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cybertron-after-dark · 8 months ago
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Being constantly surrounded by the presence of a loving God sounds great until you realize you never know when his freaky fuckin eyes are gonna show up to check on you.
And man. They do it a LOT.
#primus please let the mech breathe#what i want to emphasize most with this iteration of optimus is the inherent fucking terror of being made a prime#really pick at those little threads of how fucked the matrix as a concept is. same with the staple tropes of op himself#the idea in tfp that it can entirely change your personality. and that if you lose it you cannot remember your time with it#those implications send me spiraling. to what degree is optimus the same being as orion pax? do you forfeit your soul to be a demigod?#do you fucking die to become a conduit for the higher being that made you? letting it puppet your mind and body like a parasitoid?#if death in transformers is simply rejoining the allspark; if the soul is something splintered off from the whole;#and if to die as a cybertronian is for that fragment to merge with the whole once again. is a prime not fundamentally a dead mech walking?#a prime stands with one pede in the afterlife and one in the land of the living and has to keep up with both at once#constantly seeing visions from a plane his processor was never meant to comprehend with optics that were never built to see it#forced to adapt into an elevated being as much as a frame that still has silly things like wants and needs and emotions and base coding can#how does a mortal live when his body is no longer just his body; but a vessel fir something holy and a tool fashioned to heal the world?#when he can never truly be alone again and he has to simply live with the ever present knowledge that he is being watched#both by his god and by the world#how does one live knowing not even their thoughts are private? when your god may be living but man he does not get the idea of boundaries#guess it must be hard to grasp personal space and all that when youre an ocean of souls that left it behind#maccadam#transformers#wayward sparks#optimus prime#art tag#sometimes i feel kinda bad for putting this bastard through The Horrors. if ws gets made all the way he will be thrown so many bones#only sometimes tho >:3
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simp-ly-writes · 7 months ago
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How Could You Refuse?
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Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Assistant!Reader
─ · · SUMMARY: When assigned as the lab assistant to Jayce, you were first intimidated to work under someone of such genius inventions but the longer you work alongside one another, the more comfortable you feel and the more you feel for Jayce.
─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, light angst, fluff, touch as a love language, jealous! and protective!Jayce, reader is mentioned to have hair.
─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,662
─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST
─ · · A/N: The way in which I hated Jayce so incredibly much to being in love with him in season 2 deserves to be studied. Let me know if you like this!
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─ · · You had been working under Jayce for as long as recent memory could remember. As soon as he got started working his brilliant mind within the Academy, you were assigned to help the genius (and to keep him alive as well)
─ · · At first you were intimidated and worried to work with the man, often staying in your own corner of the room, running over with tools before taking a few too many steps back- allowing him space or not speaking as to not disturb him but the longer you worked together, the more comfortable you felt. Sitting beside him, sharing meals and ideas together, hands brushing against one another when passing tools and diagrams. The jokes you two shared when your minds were foggy and not quite running right as you laughed at anything at all before the cleaners kicked you both out for the night
─ · · Working for Jayce as you both grew and aged meant getting woken up at odd hours of the night and early morning to be a comforting presence and to ensure he remember to drink liquids other than coffee and the caffeinated tea he unsuccessfully tried to "out-smart" you with
─ · · If Jayce was the brain, you were practically an extension of his body, moving around with him, always knowing what tool or paper he would be next. And if he was ranting or trying to summarize his key points before presenting in front of the Professor, you would be standing in front of him, notebook and pen in arms capturing his every thought. And when you would run out of paper, you would simply start writing up and around your arm
─ · · It would be an uncommon sight not to see you covered in Jayce's diagrams, equations, or quotes as you two walked down the halls together arm in arm. At first, you insisted upon walking slightly apart yet Jayce was having none of that, grabbing your arm and parading you down the hall with a large goofy smile as you did your best to hide your face from the on-coming stares as you glared at his shoes. But now you embraced the mutual comfort you both found in your friendship
─ · · One time Viktor decided to come into the laboratory early and was surprised to see you both asleep at the desk, your head resting on Jayce's shoulder as his arm wrapped around your side, cuddling you both together. Opening a window to let the cool morning breeze, out of the corner of his eye Viktor watched as you both came back to your senses. Stumbling away from one another as you patted down your hair and Jayce stretched himself out as your eyes darted all the way around the room, doing your best to not look and met Viktor's curious stare before he too turned around and began working. "coffee, anyone?"
"please," Jayce replies, grabbing your hand gently as you nod, dropping it and turning out of the hall, only catching the start of his next sentence to Viktor.
"I think I haven't been the most truthful..."
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─ · · As Jayce's diagrams became more complex, his position within the Academy rose and with his growing partnership with Viktor as well, all eyes were on these two men you had the pleasure of working alongside and you couldn't help but receive a few curious glances your way as well.
─ · · It was no shocker to anyone seeing your beauty under your ink filled arms and messy hair that you tugged at endlessly while trying to crunch numbers after numbers with a sleepy Jayce leaning on your shoulder, overlooking your work. He would often press a kiss to your hand, forehead, or cheek, praising you as your cheeks heated up before you squeezed his hand in thanks and returned back to your work
─ · · Now that you think about it, you both had been way more physically affectionate to one another in recent moments yet that was only a testimony to your long-term partnership, nothing more, nothing less.
─ · · You had actually received many offers from other brilliant minds and even sponsors asking you to work for them, and you denied every time knowing that your place was working with your boys but that didn't mean Jayce didn't get annoyed to your surprise.
─ · · His eyebrow furrowed as yet another person came forward, trying to charm your pants off and get you to work for them. He trusted in you, trusted in your working friendship but there was always that smaller, inner voice within him that thought otherwise. That you would leave him for something "bigger" and "greater" that pushed him to do his best- to impress you- to get you to stay
─ · · You were worried about just how far Jayce was pushing himself, striving for greatness as you spent an equal time sitting at the desk, often falling asleep at his side no matter how many times he asked you to go to bed. And more often than not, when you would reawaken in the morning, you would fine a simple note from Jayce as he had carried you back to your room.
─ · · When Jayce became a councillor, you were immensely proud, crying the entire duration when one of your collegue's told you before heading back to the lab where Viktor was already tinkering away. Might as well get closer to Viktor now that it'll just be us two from now on, you tell yourself. Sitting near Viktor as you pass him tool after tool, write down his notes, and provide him coffee
─ · · Work carries on as it usually does, the only difference is not seeing Jayce in the last couple of days yet that was to be expected with his promotion. You were happy to work alongside Viktor but more so than you had been in the past. You both shared a love of blunt and dry humour.
─ · · Jayce was confused as to why he hadn't see you yet, you were his assistant, were you not? He thought to himself near the tail end of a council meeting before heading to the laboratory to find you and Viktor asleep at the same desk, ankles intertwined, heads on a blanket of blueprints and sketches.
─ · · In a feeling of deja vu, Jayce opens the window, allowing the cool morning breeze to drift through the room as you both stir away. You blink, eyes and mind hazy as you stare at the broad man standing in front of you, hand resting on the back of your head. "I've missed you," the voice calls out as you hum, you shake Viktor awake as he groans, pushing your hand away before rubbing his eyes. "Jayce... is that you?"
"yes, it is, and this is where you've been the whole time?" Jayce asks, arms crossed like his eyebrows as he stares you down, his stare making you feel small.
"uh, yes. I've been helping Viktor continue his plans for the new gauntlets for the miners..." you trail off, looking over to find the chair beside you empty, your frown noticeable as Jayce gently turns your head back to face him.
"I need you by my side." And how could you refuse? with the puppy dog eyes you received.
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─ · · That very same day, you apologized to Viktor who only shrugged his shoulders, hand shooing you away and back to Jayce as you followed him in his shadow between meetings with the usual notes in your arm and tray of coffee in the other. Jayce huffed, stopping as you walked into his back, "nothing has changed, you still are my dearest friend, you know that?" Jayce looks down at you, expression serious as you nod your head firmly and take a step beside him, feeling as he takes the tray from out of your hand and wraps his arm under your own. "Much better."
─ · · You felt very out of place, standing to his side during council meetings as he would ask for your opinion as if you were back in the lab, except this time, a dozen eyes were watching your every move as you leaned in to whisper into Jayce's ear your answers.
