#Never could they replace his brethren.

[sebille]

I think about Emet-selch seeing his son Lucius and actually loving that boy and feeling a sense of hope for the first time in thousands of years only for it to be ripped away as Lucius died like 10 times a day

[titania-sleeps]

Angel Yandere x Nun Reader

mild nsfw, minors DNI pls, mentions of implied somnophilia

• Mikhael believed in the goodness within humans. Even if humans exhibited cruelty, it was as God intended, and everything would go back into place once the human's soul was purified.

• Mikhael thought his logic was sound, and thus lived his life charitably blessing humans. They would soon reach salvation anyway. Ease their suffering, and they would become good once more.

• Mikhael then met you. You were a nun in a convent near the church he frequented. Although you seemed rebellious at times, he knew your heart was pure.

• Mikhael enjoyed following you around. He knew that you couldn't see him anyway. Your daily life was mundane, but he enjoyed the knowledge that there were humans who took their dedication and faith seriously.

• Mikhael found himself drifting around you often. He feared that it would be inappropriate of him, but he convinced himself it was for the purpose of ensuring that your dedication was just. Even if it meant that he would be with you even while you slept.

• Mikhael would watch you sleep at night, gazing upon your moonlit form curiously. You elicited emotions within him that he thought he was far beyond.

• Mikhael eventually found himself craving the pleasures of the flesh as time went on. His body heated around you, and his heart pounded dangerously. It was so foreign to him, to experience the needs that he could only have imagined in the past.

• Mikhael wanted you to taint him. An angel felled by the hands of a human; it would stain your hands and his reputation, yet it would be so delicious. A whiff of your scent has his nails digging into his palms.

• Mikhael needed your touch. Without thinking, he would float down and lay next to you. He would cover his mouth with his hand and breathe gently into the nape of your neck as he let himself grind against you. He prayed for you in whispers and gasps; you would be forgiven for his sins.

• Mikhael grew courage over time. His nightly visits became a daily occurrence. Elation filled him as he finally touched his lips to your supple skin. Angels were not deprived of sin, as it would appear to be, since he seemed so deeply devoured by it.

• Mikhael learned the joys of lust from you. As you slept, he would slip out his cock, an appendage formed by the desires blossoming within him. His form grew more defined as his lust grew; perhaps he would benefit from becoming a demon instead.

• Mikhael would whimper as precum leaked from his head, the tip of his thumb swiping over the opening. He gasped, wondering if being inside you would cure him of his depravity.

• Mikhael never came. He wanted you to be the one to take his first. He wanted your fingers to be the finishing touch. He wanted your words to be the gospel that brings him to climax. He wanted you to devour him, to replace the sin within him with your very being. Only then could he be forgiven, and only then would he be satiated.

• Mikhael continued to follow you around, shame growing as his libertine habits flourished. He would bless you and pray for the men that would accidentally die around you. It was quite unfortunate, how you were unable to interact with a man.

• Mikhael wondered if you were secretly a temptress in disguise, but he couldn't ask you. After all, you couldn't see him.

-----

• You could see him. You were well aware of the angel floating around you. Unlike your fellow brethren, you were unnaturally attuned to supernatural elements around you. You could perceive those that many cannot; religious creatures and beasts of legends from across all cultures seemed to flock to you.

• Joining the convent was a means to avoid the dangerous creatures, but you really didn't think a filial angel would show up at your doorstep.

• You knew that he watched you when you were asleep. It was eerie, the way his eyes roamed your body in lust. Pained lust, you could tell.

• You heard mutterings and stifled moans from him at night. One day, maybe you could entertain him a little more.

• Perhaps it would be a little fun to play around with him. Luckily, you weren't a saint.

i um have a drabble do you guys want it,,,,, (it's a continuation of this)

-> masterlist

[arealphrooblem]

A Lost Cause

Synopsis: The trusted keeper of all the Heroes' secrets, Civilian's existence is kept a tightly guarded secret itself. So how did the villain find her? And how will she withstand the attempts of his scientist to break her open and discover those secrets himself?

CW: nonconsensual drugging, medical whump, medical experimentation, mentions of wounds from torture

 They ambushed her at one AM on a Wednesday night. She had just chugged a glass of water and was walking back towards her bedroom when five men appeared like plumes of smoke in the dim light of the living room lamp. 

Immediately she smashed the glass on the head of the nearest one. He stumbled back and tripped over the corner of the coffee table, blood gushing down the side of his face. A second man got a donkey kick to the knees and an elbow to the face. But then she tripped on the baggy hem of her sleep pants and that gave the other three men all the opportunity they needed to hold her arms down and chloroform her. 

When she woke up, mind foggy with cotton mouth, the familiar walls of her home had been replaced with metal. She sat tied to a chair and sitting across the metal table from her was a man she’d never seen before.

It wasn’t the why that perplexed her. Even though she never participated in the famous battles that raged across the cities of the world, or had her face blazoned on billboards, or plastered all over the news like the rest of her superhero brethren, she was the most valuable member of the team for one simple reason:

She knew everyone’s secrets. 

Their real names and social security numbers. Their home addresses and family members. Their bank app passwords. The limitations of their powers and their weaknesses. 

She knew these secrets because that was part of her job. She coordinated their lives. When someone got hurt, she arranged medical treatment. When the teammates that couldn’t fly had to go halfway around the world, she kept the private jet refueled and paid the maintenance crew. When someone’s family was in danger, she put them into hiding. She bought booked air bnb rooms under false names, she ran the grocery lists for their base, she made sure Mother’s day cards and birthday presents were sent on time.

Her teammates trusted her with this because she was a vault herself. Her power nullified everyone else’s in a wide radius around her. She had training in three forms of martial arts, could hack into almost any database around her and thus prevent from being hacked, and could shoot with fairly decent accuracy multiple types of guns. 

And when all of that didn’t work, she had a memory palace like an ancient Greek maze that no telepath could find their way through if they ever caught her at a distance.

But the best protection she had was her anonymity. Her association with her teammates was their most highly guarded secret. So it wasn’t the why so much as the how. 

How did Villain find her? How did he even know she existed?

Of course, no one was interested in answering her questions. 

The man sitting across the table from her gave her a bemused half smile when she demanded this information. It gave him a boyish, non-threatening air despite the dark tinted sunglasses he wore. 

“I’m afraid you have things rather backwards,” he said, voice soft and pleasant. Like they were on a coffee date. “I’m the one who gets the answers and you are the one who gets the questions.”

“You’re not getting shit from me,” she spat. 

Her hands wiggled against the bonds tying her to the chair. The zip ties cut into her skin, tight enough that she worried about her circulation. If the man noticed her testing them out, he did not reveal it. Instead that half smile grew slowly into a smirk. 

“I’m sure you believe that. You seem to have a very strong will. But willpower doesn’t really matter when I’m involved.”

He took his glasses off, folded them with care, and placed them with care inside his coat pocket. Brown eyes, sweet and warm like hot chocolate, looked back at her. He leaned forward, hands clasped before him, and focused those eyes on her. 

“You will answer every question I ask, truthfully, with every relevant detail you can think of.”

His voice was low and soothing, with an easy confidence of someone used to getting their way. It gave her great pleasure to respond to him, leaning forward as much as her bonds would allow.

“You will go to hell,” she murmured, matching his tone, “and on the way there you can kiss my ass.”

The man tilted his head, eyebrows raised. Did he really think she was going to give him everything, just like that?

“Tell me your name,” he commanded in that same soft tone.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Surprise spread across his face. “Do you really feel no compulsion to do as I say?”

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” she retorted.

He just stared at her, eyes wide in delightful curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, pulling his glasses back out of his coat pocket. “Well, I suppose you and I are at an impasse. I could advise you give me your answers willingly, rather than face torture. But I assume you would not take that advice.”

“Your assumption would be correct.”

“A shame. You have such spirit. It’s a pity they will break it.”

Fear curled in her gut but she refused to let it show. “We’ll see about that.”

He slipped his glasses back on, hiding those sweet brown eyes. “When you feel like death would be a mercy, please remember that I tried to give you a choice.”

That line haunted her as she experienced the worst days of her life. No food, no water, no rest. Endless pain. Even as she burrowed herself further and further into her own mind, the pain followed her through every passage of the maze. She intentionally twisted herself down paths with dead ends, paths that recurved on themselves, keeping herself away from the information they wanted so badly. 

If she could just hold out long enough, her team would rescue her. 

She just had to last. Just a little bit longer. 

The next time she found herself strapped to the chair in front of the table, the zip ties were the only thing holding her up, slippery from the blood. The light from the lamp felt like a laser in her eyes. A different man sat across the table from her, his features hazy from her blurred vision. The man was older, that much she could tell, and dressed in a sharp black suit. 

Villain. She’d seen his face in so many files, in so much research for her team on him. She would know him in her sleep.               

“You are remarkably stubborn,” he said, crossing his legs. “I see why they entrusted their secrets to you. A shame I didn’t find you first. That kind of loyalty is hard to find and even harder to buy.”

She had no quip for him, no scathing remarks. All her focus went to not puking. 

“I am not going to waste any more of my resources trying to break you. That may sound like good news at first, but it simply means you are now completely valueless to me. That’s a very dangerous position to be in. Normally I would kill you and dispose of every trace of your existence, but my top scientist has asked me to spare you.”

He stood up, brushing imaginary dirt from his suit coat. “Again, that may sound like good news, but you will wish that I had killed you before long, that much I can assure you.”

Before she could make sense of this development, something sharp pricked the side of her neck and then she knew nothing at all. 

Life passed in hazy flashes. She was in a bed. She heard birds and felt sunlight. She saw the man in the sunglasses. It was impossible to tell what was a dream and what was real. When she finally fully woke up, the world appeared in stages. 

First the beeping. Then the cozy heaviness of a blanket. A small pain in her hand when she jostled it. When her eyes flittered open, she saw walls of deep green and cream, an IV drip that ran to the back of her left hand, a row of succulents on the window sill. A desk and a man sitting at it, scribbling in a notebook. A familiar, bespectacled man. 

“Where am I?” she asked.

Or tried to ask. All that game out of her dry, dusty throat was a croak. 

The man’s scribbling stopped abruptly and he looked over his shoulder. 

“Are you finally awake?” he asked, standing up. 

Another groan filtered from her cracked lips. He walked over to a side table that held a pitcher of water and poured her a glass, dropping in a plastic straw. His fingers pressed something on the side of the bed and the front half lifted slowly up until she was sitting. 

“Drink slowly,” he said.

He held the glass to her lips and she sipped the water through the straw. It took everything in her not to chug it, not to rip it out of his grasp and drown in it when he pulled it away and set the glass on the table.                        

“Where am I?” she asked again, voice hoarse.

“Ah, here we go again thinking you can ask the questions,” he said with that crooked smile. 

She glared at him, which only made his smile grow wider. 

