogers, the leader of one of the most dangerous gangs in Brooklyn? I couldn’t handle something he’d been training me to be prepared for. He must have thought I was pathetic”.

“Do you really think I’d ever think that about you?” Steve asked from the doorway with Bucky over his shoulder, both looking defeated.

You were startled at his appearance, cursing his silent steps as you also felt somewhat vulnerable with him having heard your worries. “I, um, I didn’t want you to hear that”.

Steve sighed as he roughly rubbed his palm over his face and stepped further into the room. Natasha stood with a last squeeze of your hand before exiting and patting Bucky on the shoulder as she moved past him and out, leaving the three of you alone.

“Baby, you know I would never think any of those things of you. What happened was a horrible mistake, and I wish more than anything that you weren’t there to witness it. I always want to keep you protected, physically and mentally and trust me, if anything ever happened to you, I’d-” he closed his mouth, eyes clenching in a flinch like even just the thought of you being injured caused him physical pain.

Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, “The main point here is that you’re both ok. There’s no point dwelling on the past, and we all react differently when we see loved ones hurt, so I don’t want to hear anymore self-doubt coming out of your lips”, Bucky reprimanded whilst giving you a pointed look and pulling himself and Steve closer towards you.

You couldn’t help but squeal as he moved back your chair, turning it to face them as they each pulled their chairs close enough that their knees brushed yours. Steve cupped your hands, lifting them to his lips to kiss your fingers and palms. “Please don’t shut me out, and next time you have any anxiety over what's happened, you need to talk to me, Sweetheart”, Steve urged whilst maintaining eye contact that you didn’t break this time.

“I will; I’m sorry” Without missing a beat, you closed the distance and kissed him deeply as he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling your body into his lap so he could hold you close.

“God, you two are going to make me cry in a minute”, Bucky suddenly announced, leaning back in his chair and wiping away an imaginary tear from his eye. Steve rolled his eyes as he held you closer with one hand and reached out with the other for Bucky to take, which he did with a smirk, removing the now empty chair so that he could be knee to knee with Steve and place his metal hand on your lower back.

“As much as I love my life, I sometimes hate how dramatic it is”,  Steve mused a second later as he kissed the side of your head.

“Mmm, I agree - shit, this drink is good”, Bucky half shouted as he drank more of the cocoa in the mug as you turned towards him with an amused smile. He looked at you and paused mid-sip, “This is yours, isn’t it?” he realised out loud before swearing and slamming the mug back onto the table. “Shit, sorry, I thought it was Romanoff’s. I’ll buy you a special treat on our way home, which I think we need to discuss, by the way”.

Steve sat up straight in his chair, causing you to move slightly in his lap as he gave Bucky a questioning stare, “What’s wrong with home?”

“Nothing’s wrong with home; why do you always assume the worst?” Bucky questioned with his head tilted to the side, catching your eye and winking before continuing. “I was just thinking that maybe the two of you need some special time alone tonight”.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere either”, you say quickly, not wishing to be separated from either of them.

Bucky’s fingers reassuringly added pressure to your back as he gently shook his head, showing the misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it like that, Doll. I just meant maybe you two could have some fun together, and luckily for you two, I have something in mind”.

Bucky’s plan for you and Steve resulted in the two of you hours later being naked in your bedroom with him watching in a chair.

“Remind me why I’m handcuffed again?” Steve asked with a sarcastic drawl from where he lay in the centre of the bed, his head carefully resting on the fluffed pillows and both wrists handcuffed above his head around the bed frame.

“Well, you tend to be all dominate and in charge when you’re having sex, and I think our sweet girl needs some reminding that you’re ok, you’re safe, and what better way for her to do that than her to be in control of how she touches your body?” Bucky explains nonchalantly as he rubs a hand over his growing bulge in his underwear, the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor.

“Ok, that makes sense, but why the blindfold?” Steve asked, tilting his head toward where Bucky was sitting but couldn’t see with the thick black cloth tied around his head covering his eyesight.

“Ah well, that's just fun for me; I get to watch our beautiful girl at work; you get to feel it. I mean, I need to have some fun tonight”, Bucky responded cheekily as you smiled whilst trying to adjust your weight from where you sat naked, straddling Steve’s chest.

“I’m um, I’m not very good at being in charge” You tried to hide the quiver in your voice, but instantly, your cheeks began to warm with embarrassment.

Bucky leaned forward in his chair, capturing your attention fully as he gave you a reassuring smile, “Like I explained, Sweetheart. All I want you to think about is your pleasure. You can get yourself off, fuck Steve, use toys, whatever you’d like to feel good but don’t worry about Stevie, boy; he can handle whatever you’re going to give him”.

“I sure as fuck can” Steve grinned as he rolled his hips, causing you to gasp and lean forward, putting your hands out onto his shoulders to stop yourself from falling.

“Hey! None of that now, Rogers. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride,” Bucky grinned, showing his straight teeth as it was your turn to roll your eyes before focusing your attention on Steve.

One of the reasons you were never the one to be in charge, other than you were submissive down to the very bone, was that you were unsure what to do. To Steve and Bucky, it seemed to come so quickly for them, knowing where to touch, the next move to have you groaning in pleasure, but sitting there staring down at Steve, you were unsure where to touch him or how to start. Do you just slide a few inches back and sit on his already hard cock? Do you suck his cock for a bit or jerk him off? But what if he came and you overstimulated him?

“I can see you are overthinking over there. Remember what I said; think about your pleasure only”, Bucky reminded you quietly.

Nodding your head, you took a moment to stare down at Steve, and the events over the last few days dawned on you. Even though he’d survived significantly worse in his life, you couldn't help but contemplate just how close to losing everything you’d ever dreamed of and needed. Having him here, beneath you, living and breathing.

Before you could lose yourself to the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over, you decided to clear your mind of those negative thoughts by lowering your mouth to his. The two of you released a breath simultaneously as Steve eagerly pressed his face firmly against yours, his head lifting off the pillow slightly.

It wasn’t a desperately messy kiss, full of tongues and saliva. It was a kiss that had the moment standing still as your hand rested over his heart, feeling the beat beneath, having the reminder that he was still here with you.

Pulling back from the kiss so that you were hovering over his face, you whispered intimately, “I love you”.

“I love you too,” was his instant response in the same calm tone, like a whisper in the wind.

Swallowing the emotional lump in your throat, you briefly pecked his lips once before trailing kisses down his chin and exploring the column of his throat, smiling as you felt him swallow beneath your lips. With your hands, you trailed your fingertips down his arms, feeling goosebumps lining his skin as you moved to meet where your mouth met his skin.

Slowly as you could, you kissed your way down his chest, making sure to lick and nip his peaked nipples, enjoying the little gasps he released as you contemplated that you’d never noticed how sensitive his nipples actually were. Further down, you moved as your legs shifted between him, making sure that his legs were spread so that you could fit between him perfectly.

As your lips continued giving open-mouthed kisses over his abs, you aimed for the pink scar close to his hip bone. The kiss pressed to the recently claimed gunshot injury that had even lightened in the shade since this morning with his accelerated healing. Steve’s legs tensed as he tried to refrain from thrusting his hips into the air as your breasts pressed against his thick length that you were attempting to ignore whilst worshipping his body.

“This is a cute moment and all, but I wanna see you cum already, Doll”, Bucky groaned impatiently as you looked at him over your shoulder as he sat with his hands clenched in his lap, as he continued to refrain from touching himself even though he was evidently very much aroused.

You smile against Steve’s skin and take one last breath of his natural body scent that had mixed with the spicy aftershave he’d used earlier this morning. Taking your time, you shift back to your original position of sitting across his abs, carefully sitting above the fresh scar that was still sensitive.

“I think I want to put these chiselled abs to good work”, you say whilst stroking a finger down them, laughing to yourself as Steve tensed, defining them even more solidly. Relaxing the position of your thighs, you sighed as your wetness now rested against his abdomen.

It wasn’t as satisfying as humping against his thigh because of the flat shape of his toned body, but that didn’t stop you from riding him slowly, making sure to really drag your clit in small circles against his body.

Your moans were breathy and gentle as your pleasure bloomed in your core, especially as Steve struggled to keep his emotions and body in heck beneath.

Licking his lips, he admitted, “I really fucking wish I could see you right now”.

“Oh, don’t you worry, big boy, she looks beautiful, there’s no doubt about that”, Bucky responded as he finally moved his black boxers to midthigh, his hand wrapped around his shaft as he matched the pace you were driving.

Deciding you needed something that had more definition than his perfectly sculpted abdomen, you shifted back down the bed until your cunt was flushed with Steve’s shaft that was hard and resting against his pubic bone. There was already a patch of precum that had pooled, and without thinking, you scooped it up with your finger and sucked the juices, savouring the musky saltiness.

“Holy shit”, Bucky cursed as his eyelids lowered in arousal.

Steve was trembling with restraint now as you began to slide your warm cunt against his shaft, making sure not to go over the tip as you wanted to savour the feel of his length first before fucking yourself on him.

In this position, you were quickly coating his cock in your juices, helping to prepare him for when you did want to sit on his cock, which, in fairness, would probably be soon with how horny you were feeling.

Faster and with more pressure, you ground down on his shaft until the burning in your core exploded, your cunt pulsing around nothing as you shivered through the sensation, breathing deeply with soft moans.

Leaning your hands on his chest, you shifted your hips forward, catching the tip of his cock against your pussy and continuing with the slow movements, not wanting to rush the adrenaline and burn that came with his cock thoroughly stretching your walls.

“So fucking tight”, Steve cursed, pressing his head back further into the pillow as the veins in his arms bulged as he restrained himself from easily snapping out of the handcuffs.

You couldn’t think of coherent words to respond, so sighed in satisfaction, taking a moment to savour the sensation. Eventually, though, the hunger for more became ravenous as you began to lift yourself off of his cock and then slam back onto him.

It was different riding him like this; usually, if you were on top, he’d either have a hand around your throat or his hands gripping your hips tightly and directing your movements. With all the movements being down to just your body, it was almost like having a life-size sex toy that moaned and breathed.

Additionally, it meant that you could really draw out the orgasm that was already threatening to suffocate around his cock as you rode him with slamming hips. Eventually, it all came too much, and with one hand on his chest and the other gripping your breast to squeeze the flesh, you had your second orgasm and a shiver of pleasure.