─ · · The same feeling could also be said for the various events you accompanied him to as well. His arm always a staple around your waist or arm as he guided and introduced you to socialite after politician and you were becoming seriously overwhelmed, this was not a part of the original job description, you thought to yourself while freshening up in the washroom, another councillor Mel, joined you soon afterwards
"You and Jayce appear... close" you flush underneath her curious gaze, eyes darting around the mirror to anywhere but her gaze. "Yes... we have... worked together for quite some time now," you explain, picking at the skin near your fingertips.
"Just working partners though?" Mel presses forward, the hint of a smile appearing on her lips as your mind races at a mile a minute, you think of his mouth whispering into your ear, his large hands gripping your waist, his groggy morning voice as you wake him up with a hand on his shoulder as he smiles lazily at you before pressing a kiss to your temple. Your heart races as you shake your head of these thoughts, "we are nothing more than that," you clarify.
"So that means you wouldn't be mad if I tried something?" Mel asks, extending her hand in an equal silent ask as you stare at the gold jewellery running up her arm doing nothing but already compliment her immense beauty, they would look good together. "No, go ahead."
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─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST
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thewriteadviceforwriters · 11 months ago
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25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1
Hey there!📚✨
As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.
But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.
Power of Rhythm 🎵
One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:
a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.
Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."
b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.
Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."
c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.
Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)
Paint with Words 🎨
Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:
a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.
Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."
b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.
Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."
c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.
Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."
Choose Your Words Wisely 📚
Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:
a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.
Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."
b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.
Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."
c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.
Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."
Play with Sound 🎶
The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:
a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.
Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."
b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.
Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."
c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.
Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."
Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️
How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:
a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.
Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."
b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.
Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."
c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.
Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."
Power of White Space ⬜
Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.
Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.
Inside, a single word.
'Yes.'"
Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️
One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.
Edit Ruthlessly ✂️
Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.
Study the Masters 📖
Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.
Practice, Practice, Practice 💪
Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.
Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.
Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:
Create a Word Bank 🏦
Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.
Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣
There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.
Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."
Power of Silence 🤫
Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.
Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."
Play with Perspective 👁️
Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.
Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.
Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️
While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.
Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."
Create Contrast 🌓
Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.
Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."
Use Synesthesia 🌈
Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.
Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."
Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊
Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.
Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️
When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.
Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."
Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️
While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:
Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."
Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨
Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.
Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."
Play with Time ⏳
Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.
Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."
Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁
Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.
Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."
Create Word Pictures 🖼️
Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.
Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."
Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭
Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.
Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy
Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.
Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.
Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T
Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!
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voidhope · 2 years ago
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The Other Woman
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Synopsis: Where Miguel leaves Y/N to go back to a different version of his old wife found in another universe.
Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader
Tags: ANGST!!, long term established relationship, heartbreak, marriage, cheating, mental health, cold/distant Miguel
A/N: Hi! I don’t really write at all!!
I have been a silent reader on tumblr for years but this idea has been playing in my mind so much I had the urge to write it. I have been down so bad for Miguel been on his tag like 24/7 indulging in all the content creators have been putting out. So I’m excited to join in giving content, however keep in mind I kinda suck! Apologies for any mistakes, anything confusing, or it not being well written enough. Honestly could have made this into multiple parts with better details but nah. Tried my best ^^ since it’s my first time, any feedback is greatly appreciated!
Honestly tbh we all don’t have a solid grasp how the whole canon thing and multi universe works yet so!! A lot of what is written is made up to suit my storyline so please don’t get mad about the inaccuracies.
I love a good angst and today’s story will be EXTRAAA angsty!!! As well kinda long!!
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The moment that changed your life was while working on an experiment during your college finals. You were a proud and gifted physics major that was so passionate about discovering and exploring what the world didn’t know.
You had snuck into Alchemax late at night. You wanted to show your professors just how much you could do with the right tools. Next thing you know, playing with their machines, you had spawned a spider right in-front of you. The glowing vibrant red spider had sunk its jaw into your hand.
Your life did a complete turn and you spent the rest of that week freaking out while changes to your body were happening. Causing you to fail your semester after missing exams. Things felt like it could only get worse when a massive blue suited masked man showed up out of nowhere in your dorm interrogating you.
“Where’s the spider?” He had a strong grip on your shoulders. You couldn’t focus while trying to process why this man had what seemed like claws sticking out of the ends of his fingers.
“I don’t know, it like died after it bit me!” You exclaimed nervously at the freakishly strong man. Trying to reach for anything behind you to use as a defense weapon.
“Dios mío no me digas eso…” He groaned loudly letting you go. Having the opportunity to grab something, you threw a sanrio plushie at him. Only causing him to wave his arms in annoyance. “That spider is from my earth and somehow you brought it here. Now you’re a spider-man.”
And the rest is history…
You learned that the man was Miguel O’Hara and when he found you he was just starting his missions with the multiverse. You being the few of the firsts to join his team.
Your situation was quite bizarre and he called you an anomaly for a long time, spending hours studying you and also training you. You ended up being the one case that can’t be explained no matter how much effort was put into monitoring you.
Almost like it was meant to be. Your universe remained perfect with its current spider-man doing fine. No big collapse of a black hole or anything. When you got bit by a spider from Earth-928 your DNA merged with that universe making you fit in perfectly. You were one of the only spider-people with an uncertain timeline with new canons being created depending on what universe you were in.
What changed from you being just a piece of research for Miguel is when he then realized that maybe you were a gift from the multiverse. After all the grief and pain he’d went through the universe had given him this person that worked out perfectly no matter how hard he tried to push them away. You fell head over heels for him and vice versa, all while canon events were being created with both of you together.
You were there as his team grew, slowly turning into a family. Then both of you getting married finalizing that this was your home. Everything felt perfect. Although a relationship with Miguel could have its up and down days, nothing could ever tear you both apart. Or so you assumed.
“I’m sorry Y/N.” Miguel couldn’t look at you.
“When did this start? Please be honest with me. Did I do something wrong?” You begged at him. You knew he was acting off recently but never did you think it would result to this.
You watched as he exhaled deeply staring at the ground. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you studied his face trying to grasp onto any emotion he was showing. The atmosphere in his office felt so cold. You so badly wanted to catch his gaze and find the warmth and love his red irises used to give you. He was doing everything to push you away. He was abandoning you.
“You did nothing wrong. I met her during a mission 4 months ago.” Was all he replied.
“Who is she?” Your heart kept breaking. His face hardening as the question slipped through your lips. You knew Miguel wouldn’t leave you for just anyone. Deep in your heart you knew what this was about. He never responded but he didn’t need to when you saw his eyes flicker over to his monitor screens. You followed his trace and saw the photo of Gabriella in the corner.
“Does she have another version of your daughter?” You tried again. This is what made him look directly at you. Miguel kept opening and closing his month unsure how to tell you the truth. You weren’t stupid and he knew that. After everything he couldn’t just walk out on you with a lie.
“No.” He paused thinking of how to finally share the truth without it ruining you. There was no way out of this. “She is a younger version of herself. There is no Miguel in her universe and she’s not important to the timeline. She lives a regular life. I-it’s a chance for me to start at the very beginning.”
You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest. You processed the words carefully. She doesn’t have a child yet… Not only was he leaving you for her but he was going to fall in love with her all over again and start a family with her. A family you wanted so badly to have with him.
“What about with what happened last time you tried to live a life in a different universe?” You didn’t understand how this was happening.
He was always so carful he would never do anything to cause that again. Everything you had witness Miguel work so hard for to keep safe for years. Sleepless nights, returning bruised and beaten, frustrations and constant stress. Was it all for nothing? Is he throwing all his work away?
“This is different.” He turned away from you. “I pushed myself then into an already established life. This time I am creating that life. After all the research we did on you…” He knew that this was going to tear you apart. “I learned that if done right I could have a child from two different universes that won’t disrupt anything.”
It clicked to you then that all the research he was doing on you lately was for this. The research he did on you that time was different, personal, intimate even. As he was testing your DNAs together and seeing the outcomes. He mentioned a child and you were foolish enough to assume he was doing research to see what it would be like if you both had one together. You were giddy even as you watched him work. You had both spoken about having a family together in the past but had been too busy with spider activities. You thought it was a sign of him getting more serious about it, knowing how badly he wanted one. You would have never thought he was doing it to see how he could get back his previous child. The one you could never give him.