“I think though, this time I will be more generous with my answers. You are in my personal facilities. This is the medical recovery room. There is also my lab, my rooms, a kitchen. Everything we need, in short, for a long stay.”

Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure if it came from the medicine he put her on or the implication of his words. 

“Are you . . .the scientist?” she whispered. 

It hurt to talk. 

“I am a scientist, certainly.”

Another glare. Another smile. 

“Why?”

Why was she here? Why did he want her? Why wasn’t she dead? All words that caught in her throat. 

“Why am I a scientist? That story dates to my childhood, and I doubt you have much interest in that. Let’s say that I have a fascination with the rules of the world and how you can manipulate them.”

This man was impossible. If she had any strength left, she would have strangled him with the cord of her IV drip. 

The steady beep of her heart rate monitor spiked with her anger. He glanced over at it with mild surprise.

“Don’t you feel at least a little hypocritical,” he asked, “expecting the truth from me when you refuse to give it yourself?”

Hypocritical? Hypocritical? 

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed.

“As a heart attack. Like the one you might give yourself if you don’t keep your anger in check,” he added. “Take deep, slow breaths. Your body is still fragile. We wouldn’t want to undo all the progress of your recovery, would we?”

She took deep slow breaths, hating him the entire time, if only to keep him from knowing how much he got under her skin. He watched with little nods of approval. 

“That’s it. Good. Now that you’re awake, I will take some of your vitals and check your bandages.”

Bandages? She resisted the sudden, panic laced urge to rip the blanket off and check her over her body. What injuries she sustained, he would reveal soon enough. 

She held herself very still while he listened to her chest with a stethoscope. She realized then someone, most likely him, had dressed her in a medical gown and done away with the tattered remnants of her pajamas. He took her blood pressure, pinched the skin of her forearm for dehydration, took her temperature, before sliding the covers back and revealing bandages on her thighs, her knees, wrapped around her feet. 

“Cuts and burns,” he explained at her morbidly curious expression. 

“I don’t feel them,” she said in surprise. 

“You have very good drugs in that IV drip.” 

He treated her injuries with an antibiotic salve, spreading it oh so gently with gloved fingers. Then he returned the blankets over her lap and tugged up her medical gown. She tried to fight it, fingers gripping the hem as tight as she could manage, but he easily overpowered her. 

“Relax, this is nothing inappropriate. You have bruised ribs.”

He checked her with the cold methodical touch of a professional before gently tugging her dress back down. 

“You’re healing very well,” he said proudly. As if she had anything to do with it. “I expect partial recovery within two weeks and a full recovery within the month.”

He straightened up and slid his stethoscope off. “You should get more rest. Sleep is the most crucial component of healing.”

Her hand snaked out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Her grip may have been weak and pathetic, but she held on with all her strength regardless. The man considered her, his expression impressible to tell with his sunglasses on. 

“Why?” she rasps throat aching. “Tell me why . . .please.”

It cost her to beg like that. And maybe he sensed that, because he bent down again and brushed an errant curl back from her face. 

“Villain may consider you a lost cause, but I do not give up so easily. You are a fascinating little puzzle box and I am dying to create the tools that will break you open.”

He chucked her under the chin, and made his way out.

[predakings-den]

Chapter 2: The Aftermath

Word count: [1656]

Content Warning: [Sparkling deaths, grief, mourning]

He didn’t know…

Primus, how could he have known?

He emerges from the ground bridge, processor lagged from the unusual traveling method. Immediately, he perks up and for a moment, he couldn’t believe his own optics. It couldn’t be, but Shockwave is releasing the amniotic fluids from the containment chambers! It spills all over the laboratory floor in the hopes of ridding the evidence of the now declared failure of “Project Predacon”.

He stands tall, staring with wide optics at the sight of the Decepticon in the process of destroying everything in such a careless manner. “S-Shockwave… What are you doing!? It’s not time! It can’t be! You said-“

Another ground bridge opens in the distance. He charges at the Decepticon scientist, demanding an explanation for his actions but he runs, fleeing towards the active ground bridge. A swipe of his sharp claws but he misses and the Decepticon disappear. “Shockwave!” His vocalizer snaps. “No, what are you doing? Focus!” There’s even bigger issues to worry over as the fire spreads. With the chamber units decommissioned, the Predacon pups start to awaken.

He couldn’t save all the little ones. There are too many, so little time as he breaks through the glass of the chamber units, for some were too disoriented or weak to do so on their own. He couldn’t afford to be slow and careful as he pulled them out with his claws. They squirm and shriek, scared and unknowing of what’s going on.

There is nobody to blame but himself as he hears their cries, the flames reaching the crates of synthetic energon. There was nothing else to do but grab who he could and tuck himself into a corner as the cavern laboratory exploded, shaking the earth, and silencing the voices that were crying out for him.

Predaking didn’t want to look as the earth settled, but he could imagine it. Mangled corpses of Predacon pups. Dead. Gone. Another attempt to exterminate his people as Cybertronians did eons ago.

He has never felt so drained, weakened and vulnerable, and yet unharmed… His chest plating rumbles deeply with mourn and yet anger so easily replaces the need to grieve as the two Autobots, Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack stand in defensive action.

“What have you done to my brethren! What have you done!?” His rage bursts, and his self-control is thrown away as he charges the Autobots, his massive frame barreling towards them with primal fury. Ultra Magnus hefted the golden Solus Hammer, its weight balanced in his servos as he prepared to meet the Predacon head-on.

With a thunderous clash, Predaking swung his claws at Ultra Magnus, the force of his blow sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Magnus braced himself, bringing down his hammer with all the strength of a Wrecker Commander. The impact reverberated through Predaking's frame, but he refused to relent, snarling and swiping at his adversaries with determination.

Meanwhile, Wheeljack danced agilely around Predaking's attacks. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his electrical whip, crackling with energy as it lashed out towards Predaking's vulnerable joints. But the Predacon's instincts were sharp, and he twisted away just in time, his claws grazing Wheeljack's armor as he countered with a powerful swipe.

The cavern echoed with the clang of metal on metal, the whir of servos, and the roar of engines as Predaking fought with all the fury of his kind. But Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack were seasoned warriors, and they met his onslaught with skill and determination, each blow calculated to weaken and disarm their formidable foe.

Yet Predaking fought on, driven by a primal need to protect his kin and avenge his fallen. With every strike, he pushed himself beyond his limits, tapping into reserves of strength and rage he never knew he possessed.

As Predaking fought with all his might, Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack began to gain the upper hand. Despite his ferocity, Predaking found himself outmaneuvered and overwhelmed by their combined assault. Ultra Magnus's giant hammer crashed down on Predaking's armor, sending him staggering back, while Wheeljack's electrical whip crackled around him, sapping his strength.

In a desperate bid to turn the tide, Predaking lunged at Ultra Magnus, intent on taking down the Autobot Commander. Suddenly, amidst the chaos, a cry pierced the air, the plaintive wail of a Predacon sparkling, calling out in fear and desperation. Predaking's optics flickered with alarm as he caught sight of the small figure darting dangerously close to the fray, as if to protect the larger Predacon with her tiny claws and squeaky chirps.

At that moment, something primal stirred within Predaking, a protective instinct that transcended his own pain and fury. With a roar, he threw himself between the sparkling and Ultra Magnus, shielding the young one from harm as he braced himself for another onslaught.

But in his weakened state, Predaking was vulnerable, and the hammer struck true, its impact rippling through Predaking's frame. With a roar of agony, he collapsed to the ground, his systems flickering as he fought to remain conscious. Meanwhile, Ultra Magnus recoiled in horror, realizing the danger he had unwittingly posed to the innocent Predacon.

The Predacon pup, as brave as she tried to be, whimpers and nudges her helm against Predaking’s.

Predaking lifts himself, joints groaning in protest, and his system warnings blaring. Still, he has enough sense to rise to his pedes upon seeing Optimus, who had arrived to the sudden conflict. His blaster is out, but nobody moves an inch.

The large Predacon did not have any time to continue fighting, when it’s much too dangerous and his injuries could end up severe. He transforms back and slinks to the huddle of trembling pups. Gently, he opens his mouth and carries them in his maw as a mother would to her little ones.

Without words, Optimus allows Predaking to escape, watching stoically as the draconic being soars into the open skies.

Landscapes of desert mountains and rocks shift into a forestry background. Predaking lowers himself towards a small clearing near a lake. His chest rumbles in a painful warble as he bows his helm and opens his mouth, permitting the little ones to squirm and crawl out onto the grass.

He quietly counts, and claws at the ground in anger. Not even half, Predaking saved… He refused to wallow in his own grief, not when his warmth and protection was needed right now.

He has received no communication with the Nemesis, radio silent. Nothing felt just, dragging his weary paws to check their condition. Spark aching, the Predacon lowers his helm and starts prodding them with his snout. They are in unfamiliar surroundings and desire guidance that he wasn’t equipped to give them. Cold, hungry, and chirping in fear.

What was he to do, losing everything and protecting what was left after the Decepticons discarded him with such ease.

Back amongst the Autobots, Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack get treated for their injuries. The Autobots gather in the medical bay as Ultra Magnus reports what had happened deep in the caverns. It becomes clear that Optimus’s decisions are being called to question.

“Prime, sir. You saw what was in the caverns. They weren’t grown Predacons, weapons for Megatron to exploit, but pups… sparklings…” It had been far too long since he had heard one chirp before. Ultra Magnus steels his regret, but everyone else seems to share his grievances. They haven’t had the presence of a youngling since Bumblebee, who was born in the battlefield, due to the dormancy of the Well.

“How many?” Optimus asks tenderly.

“Sir, would it have been any different if they were adults-”

The Wrecker Commander interrupts, “14, and the 10 under Predaking’s care.” Ultra Magnus was always very meticulous about details, and yet he did not discern that the Predacons inside the chamber units were hardly younglings, due to their large plating and curled up forms.

“We can’t just have Predaking out on the loose! There are human civilians to think about here, Prime.” Arcee couldn’t fathom as to why Optimus had decided to do nothing and look the other way when Predaking flew to Primus knows where.

“And the pups? What, you want us to finish the job and blow their sparks to scrap, Arcee? Why don’t you do it then, since you’re so keen?” Wheeljack snaps at her with sarcasm, shoving one of his explosives in her arms. She knew nothing of what he had seen. They acted as any little Cybertronian would, not marred by war or harsh ideals.

Her optics narrows. “All I’m saying is that we can’t afford to be naive. They are not ‘pups’ or ‘sparklings’ but destructive creatures that will end up hurting others.”

Ratchet steps in between the two bickering bots. “This isn’t about assigning any sort of blame. It’s about finding a solution. Optimus had a difficult decision to make, but there could be a way to salvage it.”