“You’re so fucking big”, you moaned as you attempted to catch your breath but settled for a different motion instead of riding up and down. Keeping your hips flush with his so that his balls rested against your arse, you began to circle your hips clockwise and then anticlockwise.

Steve gasped as his chest heaved with the attempt of arching his back. “Wait, Steve, shut up for a second”, Bucky demanded, and the three of you stopped making moaning noises, but you continued with your grinding and hip circles, which was when you could hear it too. The obscene sounds of your gushing cunt, sloshing and slurping with the movements. It felt incredible to be so full of Steve, but hearing how much this move was making him lose his mind only motivated you through feeling breathless.

“Holy shit, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, but if you keep doing that, I’m going to cum”, Steve grunted, his mouth hanging open so that his grunts of pleasure were unfiltered. Bucky was just as vocal from where he sat, getting himself off.

“I want you to cum; please cum for me, Sir”, you begged as Steve moaned at the nickname used. As his dick hardened inside of you, your fingers quickly began to circle your drenched clit matching the movements of your hips as you joined him by cumming at the same time, squeezing his shaft with your walls and milking his cock internally.

It felt unbelievably satisfying to feel the liquid filling you entirely and having no other room but to leak out of the sides and onto his pubic area. Your thighs have tightened so tightly around Steve’s body you were sure if he didn’t have his healing ability, you’d have caused bruises from where your knees had dug into his side.

He never complained once, though, as he tried to catch his breath just as desperately as you were. Slumping forward, your face rested against his chest, directly over his heart so that you could listen to the wild racing of his heart. You were exhausted from riding his cock, and for a moment, you determined the fantastic shape he was in was probably down to being on top all the time.

Your thighs and abdomen muscles ached as you determined you needed a little break from the riding but not from the orgasm, and even though you were feeling a little overstimulated internally, you were somewhat determined to see how far you could go.

Reaching blindly on the bed, you found the vibrating wand and moved it between your bodies until it rested against your clit. With Steve’s cock still somehow still hard, you remained with him inside of you as you turned on the vibrator.

Steve groaned as the vibrations were felt through not just his pubic mound but also your cunt as both were stimulated by the powerful toy. It wasn’t even on the highest setting, but it was enough to take your breath away at first, soon, you settled down, content with simply lying there until an orgasm built.

For a moment, you contemplated releasing Steve from his handcuffs so that he could wrap his big arms around you, but you knew that once he was free from those handcuffs, it would be a free-for-all.

One orgasm spiralled into two, and you had to push the vibrator away as the ache deepened within your cunt. You were exhausted and on the verge of becoming entirely too overstimulated for the orgasms.

“I- I don’t think I can cum again”, you admit whilst gently rocking yourself against Steve’s cock.

“Could I make one request?” Steve asks whilst licking his lips, his voice just as deep as it is when he first wakes up.

“Hmm?” you say in response.

“Sit on my face. I know you’ve had enough, you don’t have to cum, and if it hurts, I’ll stop, but I wanna taste you so bad right now”, Steve pleaded.

“How could I say no to that request”, you muse. Carefully and with a great deal of mess, you slipped off of his throbbing cock, which twitched in the air as his and your juices continued to drip out of your cunt and down his shaft.

With the way you’d climbed off, you ended up kneeling over his face so that you were facing down his body, staring and admiring his cock until the other man in the room caught your attention as Bucky kneeled on the bed.

Just as you lowered your soaking cunt onto Steve’s hot mouth, Bucky reached forward and began to stroke Steve’s cock. The mafia boss beneath you nearly choked on his own cum as he drank down the juices flowing out of you but soon found a rhythm, and as his hips rolled to meet the strokes of Bucky's metal fist, his tongue and lips matched this.

Reaching forward, you pulled Bucky in for a desperate kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, dominating in every way. With the taste of your cunt in his mouth and Bucky’s fist, Steve was cumming again as Bucky carefully caught the thick white seed in his fist, licking up every drop that Steveall but screamed out with his orgasm.

This time, you watched as his cock softened, and carefully you crawled off his face with the help of Bucky’s steady and damp hands. With Bucky’s lips against yours, he stated, “I know you’re not done yet, get back on him”.

Pulling back, you looked down at Steve’s clammy body and the pink blush that had hued over his chest as you determined, “Won’t I hurt him if I sit on his overstimulated cock?”

Steve answered for Bucky, “Fuck no, you won’t hurt me. Get back on Princess”, he pleads desperately. Turning back to face Steve, you try and angle his soft cock at your entrance, but it wouldn’t go back in as Steve cursed at the handling.

“Are you sure I’m not hurting you?” you asked fearfully.

“Yes, I’m sure just- I don’t know. Buck, grip me hard in your fist or something,” he responded, sounding frustrated with his body for a second. You had to bite your lip as Bucky shrugged and gripped Steve’s flaccid cock in his hand, causing the blonde to gasp and arch his back, nearly knocking you over in the process. “Yeah, just like that.”

“You know Steve, some would call you a freak for getting off on pain like that”, Bucky joked half-heartedly as his fist began pumping up and down the hardening cock in his hand.

“Yeah, well, you’re one to talk”, Steve sassed back as he finally became hard enough that you could slide back down his cock. “Just a warning if I cum again, I’ll probably be shooting air out”.

Again, you had to bite your lip to hold back the laugh from Steve’s admission. Bucky led beside the two of you, reaching over to tilt Steve’s blindfolded face towards him. “I thought you could go all night? What’s the point in having all of these special abilities if you’re already shooting blanks after two orgasms”, Bucky contemplated.

“Yeah, well, you have her sit on your cock and see how long you last, asshole”, Steve bite back earning a chuckle from Bucky as you watched them both fondly, trying to get to find a good rhythm to move your body, opting for a slow in and out and circle of your hips.

The soaking noises of your wet cunt began to fill the atmosphere once more as Steve and Bucky started to make out, dimming the noise of their moans. Bucky eased back and whispered into Steve’s ear, “Do you hear how wet she is? Best you can feel it, how sopping wet our girl is. Aw, poor thing she’s getting tired”, Bucky smirks as you frown at him. You were exhausted, but you weren’t letting that stop your movements, by the way, Bucky was winking at you, you knew he was up to something.

Steve gritted his teeth, almost growling as he contemplated his next move, and you realised Bucky was antagonising him as the next second, Steve’s snapping out of the handcuffs. You’re suddenly on your back in the middle of the bed as he rolls the two of you over.

Steve’s face delves into the crook of your neck as your legs are instantly pushed back so that your knees nearly brush against your chest as he completely crowds around you. Clearly having driven him to his limit, Steve did not hold back; he began to fuck you with unfathomably hard and fast thrusts.

His cock was a blur as it pounded into your drenched cunt. All you could do was cling to him, nails scratching into the skin of his shoulders and then up to his jaw, pulling his face back so that you could push his blindfold up that was still covering his eyesight. He blinked down at you, groaning at the sight beneath him as he kissed you feverishly.

You were stuck between kissing, moaning and trying to gasp for breath as your orgasm plummeted through your cunt until you were close to sobbing with the overwhelming emotions. Steve’s powerful body fucked you deep into the bed until he was deeply crying out your name with the trembling effects of his third orgasm. From the feeling of it, he definitely wasn't shooting blanks as more of his seed oozed out of your well-used cunt.

He remained on top of you for a while, his body keeping yours warm as you breathed one another in, but eventually, he was moved onto his side by a gentle hand of Bucky’s.

“Come on, big boy, I need you to move over so I can clean you both up”, the brunette explained as he sat on the bed with a warm washcloth. Steve sighed in contentment but remained with his arms around your torso as he observed Bucky clean up his sensitive flaccid cock.

As Bucky moved between your legs, you tiredly gasped, “Wait, you didn’t get to cum, Bucky”.

Bucky grinned up at you, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he explained, “Oh, don’t worry, I did, twice. You should see the back of Steve; think I might have got some in his hair as he was fucking you into next week”.

Steve quietly cursed before chuckling as he reached a hand behind his head, “Well, the sheets are thoroughly ruined for tonight then”.

[hotchnersangel]

MATILDA

Aaron Hotchner

-----

cw; childhood trauma, panic attacks, illusions to drinking, abuse, self-worth issues, mentions of the bau's traumas, hurt, blood, violence, bit of a persistent and overbearing hotch at the end. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY MENTION OF THESE THINGS TRIGGER YOU. This is a very deep and raw piece.

this has not been edited because it feels a bit too personal to reread lol

you have been warned.

You were always conditioned to brush off your feelings. It became a coping mechanism to get through the torment of your past. Physically you were fine but emotionally you were bruised and tainted with the colour indigo, that led to the bottled up pain.

No one knew your history or the treatment you went throuh as a child, in fact you often believed you history inferior due to your friends' upbringings. With Morgan being manipulated and molested, Emiy being dragged city to city to escape bible bashings, JJ losing a most beoved sister, Penelope losing her parents, Spencer's father leaving and him becoming a prodigy of the education system, Rossi watching his friends die right in front of him and Hotch. Well, Hotch's past had been a blurred line to the team, similar to yours. Though they knew something had happened to destroy you mentally for you to be where you were today- it was practically alien to have a member of the bau come from a happy home.

Your team had lost people around them, family, friends- life's true tragedy. But, you didn't. You lost no one but yourself.

You could argue that you lost you parents but it would be insensitive, they were still alive but they simply were never parents to you. They were strangers who barely even knew of your existence when you were present and a burden now that you were no longer around for them. No longer there to be their punching bag, no longer there to be their outlet of anger and cutthroat insults.

When the topic comes up, you deny, deny, deny.

"It's no big deal really," you would tell them with a large smile, diverting their attention and you had given them no reason to doubt you until one case.

A case that focused on parents abusing their children. You had almost gone quiet but it was not noticed, you played it off as exhaustion considering you had all been working back to back for weeks straight.

The jet felt colder that Tuesday morning, the seats glassed with a coat of ice as you sat down, letting out a shiver, Hotch takes his usual seat besides you and raises an eyebrow at you. "You okay?"

You nod with a smile, "Yeah it's no big deal, just a bit cold." You shrug, looking out the window, ready to set off for New Orleans. Midway through the flight, you feel a material rest over your legs, seeing Hotch reading the case file and hardly even looking at you. `like he could sense your need for some sort of comfort, whether it be from the sudden breeze or the pain inside your heart.