You had truly believe that Miguel had recovered from his obsession that his grief gave him. He accidentally destroyed a whole universe needing that life back so badly. You had spent late nights watching him re-watch clips over and over of what he had lost. It slowly stopped once your relationship blossomed with him and you thought he was ready to move on and start new. Why would you have never thought that with such a perfect opportunity presented to him that he wouldn’t drop everything for it.
“I think it’s best that you leave.” He spoke with a soft tone. As if not looking at you any longer will make the problem go away. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how he was just throwing you away like this. As if he wasn’t making you dinner, giving soft kisses, whispering I-love-you’s not so long ago.
You felt too choked up to ask anymore questions. Your throat tight and painful as you held back tears from escaping in-front of Miguel. You just nodded and headed straight out the door not being able to handle another second in that room. Your knees and hands were shaky as you speed walked into the nearest bathroom and let it all out.
It didn’t take long for everyone else to know something had happened. Everyone had gotten used to seeing you and him sitting together at lunch. You would make him cute lunch boxes and everyone would gag a bit while watching the two of you smile together. Some cringing seeing their scary boss being so soft around you. It was a big surprise when Miguel started to eat alone with a bag of take out food and you no where to be seen.
His teams he sent out for missions were all confused when you weren’t assigned to anything. Knowing you were one of the best, one of them slipped out a “Call for Y/N!” In the middle of fighting an anomaly too strong for them. Miguel only looked away.
It wasn’t until a new woman showed up in Miguel’s office with a grip around his waist. That’s when the spider-community realized that this was way worse than they thought.
You on the other hand had spilled everything to Hobie when he caught you that day leaving the bathroom with puffy eyes. You had been staying with him in his universe until you could gather yourself together to return to HQ. You knew you were going to leave for good, but you needed to go back to retrieve all your things. You couldn’t stay with Hobie forever. Worse that you weren’t from there.
You still had some hope that Miguel would come looking for you and tell you that he was all wrong. However almost two months had passed and not a word from him… That’s when you knew it was time you should return to what you once knew.
Stepping into the portal Hobie followed close behind you. He told the few others who were once close to both you and Miguel that you would be visiting. Stepping through the portal you were immediately greeted by Jessica and Peter B Parker.
“Oh, Y/N.” Jess sighed your name sadly while pulling you into a hug. You felt like you wanted to cry all over again. Missing your friends so much. Peter B came behind giving you a hug on the side.
“He’s on a mission right now.” Peter spoke up. “It might be a long one too but don’t waste anytime just incase.”
You nodded pulling away from them. Looking up around the headquarters building faintly smiling at the past memories you had here. You started heading to different areas gathering all the little things you had left around. Hobie had stitched for you a cute backpack with different scraps of patterned clothes and covered in patches of punk band logos but made with hammer space technology. Making it fun for you to fill endless of your things in the bag.
The last stop was in Miguel’s office. Doubt started to fill your mind; maybe he already threw out all of your stuff. Why would he even keep it after all of this? What no one could warn you of was the other person sitting on his platform.
“Hello!” She chirped at you. It felt like the air in your lungs had just been punched out. You knew her too well. From all the photos and videos you had seen peaking over Miguel’s shoulder. However seeing her in person was something you had never expected. You knew it wasn’t the original her but it was a copy paste image for sure.
“Hi.” Was all you managed to choke out. She was beautiful, stunning. You could see clearly now the similar features she shared in another universe with her daughter. The parts that Miguel didn’t have. She kept smiling kindly at you, almost in a graceful way. You started to feel all your insecurities start eating you up from the inside. How could you have ever compared to her.
“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Getting off Miguel’s platform she walked closer to you. The room started to feel suffocating.
“Y/N.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you! It’s nice to meet other girls around here.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized she had no reaction to your name. So Miguel never told her about you… Or that the fact was he was still even legally married to you.
“My boyfriend isn’t here right now but, if you want, I can tell him you stopped by.” She continued as you stayed silent.
“Oh, no it’s okay. I just came in here to get some stuff.” You rushed as you really wanted nothing to do with Miguel at all. You almost worried that he might even get angry knowing you got to speak with her. If he already dislikes you this much you couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if you got in the way of this for him.
You started heading over to the familiar drawers around the room. Grabbing your old hoodies and shirts finding your most comfortable of things here. You treated this place as one of your safe spaces as you used to spend so much time here.
“Oh I didn’t know these were all yours! I was wondering why this was all around. When I came here I wanted to do some spring cleaning but Miguel wouldn’t let me touch anything.” She followed besides you. “It’s so mind blowing seeing all this technology. We don’t have any of this where I live-“ She continue rambling but you started to zone her out. You felt like you were about to have a panic attack any minute. There was one question that kept burning in your mind.
“Are you and Miguel already planning to have a child?” You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit as you surprised yourself. She let out a loud laugh.
“Oh dear no! We have only been together about 6 months. You must be new around here so you must not know much about us.” She chuckled.
In some cruel way you were hoping she would have said yes. You had that twisted hope of maybe Miguel just keeping her to have a kid and ditching her after he gets Gabriella and run back to you. In reality he was playing the long game, he really meant it when we said he was starting over. “He’s never mentioned kids anyways. I’m not even sure if he’d like them or do well with them.”
With that statement she made you looked at her appalled. Anyone could see in Miguel how good of a father he could be. Just in the way he takes care of the society he built here. You started to realize that she really has been left in the dark. She doesn’t know anything. She probably doesn’t even know that she’s a replacement of another self. You wondered why Miguel was doing this. It felt like he didn’t just toy with you but with her as well. A man you came to love for how selfless he was, to realize now everything was for his own personal gain. Suddenly you started to feel bad for her. You couldn’t dislike her, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and she doesn’t even know.
“I got all my stuff. Nice to meet you.” Was all you could say as you zipped up your bag and turned straight around out of there. Not giving any glance back at her, you left to one of the empty training rooms to recollect your overwhelming thoughts. All of the self healing you tried the past month thrown in the garbage.
It wouldn’t be too soon that news of you going around the building was returned to Lyla. You had cut out all coms while you were gone so she immediately popped up on your watch when she found out.
“AH-“ You jumped as the tiny AI was suddenly in front of your face.
“It’s so wonderful to see you Y/N. Oh my god!”She started. Then she went on rambling about how she knew everything and had seen everything. How she didn’t agree with what was happening and was doing everything she could to convince you to stay. After 5 minutes of her rambling you stopped her to let your emotions out.
“Lyla, Lyla It’s okay. Just stop. It’s all complicated I know, but this didn’t work out. I wished Miguel just cheated on me like all the other fucked up normal men out there. That I walked in on him deep in another random girl. Though painful I could have tried fixing and fighting for us. But instead what I got was him emotionally cheating on me and chase after something he knows I can never give him.” You felt yourself choke up. “I can never ask him to give up what he longs and dreams for just for me to be happy. I lost this battle the moment he laid eyes on her.”
Finding comfort in the AI your husband made. You’ve created a bond with Lyla that Miguel found cute but you knew now this might be the last time you’ll be speaking with her.
“You can give him a family y/n… you guys have been married two years now. I know you’ve both set the thought aside until the multiverse issues are better but you can fight for him. You have to snap him out of his fantasy. He still thinks about you.”
“Lyla you know deep down truly he never just wanted a family. He wanted exactly what he had. What he lost. Which should be impossible but being by his side seeing how insane the multiverse is… Good for him for believing in something so hard he’s found himself even a third chance to do it.”
“I hate that you’re being too kind about this situation.” Lyla paced around you.
“I love him so deeply Lyla. You know that very well. It’s so hard to suddenly hate him. I am angry, but I’m also emotionally drained I can’t do this.” You let out a deep sigh. “I’ve watched him long for this family when we just met. For some stupid reason when things worked out for us I thought I would be enough… When we got engaged and he would spend some days at home with me not even coming to HQ. I thought he was finally moving on not just from his grief and past but from the weight of his work. I saw a bright future for us.”
“You can still have a bright future with him! You moving here gave him a new canon event, another chance at life in his timeline. Here in his own universe! He’s just too obsessed and he’s lost himself in that.” She exclaimed with her hands up.
“Our canon event was our wedding.” Your frowned deepened. “But the universe didn’t say anything else after. It doesn’t say our canon event means we are suppose to live happily together forever I guess.”