Wheeljack, voice heavy with tension, clenches his servos into fists. “Then what’s the plan? We can’t just sit here twiddling our thumbs while Predaking and those sparklings are out there. Ultra Magnus and I fought him, and he wasn’t exactly all cheery about making peace. In fact, he only stopped when that sparkling ran straight towards the fight.”

“Look, I get it. Predacons are no joke, but I’m all for whatever Optimus believes is the right thing to do. He’s never tried to steer us wrong, and I’ve always trusted him to keep our morals from straying.” Bulkhead crosses his massive arms over his broad chest plating.

Bumblebee conveys his agreement through a series of beeps and nods. He trusted Optimus implicitly, as he always had.

Silence falls over the medical bay as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Nobody wanted to step over Optimus’s leadership, but what else can be done when the first sparklings seen since the dormancy of the Well are involved?

[izel-scribbles]

May we get the the villain monologue please 🥺

since you asked so nicely, of course you may, dear anon <3

fair warning, this has been festering in my notes app for months now lol. no guarantees on quality

The fallen angel paces the lectern. His white robe is muddy at the hem, stained with blood from the cultists. 

"You know, I used be God's right hand man."

His tone is casual, conversational. Completely wrong for the subject. 

"He would ask for my advice in everything. I was the one who suggested that humans should have eyes, to behold the beautiful world." He sighs with the memory of an old friend. 

"The Christians say that God created humans in His image. They're wrong. God's grandeur is beyond words."

You nod breathlessly. 

"We created the Earth together. But He never trusted me to create humans with Him. Sure, I could give him ideas every now and then, but I was never allowed the joy of creation of such a complex, marvelous being."

"I invented the first disease. I wanted to see if God's creations were truly as clever as He'd claimed. And a clever lot you were." 

Lucifer's eyes slide to you, the soulless gray-blue reflected in the storm clouds outside. 

"God was angry with me. I had gone against His will, but that freedom is something I seek to this day. I also made some of the animals that you humans hate. My personal favorite was the rat. Intelligent, wily, resourceful. 

"That was when I created the first alternate. I was trying to improve God's original design of humans, but there was something I didn't get quite right. In any case, I placed my alternate on Noah's ark. That was the real reason for the floods.  God had intended to exterminate my alternates."

Lucifer laughs mirthlessly. 

"His plans didn't work.

After that incident, I was cast down from Heaven. Like nothing more than a tool, old and worn and useless." The last few words are filled with such fury, and resentment, and pain. 

"God replaced me with another angel. The same angel whose face I take now."

Gabriel- Lucifer - gazes at you, his wicked smile not yet stretching into the alternate form.

"But... Why are you telling me all this?" You ask, baffled and still processing. 

"Because, my dove, you puzzle me. Why do you seek out my alternates? Why do you not cower with the fear of your brethren? It's been a long time since I've had a proper riddle to solve." 

"Oh." You're not quite sure how to respond. 

"So, tell me. What is it about you that attracts my creations? Why do they allow you to get so close?"

You think for a moment, looking away from his cold, piercing stare. You fiddle with your hands. There's blood crusted beneath your fingernails, a fact that doesn't bother you as much as it should,, considering it's not your own. 

---

it's pretty short, ik, sorry to disappoint

this was supposed to be part of a long-suffering wip: self-destructive artist reader who is obsessed with capturing the likeness of alternates x gabriel. it kind of got shifted to the back burner due to my very obvious tma and malevolent hyperfixations lol

i'll probably work on it more and try to get at least one chapter published :)

[mostlikelytobeagainstcapitalism]

Little thinking about the main characters of the trilogy and how they all somehow resemble each other.

Like Elizabeth/Barbossa, Will/Jack (not Davy Jones surprisingly) and James/Davy Jones all show the two sides of the same coin (for the last pair I will sadly not elaborate further from this post, which does a better analysis than I ever could).

Even if we don't really know much about barbossa's childhood/backstory, it's pretty clear that in spite of choosing a career such as piracy he always aimed for a more luxurious and wealthy lifestyle (more like a nobleman than an outlaw), which is very close to the way elizabeth has been raised. They both also excel in politics: elizabeth by having a close relationship with a politician (her father) and probably learning from his behaviour; barbossa by being the most reasonable and a great poker face while negotiating (like at the brethren court in awe). They both expect the others to follow laws and rules, but are so quick to bend them to their will or directly dismiss their importance. Also they are the most obvious choice for a leader role, thanks especially to their speech abilities (I swear elizabeth watched barbossa give his best speech inside isla de muerta in cotbp and knew she had to do the same at the first chance she got).

On top of everything I love their nature, which is the same: they are the real pirates, the only two who actually act like pirates with threats and by killing without guilt, who put their own wellbeing above all else, who are blunt and ruthless and cruel and selfish. They scheme and do mind games but their priority is to be in charge of their own destiny (I could quote both of them on this) and never again be controlled or submissed to others (both 8w7, of course). Really the only non-pirates trait they share is not being superstitious and not really believing in all that cannot be perceived, but even they learn their lesson.

For Will/Jack is pretty obvious that jack was will's mentor. When we first meet will he's literally a himbo with great swordfight skills and puppy eyes for elizabeth, nothing more than that. He should really thank jack, who somehow managed to put some sense into that pretty head of his.

They both start their life marked by a pirate fate: both their fathers (teague and bootstrap bill) had chosen piracy and, without knowing it, they ended up condemning their sons. No matter how much will and jack want another life, they both wind up at sea at the end. Though they try to lead an honest life (jack always at sea but at the service of lawful men, will as a blacksmith), they both get robbed of it by the law, all because they follow their conscience and don't allow innocent (or not that guilty for jack's hanging) people to die. They both are forced to become pirates and in doing so they get deeply bound to the Dutchman: jack by making a pact with its captain for 13 years, and then being the reason why said captain loses his position; will by replacing said captain and following what has always been his fate.

They of course share their unhinged side (like will's sniffing dresses, and jack's whole being). They somehow also think in the same very intricate way (while elizabeth and barbossa's is a way more direct approach) and in spite of their desire to appear so detached or careless of what is happening (especially will in awe), they truly want nothing more than a chance to prove they are more than what they are born and to regain their freedom (will's is elizabeth, of course).

I know this has been done before, but I wanted to put into words what I think of these characters. Also I've never seen will and jack compared (if I remember well?) and wished to show some things I noticed during my endless rewatches.

[the-al-chemist]

The Lights That Never Go Out

Chapter 1: Over The Hills And Far Away

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write and share this story for a while. Thanks to @thethreebroomsticksfic’s 12 Days of Yule Bash, I finally had an excuse to start. This chapter uses the prompts ‘evergreen’ and ‘first snow’.

Warnings: mentions of war and loss.

1st December, 1998

The Ministry of Magic was as quiet as it ever was these days, the rush of lunchtime having settled, and the exodus of the evening not yet started.

Artemis paused in the very centre of the atrium. A few days ago, the spot had been empty, the way it had been since the May morning the Minstry was reclaimed from the Death Eaters. Now, however, one of the largest fir trees she had ever seen was standing in the place that had previously housed the Fountain of Magical Brethren. At least a thousand lights twinkled from its branches, reflecting in the shiny surfaces of the tiles covering the floors and the walls. It was as if the whole atrium were sparkling.

She was not the only one whose attention had been caught by the tree. Several others had also stopped to look at it, their expressions varying from those of appreciation and excitement to disapproval. One of the more dubious looking expressions was worn by a face that was familiar to Artemis, and she forced a smile as she walked over to her acquaintance.

“You don’t look too sure, Perce,” she said. She tilted her head at Percy Weasley, who fiddled with the arms of his glasses. “Don’t you like it?”

“I’m not sure that it’s an entirely appropriate replacement for the fountain.” Percy sniffed, and his glasses wriggled up his long nose. “It seems rather frivolous, given everything that’s happened in the past year and a half.”

“That’s the whole point. People have had enough fear and misery. And Kingsley said it’s actually very symbolic.”

‘How so?”

“Because it’s evergreen,” said Artemis, repeating the word Kingsley had used. “Trees that are evergreen bloom all year round, even in the cold and the dark. And people decorate them to celebrate that the nights are going to get lighter from now on.” She smiled at the tree. “He says it’s very fitting to have a Christmas tree up now, exactly because of everything that’s happened.”

Percy did not look convinced, but perhaps he was just too stubborn to admit that Artemis was right. She frowned at him.

“I thought you and Charlie were doing some work on the house today,” she said.

“We were, but I got called in to work. There are a lot of last minute Portkey requests being sent through at this time of year and…”

Being entirely uninterested in Percy’s work, Artemis interrupted him before he got carried away and she was unable to get a word in edgeways.

“So, is your brother still in Ottery St Catchpole or has he gone back to Tinworth already?”

“He’s still at the Burrow.”

It was to the Burrow that Artemis Apparated once she left the Ministry of Magic, disappearing from the corner of a damp London street and reappearing in a frost-covered garden beneath a sky that was the rosy grey of incoming snowfall. Wishing that she had worn a warmer cloak, she hurried across the crunchy grass to the door of a tall and somewhat ramshackle house at the other end of the garden path.

The door was opened by a stockily built wizard with red hair and a face full of freckles, whose confused-looking smile dimpled his cheeks as he looked at Artemis.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said.

“Just hurry up and let me in, Charlie. It’s freezing out here.”

Charlie Weasley obliged, opening the door wider so that Artemis could step into the warmth of his childhood home. Without her needing to ask him, he pointed his wand first at the window above the sink, which opened a fraction, then at a teapot on the kitchen table. A flame appeared beneath the teapot.

“How was the interview?” he asked.

“Fine.” Artemis removed her cloak and sat down in one of the few chairs that still had all its legs attached. “ More than fine. They offered me the job. I’m going to start in the New Year.”

“Congratulations,” Charlie told her. “You pleased?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I dunno if I’m that excited about working for the Ministry.”

“Is anyone ever that excited about working for the Ministry?”

“True. It’s not really what I want to do, but I don’t really know what I want right now, so at least I’ve got something to do. I can figure the rest out later,” said Artemis. Charlie nodded sympathetically and conjured two mugs from thin air. “And I reckon Bill and Fleur will want their spare bedroom back at some point.”

“They’ll want both of the spare bedrooms back, I expect.” Charlie half-laughed as he started pouring tea. He handed one mug to Artemis. “There’s no milk, I’m sorry.”

Artemis didn’t mind that. She took the proffered mug from Charlie’s outstretched hand and blew gently on the hot contents, her eyes scanning the room around her. She had not visited the Burrow in months, not since the war had recently ended. At that point, the house had been a wreck following Death Eater raids. There was a strange mixture of unpleasant feelings that had arose from seeing a place that had always been filled with such warmth and laughter reduced to an empty shell, and a broken and charred one at that.

Now, though, thanks to Charlie and his brother’s handiwork, the Burrow was starting to resemble the family home she remembered visiting during her youth. There were still a couple of piles of rubble in the corners of the room, many of the chairs were in pieces, and white sheets layered with dust covered most of the surfaces, but the building was standing strong.