You arrive swiftly at the precinct, everyone getting up and getting to work. The team rarely struggled on a case but as you were all slumped around a board finishing your takeout. You look over the case files again and look up, causing eyes to dart over to you.

"Oh she's on-to something." Morgan exclaims.

"Let it download, almost there." Emily smirks slightly, watching the cogs turn in their head.

"A child can form a negative sense of love from super young, right?"

"Yeah, it's called our 'love map', it's the ideology of our internal software being developed from around the ages 5 to 6 based on our surroundings and the environment we grew up in." Spencer adds and agrees, seeing where you are going with this.

"And am i right in saying that it is effects our ability to process, receive and distribute love?" You inquire and Spencer nods along.

"Yeah, the result of a healthy development of self-cohesion, self-constancy, and self-agency is self-esteem. Positive affect becomes integrated with self-representation. A negative love map, essentially a distorted internal representation of what a healthy relationship looks like based on negative past experiences, can lead to significant issues in romantic relationships, including difficulty forming deep connections, distrust, emotional withdrawal, anxiety, and a tendency to repeat unhealthy patterns." Spencer nods along.

"So, this unsub had a broken home? Let's get Garcia to check records of social service calls to residents with multiple visits." Emily says to the team as they dial Garcia and are met with a sigh at the vast load she has to sieve through.

"I wouldn't rely on it there are so many left unreported." You added, shaking your head. "Look for school reports, teachers may have noticed suspicious behaviour and markings on a child- it's not much and hardly narrows it down but it is something."

The team nod impressed and you catch Hotch's eye as he narrows his eyes softly, like he was trying to read into your soul. You were, simply put, a book he could read one hundred times and still be unable to decode every last detail.

"Garcia, cross check school reports with silent 911 calls." You heart ached as you say the words, a rush of memories flooding back to you as you ran up the stairs of your house, hearing your father shouting up at you and your mother knocking on your door harshly. You'll never forget those knocks, like a constant reminder that you were always wrong. You had stolen the landline phone, really scared for your life in that moment. You were sat in you closet, knees tucked to your chest as silent tears glass your eyes.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Silence.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"Hello?"

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"This is 911, are you in danger?"

Yes, help. Please. I'm scared.

Your shallow breaths cut through the silence before the call ended and your inevitable fate had drawn closer.

"I've cross checked teachers note with 911 calls and i think i have something." Garcia informs the team over the phone, "It may be a long shot but a man named Dane Kirighan called 911 twice but they were both silent, as our pretty girl said." She starts. "His mom Janet Kirighan recently passsed away... it says... oh- she was bludgened to death by a flat object four months ago.."

"That could be our stressor." Aaron nods at the team as Garcia continues.

"It gets worse, his father was sentenced to life for the murder of Janet Kirighan but he was deemed deceased only last month."

You stay silent. "He has abandonment issues, as much as he hated them both for the pain they inflicted, they left him again..."

"What's his address?"

The case was long, almost a week long and you were sure it was torturous. Memories came back in floods to the point that you could no longer focus on the situation at hand but rather the pain in Dane Kirighan's voice as he screamed in the line of crossfire.

One harsh scream then silence.

That silence you knew all too well, you left the scene quickly, getting into the back of one of the SUV's. You talk to no one, you look at no one, you react to nothing. Right now, you're as lifeless as Dane. The little boy who was manipulated and formed into a killer. You shouldn't but you empathise for him. You sympathise.

You knew that there were two sides to a coin and you and Dane Kirighan were one of the same. Heads vs Tales, you saw different lives but deep down you were made from the same foundations and ou were terrified.

You excused yourself from the car, heading into the bathroom to freshen up. No one joined you, which you were grateful for because currently, you hamd was stretched against the painted wall, clawing for something to hold you body up as your other dug into the skin of your chest as if it would help you breathe. Suddenly you were back in that closet, rocking back and fourth as you hear footsteps growing nearer to you.

You heart rate picked up at the memory, you breathing becoming shallow and uneven and suddenly the all too familiar burning sensation infiltrated your lungs. The need of oxygen grew stronger as you slid down the wall of the bathroom, feeling pathetic and completely naked on that tile flooring.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Your mind became your biggest enemy as your heartbeat rung through you ears like a cry for help.

Footsteps.

The echo of your parent's footsteps grew louder in you mind as they neared the bathroom door.

Your heart was racing. Fuck. Breathing. You need to breathe. Come on. You gotta keep trying. In and Out. They're not here. You're safe.

Until silence, once again.

A laugh echoed from outside and you realised you were safe, you were home. Not all family was bad, but you didn't know how to be in the family. What was your role?

You walk back to the team after freshing up a bit, swearing an oath to yourself to avoid the topic of your panic attack.

You walk up to the team and they greet you with warm smiles.

"Nice call kid, you may not feel like it was positive but you helped." Rossi pulled you into a hug, a tight hug and you realised that the team knew. Fuck, they knew.

"How did you know?" Emiy inquires, breaking the ice to the topic. "How did you know to check for 911 calls?"

"I did it a few times," you shrug, being honest. This is what a family des right. "I knew nothing would come out of it but it felt like I was doing something."

Faces softened and you hated that.

You pull you hair into a ponytail and smile, though it is far from real. "it's no big deal."

"You were abused." Hotch's voice cuts the silence and zones his vision on you. "Do you hear me?"

"Hotch man-" Derek tries to intervene but Hotch cuts him off.

"You were abused." he repeats.

"Stop."

"You are a victim." he states so boldly with no judgement whatsoever.

"Stop," You repeat, urgently, feeling your emotions swell.

"It is a big deal. You. Were. Abused." He repeats and you are getting angry now, you hardly notice that Hotch had gestured for the others to leave.

"Hotch- stop it."

"Why are you defending them?"

"I'm not."

"The people you should trust the most hurt you, in every way they could."

"Hotch-" you feel tears threaten your eyes.

"That's why you don't trust easy. It's why you don't talk about your experiences. It's why you never miss a deadline because you think you will be punished. You think that your a burden and you bottle up your feelings and belittle them until they are overwhelming for you. Its why you can tell who is nearing you because you have our footsteps memorised. Do you know what these are?"

"Stop profiling me." You burst, your voice echoing through the walls.

A tear.

He lifts his hand.

You flinch.

He moves gently.

You look down.

He tilts your head up.

"It's all trauma responses. You are a victim of abuse and you're too thoughtful to ask for help because you don't want to gain friendships where people will leave you."

Your eyes are full of silent tears as you look up at him.

His heart breaks.

"You can let it go." He whispers to you, resting his hand on your cheek. "Do you hear me?"

You nod, you eyes rimmed red and glossy with pain.

"You-" he points at your chest, more specifically your heart. "You don't have to invite your blood related family to the party of your soul."

"Your heart, honey, truly is a party. It is beautiful, it is flourished, it is fun and it reflects every ounce of who you are. Your parents never showed you love but I do, we all do. Never be sorry for growing up surrounded by pain, never belittle your past experiences until you are on the edge okay?"

"What are you asking of me?"

"I'm asking you to let me love you... let me take care of you. You talk of all this pain like it's alright, it isn't so stop. A part of you feels like a lost cause but baby, you shine like the brightest star. You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days."

"I'm asking you to let me into your heart, your mind."

In that moment, you realised that you were starting a family who will always show you love and though it will be a long process, it will be worth it in the end.

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 16 "Destroyer of Worlds"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: We're really getting there now 🥹🥹🥹 I'm so excited. And I'm very pleased with this chapter 🤭 I can't wait to hear what you think!

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 100

No guards frame the door that is tall and glinting back, just like Feyd had assured her. When she had approached it and passed through it several weeks prior, she thought it may as well lead to hell, but today she is certain of it. Except it won't be Feyd's hell or hers, it will be his.

And he will have no time for tricks.

With her gun of clear, shiny plastic raised in front of her chest, the relic enters Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's bath chambers.

The scented, herbal fog hasn't grown as dense and thick yet and the white, fleshy heap at the center of the tub fills out her sight at once. And unexpectedly, there is movement to the right, not a guard or a servant but Glugo who quivers in a damp basket near the wall.

While the woman's eyes are briefly averted, the Baron's shield flares up around his misshapen form at a flick against the massive, silver band at his middle finger. The smallest and priciest model on the market, Ixian technology.

"I expected my nephew," he drones, voice amplified by the vaulted ceiling but distorted by the shield.

"Hands on the pool edge," the woman demands, voice as cold as cryogenic vapor. Vladimir acquiesces, unable to reach for the transponder behind his ear. An invisible muscle ticks at his fleshy jaw.

"I hold audiences every Freitak," he attempts to jest, arms spread out in mockery as he adjusts them on the slippery edge. "No need to assault me in my own bath chambers."

A blunder, he realizes quickly as her face hardens with rancor. Not a molecule would fit between her clenched teeth.

"You're troubled because of what you saw," he concludes. "It was a mistake." Vladimir concedes all too quickly. His finesse seems to have evaporated along with the curling steam and he realizes he knows nothing substantial about the woman.

"Quite," she confirms curtly, closing in with slow, deliberate steps. The crosshair projected by her interface, only for her eyes to see, dances over the Baron's face, but she won't take any risks. At the center of the vaulted chamber, a generous distance separates them still, but she feels more confident in her aim.

Pulling a trigger is as easy as dropping a bomb. She should have it in her. Her kin have dropped bombs like rainfall back in the slaughterhouse warfare for oil and soil and rare earths.

The Baron gawks at the muzzle, an unassuming hole among glossy, alien plastic. His old eyes might be deceiving him, but he thinks he can see the inner cogs and channels shimmering through the surface, and a metallic component that doesn't belong.

A lasgun! She's either a maniac or an idiot! Or truly a relic of long-forgotten ages, like the sisterhood had said.

He could either deactivate his shield and die certainly, saving the palace and the capital from nuclear fallout, or he could take them down with him, his nephew included.

"You don't want to fire a lasgun at me, kid."

His voice booms and the Tleilaxu creature leaps out of its basket, hand-feet splatting across the damp tiles. Thank God, it flees out the door, the relic thinks. That tiny moment of inattentiveness is enough for Vladimir to flick the switch at the ring on his pointer, a special gift that was given to him just a few days ago, and just in time. Already, he feels safer.

"That's not a normal lasgun." Her attention is back on the Baron and she smiles knowingly. Vladimir despises the self-assured look of it.