“I’m just trying my best to be optimistic. I rooted so hard for you and Miguel when you joined the team. I know you can remember the amount of times I would force you both in rooms.” Lyla recalled.
“And I’m grateful for it… Even if this didn’t work out. I was given precious memories, not just working with you and being on this team but falling in love with Miguel. I know I’m being all depressed and hopeless but I feel like even if I move on I’ll never be able to replace him and find a relationship like this again. However he threw me away so easily and maybe he never valued me as much as I did to him.” You felt your emotions bubble. “I became who I am here. I’m going to miss everyone so much.”
“You can still stay here and work with us.” She edged on.
“I can’t just sit around here begging at his feet to return to me or moping around doing missions while watching him with someone else. I want to hate him so badly. I know he’s your boss and you’re basically hardwired to do everything for him and you’re trying your hardest to fix what you think is his right path. But think of me a little more and how miserable it’ll be. I’m the only one hurting here.”
Lyla paused and stared at you with an almost glossy-eyed look. While she worked she could see the inner term-oil Miguel was hiding and the emptiness he was turning to since trying to start new in the other universe. It just wasn’t her place to hold this conversation and he was the one who needed to get a grip of himself and really think and talk with you. She can’t be the one trying to mend the pieces for both of you together. What Miguel did was so wrong. She knew you were right and she didn’t want to see any more damage be caused to you.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She looked up at you sincerely. “I hate this outcome for you. Not only are you loosing your husband but your home. When was the last time you’ve even been in your universe?”
“Like a year ago for a mission…”
“Exactly! Even if things are over with Miguel, you have all of us here! I wish you could stay. I understand you leaving, I really do. I know a lot of us will try visiting you but I’m tied to Miguel…” You started to see how it clicked for her too that it’s most likely you might not see each other for a long time. “Even if a spider-person is visiting you I can’t just show up on their watch… It’ll go back to him and I know you wouldn’t want that. I know I’m an AI and I can’t hold real emotions but I mean it when I say I’m going to miss you.”
Tears poured down your cheeks as her words hit you. Going back to your universe is going to be a struggle. You have nothing there now. However nothing can compare to the pain of the outcome you’ve had with Miguel, and you needed out of here ASAP. Your mental health getting worse the longer you stay. Even the other spiders you have come to love can’t bring that spark back right now. You needed genuine time for yourself, even if it’s self destructive, instead of putting on a fake smile everyday here.
“Bye, Lyla.” You whispered. She nodded and waved her hand goodbye at you before disappearing. You took your watch off your wrist placing it on a nearby desk. With it you pulled the divorce paperwork out of your pocket neatly sealed and already signed on your half. Opening a portal you took your last glances at the place you spent so many loving memories in.
Tears blurred your vision as you stepped through the portal. Once your legs landed on a rooftop of a building in your dimension, you racked out full sobs falling to your knees.
You were always just the other woman.
—————————————————
Thank you so much for reading!! I know it was a longer one ~
would anyone like a part 2? If so anyone want a angsty or happy ending? I think it’ll be more in Miguel’s perspective as well!
EDIT: You can now read PART 2 here
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moonstruckme · 9 months ago
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hihi mae!! in honor of the season, could i request reader convincing bodygaurd!james to carve pumpkins together. and it’s basically just him on the brink of cardiac arrest bc reader is using the biggest butcher knife possible, like an absolute menace, and he’s 100% convinced she’s gonna saw her fingers off lol. thx for considering ♡
Thank you lovely!!
bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 814 words
James has half a mind to find you a plastic knife and let you make do with that. It might take you a while longer, yeah, but at least he wouldn’t have to feel every muscle in his body tense each time you stab the knife you’ve picked through your pumpkin. 
“I thought you were doing a cat,” he says, watching you push another piece out from what will be your pumpkin’s mouth. 
“I am.” 
“Why does it have fangs?” 
“It just felt like it should.” You shrug. “Sort of spookier that way, right? Maybe it’s a vampire cat.” 
“And here I thought it was going to be cute.” 
You smile at him. “No, Jamie. That’s yours.” 
With all his attention on making sure you don’t slash yourself, James has made pitifully little progress on his own pumpkin. He’s only managed to cut out the nose, but when he’s done it’s going to be a classic, smiling jack-o-lantern, except with hearts for eyes. You’d beamed and called it fitting when James told you his plan. He’s been ruminating over what you could have meant by that ever since. 
For his own project he’s using a small paring knife, mostly because he’d hoped you’d follow his example (what wishful thinking that was) but also because James doesn’t tend to do well with precision and he didn’t see a big knife helping matters. You, however, have selected what may be the largest knife he’s ever seen. He can’t comprehend what a beast that size would even be necessary for in a kitchen, much less for carving a pumpkin. Your unskilled grip on the handle makes the hairs on his arms stand on end. 
“I think we ought to find you a different tool,” he tries again. 
“James, you worry too much.” You roll your eyes, hardly looking as you shove your knife through the flesh of your pumpkin. He flinches. “This one is working fine.” 
“Right, I just feel like—” You do it again. James worries he’s developing an eye twitch. “—like possibly I’m not doing my job by letting you handle a weapon like that.”
“It’s not a weapon, it’s a kitchen knife.” 
Again, not a clue what in the kitchen could require a knife that large. 
“I think its capacity for injury is the same regardless, angel. Let me have it, please? That way I can keep working here and you can keep all of your fingers.” 
“You need to chill out,” you say, unnervingly serene for someone who seems to James on the precipice of life-changing injury. “This knife is the perfect size for how big I want my eyes to be. If I have to saw using another one, they won’t look as clean.” 
“Is that really worth risking your hand for?” 
“Yes. I want the triangles to look nice when I stick them onto the top as its ears.” 
“How are you going to do that?” 
“With toothpicks.” 
Right. A more moderate risk of injury, for sure, but James is now too high-strung to imagine anything other than disastrous outcomes between you and sharp objects. He imagines you skewering one of your lovely fingertips on a toothpick, the surprised look on your face when it happens. His own heart bursting straight out of his chest from overexertion. 
“Maybe I could do that part for you,” James suggests weakly. 
“Shit.” You’re looking into your hollow pumpkin. “The eye won’t come out.” 
“Let me try.” 
“No, I’ve got it.” 
Before he can stop you, you’re sticking your knife inside your pumpkin. It comes spearing out the other side a moment later, the triangle of one eye impaled on its tip. James chokes on a gasp as you stop it within inches of your abdomen. 
“There,” you say satisfiedly. 
James makes a strangled sound. “No,” he says, seizing your wrist and carefully removing the knife from your hand. “No, I can’t do it. We’re swapping.” 
“What?” You look at him with wide, wounded eyes. It’s adorable, compelling even, but James won’t allow himself to budge. “But your knife is so lame.” 
James guffaws. He feels half delirious. This is it, he thinks. His love for you has finally driven him insane. 
“It’s not lame.” 
You pout. “It’s tiny.” 
“Sweetheart.” James sets the knife down to hold your face in both hands. You go still with surprise. “If you stab yourself with your giant knife, I won’t be around to get fired. I’ll die of heartbreak. Do you understand?” 
You roll your eyes at him, but you’re softening. “You really like my hands that much?” 
“I like all of you. In tact. You’re perfect as you are.” 
“Fine, whatever.” You pull your face from his grasp, picking up the smaller knife. “I know you secretly just wanted to be the one with the bigger knife, though.” 
“Yeah, you’ve caught me. Can’t get anything past you.”
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vunblr · 3 months ago
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The Broken Waltz
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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader/ Bucky Barnes x other characters.
Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt. Sprinkles of Comfort. Dark Content: Dead dove, do not eat. Violence. Depictions of sexual violence. Dehumanization. Brief description of torture. Rape/Non-con. Non-consensual use of drugs. Degradation. Hydra Trash Party. Mentions of blood.
Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. I'm serious, this is not like my usual content. If there is a warning you don't recognize, ask about it. You are responsible for your media consumption.
Summary: Before freedom, before choice, there was only function. A tool and a weapon, bound in a dance orchestrated by Hydra’s cruel hands. The tool was meant to mend, the weapon to destroy. That night, the tool got to witness the weapon's other purposes.
Word Count: 5.6.k.
notes: This is a side-story from the completed Toy Soldier series. It can likely be read as a standalone, but for context: Reader is a mutant with healing abilities, kept in cryo alongside the Winter Soldier over the years to repair him and ensure he remains operational. If you didn't read the main story, I'm afraid there will be spoilers at the end.