“It’s what they call a fixer-upper,” Charlie said, with a wry smile. Artemis shook her head.

“It’s not looking half bad in here,” she told him. “Do you reckon you’ll be finished in time for Christmas?”

“Godric, no. I’ll never get all of it done by then, even if Percy took the next few weeks off work.”

“Not even if you used magic?”

Charlie shook his head. “You know I don’t like taking shortcuts,” he said. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, just liveable. That’s good enough. As long as everyone can come home for Christmas, that’s the main thing. I can finish the rest in the New Year.”

As Charlie fell quiet and sipped his tea, Artemis continued to look around the room, craning her neck in an attempt to peer around the corner into the living room and up the stairs to the landing above. One foot tapped impatiently against the table leg as she did so.

“Aren’t you going to offer to show me around?” she eventually asked Charlie, who coughed quietly as he laughed midway through a sip of tea.

“Not yet,” he replied. “Your Christmas present is here. I’ll have to go and hide it first. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

It was Artemis’ turn to laugh. Charlie had given her the same thing for Christmas every year since she was sixteen: handknitted socks in lurid colours that seemed to get uglier with each year that passed. She knew as well as Charlie did that Christmas held no surprises for her as far as he was concerned.

“You hide the present, and then afterwards I’ll go and look for it,” she said, eyebrows raised mischievously.

“You’ll never find it. I know where all the best hiding places are these days.”

Artemis didn’t doubt it. Charlie had always known where all the best hiding places were. She frowned slightly, as a question entered her mind, one she had first asked herself ten years ago.

“Where did you go?”

“What?”

“All those times when we were here when we were younger and no one could find you,” Artemis explained. “Where did you used to go?”

Charlie half-smiled into his cup of tea and shrugged his shoulders. Unsatisfied with that response, Artemis placed her own mug down and narrowed her eyes at him.

“It’s a secret,” Charlie said. Artemis glared harder, and he sighed. “Alright. I’ll show you, but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. Yeah?”

Artemis nodded. “Not a single person, I promise. Cross my heart.”

Her promise was clearly good enough for Charlie, because he rose to his feet and walked across to the staircase, his unfinished cup of tea forgotten on the table. Artemis made to follow him, but he stopped and pointed back at her chair.

“You might want to put your cloak back on,” he told her.

Curious, Artemis did as he suggested him before following him up the many flights of stairs to the very top of the house.

“You were in the attic the whole time?” Artemis asked, as Charlie opened the door to the attic. “Please don’t tell me the ghoul was just you in a stupid costume.”

“Not quite.”

Charlie walked across the attic, which was just as dusty but not nearly as cluttered or dark as Artemis remembered, the piles of cardboard boxes that had previously cast shadows across the floorboards having disappeared, allowing the light to stream in from the window at the back completely unobstructed. Artemis stopped in her tracks.

“Wait,” she said, looking at the window. “Did you add that in recently, or…”

The look on Charlie’s face was answer enough. He opened the window, and swung one leg over the sill. He looked back over his shoulder at Artemis, a daring look in his eyes.

“Are you coming, or what?”

As Charlie climbed out of the window, Artemis crossed the attic to follow him. She leaned out of the window to see him crouching on top of the sloped roof of the house. He pointed to the bottom of the window.

“Hold onto the guttering and put your foot on that ledge there, and then you can just step across to where I am,” he told her. “Just be—”

Artemis did not hesitate to step onto the ledge below the window and jump off it to join Charlie on the roof, barely using her hands to support her as she did so.

“— careful.” Charlie blinked. “Or not. Alright, come on.”

“There’s more?”

“If anyone looked out of the window, they’d see me straight away,” Charlie said with a shrug. “The best spot is over there.”

With Artemis on his tail, Charlie scaled up and over the roof to the other side, away from the window, coming to rest at the flatter part where the rooftop met the chimney. The two of them sat down on the brown roof tiles, the chimney the only thing in their way of the view across the orchard and rolling hills behind.

“If you stay low, you can’t even be seen from the garden,” Charlie explained. “And when the fire’s lit, the chimney is warm. So, it’s kind of the perfect spot. No one can find you, no one can bother you.” He looked almost sheepish as he continued, “As much as I love my family, it was always nice to have somewhere I could escape from them all. Everything was always so loud here, and… Well, you know that I’ve always preferred the quiet. Sometimes I needed to get away.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Charlie looked at Artemis and smiled, before returning his gaze to the view of the countryside. Artemis looked out as well. The sky that had previously been threatening snow had started to make good on its promise, and tiny flecks of white were now falling from the clouds above to land on the frosted fields below. The snowflakes didn’t make a sound, and neither did she and Charlie. Instead, they stayed side by side in companionable silence, watching the first snow of the year fall to the ground and melt away as if it had never been there at all.

“Do you think any of it will settle?” she asked after a short while. Charlie shook his head.

“It’s not cold enough. Maybe if we get some more at Christmas it’ll stick around.”

“I’d like that.” A smile crept across Artemis’ face. “Remember that Christmas in fifth year when I came to stay? I was desperate for snow that I started practising a bogus spell Merula taught me.”

“It wasn’t bogus,” said Charlie. “You had Hogwarts caught in a blizzard. You’d have been stranded if I hadn’t snuck out and flown all the way there to pick you up.”

“Always sneaking,” muttered Artemis with a grin, and Charlie nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. She giggled, before falling quiet once more. “That Christmas might be the best one I’ve ever had. It definitely was at that point, anyway. It was the first time I ever felt like I really belonged to a family at Christmas, even though it wasn’t actually my own family, it felt…” Her voice tailed off, her sentence remained unfinished. “I’m really happy that you’re going to make it so everyone can be here for Christmas again.”

“Me too. With everything that’s gone on and everything that’s changing, I’m glad that there’s something that’ll be the same as it used to be.”

“Like Christmas trees staying green all the time.”

“I guess so.”

Artemis’ teeth grazed her bottom lip. “Lots of things are changing these days, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. Some of it is good, though,” said Charlie.

“Oh, yeah. I know that.” Artemis turned to him, her head tilted to one side. “Would you say that we’ve changed, or are we the same as we always have been?”

“I dunno.” Charlie seemed to consider the question carefully. “I’d say that we are pretty much the same. Some people would probably say we haven’t changed enough.”

He laughed, and Artemis couldn’t help but join in. She leant back, resting her head against the cold tiles of the roof behind her, and extended her tongue as far as she could. A single snowflake fell onto the very tip of it, tingling slightly as it melted. Once it had disappeared, she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and closed her eyes and mouth, savouring the silence around her.

“Thank you for showing me your secret place,” she whispered.

Charlie’s response was so quiet that she barely heard him at all, his voice seemed to melt away into the air like the snowflake on her tongue.

“You’re welcome.”

[kawaii-queen-kaiju]

Signal, Joke, Epic Fail, Dare

Maribat March - Prompts 2, 7, 12, 13

~

He couldn't believe they were doing this. Running around Gotham in uniform, attempting to escape punishment. Now, Duke wasn't a coward by any means, but sometimes, when your insane siblings rope you into pranking THE Justice League, you had to… retreat for a bit in order to figure out how to escape THE Batman (who also happens to be your parental guardian).

See, Dick thought that Bruce's various pups could use some bonding, and unfortunately, the only thing they all had in common is chaos. And that chaos led to the decision of pranking the Justice League. As they all had clearance to the zeta tube as past Robins (and Batgirls), when the JL goes to see who did it, they'd come up with an army of Robins. So, they gathered toilet paper, Silly String and eggs. Tim and Babs tag-teamed the JL servers and put 'Never Gonna Give You Up' on loop on all the screens. Damian snuck through the vents, replacing all the training weaponry with foam ones and releasing rats he'd found (Dick wasn't too keen on that idea seeing as they were Gotham rats, but Damian was participating! He couldn't tell him no… besides, they're superheroes, if they let a couple of mutated rats defeat them, then it was just sad). Dick had helped the others with their ideas, while Cass stood watch.

Duke was slightly more hesitant than his brethren, it is the Justice League after all, but then they ganged up on him with a double-dog dare, and he wound up helping Jason, Stephanie and Marinette desecrate the Watchtower halls.

They managed to complete their individual tasks without anyone noticing, thanks to the fact that it was Guy on monitor duty, snoring like a freight train. (He wound up with a dick drawn on his face, it was too perfect.)

The next day, B was coming back from an off-world mission, and Duke was getting more and more nervous with every passing minute. He'd had fun while they were doing it, but as Bruce got closer and closer to home, his anxiety sent him into over-thinking over-drive. It didn't help that everyone who'd participated had fled to their individual hideaways, probably for several days, except for Damian - as he lives in the Manor and is quite proud of the prank and unafraid of punishment - and Marinette who was freaking out just as much as Duke was.

They were working out their nervousness in a spar, attempting to quiet their minds. They'd been doing quite well too, until the zeta announced Batman's arrival.

"Alfred." His gruff voice filled the cavern, freezing Duke and Marinette in their boots. "Gather everyone, and I mean everyone."

They shared a look before taking off as fast as they could. Marinette made it out before he did, not having to put her outfit on piece by piece, but he still made it in record time.

Of course, he ran right into Bruce himself, making eye contact for a brief moment before he got on his bike and escaping as soon as he could. He knew the Bat glare was scary, but having it trained on him for the first time made him wonder if their little joke was actually a success. He was going to kill Dick when it was safe to come out of hiding.

~

The inspiration stick abandoned me for a while, but it came back and walloped me over the head :)

[searchingforatrail]

Title: Wall

Summary: "I was created for a singular purpose, Megatronus. To organize data. Even if Cybertron did have a successful revolution, I doubt I’d operate outside of what I was created for.”

Or, Megatronus realizes that his caste is not the only one he’s fighting for. Though it's considerably harder to fight when the one you love most does not realize there's a battle worth fighting.

[original ao3 | twitter]

--

Megatronus descended from his makeshift stage in the midst of cheers and applause, a silver bullet ebbing through a sea of mismatched colors and frames. Mechs he’d never met before clapped him on his shoulder, their words of praise and admiration fueling the high that he was on. The streets had been filled to the brim with his supporters, all drinking in the words and promises he’d proclaimed into the air.

Yet a quick scan of the area revealed the absence of one of his closest confidants. Orion Pax was nowhere to be found within the ocean of his supporters. His smile faltered, the grin not quite reaching his optics as it had before. Soundwave flanked close behind him, answering the questions that had fallen silent on Megatronus’s audio sensors.

Amazing how the absence of one single droid could pull him from the elevated feeling he’d experienced just moments before. Even politicians had managed to wriggle their way into the crowd, inviting Megatronus to meet privately with him. And yet he felt empty.

“Did Orion not receive a personal invite to this speech?” Megatronus communicated to Soundwave mentally as he continued to shake hands with the mechs around him, “this is the second time he’s done this.”