"We can find a civilized solution for this," he declares with renewed confidence. Pretending to think, he sways his fatty neck from side to side. "I know my nephew has plenty to offer, so I don't see why we shouldn't be able to share."

She laughs out brightly, a sound like a whiplash across the Baron's heaving chest. "Where I'm from, there's the death penalty for abusers like you. I couldn't build an electric chair, so I brought something else."

"And what have you got there?" Get her talking, he thinks, beady eyes greedily darting for the door.

"Feyd's wedding gift."

"Feyd's wedding—?"

Thumb slipping over the back of the gun, she cocks the hammer.

"Did I understand that correctly? If you miscalculated, this test will cause an atomic explosion?" The memory of a few days prior fills out her mind, easing the terrible anxiety that now dampens her palms. "Yes, but I did not miscalculate." "Then why test it?" Feyd-Rautha had paced anxiously behind her and sized up the heap of towels stacked in the corner of her room, their outline blue and blurred by a softly humming Holtzman shield. "Better to be safe than sorry." "I'd feel sorry if you blew up my planet." "I wouldn't," she had responded with hardness and pulled the trigger. Doing so fires the bullet first, then a fine tuned laser beam from a smaller second muzzle, as light travels faster than matter and the bullet needs more time to reach its target. The double muzzle is calibrated to take the bullet's weight and distance from the target into consideration. Light may have no inherent mass, but photons do transmit impulse. And so the photons that comprise the laser beam collide with the Holtzman shield's nuclei and propel them into motion towards the body they are meant to protect. The beam's impact isn't hard enough to trigger a nuclear chain reaction, but just right to accelerate the nuclei. And by the time the bullet arrives at the crime scene too, its relative velocity to the shield is that of a slow blade. With a thump, the bullet had sunken into the stack of towels.

The door moves at her back and the only reason why she doesn't jump in fright is because she recognizes his footsteps.

"Wait, my darling."

The Baron could weep with joy at the sight of his dear nephew. Not who he had called, but an even more welcome sight. It was he who had given the boy everything; schooling for his cunning mind, planets to govern, blades to play with, toys to warm his heart and his cock with. Everything in exchange for a measly bit of affection!

Feyd-Rautha, dressed from neck to toe with not an inch of skin showing aside from his face and hands, loops his arms around his betrothed's waist, chin tilted and leaning against her temple.

"Let me do it." 

Vladimir pales, shuffling in the sloshing bath water as his nephew gently takes the gun from the cursed woman's hand and closes in like a starved viper. His chest rises beneath the full coverage of his suit.

Desperately, the Baron looks at the door.

"My dear nephew, you're falling for a hoax! Do you want to blow up the city?"

Feyd-Rautha stops, still several meters away from the tub. Vladimir seethes.

Anxiously, the relic observes the jittering path of the digital crosshair, weapon out of her hands and out of her control. As Feyd halts, the red mark settles on the Baron's pasty forehead. His aim is perfect.

"You want me dead, then come closer, at least! Look me in the eyes when you do it, my boy." The Baron's tongue flicks out, grey-pinkish flesh, to wet his bottom lip. He wants him so close that he can see the whites in his nephew's eyes before the city blows up. Stripped naked and unarmed aside from the poison needle in the signet ring on his pinkie, he feels more than ever like a heap of flesh, defenseless and abandoned and to his own surprise, it is the latter that hurts most.

Feyd-Rautha doesn't speak.

"Say something, boy! You've had more than enough chances to do this, but you didn't, and I'll tell you why." The Baron raises himself slightly, bulging chest emerging from the inky water. "You don't want to kill your own un—"

The echo of a bang ricochets off the vaulted ceiling and the Baron finds his head knocked back, vision filled with fractured red, his shield dissolved.

With his head rolled on the tub's edge, he can only see the ceiling, and something wet slips over his brow, into his blurry eye. Vladimir had always thought, when Feyd finally manages to kill him, he would ravage his body with blades, take him apart to the last organ, gorge on his flesh while it is still warm. It had almost aroused him.

But his nephew's final touch — denied. 

How cruel.

"You did it!" His betrothed's arms loop around his waist from behind, the embrace hard and stormy, her face against his spine. Feyd still stares in awe at the corpse of his uncle, massive, white flesh afloat obscenely in the tub.

"I did," he confirms, his voice hard, with tremors around the edges.

Feyd feels like he should perhaps burst into tears or yell, but none of the like wants to come out of his heart. The accomplishment might take a few days to feel real. What is entirely real, however, is the face of his darling as she slides to his front and cups his cheeks, overjoyed. The tears that his eyes are missing in his, shimmer distinctly in hers and before he knows it, she has tilted his face down to hers and pressed her lips on his, comforting and needy.

Anxiety melts under soft kisses and tears track down her cheeks, coloring their lips with salt.

"I see you've done us all a favor."

Feyd and his woman snap apart, staring in horror to the ajar door. A few steps into the chamber stands a figure swathed in black like a bad omen on the battlefield. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam looks appreciatively at the corpse of Baron Harkonnen.

Even through the mesh of her veil, her sharp eyes perceive the wicked twitch of the na-Baron's hands around the gun.

"Hold still!" She commands and Feyd-Rautha's finger freezes at the trigger.

A pop-up blinks in the corner of the relic's interface, signaling the detection of the soundwave pattern she had picked apart a few weeks ago.

"What are you doing here?" The relic hisses, fingers screwed around Feyd's dangling wrist. She looks a tad haggard compared to when the Reverend Mother had last seen her, with a touch of madness in the eyes.

"My presence was requested by the late Baron and he was right to do so."

"Your presence?" Feyd's voice rings out in distaste, aiming for mockery but rage oozes from every strained muscle. The Reverend Mother sees in him a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

"I wasn't any less surprised than you are, Baron Feyd-Rautha." She tilts her head and with her moves the crass shadow thrown by her oblong headpiece. "That's how I knew the gravity of the situation. Your uncle was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. He had a feeling you were plotting something, so he requested my help, thinking I was the only one who could."

"But you are too late," Feyd barks, fingers clenching helplessly around the gun. "He's dead!"

"He is. And yet, I arrived perfectly on time." The Reverend Mother calmly crosses her hands in front of her body.

"You could have intervened and didn't?" Horror much bigger than when she had the Baron at gunpoint rises to the relic's chest.

"I must confess, I was… curious." Gaius Helen Mohiam waits but the younger woman remains silent. "How did you do it?"

The engineer laughs out, a sound that's shrill and unpleasant from her clamoring heartbeat. "Sure, I'll tell you and give away the single most valuable piece of information in the universe."

The Reverend Mother purses her lips. The truth is, she had made her decision the second the bullet had passed through the Baron's shield. That knowledge must die and not even reach the ears of her own sisters. Temptation brings out the worst in humans and careful plans are traded all too easily for short-lived power.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha knows too, but he is a force they can control. The wildcard however has no place among them.

"This must not come out," the Reverend Mother declares, her tone a whiplash.

The glint in the wayward woman's eyes tells her everything she needs to know. The terrible relic is not horrified by the idea of throwing the world off balance. She embraces the potential of destruction like a tumor the flesh it feasts on. Thousands of years of selective breeding are at risk at the whims of one wicked catalyst.

"I think maybe it should," the relic snarks. 

"You're an abomination!" Mother Mohiam snaps. "You should have stayed in the ice like the fossil you are."

"You shouldn't have thawed me then. This is your doing!"

And this is why the Reverend Mother must undo it. "There is no place for you here," she coldly proclaims.

"Then watch me make one! I'll carve, dig and shoot a mold for myself and if I end up destroying something on the way, I'm not sorry."

"That I can see, and that is precisely why there is no place for you in this world."

Feyd-Rautha stands at his betrothed's side, a shackled guard dog watching the heated exchange between witch and scientist, between the present and the past which might become the future once more.

"It is a pity," the Reverend Mother continues. "But there will be more opportunities to continue this bloodline." She tilts her head, sharp eyes locked onto the relic through the shroud of her veil. "Kill yourself."

Her interface flashes red, a warning at the center of her vision. For a brief moment, all joy fades from her eyes, all hope, and to end her own life seems to be the only logical consequence — until the code sequence she had programmed weeks prior is triggered into action, playing an opposing sound pattern directly into her skull.

Sound waves meet in destructive interference and only a dull, sad ache behind her sternum remains.

Mother Mohiam grows cold with terror when the abomination remains unmoving and smiles.

"You're full of surprises." The Reverend Mother's tone carries a hint of begrudging admiration. Underestimating her is a mistake she won't make again. The woman whose only ability of notable importance seemed to have been prescient dreams had somehow bested her command. But it doesn't matter. There is never only one way to the goal.

Feyd-Rautha realizes that too, but a second too late.

"Kill her."

The na-Baron slackens and turns, soulless eyes holding no recognition. She releases his wrist. Terror devours her when Feyd-Rautha points the gun at her forehead. And just like before, his aim is perfect. A red glow, visible only to her, bleeds into her vision from between her eyes and she remembers.

He aims with the gun that is linked to her brain. The trigger clicks only half a second after she jams it via remote control.

No bullet breaches her skull and the relic stumbles away from her love who stares at the handgun in confusion, pulling the trigger three more times before discarding the weapon with a dissonant clatter. A muscle tics at his jaw, cat like eyes narrowing into slits and he reaches for his belt. Glinting steel emerges from its sheath, a hissing purr. Her betrothed prowls.

"Feyd, don't—" She pleads, backing away with quickening steps. There is nowhere to go, only the tub where she could hide herself behind the Baron's floating corpse. "It's me, you don't want to kill me. You love me!"

"He doesn't know that," Mother Mohiam coldly reminds her and the relic glares hatefully.

"You're destroying his life!" She sobs, stumbling over the steps that lead up to the bathtub and falling on her bum. "How can you live like this? You're the abomination! He will kill you in revenge, he'll blow up your whole planet!"

Her beloved towers right over her, head crowned by a corona of glowglobe shine, his chiseled features entirely calm, innocent.

"Do it!"

"I'm sorry," she cries. "I love you."

Feyd grabs her by the front of her shirt as she tries to roll away. She squirms and sobs pathetically, helpless with no further tricks up her sleeve, no hidden blade or gun, no voice of her own to wield against him or her.

The Reverend Mother raises her chin in triumph, but all of a sudden, there is movement at the door, at the unsuspecting witch's back.

Mikhail Kyelug comes flying through the door, sword flung out in a wide arch. Right after him sprints Lilia, with Glugo clutching her hand.