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As the guards escorted her through the dark corridors, their boots echoed against the cold concrete walls. She knew where they were taking her, had only been here once before, but once was enough. It was the night she learned what other uses Hydra had for the Soldat.
She didn’t ask why they’d dressed her like this -a dress, and heels that made her steps unsteady- she wasn’t stupid enough to question it. But the nerves twisted her stomach as they led her deeper into the facility.
They stopped at a different door this time, bigger and rusted, pitted with age. But she could picture the scenario waiting behind it, and her hands started to tremble.
One of the men reached for the handle. The hinges groaned as it swung open, but the sound was swallowed immediately by the music seeping out, a slow, pulsing bass that vibrated through her bones. The scent in the air hit her next, thick with smoke, sweat, and something else.
Her pulse pounded against her chest as she hesitated at the threshold, and a firm hand pressed into the small of her back. Not a push, not yet. Just a reminder. Keep moving.
Someone noticed her. A man near an improvised bar turned to her, his grin was sharp and knowing, as his gaze dragged over her form.
“Ah,” he drawled, sipping from a glass. “About time.”
Her stomach churned. She swallowed it down.
Then a second voice, closer, colder. “Come on, don’t keep us waiting.” A hand closed around her wrist. Not a bruising grip, but firm, insistent. She forced herself forward.
Laughter rippled from the far side of the room, loose and taunting, while bodies draped lazily over worn-out furniture. Half-drunk officers, lounging agents, some already slipping hands beneath pants or unbuckling belts. At the center of it all, stood him.
The Soldat.
He wasn’t restrained. He didn’t need to be. Not with the way they had carved obedience into his brain, made his body react before his mind could resist. His expression was blank, unreadable. But she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides before flexing loose again. A tell.
His handler sat nearby, with his legs crossed, and one arm draped over the chair like a king on his throne. His gaze flicked over her, unimpressed. “I was wondering if I should retrieve you myself,” he mused. “But it seems you were just putting in extra effort to look pretty for tonight.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even let herself stiffen.
“Sit,” he said, motioning to a cushioned chair. An order, dressed as a courtesy.
She complied.
The handler leaned back, exhaling like this was all a dull inconvenience. He gestured vaguely toward the Soldat. “Let’s see… Orlov, just do it. It doesn’t look like it’s going to get hard on its own anytime soon, and you know how some of the guys get when they don’t get to play with the full package.”
It.
Always it.
Never he. Because to them, that’s all the Soldat was, a thing.
‘Orlov’ stepped forward, a man in a neatly pressed blue suit. Detached, he pressed a metal syringe to the side of Soldat’s neck and thumbed the plunger. The liquid disappeared into his bloodstream. He didn’t flinch.
The handler sighed again, shifting in his seat. “I’m tired of this chair. Get on your hands and knees.”
Soldat obeyed instantly, lowering himself to the floor without hesitation. The handler perched himself onto his broad back like a piece of furniture, rolling his shoulders before reaching into his pocket. A velvet bag emerged from it, and the drawstring loosened between his fingers.
He rattled it once. “I’ll draft the numbers now.”
Excited murmurs rose from the crowd, and the anticipation sharpened the air.
“Patience, gentlemen,” the handler said, in an almost jovial tone, like this was nothing more than a friendly game. A joke among comrades.
He reached into the bag.
And the night began.
----
She didn’t understand why she was here.
For nearly two hours, she had sat motionless, a silent spectator to the relentless degradation inflicted upon the Soldat.
She had watched as they forced him to lick their boots, dragging his tongue over leather, metal, and filth while rough hands struck him at random. The blows landed carelessly: open-palmed slaps, backhanded strikes, sharp cuffs to the head that made him lurch but never resist. They had bent him over next, pressed him down with easy cruelty, and brought out a paddle. She didn’t know what it was made of, only that it was capable of leaving angry red welts blooming across his skin, crisscrossing over old bruises like a map of their past indulgences.
And now-
Now, he knelt in the center of the room, forced to orally service them, one after another. His head yanked forward and back at their whim and other times, they just grabbed his long locks to hold him in place and they thrust harshly down his throat. His knees were pressed into what looked like shattered glass. She couldn’t tell if it had been scattered there on purpose or if a bottle had been dropped and left behind, but the damage was the same. Dark smears stained the wooden planks beneath him, fresh blood dripping steadily from the ravaged skin.
She tried not to watch. She really tried.
But the chair they had placed her in was angled toward the scene, a deliberate choice, and the guard beside her stood too close, with the long barrel of his gun nearly brushing against her arm. And then, there were the sounds. Wet, broken, relentless, rising over the muffled pulse of the music, embedding themselves into her ears.
And then-
A loud crack.
The slap landed hard across Soldat’s face, snapping his head to the side.
“Look at what you did!”
The man who had just pulled himself from Soldat’s throat was seething, his face was twisted in rage. The hem of his trousers was stained deep red since the blood from Soldat’s knees soaked into the fabric.
He flinched as the agent wrenched his head back by the hair, forcing him to look at the damage.
“You useless thing,” the agent spat. His fingers dug into Soldat’s scalp, twisting cruelly. “You think this is funny? How the hell am I supposed to explain-”
He cut himself off with a growl, shoving the asset away like he couldn’t stand the sight of him. “This can’t happen again,” he muttered darkly. Then, firmer: “It won’t happen again.”
Dragging his foot, he shoved a pile of blood-slicked glass shards toward him. “Eat it.”
Silence.
“All of it.”
For a moment -just a fraction of a second- Soldat hesitated.
His eyes flicked up, searching for something.
It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t resistance. Just something close to human, buried so deep it barely surfaced before being swallowed back down.
And then, as if something inside him snapped back into place, he obeyed. His fingers trembled only slightly as he scooped the jagged pieces into his palm. Brought them to his mouth.
The first bite sent fresh blood spilling past his lips.
His throat worked around the sharp edges, every movement of his jaw was slow, deliberate, agonizing. His breath hitched as a shard sliced the inside of his cheek, a small, choked sound that escaped before he could stop it.
A whimper.
Soft. Nearly lost beneath the noise of the room.
The agent’s fury reignited at once.
“Swallow it all,” he barked, yanking at his hair again. “Or I swear to god, I’ll shove the rest of it up your sloppy ass!”
Soldat shuddered, and his body trembled with restraint. His wet eyes burned with the sting of unshed tears as he forced himself to chew. To swallow.
His throat clenched around the shards, red smearing across his lips, his chin.
But he did as he was told.
----
The handler sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.
It was against policy to intervene while the winners were playing with the asset. But now that the damage was done -now that Soldat had swallowed every last sliver of glass off the floor- there was no choice. If its insides tore beyond repair, the party would be over before it could really begin, and tomorrow's mission would be delayed.
The handler turned to her with a flat, bored expression. “Fix it. Periodically. Its stomach needs time to dissolve the glass, and I don’t need it bleeding out on any of the carpets.”
She nodded. Then, at the risk of being ‘disciplined,’ she hesitated, just enough to seem careful, not defiant. “Sir,” she started carefully, lowering her gaze, “the noise and… the space here makes it hard to concentrate. May I take him somewhere quieter? Just the corner, so I can work properly.”
It was a complete lie. But the man barely looked at her before waving a hand, already losing interest. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”
She exhaled silently, then reached for Soldat’s wrist.
The skin beneath her fingers was too cold. He didn’t flinch. He just let her guide him through the crowd, moving with the same eerie compliance as always. Around them, heat and alcohol-thick laughter embraced them, with grasping hands brushed against her arms, fingers grazing her waist. She kept moving.
As they weaved through the sea of bodies, she let a slow trickle of healing energy seep through her grip, mending the welts on his rear, and the smaller scrapes littering his skin. She couldn’t do much without direct touch, but it was enough to ease the fresh bruising, to soften the pain just slightly.
When they reached the spot she had chosen, she gestured to a stool, small, rickety, ridiculous. “Sit, darling,” she murmured, gently. “So I can reach you properly.”
He obeyed instantly, lowering himself onto the stool without hesitation. His posture was perfect, straight spine, knees spread just enough to be ready to stand promptly. The blood pooling in his mouth made his lips glossy, and his throat worked hard to keep from spilling it.