“Orion: Preoccupied with data organization. Sent his apology an hour ago,” Soundwave communicated back, effortlessly, “Suggestion: Go visit him. This is becoming a pattern.”

Megatronus did not have to be told twice. He excused himself, leaving his disciples on an amicable note before leaping into the air, and transforming into his familiar jet form. The route to Iacon was second nature to the silver mech now, something he never would have guessed would have happened in a million years. Such a city had been one of the many targets of his anger and hate. How many politicians in Iacon had chained he and his brethren down, had forced them to submit to their “greater”, superior will. He had hated Iacon with a passion, much like Vos and the other higher caste cities. And yet, Orion had somewhat changed his vision of things.

If only to prove that even the ugliest places in their corrupted society had their jewels.

Yet he felt a twinge of annoyance when his gaze settled upon his rather occupied friend. He could see him through the large, open arched windows carved into Iacon’s old halls, busy pouring over a tray of data pads. In a fluid movement, Megatronus jumped into the halls, transforming midair and descending before a wayward Orion Pax.

“I didn’t see you at my speech today,” He beat him to a greeting, standing at full height with his arms crossed, “the speech I told you about ages ago. The one you helped write.”

Orion paused, azure gaze locked onto Megatronus’s. For a second, he stared, hands paused against the data pad he had been occupied with, and optic ridges knitted tightly together. His mouth opened as if he meant to speak, only for his jaw to close moments later.  Megatronus stared back, slightly uncomfortable at the growing silence.

“Orion, did you–”

The Gladiators own mouth dropped as Orion turned away from him mid sentence to continue organizing his data. The initial anger he felt died down, replaced instead with a deep sense of concern. It wasn’t unusual for Orion to lose track of time due to his duties, but this was different. This was unnatural.

And then he saw it . A small, circular device on the back of Orion’s neck, just below his helm. A chronometer. The kind used to ensure a task was done seamlessly in a given time. One that he hadn’t seen since his time in the mines.  His memory was vague regarding such a device, but he understood the basics. It was only meant to be a simple timer, but to be placed on one’s neck, interfering directly with the electricity that ran through their body. That was different. And he knew a body modification when he saw it.

Megatronus moved without thinking, and his anger was renewed ten fold. “What in the Pit is this?” He hissed, yanking the device from the back of Orion's neck, “a chronometer?”

Orion hissed, then blinked. And brought a servo to the back of his neck, wincing in pain.

“I..I apologize Megatronus, do you mind if we sit? I’m afraid my processor is readjusting to the sudden loss of the chronometer.” Megatronus wasn’t sorry for removing it, though he guided Orion to the nearest seat they could find, giving him a few moments to recollect himself.

“I am very sorry. I meant to respond to you earlier, but I hadn’t been given my time yet. I didn’t expect you to come to Iacon today, and Soundwave said he would tell you I was busy.”

“Your ‘given your time’”? What does that even mean Orion? Why did you have a chronometer on your neck? Why weren’t you speaking with me?” Megatrons tried his best to level his words, to snuff out the fire raising in his spark.

“The higher ups have deemed it necessary to add chronometers to the frames of the clerks. They are simply testing out productivity output. If we work in intervals, the theory is that we can increase the rate at which we are organizing data, and reduce error rates. It was not only done to me.”

Megatronus gulped, his words clear and icy, “Did you provide your consent? Did they inform you of the side effects, such as not being able to speak?”

“They–I–I don’t remember? Yes?” Orion’s answer provided no relief, “This doesn’t matter. It’s standard. Occasionally, when we aren’t working to their standards, they will implement new techniques and technology to ensure we are working at 100% efficiency. However, they were simply running a test phase today.” Orion's defense of his “higher ups” was frightening to Megatronus, and it tugged at a fear he’d long sense overcome.

“But you were unaware of the consequences, and how it would change you?” He asked again, forcing his voice to calm.

Orion ex-vented, closing his optics, “Yes, but it’s not what you think. We have specific coding, and sometimes it fails. If that’s the case, then they deem it necessary to–”

“Orion how is this any different from slavery?” Megatronus couldn’t keep the edge from his voice, “Coding? And when that fails, a piece of hardware that makes you forget where you are? Makes you unable to speak or to talk?”

Megatronus stared deeply into the innocent, deep eyes of Orion. He could get lost in them, on a good day. But today, he was fearful. Horrified. He looked on in sheer terror, fearful that he’d look away only to be met with the bland, empty mech he’d met just moments ago.  “You do not even know what they’re doing to you.”

“I am not a slave, Megatronus. What you and I went through are different,” Orion spoke firmly, the only indication in the entire conversation that he’d been himself, “I am a clerical bot. That is my purpose.”

And Megatronus knew he should not have asked the next question. Knew the answer would either anger him, horrify him, or both. Yet he pressed on.

“And when the revolution happens, when there is no more caste, what will you do?”

“You will need someone to organize your data. There will be clerical task. I assumed you would want me to do it.” He responded, practiced like he’d rehearsed it a hundred times before.

“Do you think that’s why I befriended you? To make you do my office work?”

“No, I think you befriended me because we are friends. But I am a data droid. I was created for a singular purpose, Megatronus. To organize data. Even if Cybertron did have a successful revolution, I doubt I’d operate outside of what I was created for.”

“Orion, listen to me, and listen carefully,” he gripped his shoulder plating tightly, pulling him close, “You are more than just a walking organizer. You are a Cybertronian who deserves to have his own wants and needs outside of his programming. That is what we are fighting for. And you do not deserve any less than that. Do you understand.”

“I..I will try to, and I do. I just don’t think it applies to mechs like me.” He said, not a hint of sadness in his voice, “and that’s okay. As long as I can organize data by your side, I am okay.”

“So you do have aspirations, and you do have desires outside of your station,” the relief set in, and Megatronus embraced his friend before he could debate him any further, “You have fight within you, I beg of you to hold on to it.”

“But it’s just data.” He said, muffled, “I am not fighting for my life in the mines or the pits, not like you.”

Megatronus was tired. Something about Orion had zapped the energy from him, and he didn’t know what. Maybe it was the fact that he felt as if he were talking to a wall, or that Orion genuinely believed his life was okay. Or maybe it was the great sadness he felt for his friend, the one he loved the most in the world.

“We all have our own battles, Orion. You are just starting to fight yours.” He muttered, “you’ve done so well at helping me fight mine, only to hide the one you have here.”

“Excuse me. Orion needs to return to processing his data.” Megatronus blinked, fighting the urge to slack the mech who had just interrupted them. Only, he looked into similar blank eyes, “He should have a few more minutes left.”

Orion maneuvered himself from beneath his friend, taking the chronometer from Megatraonus. “I apologize for missing your speech, Megatronus. I will be at the next one, I promise.”

He didn’t give Megatronus a chance to respond. He simply placed the chronometer back onto his body, his form growing rigid and mechanical as he found his cart of data pads again.

“Just like you promised last time.” Megatronus said to himself, jumping and taking flight. He didn’t bother to let Orion know he was leaving. His friend was no longer there. And according to the other droid, wouldn't be for some time.

(follow my twitter for a request :D I follow transformers and dc fans back!) 

[yanderecandystore]

I was reading about Azir and MC who either given up or not playing his games. With Azir being controlling, I thought about something. What if there is something that Azir can't control, like death? Because what if he made one scenario with MC who has given up that causes them great harm or worse death. Either MC is still young and doing shit, or maybe they are old that inevitability of death is near.

Stress is sometimes good, but too much is bad and may cause some.... Unfortunate accident. :)

Be mild, Azir

In today's episode of Choco not knowing how to goddamn read: Another request where I fixate on only ONE aspect of a request! Hwrqefjegjq I'm so sorry boo ;-;

I just realized something… he isn't a player… he is a craftsman 💀 he spends too much time taking pieces of different planets and realms to make into snow globes… I don't know why I named him a player lmao

I decided to be mean and make Azir's life worse by shoving another person to take care of you.

TW/Tags: mentions of reincarnation; death; complete obviousness/disregard for human life // the depiction of the afterlife is vague and based on nothing that I'm aware of(?); Subconsciously, it could be based on something that I don't remember // Multiple reader deaths (someone keeps killing you)

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Guardian Angel [Yandere!Eldritch!OC x GN!Reader - Headcanon]:

Oh Azir, how I missed playing with you just like how you miss playing with your darling-

I think he never really bothered with getting humans back from the dead, especially since they just tend to be born again. They always go back to Earth, of course, so he never bothered searching for specific people to put back in his little games.

But an essential character like you can't be easily replaced and you have too much potential to be forgotten by the universe like that- So, he would absolutely violate your natural born right to have a peaceful eternal rest.

What? It's not unheard of for entities to simply revive their favorites, although his brethren aren't really allowed to do that, he simply wishes to continue the plot you were previously following.

Which one? Well, all of them. All of them in their right times. Think of it as resetting a game and starting all over, but the mechanics slightly shift through every playthrough.

You're the same you as you always will be, maybe with a different appearance, a different mentality molded by the variety of environments and backgrounds he can put you on- Oh, but you're just his favorite actor in each of them! How is he NOT expected to bring your soul back regardless of the trials and errors?

The first time you died was the only time he slightly felt, well, worried? It wasn't exactly guilt nor grief, but it was something like a sense of emptiness especially if it was his fault… Making you overly stressed, be it at a young reckless age or at your last moments standing- He probably wouldn't feel your loss in the same way mortals do.

His favorite toy broke, his game feels incomplete without it, and although reanimating your body was quite easy… hm… pretending to be you was fun at first but it lacked the spark of something natural and random.

He liked to be in control of everything, yes, sometimes watching but most of the time finding ways to implement himself in the lives of others- He didn't want to pretend to be you forever though, nor did he like the idea of using your inactive body as a skin puppet, the flesh was a fun but not so intriguing part of the mortal experience.

He needed to find your soul, wherever it was. Searching the different realms for it was easy, and quite boring actually, but getting you to come back was something else.

He wasn't really allowed here. None of his kind was, they were powerful and followed no "rules" but had some limitations when it came to the simple task of bringing someone back from the dead. It's not like they couldn't do it, it's that they shouldn't.

Would he really taint the afterlife forever and snatch you away just to keep himself entertained for longer? Yeah, yeah he would.

In the mix of different voices, a colorful sea of different souls collectively sleeping and awaiting their return, one of them screamed while being forcefully dragged back to their already rotting corpse.

Ah dear… A rotting corpse isn't suited for souls to stay in, although you looked adorable as a living-dead variant of yourself, you didn't seem to be cooperating with the vision he originally had in mind.

His first experiment to bring you back was a failure, as your body was no longer suited for a soul- But with just a few adjustments he got to bring you back with your same appearance and memories intact! Your body was healthy again, aren't you glad to be back?