The Reverend Mother spins in surprise, lips open, but her words are severed along with her head, terrible voice silenced forever as Mikhail's blade cleaves through her neck and spine with an awful crack. The world spins together with her head. The headpiece comes off, giving away thinning, grey hair. Voicelessly, she curses that her last ever sight is Baron Vladimir's Harkonnen's bloated face, dead eyes locked with dead eyes.

Feyd-Rautha whips around from the racket, blade quivering in his clenched fist. The relic's nails have dug inky crescents into his wrist. For a moment, no one moves and three humans and one humanoid wait with bated breath for Feyd to drop the blade.

But the voice is no link to be severed by the wielder's death, it is a temporary alteration of the brain, and so Feyd's face remains empty, shark eyes glaring at the intruders. Mikhail sees it too.

"Back! Back I say!" He roars and barges like a bull. Feyd-Rautha releases the woman's shirt, facing the threat that is bound to crash into him with hissing metal.

Blades collide.

Lilia jumps over the Reverend Mother's corpse and dashes past the fighting pair to  collect her weeping Lady from the steps. Glugo's hand-feet splatter after her with haste and it picks up the discarded gun, cradling the devious, shiny thing protectively against its misshapen chest.

Glugo had known right away, when it scuttled past the tall, old witch in the hallway and she had commanded it in that terrible voice to leave, that she meant harm. So, it had ran as fast as it could and pulled at Lilia's hands and skirt, because Lilia would know what to do. 

The three of them huddle down in the corner, the relic crying into Lilia's chest. Glugo slips a quivering hand-foot into her palm but its milky eyes are aimed at the center of the room where its friend and Mikhail are grappling and grunting.

By the Sun, the na-Baron fights like a demon! His pupils are shrunken into pinpricks and his mouth is pulled apart into a gashing grin. Mikhail's armor is torn at the shoulder and black blood weeps down his armpit. Every next parry burns as if his muscles were about to tear apart and with the rush of pain comes a rush of clarity.

Fists, not blades. 

Mikhail drops his blood-slick sword and catches the na-Baron's wrist, stopping the tip of the blade centimeters away from his neck. Roaring, he shoves the na-Baron backwards until he collides into the wall and slams the taller man's wrist against the tiles, once, twice. Feyd's blade slips out of his twitching fingers and clatters to the ground as his lips skin back from glinting, black teeth in anger.

Mikhail doesn't hesitate. He drives his thick-knuckled fist into the na-Baron's guts like a battering ram. Wearing no armor, Feyd doubles up, spitting saliva across his own chest. Ringed hands grasp at Mikhail's chest plate, attempting to hurl the guard to the ground, but Mikhail's boot crashes into Feyd's pelvis and scarred knuckles find Feyd's soft cheek. Skin splits open and his molars sink into the soft flesh inside his mouth.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Feyd blurts out, choking on spit and blood, hands raised in the air as Mikhail's final blow cracks across his jaw. He lurches to the ground and rolls on his back in defeat, his eyes clear and wide in terror.

"My Lord," Mikhail pants, raising his bloodied fists in a shaky salute.

"I— I didn't—" Feyd's head turns to the corner where both women are huddled up, Glugo in front of them, clutching the handgun in one of its oily-black hands.

"My darling," Feyd rasps, spluttering blood. "I nearly killed you."

"It's not your fault," she sobs immediately and frees herself from Lilia's embrace. The pair meet in the middle and her arms whip around his neck, his around her waist and he squeezes her until he feels her very heartbeat against his own, convincing himself that she's still alive.

Their foreheads fall against each other and she gently cradles his aching jaw, thumb stroking under the bleeding cut on his cheek. Feyd-Rautha's long, lowered lashes cast shadows across his eyes and something dark and bitter flashes in them.

"No," she insists immediately and her tone forces his eyes back on hers. She won't allow him to hate himself for something he almost did. "We're alive and they're dead. This is our victory."

Next to Feyd-Rautha and his Lady, Lilia has rushed over to her husband, making an endearing fuss over the wound on his shoulder and his bruised hands. Deft fingers have unclipped the shoulder piece and tugged the cut fabric apart to inspect length and depth of the laceration.

"S'fine, my darlin'," Mikhail rasps with exhaustion and slings his good arm around her middle, pulling her into him to place mindless kisses atop of her head.

The relic peeks over Feyd's shoulder and unlatches one hand from her beloved, beckoning for the pair to come closer. "Thank you," she sighs with tear-thick voice.

Lilia confidently seizes the offered hand, thumb brushing comfortingly over her Lady's knuckles. Mikhail stands awkwardly behind her, one hand on Lilia's waist, not daring to touch the woman of higher standing so affectionately. "My Lady."

Feyd-Rautha releases his woman after all and turns to face his saviors. At once, the guard and the handmaid drop to one knee before him and lower their heads in devotion.

"Baron Harkonnen," they mumble in unison and a muscle twitches across Feyd-Rautha's cheek.

"No," he interrupts with grating tone. "Stand up!"

The pair obey, glancing up with confusion as they raise themselves. Feyd-Rautha regards them with a long glance and exhales deeply, then slowly kneels in front of them, pale head rolling forwards until his eyes are trained on the ground.

"Thank you," he says. "You saved her life, and mine."

"My Lord," Mikhail mutters, overwhelmed and looks to the Lady for help while squeezing Lilia's waist. "It was only our duty, eh?" He insists but that is hardly true. Not duty but friendship had hastened their steps and fueled his fists when they barged into the room.

Glugo can no longer contain itself and scuttles over on hasty hand-feet, mewling with worry as it flings four of its eight limbs at Feyd's chest, tugging on the thick fabric while pressing its misshapen pug face against his sternum.

Feyd winces when shiny plastic is waved about right next to his face and he tries to capture the gun out of Glugo's innocent, little hand-foot while cradling the creature's head with one big, pale hand.

"It's jammed," his betrothed reassures him. "Come here, give that to me, hm?" Gently, she grasps the weapon and places it back in its holster.

"Hush, hush," Feyd mumbles and allows himself in a moment of vulnerability to rest his bruised cheek atop Glugo's head while his darling softly squeezes his shoulder.

"It is actually Glugo who deserves your gratitude, my Lord," Lilia reveals and Feyd holds the glugging creature a bit tighter. "It came to me crying and begging and I knew you needed us."

Glugo doesn't know exactly why everyone smells so much of tears and joy, but it knows it did something right and that it is surrounded by the kindest beings it has ever known.

"I wouldn't go near," the relic remarks, stopping Feyd whose prowling footsteps have carried him closer to the round tub in which the fleshy, white mountain of his uncle's corpse still floats, unmoving. "He's radioactive."

"I won't," Feyd grates out, plush lips skinned back from his teeth in distaste. He feels none of the morbid fascination he had always assumed he would feel when his uncle is finally dead by his hands, only a grim, long-awaited sense of accomplishment. Turning his head, he finds Glugo tugging curiously on the dead Reverend Mother's dress. The poor thing does have a penchant for liver after all. Feyd clicks his tongue. "Don't touch that!" 

Glugo scuttles away and back to Lilia's outstretched hand. It will receive a proper victor's feast later, something more worthy of its bravery than an old witch's, rotting corpse.

"I want the bodies completely eradicated, both of them," Feyd demands. Lest they return as Gholas, a voice of paranoia whispers to him, but he is all too happy to listen.

"How?" His woman curls her arm around his middle and Feyd pulls her to his chest, inhaling the scent of her hair before he makes a decision.

"Burn it down," he rasps. "Burn down the whole wing."

In the afternoon hours, the citizens, guards and slaves of Barony are left gawking and gasping, faces turned in shock towards the colossal palace pyramid where vicious smoke curls from the very top, black claws against the crass, white sky. At the na-Baron's behest, no one is to extinguish the wrathful flames. 

Proudly, he watches it burn, the place that holds two decades worth of abuse. The biting smoke soars towards the stars, like the herald of a new age.

I am Time (Death), cause of destruction of the worlds, matured And set out to gather in the worlds here. Even without thee (thy action), all shall cease to exist, The warriors that are drawn up in the opposing ranks.

- Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita

A/N: Killed the baddies with the power of friendship and science 🥹 (2 more chapter to come)

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[raileurta]

So @gyancastle had this idea and made cool art that when the apex armor is piloted by a human they turn into a cybertronian. Miko also gets this sick battle axe! Here's the link to the post(s) if you want to see it. So anyways I'm yoking that idea.

After Miko gets the apex armor instead of taking it away from her the team decides to let her keep it. They train her in self defense, strategy, Cybertronian's martial arts, and how to use her axe. She becomes quite the force in the field.

One day in battle a weird ground bridge is activated but it looks nothing like a standard one. It's huge, a distorted look to it, and a deep yellow. It starts sucking everything in which of course includes Miko. When she's spat out she's millions of miles in the air, after falling for a bit she crash lands in a forest. Distorted she walks to the nearest body of water near which is a big lake. Washing herself off of tree branches, leaves, dirt, and other kinds of debris Miko hears a crunch. Turning around with her battle axe ready she comes to a strange sight. It's Optimus, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Ratchet and a random human girl??? But there's something wrong with them, first of all they're comically much smaller and look different. (This during season 1 btw because I haven't finished the series yet but will be reconed in the future probably)

Miko demands to know who they are which they of course give their names which makes her more confused. Falling back on her training she realizes she needs information. So she decides to go along with whatever is happening. They ask for her destination which she responds "joyride prime" because Miko is still Miko she's going to do some trolling. She looks weirdly similar to her own Optimus when she's in the armor, plus Miko doesn't think she could handle being given orders by a fun sized Optimus. She barely tolerates orders back home!

Anyways she goes with them and when they ask what alt mode she wants. Miko has to awkwardly talk about how she can't transform. Miko "explains" that her t-cog was removed a long time ago and she can't replace it for whatever reason. The bots are horrified but she just plays it off.

They go back to base and Miko hangs out with Sari for a few minutes, she finds it really neat that this kid is like a mini her. Miko finds the other bots very charming as well; they're like a softer version of her own autobots. Especially Optimus, he actually shows emotions here!