“I’m going to help with your mouth, alright?” It wasn’t necessary to warn him. If she had shoved a spoonful of nails past his lips, he would have accepted it without question. But she still gave him the mercy of knowing.
Her fingers ghosted over his jaw before pressing gently against his lips. A soft glow spread beneath her palm, slipping through torn flesh, knitting muscle and skin back together.
His eyes widened, flickering with something unreadable.
Then, hesitantly -almost imperceptibly- he leaned into her touch.
Her breath caught.
For a moment, there was something painfully young in his expression. A quiet, fragile trust that had no place in this environment.
She worked quickly, sealing the lacerations on his cheeks, the punctures inside his mouth, and the shredded edges of his tongue. The bleeding slowed. Then stopped completely.
But she lingered, with her hand still cradling his jaw, feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin. “Better?” she murmured.
His lips parted slightly beneath her touch. He swallowed hard, nodding faintly.
She did the same with his throat, then let her hand drift lower, pressing gently over his chest, then his stomach, focusing on the unseen damage inside his body. She avoided looking at the painful, leaking erection straining against his belly, but it was difficult, especially when she had to kneel to mend his torn knees. He had been like this for hours, courtesy of whatever they had injected into his bloodstream, to endure its effects long past the point of agony.
How much longer would they make him suffer?
When she looked up again, she caught him wetting his lips, noticing how his throat worked as he swallowed. Right. He had spent the last few hours licking boots, servicing men, choking on their pleasure, only to end up with his mouth full of blood.
“Are you thirsty?” she asked softly.
He didn’t respond. He was too well-trained for that. But his eyes betrayed him.
She glanced around and spotted a half-empty water bottle discarded nearby. Reaching for it, she held it out to him. His gaze locked onto it, desperation flashing behind his carefully blank expression.
But he didn’t take it.
His hands remained on his thighs, his fingers curled in silent obedience, waiting.
Then she remembered.
She had heard his handler laughing in his face earlier, taunting him If you’re thirsty, Soldat, find a guest to suck it from. That’s the only drink you’ll be getting tonight.
Her stomach churned. That perverted son of a bitch.
Then, an idea came to her, a fragment from one of those ridiculous romantic novels she used to devour before all this. It might not work. But if it did…
Slowly, she uncapped the bottle and took a generous sip.
His eyes darted downward, and he tensed his jaw. His shoulders went rigid as if escaping from another cruelty, another taunt about what he could never have.
Instead, she reached out, fingers light under his chin, guiding his face up to hers. Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
He froze, startled by the shift in her demeanor.
Her lips moved against his, coaxing, soft. When her tongue brushed his lower lip in silent request, his lips parted, hesitantly at first, but when she tilted her head, letting the water slip from her mouth to his, he swallowed without hesitation.
But it wasn’t enough.
 The moment she started to pull back, his breath stuttered, and before she could fully retreat, his tongue flickered out, clumsy, desperate, catching on her lower lip as if searching for more.
A low, aching sound left his lips, and she hesitated for only a second before drinking and tipping forward again. This time, she pressed deeper, letting her tongue slide against his as another mouthful spilled between them. His throat worked, taking every drop.
When she finally pulled back, he was panting with damp lips, and his eyes were blown wide with something raw, something dangerously close to reverence.
She licked the last trace from her lips. “What do you say?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Want the rest?”
A nod. Small, barely there.
But real.
----
The air was thick with sweat and sex, clinging to her skin like a second layer. At some point, some of the spectators had wandered off, no longer entertained, while others -too drunk or too aroused- began touching themselves or indulging in one another.
If there had been even a thread of innocence left in her about what people could do to each other during sex, it unraveled completely that night. Not that it mattered. Damaged goods couldn’t mourn the loss of something already long gone.
She had once agonized over losing her virginity before marriage, racked with guilt over the belief that no respectable man would want her afterward. Laughable. Especially when, just a couple of months later, she discovered her sweetheart had been cheating all along.
And now?
Now, she sat watching these men -these monsters- pound into Soldat, fisting his hair to use his mouth like a fleshlight, carving slurs into his skin with the tip of a knife, playing darts against his flesh as if his body were nothing but a living target board.
Most of them wore wedding rings.
Respectable men with families to return to, wives to kiss, children to lift into their arms. Hours ago, they had taken turns forcing a human doll -chained to a wall- to accommodate whatever they could think of. Testing his limits like he was a broken machine, stuffing objects inside him just to see if he could take it.
They had laughed at his suffering. Struck him for the crime of exhaling too sharply. When he whimpered, they punished him for making noise.
And now, beneath the dim, flickering light, they poured their own cum into cocktail glasses smirking, toasting, collecting it in a disgusting jar that would no doubt be used in some other depraved act before the night was over.
----
A drunken cheer erupted from the corner of the room, followed by raucous laughter. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know.
But her gaze betrayed her, drawn to the loose circle forming around Soldat. Their eyes gleamed, alight with cruel amusement.
A man she recognized -one of the cruelest- stood at the center, with a cigarette pinched lazily between his fingers. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose like a bored dragon.
Then the scent hit her nose.
Burning flesh.
Her stomach lurched as she spotted it, a small ember of orange pressed against the meat of Soldat’s thigh. The contact lasted only a second, a brief sizzle before the man pulled back to inspect his work.
He frowned. Unimpressed.
“Nothing,” he muttered, taking another drag.
“Figures.” Someone else snorted. “It’s just a fucking corpse with a pulse.”
“Maybe we’re not trying hard enough.”
The murmurs of agreement were instant. A ripple of dark anticipation.
The cigarette man smirked. Then, without hesitation, his free hand reached down, curling his fingers around the rigid length between Soldat’s thighs.
Heat crawled up her neck and sick, bitter nausea at the sight of what was coming. His body was slick, coated in sweat, his drug-induced erection still throbbing in cruel betrayal.
“Wonder if it’ll react to this,” the man mused.
The cigarette lowered, pressed just beneath the sensitive head.
This time, Soldat flinched.
It was barely noticeable -a twitch of muscle, a ghost of a movement- but they saw it.
And like sharks catching the scent of blood, they surged.
“Oh, you felt that, didn’t you?” A rough hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head up, forcing eye contact. “Bet it doesn’t hurt as bad as getting your throat split open, huh? Do you even feel pain anymore?”
The cigarette was pressed down again.
A sharp, wet inhale.
His stomach tensed, and his muscles coiled like a trapped animal. His body knew to recoil, even if his conditioning held him still.
The ember dragged a slow, deliberate path along his shaft, burning the skin in thin, blackened lines. Flesh darkened beneath the heat, branding him with each cruel press.
Someone passed another cigarette. Then another.
The men took turns pressing them into him, searing small, blistering circles along his cock, his thighs, and hip bones. A slow, methodical defilement. Some fresh and raw, others already darkening, puckering.
A sigh.
Heavy. Exasperated.
The handler stepped forward, boot nudging Soldat’s chin up, as cold, assessing eyes flicked over his ruined body. The spit drying on his bruised skin. The lipstick stains, smeared and fading. The fresh burns now marred his flesh. He curved his lip with disdain. “You look fucking disgusting.” A scoff. A lazy wave in her direction. “Fix it. I don’t need it pissing blood all over the floor.”
She moved toward him on unsteady legs, too slow for the handler’s liking.
He made a show of tapping his chin, exaggerating the gesture as if deep in thought. Then, with a smirk that curdled her insides, he spoke, “You know, pet, you’re already dressed for the occasion. "Fix it with your mouth.”
Her stomach turned. Her steps faltered.
The agents laughed, tossing crude comments her way, jeering that she was finally going to earn her place instead of sulking in a chair.
She forced herself to breathe. “I don’t know if I can, sir,” she tried, with a calm voice despite the tremor threatening at the edges. “I’ve never-”
“Don’t act all shy now, you slut.” The words cut through the space like a whip crack. “Far as I’m concerned, you’ve had your mouth on more than a couple of cocks in here.”
The laughter swelled. A few mocking whistles followed, crude and sharp.
She willed herself not to react. Not to remember.
Instead, she lowered her gaze. Pick your battles. “I meant healing, sir. My mouth… I’ve never used it like that before.”
The handler tilted his head, amused. “What better time to learn than now?”