… Ugh… Why can't you stop complaining to him about your death? People die all the time, shouldn't you be glad he brought you back from that boring afterlife?

Sleeping peacefully for eternity sounds absolutely tedious, he can't imagine why anyone would consider it a good choice to spend their time.

Considering no normal person would feel good about being brought back to life by their killer (directly or not) especially knowing this person has the power to keep you bound to them forever, it is understandable that you would be quite pissed about it.

So maybe keeping your memories wasn't a good idea, but he knew a quick way to fix it.

As long as you belong to his simulations, living inside them you're not going to go anywhere else, dead or alive… He "could" try to take a piece of the afterlife and shove it in a snowglobe, but truly, that's something that he doesn't have any control over.

It was too tricky to try to trap it there, whenever he would come back the globe would be empty. It doesn't matter what arcane dark magic he uses, he can't ever keep that "terrain" fixated in one location.

But, he could maybe make his own..? Oh, wouldn't that be lovely? Instead of having to constantly take you back by force, he can just make a self-sufficient system of afterlife and reincarnation, he could make it so there was no other choice than to keep the cycle going as much as he could!

Or he could make something special for you for once, how would you like a smaller snow globe just for you? Every fantasy your heart desired could be real if you just behave a little more.

Ah but there was also one small thing he didn't really consider… So, remember how he isn't welcome in the afterlife? Yeah, he is also not "allowed" to take a soul and force it back to the realm of the living, especially not a soul that is screaming and begging to be left alone already.

Someone is responsible to keep these souls intact, perhaps there are multiples like this entity- But only he came to fix the job.

Think of it this way, you have a being that is almost like a guardian angel, with a grim reaper mentality that keeps chasing your soul to bring you back to the afterlife (the correct version of it). And on the other hand you have Azir, a being that keeps bringing you back and who although "lacks authority" over your little "angel", won't ever back down about doing what he wants whenever he wants.

And then there's you, being brought back for a certain period of time, perhaps decades in your lifetime before having to die again and again by a safekeeper of souls. One wants to play with you like a toy and the other sees you as some sort of sheep that got lost from the herd.

If there's Hell, I would bet you it's more pleasant than this existence. Hah, wouldn't it be hilarious if you got them both to fall for you? Hah, as if that would happen.

I like to imagine your little "guardian angel" and Azir have to be passive aggressive when interacting- As any small fight could lead to a war between realms and let's be honest, the ones getting the short end of the stick here would be you and all of the mortals of every other planet and realm.

Everyone is fucked except the ones that can withstand the existence after existence itself has imploded, and no one really wants to see the age of nothingness and darkness return, life as fragile as it is, brings light to those that don't understand it's real value- But miss it dearly when it's gone.

What I mean is that congratulations, I'm giving you another mythical boyfriend who will try to restore order to your peaceful afterlife while the other one keeps bringing you back out of spite at this point.

It's not just about you, it's also because he is well aware that shiny looking asshole is probably spending time with you in that calm, "wonderful" place that only hosts exclusively mortal souls.

Well… But now that I think about it, technically this whole process of reincarnation is technically working inside the laws of the universe. You are born, you live, you die, you get sent to the other side and then get reborn again. It is also sort of very beneficial for both parties despite their mutual hatred towards one another.

You really need to find a cosmic lawyer or something like that though, this work practice is really unethical since you're very much aware of why and who keeps you inside this vicious cycle, it's hard to live a life you're constantly getting reminded of your previous one.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

I just wanted to draw the three bois in human disguise, Diph being angry at Azir for being reckless and getting unwanted attention from an "angel" (and also for letting the human die like that, like bro, you have so much power yet you did nothing?).

And then reader have to deal with this bs.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[peddlestox-shinyrocks]

Stamp (of Approval)

It was the 4th package in as many weeks. All of them had been wrapped in bright paper with a matching bow. All of them without a note or name or stamp. All of them delivered without a single guard knowing who had left them or why.

Initially he had thought that perhaps the first gift was in thanks. To what exactly he wasn't sure. From Lamaty'i's rescue? It wasn't her way but, sure. For protecting Tuliyollal? Also not unreasonable. But he asked after the sender, and no one came forth.

And then another gift appeared. And another. And yet another. All of them addressed to him specifically with nothing to give a clue other than it had to have been the same person due to how it was wrapped.

It niggled at him in the back of his mind though it did not do much to stop his duties, never straying too far and always coming back to bite him when he got lost in his thoughts. But it was upon the 5th and latest gift that his sister dared to bring forth the idea of -

"You have a secret admirer!"

Koana closes his eyes, removes his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and massage his temples, before replacing them and giving his younger sister a look. "Lamaty'i pray tell who would be sending me secret admirations?"

"I don't know. Anyone? You are a handsome hhetsarro. Maybe one has their eye on you?" Wuk Lamat said teasingly.

He tries not to grimace at that. He truly holds no ill will to his Turali brethren but...

He thinks back to the gifts he had been given: a pendant, a few well made leather bound books with quills to match, a fairly intricate carving that reminded him of the markings that dotted the palace, a box of chocolates - handmade ones - that the guards tried to prohibit from being eaten, but neither Wuk Lamat nor he (after stealing the treats back) suffered any ill effects from, and now a simple bangle inlaid with what seemed to be emeralds. None of them to his knowledge were hhetsarro courtship gifts. He sighs. "I do not believe it to be one of them."

"Maybe not, but someone is interested. What's in this one?" He didn't have the chance to keep it away from her, before she's lifting the small box and looking inside. "A bracelet! And the stones match your hair like the pendant did your eyes!" As he snatches it back she continues: "He or she very much finds you appealing."

He huffs. "These could just be gifts from our peoples as thanks for their protection."

"Koana, you don't believe that." And she didn't word it as a question, mirth dropping from her voice, serious. "These presents clearly came from one person. And to me it seems they do genuinely like you." He turns away from her, but he doesn't need to see to know her ears flattened, trying to figure out a way to convince him. They stand in silence for a moment before she speaks again. "Would you like to have an admirer?"

Yes. No. "I don't know." Which is a fair answer as any given that he had never given it much thought. And now that it is here, staring at him...

He could easily ignore it. After all the person in question never left their name. Perhaps too embarassed to. He doesn't think this is a trick. He could ignore it, let whoever it is tire of their curiousity? and continue onwards. ...But should he not let them down gently? Would that not be better on this person harboring... a crush it seems?

Of course, that is when his mind whispers the question of if he even wanted to tell them to stop. That it is nice to be wanted and noticed. That there could be something more to this.

He shakes his head dispelling those ideas. First order of business would be - "Regardless, I believe it best to figure out who this person is. Perhaps... it is a young child."

When he turns Wuk Lamat gives him a look. "You and I both know no child made these for you and they are handmade."

"But, they could be bought."

"By a child? With this level of craftmanship?" She brightens and gives him a wide grin. "I know! Perhaps the moblins of Earthenshire know of a potsworn who made the necklace and bracelet! Or," she adds before he says anything, "who bought it from them."

"Or, we can ask the Landsguard to be on the look out for a mysterious gift giver."

"But what's the fun in that? We can even go see the mobbie girl again."

"Gobbie," he corrects. "She hails from Eorzea." He blinks. "And what do you mean 'we'?"

"I never got the chance to thank her for helping to rescue me!" There's a sly grin to her face and Koana does not like where her line of thinking is about to go. "Unless... you want to keep her to yourself?"

"Lamaty'i!" He's pretty sure he's blushing, but did she have to put it that way?

"That's not a no!"

"Wuk Lamat!" Now he knows he's blushing.

"Maybe she's the one that sent the gifts." He doesn't deign that with a response, having enough of her ribbing, and slowly walks away from her cackling, stepping out to get fresh air.

To his sister's credit, the idea has some merit. The lalafell with the goblin mask did indeed work with jewelry crafting. She mentioned as much when she bravely offered to play as their bait, making note that Koana may be recognized as the Second Promise. That does not fully explain the other 3 gifts, nor why she felt the need to send any of them to begin with. She couldn't have... There was no way she... On him of all people!

"So, think it could be her?" It was pure restraint he did not turn his gun on his sister. She held up her hands in surrender as he glared at her for a moment before he huffed and turned back to the night sky above.

"It... is not out of the realm of possibility. But that only accounts for two of the gifts. And it would mean she would have to have a... ...She would have taken a liking to me."

"It was hard to tell with the mask; you could only really see her eyes. But she seemed genuine enough and she was willing to help out a stranger, putting herself in danger in doing so." She grins. "I approve!"

His put upon expression has her laughing again as it's ruined by redden cheeks. "Shouldn't I be looking to approve a match for you?"

"I'm not the one with a secret admirer!"

"We don't even know if that's what this is, let alone if she's the one sending them."

"I dunno Koana. I got a good feeling about this!"

He doesn't know whether to be happy about that, or not.

[etcnnante]

love being insane about weather report and i need to spew my thoughts about him and pucci and their stories aligning greatly with those told about cain and abel. as well as emporio being awfully similar to seth- cain and abel's lesser known younger brother. a LOT of biblical talk which i know most people aren't fond of, so it's going under a read more.

the story of cain and abel is so widely known, but i don't think most people know everything - such as the upbringing, the buildup, and the inevitable downfall of the two. the story of cain and abel have been done over and over, each told a varying degree of success, so i think it's interesting to see araki's version of it. (if he even intended the similarities to be there, which could be possible. but i don't doubt it since he is quite well versed in christianity / the imagery.) honestly, when you think about it at first ... the similarities don't seem to be there besides the obvious "pucci killed his brother and betrayed him" since weather got in the way of him achieving heaven. but the longer you look, the more you can see the similarities. so please bear with me as we try to unscramble these thoughts together and best explain the betrayal story of cain and abel, and how seth comes in to save humanity. the most striking for me is the usage and importance of weather report's disk. when cain strikes abel, he is coated in the blood of his brother and because of this- the blood of abel that's staining his clothing, cain would never be able to reach heaven and inevitably leads to his downfall. the blood of abel preventing cain's entry in heaven reminds me a lot of the final showdown between pucci and emporio- the final stretch before gaining eternal greatness, where he is stopped by emoprio's utilization of weather report's disk, effectively preventing him from achieving heaven. while not quite the same, weather report's disk act's as the perfect replacement for abel's blood- a final haunting reminder of the killing of his brethren, now stopping pucci within his tracks and being used against him despite being so close to heaven even after his endless offerings. this is also where emporio's role of seth comes into play- and, in relation to cain and abel, seth services as a replacement for abel after his death- essentially becoming abel's new mouthpiece and ushers in our current humanity. which emporio does after weather's death, acting as his mouthpiece and successfully helping joylne create a new humanity- all while the disk comes back to haunt pucci and prevent him from achieving his goal. it's beautifully poetic, in a way. while obviously not shared by blood, the bond between emporio and weather cannot be underestimated. they had a great deal of trust in each other and it's clear weather even seemingly regarded emporio as a little brother to him, going to immense lengths to keep him safe. there's a lot more in relation to weather report and other biblical allegories- such as heavy weather being triggered subconsciously by weather's hatred for humanity, turning anyone affected by the rainbows into snails. the important bit is the snails, and how snails are thought of as "the symbol of the wicked passing away" within the bible- obviously signifying how weather truly feels about humanity and how vile and "slimey" it has become when regaining his memory. he can feel at ease knowing there will be no more wickedness plaguing humanity anymore. don't know how to properly conclude these thoughts. just hoping my rambles are coherent and don't seem too far stretched, especially since i do believe, in some way, this may be araki's personal retelling of cain and abel to some extent. the man is obviously into christianity and it's aesthetic's, it's not like jesus christ isn't an actual character in the damn series unironically 😭 but i hope theres some cohesion when explaining these thoughts because whew there’s a lot of them.