Then a alarm goes off; decepticons are causing trouble of course and Miko goes along with them to fight. She hitches a ride with Bulkhead since you know she can't drive there. It's starscream doing whatever plot he's doing, he starts monologuing and Miko is like fuck that. I already get enough of this from her own decepticons. She throws her axe and cuts one of his arms off. When it spins back to her Miko starts rocking this twink's aft. It's like embarrassing easy to her; yeah starscream was a little incompetent in her universe but at least he could fight. The fact this one was much smaller and hasn't been fighting a lot, so yeah an easy win. When Miko goes for the kill she's stopped by Optimus. This dude has such a horrified look on his face that it stops her in her tracks. This gives starscream enough of an opening to escape. She's pissed™️ and asks why he stopped her? Optimus is also a little mad because wtf, we don't kill! They then head back to base to continue their argument there. It's really messy because remember in Miko's universe it's more violent and death is sort of normalized. So she doesn't get what she did wrong!

Miko storms off somewhere. Sari tries to follow her but is stopped by bumblebee. He thinks this new mech is a little too violent and dangerous for her to be around. The young girl doesn't listen and goes after our wrecker anyways. Sari finds the older girl brooding on a random donut shop. They have a talk and Miko accidentally reveals she's not a Cybertronian. She decides since the cats already out of the bag she tells Sari everything over donuts and go back to the base.

Everyone is a little mad at Sari but glad she's safe; Miko is a little offended. Yes I did just try to kill a guy but I'm not going to hurt a little kid! Sari tells them about how Miko is from a different universe and the war. (She leaves out the being human bit) . Now knowing her situation the bots better understand her behavior. The autobots set off of trying to figure out how to get Miko home.

Meanwhile the prime autobots are freaking the fuck out. Miko's been sucked into a whole other dimension being subjected to who knows god what!

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

Meanwhile with the animated bots:

Miko: Then my Bulkhead ripped that venhcon's whole guts out! I practically felt the sparks on my skin!

Everyone: 😨

Optimus covering sari's ears: great........

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

If we're being completely honest Miko is terrorizing this universe not the other way around.

[transingthoseformers]

The people wish to know more about my TF1 Tarn, and i shall provide!

Unlike Megatron, Tarn is not very impressed with Megatronus or any of the other Primes. After all, Megatronus couldn't even handle Sentinel, whom his glorious leader took down with vastly less combat training. He shapes himself in Megatronus's image primarily to appeal to Megatron (yeah, he's a bit obsessed, but that's nothing new for Tarn).

Tarn's a bit taken aback to find out how much Megatron still idolizes Megatronus, and hopes he'll 'grow out of it' one day. He thinks Megatron is simply unable to see how much obviously better he is than Megatronus. That being said, Tarn also understands that Megatronus's image is an integral part of the Decepticon branding. Thus while Megatron is distorting Megatronus's image with good intentions, Tarn very deliberately wants Megatronus's face and name to mean 'Decepticon' to people and for his original legacy to be forgotten. That's his other reason for stealing Megatronus's face - to show that it literally and figuratively belongs to the Decepticons now.

Tarn i think would not start out with the high guard, but instead be one of the cogless miners that receives a cog at the end of the movie. He approves of Megatron's message and ruthlessness, and chooses to follow the Decepticons into exile, deciding like Megatron that living under any Prime is not true freedom. Megatron is instantly approving of him - few bots would choose to leave Cybertron just as it's once again becoming prosperous to instead pursue a hard life of war.

Starscream is NOT happy about this at all. It's been a given for a long time that everybot in the High Guard is only looking out for themselves. Having a mech who WANTS to serve Megatron introduces ideas of loyalty, which will cement Megatron as their leader and further thwart Starscream's efforts to take back his position (already difficult after his public defeat and embarrassment).

Of course, since Tarn is both loyal and competent in battle he quickly reaches his desired position of Megatron's second in command (Soundwave in this continuity is fairly lukewarm towards Megatron, at least to start off, so Tarn kind of takes his usual place). Starscream manages to attain third-in-command status with his skill, but he's absolutely furious about the fact that Tarn ranks above him. This actually pushes Starscream to return to scientific pursuits - he never finished his education and affected the image of a brutish warrior to increase his status in the High Guard, but now Megatron and Tarn have him thoroughly beat in that department and he needs other skills to fall back on. It annoys Tarn that since he's an uneducated miner, there's nothing he can do to rival Starscream in this department.

Because Megatron also never received any kind of formal education, Starscream's intelligence both impresses and consternates him, since he needs to avoid looking like a fool in front of his troops. If only he'd snuck into the archives now and again like-

Well. No point in worrying about the past.

So he knows full goddamn well what he's doing

Interesting. Interesting.

Tarn being an official part of decepticon high command surely has consequences

Though, all of this has consequences

There's very interesting dynamics at play here, especially since Megatron and Tarn both started out as miners before the war here

Ohhhhohoh you cannot tell me that Tarn doesn't have Feelings about Megatron's peculiar connection to Optimus here, about how Megatron talks about Orion Pax.

Starscream leaning more into his scientist role here will be interesting, and I'm kinda curious what his dynamic with Shockwave might be here, especially since tfone Shockwave doesn't seem especially sciencey this time around??

Could be interesting to see what role Soundwave ends up taking if he's not directly in decepticon high command (maybe he'll lean more into the communications officer thing? Or even a more spy heavy route?)

Interesting. Fascinating. I feel like this will not end well :)

[tinydefector]

Kinktober Day 3 -Gags/Power play

Blaster x human reader

Word count: 720

Warnings: gags, vibrator, strap ons?, edging, denying.

@tf-kinktober2024

Day 2

Day 4

_____________

They sit rested on Blaster's chest, smiling down at him. Fingers dancing against the different buttons as he arches into the touch. The gag in his mouth doesn't do much to stop his talking due to being cybernetic. "You know you're meant to keep you quiet right" they tease, hand pressing on his eject button making the Cassette piece open. 

Blaster's circuits hummed with a mixture of amusement and delight as they teased and played with him, a muffled chuckle left him, his voice slightly distorted by the gag. "Hey now, don't go pressing buttons you shouldn't be touching," Blaster quipped, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Who knows what you'll do” 

A gasp leaves him as they run their hand along the inside of his player, pulling at what they could, watching for each little reaction form him. "Baby please, I want to have some fun, humour me please?" They coo softly. Blaster's systems buzzed with delight as he arched into each touch. His body is already heating, sending Energon racing through his lines. Despite being unable to move due to the cuffs restraining him, he found a strange thrill in their soft touch and teasing. 

With a hint of playfulness in his voice, Blaster responded, "Well, well, aren't you a bold one? Trying to have your way with a bot like me, huh?" His words carried a flirty undertone, a spark of mischief dancing in his audio receptors as his optic brows moved. 

"Baby, Gag means no talking" they call back to him. As they move back a little, enough to drag their hands down the cassette piece. “You look good all locked up like this." A smugness fills Blaster as he goes quiet, muting his vocalizer. If they wanted him quiet he'd comply. 

They slowly move standing up with the little remote in their hands, it makes a shutter run up his struts knowing full well the power they held in their much smaller hand, His frame jolts as they activate it. They drop back down on his chest, gripping onto him with a laugh as he jolts and a whine leaves him. Clicks and cogs clanging follow as he arches and rolls His helm back into the berth.

“Oh, I got myself a mechanical Bull!” They shout in amusement. Dialling up the speed of the vibrator which has Blaster bucking more as they hold onto him with each movement he makes. His valve clenches around the fake spike, eagerly grinding back into each pulse and movement. 

Blaster another loud whine comes out from around the gag, Blaster vocalizer glitches a bit as he shoots them a glare. Another buck comes from his hips as he bucks them forward earning a yelp from them as they fall forward on to him. It earns a laugh from them as he himself chokes back a muffled laugh. 

Blaster cooling fans strain under the dual stresses of overheating biocomponents and surging Energon. He tries to steady himself as the vibrating spike continues to make his valve ache and clench, transfluid slowly leaking out of him.

His optics flicker to the hand that moves to his face, watching them as they move closer.  “That's it Blastie, take spike like a champ don't you” they praise, cradling his cheek. 

 Another vent comes from his frame as the build up begins to make him squirm more. A smirk crosses their lips as they put up the speed of the vibrator.  

Blaster's vocalizer flicks back on as he calls out around the Gag, only muffling the sound slightly. “ Frag Sweet spark you're killing me!” He calls out struggling against the cuffs. “Primus please baby, please” he whines, his spike leaks and twitches with each movement.   

“You all worked up handsome, hmm” they press on the little remote and it makes Blaster whimper as he tries to grind himself against the spike, had his servos not been cuffed he would have begun working his spike to reach an overload. “Told you not to talk with the gag, guess you just don't get to overload sweetheart”

It has him withering and whining as they happily sit on his chest enjoying the torture of working Him up so much only to deny him because he reactivated his vocalizer. It was going to be a long night. 

______________

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[hintze-of-bird]

The aspects derived from unicellular organisms of my alterhumanity is something I need to explore further, but I realised in my Biology lesson today that it is not limited to discrete organisms.

In fact, I believe my feelings extend towards cells in general. Macrophages, in particular, feel like me in some form. Though this is something I will have to examine further, as I am not sure what nature of “being” applies in this scenario, it did raise a few unrelated questions from me.

I do not know what species I am a macrophage of for certain. This made me wonder — are there other alterhumans whose identifications go beneath the species level? Beneath the cellular level, even?

I know alterhumans such as cladotherians exist, so identities tnat stem from organisms are evidently not limited to species, but I don’t believe I have encountered others who are parts of an individual within a species. It’s a silly question to ask if it is possible, considering the diversity and potential of identity, but is it something others experience or have experienced?

A part of me wonders if this stems from my perception of the world, and what an individual is defined as. My interest in taxonomy has led to an examination of how the classification of matter can influence the way we think about matter. It is not a perfect system, as demonstrated by the symbiosis of the parts some species are composed of. The relationships between different organisms are so integral that they need each other to survive, so should they even be considered distinct from one another? Alternatively, if we can divide these complementary organisms, then can we use a frame of thinking that splits what we would consider an individual into several, collaborating individuals instead?

I have mentioned previously that being the Distortion (The Magnus Archives) sometimes involves shifts where my sense of where one thing ends and another begins is skewed — where I might previously have perceived a table, I may see a slab of wood with four legs instead, joined together by nails or glue. (I fear I do not know table anatomy /silly.)

Does my self-perception of being some cog in a greater machine hold implications of how I view my relationships with other life?

[starry-bi-sky]

Everything is as it should be. 