He turned, spitting his next command at Soldat. “On your feet.”
Then, his eyes snapped back to her.
“You. Put that mouth to use before I change my mind and make you earn your food with your holes.”
She couldn’t stop the shudder that rolled through her body.
A thick swallow. A deep breath. Then she got on her knees, pressing hesitant hands against Soldat’s hips. His skin was clammy under her palms, too warm now, from fever or drugs or both. The scent of his body hit her like a blow, charred flesh, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood that trickled between his thighs.
Her stomach twisted, but she leaned in anyway.
A tentative lick, a slow stripe along his shaft. She reached, searching for the connection, trying to channel her gift through her tongue.
Nothing.
Her stomach clenched. She tried again, swirling her tongue around seared skin, forcing herself to ignore the low, wet noises of the room.
Nothing.
She pulled back, lips barely parting as she murmured, “It- it doesn’t work.”
The handler sighed, in a long and theatrical tone, as if she were a child disappointing a parent. “Useless bitch.” He flicked his wrist, already bored. “Fine. Use your hands.”
A pause.
“While you suck that pathetic excuse of a dick it got there. Don’t want the boys dying of boredom.”
Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around him, the burned skin hot beneath her touch. She swallowed hard.
The agents were watching. Waiting.
A hand clamped down on the back of her neck, squeezing just enough to make her jolt. "Now," the handler warned with impatience.
Her lips parted, and she forced herself forward, feeling the taste of sweat and burned flesh thick on her tongue. The moment she took him into her mouth, laughter erupted around them. Some sneered in approval, others jeered with drunken amusement.
“Look at her,” one of them drawled, slurring slightly. “Acting like she’s never done it before.”
A sharp slap landed against the side of her face, not hard enough to bruise but meant to humiliate.
His skin was fever-hot on her mouth, the brutalized flesh cracked and raw where the cigarettes had bitten deep. He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, waiting to be used, to be humiliated, to endure.
She breathed through her nose, shifting her mouth slightly, adjusting to the salt and copper clinging to her tongue.
Soldat’s stomach tensed. Just barely. Just enough for her to notice. Her hands smoothed over his hip in reassurance, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to comfort.
���There you go,” the handler mused, with mock satisfaction. “Not so useless after all.”
Her hands began to glow faintly, and her gift sought out the worst of the wounds, the deepest burns, the tears that had yet to stop bleeding.
“Ah, help her rinse her mouth”, one of the men said, pouring his drink on Soldat's groin, splashing her face in the process. She imagined the burn of alcohol searing over the scalded skin of his cock, a punishment layered upon punishment.
He twitched in her mouth, jerking from pain or something else, she couldn’t say. And yet, quiet, shameful gratitude curled in her chest, and her lips parted slightly as the mock assistance washed over her tongue, ridding her of the taste of burned flesh.
Her fingers ghosted then over the ruined skin of his shaft, guiding her healing through the raw burns, knitting together flesh that should never have been damaged in the first place. Beneath her touch, she felt him twitch again, the smallest, involuntary reaction to relief.
The room buzzed with lazy amusement. Some had lost interest, slumping back in their chairs with half-drunk glasses dangling from their fingers, while others watched with languid, predatory satisfaction.
"It’s... it’s done, sir," she murmured, keeping her gaze toward the floor, and her hands trembling against her thighs.
Laughter. Mocking.
"I still see it at full attention, pet."
She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to react. Of course it was. The cocktail of drugs coursing through his veins had ensured that much.
“But the healing-”
"Oh, for the love of God," the handler groaned, exasperated. "Just suck it dry the same way you do with Bìkov on his shifts. You’ve already started, after all."
A pause. A slow, deliberate smirk.
"Besides, I think it likes you."
A sharp pat to Soldat’s shoulder, condescending, like a master indulging a particularly obedient pet.
She pressed her lips together, feeling her pulse roaring in her ears.
A slow inhale.
"Yes, sir."
She leaned in again, gently pressing her fingers against the tense muscles of his thighs as she worked his hard, throbbing length with slow and deliberate motions. At some point, his blue gaze flicked down to her. She held his stare as she swirled her tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, washing away the last traces of pain. Slowly, she took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked him gently, coaxingly. One hand slid to cup and massage his heavy balls, while the other slid up and down the part of his cock she couldn’t accommodate in her mouth. She started to move with the determination to bring him to completion quickly. 
The room faded away -the leering faces, the harsh lights, the laughs-. At that moment, there was only him, and his taste in her mouth. A perverse intimacy born of cruelty and circumstance.
The tension in his body shifted, and the trembling was no longer solely from pain. His breath hitched, and his fingers twitched where they had been obediently fisted at his sides. A shudder ran through his body, deep and uncontrollable, as his body finally gave in to something other than suffering.
His release was silent. No groan, no exhale of pleasure, only the sharp, involuntary clench of his abdomen, and the sudden, erratic rise and fall of his chest as his hips jerked once, twice. His body convulsed with the force of the orgasm, and his shoulders locked tight before he sagged forward, utterly spent.
For a moment, nothing moved. He was still hard -of course he was- but the unbearable strain had lessened, and the raw edge of his agony momentarily dulled. Even if just for a second, his body had been allowed to take something back.
She pulled away, swallowing thickly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying not to think about what had just happened, what she had done, what he had been forced to endure. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Relief? Shame? It didn’t matter now.
The room, however, reacted differently.
Laughter erupted in the stance, drunken and wild, it was the sound of amusement tinged with something mean-spirited. Someone clapped, slow and mocking. “Well, would you look at that,” the handler drawled, stepping forward. His boot nudged at Soldat’s knee, forcing his posture back into proper submission. “Guess it had more in it than we thought.”
More laughter. A murmur of approval, men slapping each other’s backs like they had just witnessed a particularly good joke.
----
As expected, the jar of collective filth had a purpose.
At some point -between the agony, the laughter, the sick indulgence- someone had forced the asset into a maid’s dress. The fabric clung awkwardly to his frame, and the short skirt pooled in humiliating ruffles over bruised thighs. A lacy headpiece had been pinned into his damp, tangled hair, slipping askew with the weight of sweat and abuse.
And now, they had him kneeling before the jar, a straw pressed between his raw, swollen lips.
After all the abhorrent things she had witnessed that night, this felt… surreal. It should have been absurd, laughable in its ridiculousness. But it wasn’t. Not with the way his hands stayed obediently folded over his lap, not with the way his hollow eyes stared straight ahead, as he drew slow, mechanical sips from the straw.
The men around him roared with laughter, snapping pictures with strange cameras, sleek, silver things with small glowing screens, no film to spool, no rolls to develop. Instant gratification. They posed beside him like he was nothing more than a prop, tilting his chin up, forcing his battered lips into a parody of a pout.
Like a girl sipping a milkshake for a magazine cover.
A beaten, swollen, defiled version of that, obviously.
----
The night had stretched long, and the indulgence had given way to exhaustion. The room had thinned, only the most depraved lingered to watch the final act of entertainment.
Soldat had been given an order.
Dance with her.
His head tilted slightly at the order, and his swollen lips parted as if to breathe in the command like it was something tangible. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he turned toward her chair.
His tired eyes found her across the room, sunken into herself, bracing for whatever fresh cruelty they had conjured. He moved. Slow, limping, his bare feet sticking to the filth-slicked floor, and the torn lace of his ridiculous maid’s dress swaying pitifully against his bruised thighs. He stopped before her, close enough for her to see the dried blood at his hairline, and the trembling in his fingers as he extended his hand.
A parody of elegance.
A gentleman in a ballroom.
The room was silent now, watching. Waiting. She took his hand -what other choice did she have?- and there was no hesitation in his grip as he pulled her up. He led her to the center of the room, positioning her as was desired, and then… he moved.
Despite everything -the degradation, the broken skin, the exhaustion woven into every fiber of his body- he was a good dancer. He guided her with a firm but gentle hold, leading her through the waltz as if this were an evening of refinement instead of a pit of debauchery.
She forced herself to focus on him. Not the sneers, not the slurred laughter, not the echoes of what they did to him, or what they made her do. Just him.
His lips were split, and a cheekbone was darkened with bruising, yet his eyes -God, his eyes- were what undid her.
Awake. Not just alive, but aware.
And in that awareness, something wretched.
Sadness. Heavy and inescapable, a ghost of a man still lingering in the hollow shell they had carved him into.