[never-ending-studio]

Day 2: Friendship

The wolf was no longer an apex predator nor was it a pack animal. 

The wolf population, as found in the studio, was timid and mouse-like. Moving mostly at a fast walk - a compromise between the need for speed and the need for stealth. Above and below their hidden dens crawled a maddened demon ripping prey limb from limb, for no reason other than to play a violent game. The scattered gore of the victims to be found later by their scurrying brethern. Unless the wolf's other natural predator, The Angel, were to find it first. Vulture-like in countenance The Angel walked the halls searching for the aftermath that The Demon left. Collecting thick ink and bone marrow from the carnage to adjust and perfect her own visage. However should she be unsatisfied with the fruits of her foraging she was not opposed to hunting. Indeed as the wolf population dwindled and became wise to the ways of the hostile environment The Angel would oft set traps. 

The wolf population dwindled further.

Dens were lost to gather dust, lamps burned down and many of the remaining wolves wondered if they were the last of their kind. So isolated were they. 

At one stage, very early in the worlds creation, there had almost been a wolf town of sorts. 

A gathering place moreso than a place of rest - no place as spacious and connected as this could count itself safe. However in its short history as a living space it had been taken over by lost ones, with violence and numbers the wolves could never match. With a quick retreat it was abandoned by wolf kind, but it was not a total victory for the lost ones. The Demon descended upon the inky-humanoid crowd one day and left the space desacrated. The room, and it was a mere room, had laid vacant ever since. One day, if days existed in the studio, a wolf happened upon this artifact. The wolf was called Boris, as most wolves were, and he found himself overwhelmed by emotion. With a sense of tradition he could not place Boris lit a candle. Some heartache long held in his chest lightened. Silently to himself Boris vowed to come back when chance afforded it to replace the candle. 

And he did so, some time later. 

It had almost been forgotten in his mind, the existence of his small shrine, and he reentered expecting the waxy stump only. But he was to be surprised. The candle was replaced with one that was stout and thick, wet wax dripping down its sides. Boris pondered briefly if perhaps a lost one had left the candle but concluded they were incapable of such nostalgic thinking. The thought of wolves unknown yet friendly, waiting in some warm burrow much the same as his, filled Boris with an emotion he had not known before. He made it a priority to return to the room as much as possible in the hopes of encountering his brethren. He did not encounter another wolf, but the candle did not burn out either; and that was friendship enough in such a cruel world. 

[godsofhumanity]

do you have any headcanons about big six relationships during titan war

honestlyyyyy no i don't. i mean, not happy ones. in my hc, the Big Six (excl. Zeus) only really emerge at the end of the war.. like in the very final battle against Kronos.

for the most part, Zeus is fighting alongside the second generation of Titans with Prometheus and Metis as his right and left hand men.

only very shortly before the crux of the battle does Rhea's emetic work and Kronos is forced to vomit back up his children who emerge fully-formed... and while i think Zeus has always fought with the intention of liberating both his mother and his siblings from Kronos' physical and mental prison, i just don't think it was that easy for Zeus to see all these fully-grown gods and goddesses and be like "yeahhh they're my sisters and brothers".

i think the Titans were more Zeus' brethren then his actual siblings because he doesn't know them... and even the Titans, they've schemed together and plotted against Kronos together, but all the Titan children grew up with each other-- Zeus is the only one who was raised in secret, away from everyone else, deep in some forest where there was no chance of Kronos discovering him. Zeus doesn't even really know Rhea, his own mother, that well until the first time she visits him during young-adulthood--- and even then, it's only really to let him know that it's time for him to take charge of his destiny and defeat his father. it's not, "hi son, i'm here to spend quality time with you". it's very brief. very short. and very to the point. it has to be. the stakes are too high to let emotion dictate events.

after the war is ended, i feel that there is a very distinct, sort of awkward atmosphere-- the elder Titans have been displaced. most Titans only have about 2-3 children of their own and usually they're all in a similar domain-- but then comes Rhea's children, 6 of them, and between her 3 sons divides the entire "cosmos"-- the Underworld, the Sea, the Heavens.

and Zeus says, of course, that the Earth belongs to everyone-- but it's pretty apparent that that's not really true... between the Olympians, most domains can already be represented, and since the Olympians are the direct descendants of Kronos and Rhea, it seems natural that they'd get first priority as princes and princesses... it appears as though the age of the Titans is well and truly over.

to make things more difficult, i think Zeus himself is in a bit of liminal state between being a Titan and being an Olympian-- he could never have won the war without the Titans, but he knows also that his siblings are the ones fated to take on more dominant roles in his kingdom-- they're bonded to him by blood. but at the same time, he doesn't really know them. they just kinda appeared.

and he doesn't really know the Titans that well either- they fought together, but that doesn't replace the hundreds of years of memories and loyalty they have already forged with each other.

so i think that's very difficult for Zeus. who really is he?

i think this is partly where Zeus and his diplomacy skills get shown off... for a very long time after the Titan War, he manages to maintain good relationships with both his siblings and the Titans-- he manages to make everyone feel involved and included, and things are mostly perfect. until the creation of man, of course, but that's another story.

for the other Olympians, i think things are mostly awkward. i do not believe that they would have been sitting around in Kronos' stomach playing cards, telling jokes-- i think they would have been quite unconscious with no physical state. i think they wouldn't be able to remember much, if anything.

so, even though the Olympians have sort of "grown up" together, they haven't really. they're strangers to each other. but, they're strangers together. they have a natural "bond" that pulls them together, so i think it's easier for them to stick together. joint familial trauma and whatever.

but yeah, i think it would have been super strange to have to emerge into the world, fully-grown, and have to assimilate into it... it would have been awful. i'm sure they would have mostly stuck together by themselves, which wouldn't have made either Rhea or Zeus' lives any easier.

it's kind of like when you start at a new school and everyone's already in their own friendship groups and cliches, and they've got their own inside jokes... it's just awkward and weird.

that's not to say that the Titans were mean to the Olympians. no way. i think Prometheus and Metis especially made time to make them feel included, to bring them up to speed. i've already mentioned before my hc that Metis, Hesione (Prometheus' wife), Asteria, Leto, Eos, Hera, and Demeter had a really tight friendship and were very close. i think Hades and Poseidon would have also found fellowship with Prometheus, Pallas, Helios, etc. but i'm not sure that they ever reach the "loyalty state" that Zeus, and Prometheus too, would have dreamed about-- a perfect world where the Titans and Olympians walk hand-in-hand.

[antispopausandstuff]

Prime Princess AU

.

ever since she was small and fragile, she was his. such a tiny, warm thing in large, clawed, cold hands. and she belonged to no one else.

the more she grew, the more he told her of all the planets he experienced and conquered. all the terrified, tearful faces of the people. all the magic dying, or being turned against them.

she was small, curious, and almost afraid.

but she grew to be stronger. smarter. better. fear was a weakness used against their enemies. fear had no place in his empire.

.

the empire was a lonely place. despite the familiarity in her brothers' faces. despite seeing father everyday. she couldn't figure out why, nor did she want to ask father.

whenever she asked about the universe beyond war and damnation, he'd grow cold. telling her the chains of the living were their weakness. that she had no place amongst pathetic beings such as them. she couldn't recall what happened after the last time she asked him about it. all she knew was an ache in her neck.

she had a feeling that she shouldn't- wouldn't ever ask again.

she loved father.

she'd never disobey him again.

.

despite his teachings, she had never gone outside. he'd tell her she wasn't ready, that she still had more to learn. that her body was strong, but her heart was soft and weak. it needed to be as cold as the ice amongst the astral air.

with everything in her, she tried.

her heart got smaller.

and smaller.

and smaller.

but it never disappeared. it never stopped beating. it never stopped having the center of warmth that separated her from her brethren. from father.

.

"who are you?"

admittedly, she thought they were a little odd. and...ugly.

orange fur along their body, dark brown wild, scruffy hair, lighter tufts in the front. one eye was full of blue, the other yellow. their outfit was red, torn, and showed their clawed feet. long, furred black ears on the...side of their head? and a tail.

she simply blinked at them.

"well? who the hell are you?!" they shouted, pointing something green and sparking at her. she assumed it was a weapon.

"..."

she walked past them.

"hey!" they grabbed her by the wrist.

she held them by the throat, their feet dangling above the grass. choked out gasps, their body squirming, fear in their eyes.

fear is a weakness used against their enemies.

a sharp pain dug into her wrist. her gaze shifted, and she saw blue and gold liquid drip. the person's nails were digging and dragging into her skin.

...why did it hurt?

what are these colors doing?

she let go of them, turning her back on them as she stared at the scar. it was a couple inches long, and less than an inch wide. the liquid was gushing out of her.

what is this?

she turned her head back to the other. but they were gone.

"...father," she muttered quietly. he'd know.

it was most likely just a defect.

he'd fix it.

.

it was her version of blood.

she was confused. why wasn't it green, purple, or red? it was none of the colors she heard father speak of.

"because, you are not from here."

...she never knew where she came from. but she never thought to ask. she was afraid worried that father would be upset. that he'd feel she wanted to replace him.

she could never do that, though.

she loved him.

...

so why did her chest hurt?

.

she wasn't permitted to leave again. her time of exploration was deemed to be worth looking into for research, but too dangerous for one with a body like hers. that's what he told her.

she was still weak. and she didn't know why.

there was nothing that stopped her from killing that creature. frankly, if she never bled, she would've.

seeing them be afraid of her made her understand her father's statement. to never feel fear. it was weak.

but she wasn't afraid of them. they were scrawny, inexperienced, and most likely had a foul mouth. the pain in her wrist was minor, in comparison to previous experiences. but this was the first time she ever bled.

...maybe there was something she could do about this.

she had to.

she wanted father to trust her.

she was strong.

she was smart.

she was lonely.

.

[sweetthepotato]

The Final Pillar: Chapter 5: A Flint to Roast Sweet Potatoes

Disclaimer

Masterpost

Chapter 4

AO3 Link

Chapter Summary

Rengoku proves to be bad at fishing, but is, unsurprisingly, a good listener.