And then—

—A bang of a door slamming open, the sound booming, echoing through the tower. It rattles the cogs of the working clock, and Clockwork calmly reaches over to prevent the spider plant beside him from falling to the ground. It’d be a waste of such a lovely gift. 

“CLOCKWORK!” A voice cries, rattling hoarse, but bellowing from the stairwell. There is something wrong, a note of desperation that is all but rare to hear from the source. 

Clockwork continues his silent watch of his looking glass, but a fondness reflexively creaks and crawls through his chest, infecting the rest of him and filling up the ligaments of his being with warm sunlight. 

…Only for concern to chase after and nip at its heels shortly after, dousing the warmth, and preventing him from enjoying the joy the voice brings him. His head turns. 

“CLOCKWORK!” The voice — a boy. A boy? —repeats, growing louder in rapid approach. His voice cracks down the middle like a lightning strike, dragging the rest of the sound out rasp. “KRONOS!” 

Now he turns in full, alarmed. He hasn’t heard that name in— well, he’s not heard another person call him that name that weren’t the Observants, in a long, long time. He’s never heard the boy call him it. He steps from his podium, the boy’s name falling from his mouth — distorted and unrecognizable to his ears — and strides towards the stairs. 

From the stairway, rising like the sun, is a golden light and a crackling buzz, thickening the air with a godly-made ozone. Rising, twisting, sunbeams stretching through the air in shimmering tendrils, lashing out as if reaching for someone. Clockwork’s footsteps still. 

That couldn’t be. That foolish child didn’t—

Within seconds, the light has become blinding, and the boy he heard has flung himself to the top. Shimmering gold writhes furiously around him like a sandstorm, acting as sword and shield to all that dare to come too close, and blinding Clockwork to the boy. The source of the storm's energy is balled in his fist, burning and bright and molten sun, filling his clocktower with an overwhelming heat.

Clockwork is unaffected by the heat, but the plants shoved in every crevice around him begin to wilt. Yet still, he is frozen in place by the shock.  

He knows what that is—

The boy lunges at him. Clockwork lurches to catch him.

He raises the sun to Clockwork’s head and before he is blinded entirely, Clockwork sees eyes of green and fissures of gold sunken into the child’s face. The overwhelming power of the Titans burning him inside out—

The vision cuts out.

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 265 (spoilers)

There is so much in this chapter that one could write essay after essay about its content, themes and symbolism to name a few. The best thing though is that Gege shows us that he can take the time to put deep character moments into his plot. In the last year that seemed to fall to the wayside unfortunately especially when it came to Yuji.

Yuji recreates his grandfather's hometown in the northeast of Japan to show Sukuna and Sukuna is uncharacteristically going along with it for a long time. This might be because of the special way this DE is formed, it could e.g. have a non-violence Binding Vow. Or Sukuna was just flabbergasted.

I looked the statue up that Yuji pointed to and found the Oni kenbai dance from Iwate prefecture. On the panel it's difficult to make out what the statue represents but you can see a fan in the right hand.

This panel is an extremely important one about the point of view that Sukuna and Yuji have towards each other. For Sukuna, Yuji is barely anything; he blends into the background like a ghost, maybe reminiscent of how Sukuna might've viewed his eaten twin once in his life.

For Yuji Sukuna is not a person, there is no face to him, he's just an abomination consisting of black mass. Not even CE is presented to us like that, Sukuna is just a black distortion in space able to walk on its own.

It's good that we're given this panel so early in the chapter because it tells us what Sukuna is about and that Yuji knows it.

In Japan, the Hydrangea is used to make a sweet tea that on April 8 is poured over Buddha Statues for the Buddha bathing ceremony. This is in direct contrast to Sukuna's Bath that comes from the historic practice of throwing poisonous insect and more into a pit to make them kill each other.

Symbolically, Gege tells us that Yuji will be the one to reverse Megumi's torture that he went through. Narratively, I'd like to see the Bath have more physical affects on Megumi before it gets cleaned though.

Really funny how Yuji entices Sukuna to play crayfishing with him and I count 4 missed arrows from Yuji compared to Sukuna's bullseye hit.

Also capitalism killed Grandpa's hometown.

Whats also funny is that Yuji says that he was about 6 or 7 when they moved out of that town and that he was about 10 years before he went back there again. Boy, you're still 15.

I counted 8 dragonflies on that grassy panel with many more in the Yuji close up panel. I forgot what dragonflies represented in Japan but th symbolism appeared before in JJK, once on kid Gojo's kimono and once at the base of Megumi's domain construction.

Next we get a much needed Yuji character resolution and growth while he thinks of all the people that have died on him. We see that he did put his cog mentality behind him and that he analyzed his "proper death" wish from the very first chapter and concluded that he wanted sth else from that.

Nobara is with the others on the dead list and this looks like the final nail (ha) in the coffin that is her death but the diehards (me) can still say that Yuji merely thinks that she's dead.

Take this Sukuna panel and inject it straight into my veins 💉

There is just this visceral level of disgust and mania in Itadori Sukuna that Gege has barely shown in OriginalSukuna and absolutely didn't in Megukuna. Think of the detention center, and laughing at Yuji with Mahito together or just laughing at Yuji whenever he came out as a mouth and eye. How much I've missed that.

Can't wait to see where this will go 👀

[lostcybertronian]

Autobot Fool

What continuity is this? IDK. Probably G1. Have some rarepair SoundOP.

---

It took some time. Several covert moves. The discreet dismantling of two security cameras. But Optimus made it out of the Autobot base at Iacon without encountering any other bots or otherwise being detected. He transformed and took the last intact road– easier to defend and protect Iacon if they disabled or destroyed the others, was Prowl’s logic– out of the city, skirting the base of the enormous Ark where it sat in its dock, more silhouette than ship even under the full light of Luna-1. 

All the Autobots’ hopes lay in the Ark. Their futures lay in the Ark. And all that was left here was a dying Cybertron. Surely, Optimus could convince him of that in the time they had left. 

He ended up driving for several hours before a small, falcon-esque figure came swooping in from the shadows of the crumbling skyscrapers, once majestic buildings that boasted the gilded dregs of Cybertron’s Golden Age, to float above him, just inside the range of his motion tracker. Laserbeak. 

The recordicon dipped in and out of his detection for a few klicks, then jetted out in front of him, settling into the blare of his headlights. When he turned off the official road and into the remains of a boulevard, Optimus followed, transforming and carefully picking his way through rubble and around craters, stepping over the remnant parts of dead bots and dead cons. The soft light of the moon cast harsh blankets of shadow that made it easy to get lost.

Laserbeak squawked, jolting him from the looming cascade of dark thoughts, then dove away, tumbling down into a wide crevasse; what used to be the below-ground floor of a building before the war, but, like everything else, had been razed. 

There came the soft chic-chic-whirrr of T-cog activation, then Soundwave climbed out, biolights glowing faintly in the shadows.

Optimus suppressed a smile as he strode over and bent to offer a hand. Soundwave’s ability to find a hiding spot surpassed that of any mech he’d ever known, Autobot or otherwise. “I had hoped you’d come.”

Soundwave took the offered hand and let the Prime pull him from the hole, but when he spoke there was an edge to his usual distorted drone. His visor glinted deadly red in Luna-1’s muted light. “I was sure you wouldn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘All our efforts must be directed at the Ark. It is imperative that we leave Cybertron as soon as we are able.’” With a click of a button and the whir of tape he replayed Optimus’s own words back at him. Of course, Optimus didn’t ask how or where he’d gotten that information; it was part of the arrangement they had made, when they first began meeting in secret. Away and apart from everything else.

He looked down at their joined hands. Felt and squashed the urge to squeeze, make it so they couldn’t be parted. “We can’t leave yet. But soon. That’s why I wanted to meet. I want you to come with us. Well-” He huffed a half-chuckle, half weary sigh- “I want you to come with me.”

Soundwave jerked his hand away; the abruptness of the gesture suggested he was truly surprised. “Join your Autobots?” He scoffed. “I am loyal only to Lord Megatron.”

Optimus cringed internally at Lord, but nonetheless forged onward. “You of all mechs must know Cybertron is dying. If you stay, you will die.”

Soundwave crossed his arms and said nothing. He was silent for so long that Optimus began to think he’d stumbled on some piece of intel he wasn’t supposed to have, though for the life of him he didn’t know what. Which was why he wasn’t in Intelligence.

Finally, Soundwave looked up. Reached to tentatively trace fingertips across his chest plate. Even after all this time, he still touched Optimus like he was a bomb that might go off. Or like he was fragile. “Damned Autobot fool,” he muttered.

Optimus smiled and triggered the release on his mask, then paused as the sounds of battle burst out, distant blaster fire lighting up the sky even here. Chatter filled his comms, and from the tilt of Soundwave’s helm, he could hear it, too.

He heaved a sigh, but before he could say anything, Soundwave lifted his hand and gripped Optimus’s chin guard, pulling the surprised bot down to his level. Then, he retracted his own mask and pressed their lips together in a kiss that made Optimus’s head swim and his spark surge.

“I’d - I’d like to see you again, before the launch.” He managed, and for the first time he got to see Soundwave smirk.

“Watch for my signal.” Was all he said as he stepped back, mask sliding back into place, once more the Decepticons’ formidable third-in-command. 

Optimus took that as his cue. He left, unafraid and almost comforted at turning his back on a Decepticon; Soundwave wouldn’t shoot him.

[extrastranszanepropaganda]

OKAY SO!

Diares Rewrite - Divine Relics And Their Warriors

I (added one) AND REDESIGNED THE DIVINE RELICS!!!

This was mainly done for one because I don’t really like the many of the original designs tbh- AND TWO! I wanted to put effort into the symbolism behind the shapes and gems, because symbolism makes me happy, and I like over analyzing things 😌

This one is going to be a long one, so I’m gonna go ahead and put a cut here, lol

FIRST OFF!

Irene (Aphmau)- Purple Diamond

Irene’s relic is based off of the purple diamond! One of the most rare gemstones and a sign for nobility. Irene, being the head of the warriors, slides into this role, as well as the theming of pride and spirituality, for, obvious reasons.

This one didn’t really get a redesign since it’s so iconic

Enki (Travis) - Lapis

Besides wisdom being a key tenant of Enki’s divinity, I thought this worked a lot with Travis and the storyline I’m planning to put him through.

From someone who flirts to hide their their own feelings and thoughts, to someone who is more open and an advisor of sorts. I view Travis as someone who is genuinely very smart and always listening and adapting his actions and words to what people want. The conclusion to his story would be to put a focus on him learning to do what he wants, and to being more genuine and open. To learn that his not just what he can do for others, he’s not just his fathers jailer. That these things are great and all, but that him just being himself is all that really matters

I kept this pretty much the same as the old design again since it looks cool and also I think having the two little gems bracketed leans into the “keeper” title. Especially with the people of their line being all about keeping the demon warlock/evil forces sealed away.

Shad (Aaron) - Ruby

Lets be soooo for real, the story tells itself. From the past hurts, to martyrdom, all the way to being protective of family and having a distorted veiw of one’s self. Shad and Aaron both fit all of these to a T

Annnndddd for the shape I took inspiration from this Slavic symbol!

Like…. Fire…… war……… going through shit….….. also the whole “child” thing!? What started his whole downfall was his daughter being turned into a relic. This relic. To be exact.

I get to be a little devious. As a treat >:3c

Esmund (Garroth) - Pink Garnet

Ok so, the name obviously matches but omg I swear I didn’t realize until much later XDDD

Funny coincidences aside, I thought the themes of loyalty, devotion, consistency, etc. really match him and the stability that he brings to those around him. Not to mention the whole “used to ward off evil“ blah blah blah. AS WELL AS the part where it says that it’s believed through being cut and polished (put through hard times) are when a garnets ability truly shines through. Showing how before he was nothing but a cog in his father’s wheel until he went through adversity and re made himself!

I wanted this to have the general shape shield as well as include the reoccurring shape I put in Garroth’s redesign!

AND I CANT PUT MORE THEN 10 PICTURES PER POST SO ILL REBLOG WITH THE REST RIGHT HERE

[kalekare]

AGATHARIO ONESHOT

(I just have a lot of feelings okay. My first attempt at fanfiction so be kind. The inner turmoil of a witch in love with Death)

______

The flight feels like liberation after three years nailed to the ground. 

Agatha does not share Lilia’s abhorrence for hexenbesen; her pragmatism outweighs any lingering disdain toward the old halloween aisle clichés. If her life has proven anything, it’s that no tool, however co-opted by humanity, can not serve as a means to an end. 

The same is true of people. Although Agatha has no particular affection for the living, they too are necessary cogs in the machines of life. Take, for example, the collection of bedraggled hags with whom she now walks the road. They are witchfolk’s discarded detritus: a kooky beldam, a new age mystic, mommy issues incarnate. Powerless, saurian insects of witches. 

Agatha, too. Though she will never admit it. 

She straddles the misshapen limb, body lunged forward to gather speed. The squalls and hollers of her moth-eaten syndicate settle in the base of her skull, distorted by the rush of eventide air that presses like daggers into her ears. It is a booming quiet that slips away as she raises above the velarium of forest and into the carmine glow of a Herculean blood moon. 

When she is sure she has saved herself, Agatha looks back to the bohemian trail of bodies that emerge from the murky depths. Even Teen has managed to keep up - unsteady but feigning confidence in his first flight among the damned. Agatha purses her lips at the sight of Lilia, at one with the broom she rejected moments before. Alice and Jen fly side-by-side like school girls. 

Beside her, Rio arches her back and closes her eyes against the red-wine moonlight which spills across her olive skin like blood. The horror of her beauty, a savage history painted across her eyelids and lips. Every moment across the centuries that they had together stolen life and bathed naked in the ichor. 

Agatha does not look away. She drinks her in, inch by inch: the gentle curve of her jawline, the way her cupid’s bow traces the journey from supple upturned nose to softly parted lips. Her hair, raven dark, disappears against the midnight milieu save the whisps that flutter against the wind and rest upon her face. 

That face. That haunting, malevolent, beautiful face. 

Agatha’s heart speaks independently inside the mold-ridden confines of her mind. To die, here and now, alongside that face would be no death at all. 

In a moment, she remembers who she is supposed to be and quickly turns away.

[sparrowsortadrawzzz]

heeeyyy you guyssss, wanna hear some LORE from the BLINDSIGHTED CONTINUITY??? :D

tonight we're focusing on...BUMBLEBEE! 💛 this explains his origin, and how he got his name!!

long post, so lore is under the cut!! ^^

ALRIGHTY!! B-127...

starting with his origin! Bee is one of the oldest of the crew. Not older than Ironhide or Starscream, but I'd say 5 ano-cycles older than Orion Pax and D-16 (1 ano-cycle = 400 days). in this, he was one of the first cogless miners, and when he saw the cogged higher-ups not doing as much labor as the miners, he thought that was wrong and spoke up about it to those he was working with! well, he unfortunately spoke too loudly, and too openly, and was given a "promotion!! :D" as a settlement for his dissatisfaction, complete with a handshake and reassurance from Sentinel himself. well, he was then taken to sublevel 50, his "job reassignment", by Sentinel and Darkwing, then kicked out to rot. well, with Bee's determination, he decided to NEVER let them make him the trash they thought he was, and got to work sorting for...too many ano-cycles. this is all so much worse when you see that he very clearly could have escaped from his sublevel, but...no one really liked him, so he had no reason to escape.

from here, the events of TFone occurs, and then after, it's a bit different...but that's for a different time! >:]]

the reason he got Bumblebee as a sort of chosen name is because, in this, his battle mask has a voice distortion function that makes all his speech sound like buzzing! that way, Decepticons can't hear what he's saying while he yaps! however, the com inside his mask can still transmit his speech clearly to whomever he tunes into.

Ironhide had been to Earth in the age of exploration righttt before the High Guard/Sentinel era (which, that was pre-humanity, but not pre-bees according to Google LMAO-) and before he got his cog removed cuz, yknow, he's old as shit, so after hearing B's buzzing before he tuned into his com, he compared it to that of a bumblebee, and it stuck! Bee then kept it as a sort of way to reclaim himself as a functioning member of Iacon society! ^^

TA-DAAA THERE'S SO MUCH I LEFT OUTTTT :D but that comes later with the JUICY part of the continuity....

[raynerberg]

Taking long breaks from drawing is both good and bad.

It's good because looking from the outside, I felt like a driver who was disqualified or who pulled out of the race for other reasons.

All these art and artists are rushing past your nose, and you're sitting on the hood of your car and slowly drinking soda and eating a sandwich and you absolutely don't care. You feel free, you don't have to chase after some mythical prize, it's not clear why and for whom. Your brain relaxes, your mood improves, you sit and fix the cogs, clean the oil in the tank, and slowly change the tires. And it's bad because after my head is cleared, I don't want to return to this race at all and become a part of it again. Consciousness has been greatly distorted, there used to be different views on the art community... Right now, it's all a race for the prize of imaginary sympathies. *sigh* Okay, these are all images and lyrics. Where's my car? It's time to pick up the stylus pen.

[critical-skeptic]

Does Majority Actually Rule?

If majority truly ruled, we wouldn’t be stuck with the ongoing nightmare that is the orange turd. Back in 2016, Hillary Clinton won the popular vote by nearly three million, and under a system where true majority rule prevailed, she would have taken office. The QMAGA lunacy—those rabid cries of 'Stop the Steal,' conspiracy theories, and violent tantrums—might have been snuffed out in its infancy. Instead, what actually governs this country is a patchwork of archaic and deeply flawed systems—mechanisms explicitly designed to cheat, disenfranchise, and favor the entrenched power of wealthy elites and their obedient base.

Take gerrymandering, for example. Districts are twisted into obscene, nonsensical shapes to ensure that certain votes carry far more weight than others, diluting the influence of dissenting voices and creating the illusion of choice. It’s a grotesque mockery of democracy, all while the charade of 'representative government' carries on for the masses. But let’s not kid ourselves—the Electoral College is the most egregious relic of this system, a rusted cog in the machinery of democratic decay. It's a mechanism so broken that its failures have become a predictable farce, celebrated only when a Republican ekes out a rare popular vote win—such moments are so unusual, they become their own news cycles.

Consider the 2020 election: Joe Biden won the popular vote by over 7 million votes—a staggering 81.3 million (51.3%) to Donald Trump’s 74.2 million (46.8%). Despite this, Biden's margin of victory in the Electoral College was only 306 to 232. Fast forward to 2024. Trump narrowly won the popular vote with 74.7 million votes (50.5%) against Kamala Harris’s 71 million (48%). And yet, suddenly, he’s awarded 312 Electoral College votes to Harris’s 226. This stark discrepancy—a narrow popular vote lead yielding an outsized electoral win—lays bare the inherent distortion within the system.

Sure, Trump won the popular vote this time around, a rare occurrence for Republicans, who have routinely lost it for decades. But when the popular vote handed Biden a decisive win in 2020, many on the right simply couldn’t handle it. Cue the insurrectionist tantrums at the Capitol, an embarrassing display of fragility masquerading as patriotism. All because they couldn’t accept that both the flawed Electoral College system and the popular vote had gone against them. Spare us the sanctimonious civics lessons and cries of "majority rules." Your hypocrisy is glaring when you invoke majority rule only when it serves your narrative. The reality? Any criticism, dissent, or inconvenient fact is dismissed with cries of fraud—introspection be damned.

The truth is, for many who scream about democracy and freedom, genuine democratic rule is their worst nightmare. It’s not about representing the majority’s will; it’s about maintaining power through any means necessary. Twisting rules, exploiting systemic rot, and gerrymandering their way to victory, all while claiming moral superiority. Gerrymandering, voter suppression, and the Electoral College are tools wielded to amplify minority rule and silence opposition. When it works in your favor, you celebrate. When it doesn’t, you rage against the system and pretend to be its victim. It’s all part of the grotesque machinery, and the numbers don’t lie: a 7 million popular vote lead netted Democrats a fragile 306-232 Electoral College win, while a 3.7 million vote lead for Republicans in 2024 inflated to 312-226. That grotesque imbalance isn’t a triumph; it’s a stark reminder of how deeply broken and manipulable the system is.

So, by all means, celebrate your so-called 'win' in 2024. The clock is ticking toward 2026, and every second that passes exposes the hollow victory for what it is—a testament to a system rigged to distort and magnify small victories while disregarding the broader will of the people. Don’t delude yourself into thinking it’s a triumph of majority rule. It’s a masterclass in gaming a decaying system, a desperate clinging to power that betrays just how terrified you are of genuine democracy.