Contents

Lots of fluff. Author likes to run on headcannons and conjecture.

Kagome's lungs heaved against her ribcage, while her senpai smiled at her unfazed. She remembered back to the afternoon where she agreed to join Rengoku and thought of nothing but regret.

'You did an excellent job keeping up with me, Kagome-kun,' he spoke, 'I can see that your ascension into our ranks was well deserved indeed!'

Keep up? That was supposed to be an exercise to keep up?

'Senpai,' her breathing came as wheezes, 'Did anyone tell you that you're verifiably insane for creating such a regiment?'

Kyojuro's smile widened. This was the first time Kagome said something since their departure. They now stood at a clearing, which he'd decided was as good as any for a spar.

'Well, now that you mention it, that could explain why I never have so much luck with finding a tsuguko!' He laughed. 'However, if one is to embark on our joint mission to defeat Muzan and his demons, they would have to prepare for it with their whole being!'

The wheezing managed to calm down into deep pants, 'I suppose that makes sense, senpai,' she said, pulling herself up slowly from her hunched position, 'I'm still new to being a hashira, so I'm not sure if all of us are somehow expected to have a tsuguko at some point.'

The Flame Hashira took a few seconds to process the girl's words. 'At the moment, Kocho-san is the only one of us to have a confirmed tsuguko, which makes me jealous!' He boomed, 'Although I inherited the role of hashira on my own, I had to take the initiative to replace my father when it was needed!'

Kagome considered Rengoku's response, unsure of whether or not Nightmare Breathing was something she'd be able to, or even want to, pass down to future generations of the Corps. Flame Breathing, from the sounds of it, seemed like to be akin to more of a tradition of sorts, and its potential loss would be a shame among the pillars.

'I'm sure that, one day, you will be able to find such a successor in the future,' she said.

Kyojuro felt the corners of his jaw slacken slightly, the warmth of the growing appreciation for his kouhai blooming in his chest. 'How about we take a break? Just so you know, you gave me a hard time too, during our spar!'

--

He was able to identify the nearest stream of water for fishing, and Kagome managed to supply a rod, line and hook from her satchel. It now sat on the browning grass, its tanned leather sagging at the sides.

When he spoke to her, Kyojuro was honest about escaping the crowd once in a while. While he enjoyed socialising as much as the next human being, it felt nice reconnecting with nature, feeling the tranquil, moist air from where he was sitting. He could see his kouhai gathering branches and leaves from the ground so it could later be fuel for a campfire; the only thing left to do was to use the flint.

Feeling his glance upon her, she turned around, 'Any luck, senpai?'

'Not so much luck, I'm afraid! Whatever fish that are in this river seem to be avoiding us at the moment,' he chuckled. His line remained unbudging, the bait of dried chicken at the end still untouched.

She shifted, sitting next to him with her palm open, 'Shall I try?'

Nodding, he passed the fishing rod over. The brunette shifted closer to the edge of the riverbank, the hands holding the rod outstretched closer towards the middle of the body of water. Her surrounding energy became calmer, muted in a way so that it blended into their environment. Dangling the fishing line up and down, there was a visible tug at the end of the rod.

In awe, Kyojuro watched as one fish was caught and placed on the ground next to him. The poor thing was flopping up and down helplessly, but before she returned for another round of catching more of its brethren, she decisively hit it on its spine using her knife.

The one fish, who'd succumbed to its fate, was soon joined by five others. They were all quite sizeable for fish in the area, which impressed him. Without pausing, the same knife was used to gut them, deft hands demonstrating the well practised motions of someone who'd grown used to spending time on her own.

Kagome proceeded to toss their entrails over to the birds, to which their crows also partook in the offer of a meal. She cleaned their bodies thoroughly in the same body of water, until the red stains upon their white flesh disappeared into the river. The brunette grabbed the pointed bamboo sticks from her bag, and then skewered each and every last one of the fish, the protein for their evening meal now sorted.

His kouhai returned, for another time, to the satchel she left with him, and withdrew her flint and two sweet potatoes.

'Will these suffice, senpai?' She asked.

Tilting his head with a smile, he couldn't help but glance at the gaping mouth of her bag. There was a noticeable abundance of the spuds, their bumpy, purple exteriors bundled together in a netted bag of sorts.

'Do you like these, Kagome-kun?' He tried to stifle his surprised chortle at the girl's apparent collection.

She took a moment to pause, the gears shifting in her brain over the man's words, before the light of realisation dawned in her brown irises. Blushing from left cheek to right cheek, she considered them, as if they were a strange kind of arithmetic. To her, 'like' was a strange word, and in her world as of lately, it wasn't something she'd had much of the opportunity to consider; there were more things in the world that she didn't like.

Rengoku waited patiently for her answer, his ochre eyes glimmering from his evident amusement. It was embarrassing, she griped, as he was witnessing her become so undone by such a simple question. There was something in his nature that reminded her of Shizu, who seemed to know what to do and what to say to have let her guard down.

Still feeling the heat in her face, as if the flame-haired man were the sun itself, she stammered, 'I... I suppose... I like them more than other types of food.'

His chuckling was breathed out, as if it were a sigh, 'I see we share similar tastes in vegetables as well! Did you know that my favourite food is miso soup with sweet potatoes?'

Getting around to light the campfire, she shook her head. Shizu was a different person, much more dramatic, but there was enough of a similarity between them that she felt like she was talking to his echo. 'I've never heard of miso and sweet potato used in the same soup before,' she said, 'Is it like when you have slices of carrot sometimes in a donburi set?'

He nodded enthusiastically, 'The sweet potato is cut up and cooked with the rest of the ingredients,' he responded. 'If you ever get the chance, I suggest you try it! It's delicious!'

'I will. Thanks for the suggestion, senpai,' she responded. She placed the potatoes into the fire, while the fish skewers were dug into the earth where they were planted, surrounding the flame. 'I realise that there's much to know about you and the rest of the hashira. I'm not sure if our first meeting left a good first impression on everyone back at Oyakata-sama's estate.'

Rengoku placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she sat down, 'You can ask me anything while we're here, Kagome-kun, and I'll try my best to answer as honestly as possible.'

She considered it, while staring at how the flames licked at their fish. 'I'm sure being a half-demon was a shock to you and the others.'

With a hum, Kyojuro thought about that afternoon at the estate. If he recalled, his main priority was to hear his young colleague state her piece before coming to a conclusion. She seemed nervous, the wobbling at the knees a sign of any daunted, new hashira. However, she stood her ground, even when distressed at the goading of Shinazugawa.

'I've decided to trust in Oyakata-sama's decision, and I've yet to see anything suspicious from you. Though I can't promise that the other hashira won't have their own doubts,' he began, his face a calm, contemplative expression. 'When you're in the role of a pillar for so long, it's difficult to see a different perspective. Our organisation has lost so many, and trust, while needed, is difficult to encourage without evidence.'

Kagome listened intently, the young girl's ears twitching, hanging onto every word in his answer. She finally nodded, the glow of the fire highlighting the resoluteness in her countenance.

'You might struggle at first, but I have no doubt that you will do yourself proud, Kagome-kun!'

She blinked, another slayer's confidence in her foreign sensation, 'I meant what I said, you know, back then.'

'What you said...?' Oh, he recalled that incident with a laugh, 'I'm sure any of us would oblige if this is the duty that befalls us, but you have survived this long as a human being, and I will pray that you will live what remains of your life enjoying your existence as one

She stayed silent for a while, only moving to roll the potatoes over with a stick. Picking up a skewer, she offered to Kyojuro, who picked it from her hands.

'Delicious!' He cried, the first bite taken hungrily.

'I wasn't there for that trial in that afternoon, either, but I managed to overhear some of it. Will there really be a demon helping us in the Corps?'

'Ah! Tanjiro Kamado and his sister Nezuko, I believe! It's a similar case to yours, I'd say!' He boomed. 'They'll be working hard to find the Twelve Kizuki, to earn our acknowledgement!'

Her knuckles turned whiter as her left hand fisted the ground tightly. Despite her attempt at stoicism, she could not help but have some of her disdain seep into the irises of her eyes. 'I find that difficult to conceive,' she said flatly, relenting on her hold over the earth, 'But I can understand why Oyakata-sama decided to introduce me afterwards. It would've been much easier to deal with a half-demon, knowing that a trial with a full one went well... I don't doubt that things would've been different if I were introduced first...'

Kyojuro noticed, with a small pang, the tinge of sadness that crept into her small voice. Despite the strength she'd demonstrated earlier in the day, he realised the Kagome was still the adolescent she appeared to be. She was awkward and insecure, but her vulnerability was sincere. She looked tinier than she did during their spar, and his mind resolved to support her in whatever way he could.

'For now, let's talk about more positive topics,' he said, interrupting her reverie with a jolt. 'Did I see any Nightmare techniques from our spar today?'

Kagome nodded in confirmation. 'A few of them, but not all of them can be replicated in a spar,' she answered, 'There are times, though, when I am trying to modify and change my forms to suit different situations, so hopefully fighting with you has been productive.'

'So, some of your moves were experiments? Count me impressed,' he stated. 'I've sparred against many breathing styles throughout my time in the Corps, the newer ones never cease to amaze me!'

She passed Rengoku another fish, flushing at the compliment, 'Do you have any siblings?'

He smiled at that question, taking a bite out of his skewer, 'I have a younger brother, Senjuro. He's fourteen... about your age, I think?'

'I'll be turning turning fifteen in November,' she confirmed. 'Is he similar to you in some ways?'

'That's pretty soon,' he was almost finished with his fish, and so Kagome handed him another one almost seamlessly. Delicious! 'Senjuro... he's only like me in appearance,' he started, his voice soft, 'Personality wise, you'd be a closer fit to him. He's quiet, and shy, but works hard to make people proud of him. I worry about him at times... I worry... that sometimes he sacrifices himself to make others happy... I suppose other older brothers might feel that way at times!'

This time, he passed a fish to Kagome, who accepted it quietly, 'When's your birthday? Do you have any siblings of your own?'

'My birthday...? On the 21st,' she gingerly took a bite and chewed. 'I don't really have much of a family,' she answered initially, 'But there was someone who I thought of like an older brother, once.'

Taking a chance for it, Kyojuro grabbed at the sweet potatoes and passed one to his kouhai. She returned to staring at the fire, the brightness of the flames giving light to the yearning in her eyes. He reflected on the fact that, all things considered, he was one of the lucky ones who still had living family members.

Peeling the skin off, he bit into it and savoured its sweetness, his customary shout present in the air.

'You can tell me about him!' he suggested.

The brunette swallowed thickly, the meat from her skewer having disappeared from sight. There was a small smile that ghosted her lips, before it disappeared without ceremony. With a slight inhale, she opened her mouth, about to speak.