She wondered if this skill on the dance floor was shoved into his brain as another tool, another weapon for seduction and subterfuge, or was a remnant of something real. A fragment of the past, long buried beneath steel orders and forced obedience.
She tried to picture it. A different setting. A different life.
Trade the tattered maid dress for a suit and tie, with the sharp cut of the jacket emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong arms. His tangled and dirty hair, clean and neatly styled. His mouth free of blood, curving into a mischievous, charming smile.
Would he have smiled at her? Would he have asked her to dance, some lifetime ago, with laughter in his voice instead of a command in his brain?
God, she would have said yes without a second thought.
As he guided their steps in slow, measured turns, she let her thumb brush over the back of his hand, a quiet, fleeting comfort. Almost imperceptible.
“It’s almost over,” she whispered, her voice meant only for him. “Almost there, Soldat. And then, I’ll make it all go away.”
Physically, at least.
His grip on her hand tightened, just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. His gaze never wavered, locked onto hers with a force that sent a shiver through her body. His lips were pressed together, then parted, just a fraction, like he wanted to speak but thought better of it.
Still, that tiny hesitation said enough.
----
Silence, at last.
The spectators had had their fill, leaving only the echoes of their laughter behind. Soldat was sent back to his "kennel," and as always, she followed; trailing in his shadow, the designated keeper of a thing they would soon redeploy, its suffering inconsequential so long as it functioned. His condition had to be pristine. His pain was irrelevant.
So here they were.
She sat on the rim of his cot, watching the broken thing beside her, an instrument of war curled in on itself, reduced to a trembling frame of raw muscle and open wounds. He didn’t try to sit, didn’t dare after what they had done to him. His back was to her, the powerful body that could break men like nothing was now curled tight as if trying to disappear.
She knew better than to startle him.
"I’m going to touch you now, sweetheart," she murmured. "Your head first. Then I’ll work my way down, alright?"
No answer. There never was.
But he moved. A shift, subtle and deliberate, and suddenly she wasn’t staring at his bruised back anymore.
Blue eyes met hers, tired, shadowed, yet startlingly present.
----
"Cream cheese or plum jam, doll?" he asked, shaking a thick slice of toast in his vibranium hand.
She blinked.
The past bled away as she lifted her head, meeting those blue eyes that were no longer dull, no longer shadowed.
He'd put it on again, her frilly, maid-like apron. The delicate lace looked absurd against muscle and metal, tied haphazardly around his broad frame.
She swallowed, pushing the memories down, and locking them away where they belonged. "Both, handsome," she answered, carefully setting the cups and cutlery on the table.
Maybe he didn’t remember that specific day.
Maybe the chair had wiped it from him, erased it like so many other things.
And for that, she was grateful.
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Tags: @cats-chaotic-mind
Dividers by: @/cafekitsune
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muletia · 2 months ago
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optimus x human!reader x ratchet valveplug
this piece was commissioned by a very epic anonymous. thank you so much for commissioning me! <3
there are still a few slots left if you are interested wink wink
cw: bimbo!optimus and bimbo!ratchet, both of them want to be sparked up by reader, strap referred as fake spike
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"Oh, you're both so sweet!" you coo, petting the helms of the very crème de la crème of all Autobots.
Both Optimus and Ratchet are kneeling obediently in front of you, so close their thighs brush against one another, though with one small difference: Optimus’ servos are gripping his hips with excitement, while Ratchet’s servo lazily plays with the lips of his gray valve, flicking its folds with a single digit that slips inside now and then.
"You're even sweeter!" Optimus declares cheerfully, a carefree smile softening his war-worn faceplate. Though in this state, no one would dare say he played any important role other than your adorable, giggling toy. "And your spike is so beautiful!" he adds, his optics glowing a pastel pink — one of the less extreme side effects of synthetic energon — flitting momentarily to your artificial spike, securely strapped to a strap. "I've never seen one more beautiful."
"Awww, Opti, you're adorable," you lean in gently over that large helm, once full of serious, difficult thoughts, to press a few quick kisses there, into which Optimus seems to push his helm eagerly. A soft, low giggle echoes through Ratchet's habsuite.
Your little display of affection, however, doesn't quite sit well with Ratchet. Jealousy shows on his pitiful pout and glistens in the tears pooling in the corners of his optics like two shimmering pearls meant to lure your attention back to him. 
It’s just so, like, unfair that Optimus stole all your affection!
"And me?" Ratchet speaks up, desperation lacing his hiccuped whimper, "I'm adorable too, right? More than Optimus?"
"Aww, girls, you're both beautiful," you soothe, planting kisses on both Optimus' and Ratchet's foreheads, cheeks and lips, drawing sweet giggles from the two of them. "And you have such pretty valves," you murmur, your hungry gaze dropping to their dripping, puffy valves, clearly working overtime judging by the little puddles of pink fluid between their legs. "Perfect for sparking up."
The keyword hits. Both mechs whine in unison, begging you to use their valves roughly. And you swear their expressions somehow got even dumber as if any remaining thoughts had oozed out through their valves along with the transfluid, because they’ve clearly become so fixated on being breed by you that they forgot they even have another tool, one now pathetically straining behind a modesty panel.
"Ohhh, you like that idea, huh?"
Eager nods, drawn-out moans, and whines are the only answers you get. Just as you suspected, their minds have drifted too far to grasp full thoughts anymore.
"Ratchet, honey, can you play with your valve for me in the meantime? I promise I’ll be right back with you."
All you get in response is a confused whine. Poor, dumb Ratchet might not even understand what you're saying. So you gently take his servo in your own and guide it down to his valve, pushing past the heated lips. You’re convinced the rhythmic motion of him sinking thick digits inside is purely automatic, sparked by some vague sense of potential pleasure.
"Good mech," you murmur, and he whines again.
"And as for you, sweetheart, will you show me your pretty valve?"
"H-huh?"
"Aft up, sweetheart."
Somehow, Optimus obeys your request, though he keeps glancing back at you, checking for signs of approval, making sure he’s doing it right, until at last he presents his neat aft, helm nearly grazing the floor.
"[Name], please!" he whimpers, giving his aft a little shake. Just to tempt you.
"Alright, alright, easy now," you say, aligning your strap right against the entrance of that tight paradise.
"F-faster!"
You don’t need any further encouragement. With the full strength of your hips, you slam the fake spike all the way inside, plunging into Optimus’ valve with zero resistance. His sweet moan is immediately drowned out by the wet sounds of your toy dragging against his walls all the way to his tank, which you kiss again and again with your tip. You establish a fast rhythm, relentlessly pounding his valve. After all, you wouldn’t want your other pretty toy waiting too long.
"Would you like to be a carrier, Opti?" you ask, unsure if any of your words reach him in this state, when all he can manage are ohs and ahs. "You’d look so good with a cute baby bump full of our sparklings."
“S-sparked up…” Optimus mumbles, voice slurred from the saliva pooling in his intake, already dripping to the floor.
A dozen thrusts later, Optimus’ valve tightens around your strap, milking it for nonexistent transfluid. You give it one last solid push and pink fluid splashes out around your spike, a clear sign that it’s time to stop neglecting Ratchet.
You pull out, though Optimus keeps his aft raised for a while longer, babbling nonsense, mostly variations of “sparked up” and “carrier”, before one servo settles on his belly, stroking it tenderly, as if he truly believed something new was already forming inside.
"Alright, honey, I’m back," you turn to Ratchet, though all you get in response is another confused whimper.
"You can stop fingering yourself now."
"Huh?" All your words are so hard, so complex. Not like self-servicing, there’s no philosophy there.
You have to physically pry his transfluid-slicked servo away from his valve, which earns you an unhappy whine.
"What’s wrong, Ratty? I thought you wanted to be sparked up?"
“Mhmmm. Spa-sparked, ah!”
"Then show me your pretty valve."
Seeing that verbal instructions completely failed to reach these bots with pink cotton candy in place of processors, you take matters into your own hands, parting Ratchet’s legs yourself. Instinctively, he raises his aft just slightly to help you out.
Kneeling down, you align the tip of your toy between the folds of his swollen, overstimulated valve and plunge it all the way inside in one stroke, which rewards you with the beautiful sight of Ratchet’s backstrut arching in response.
Without a shred of mercy, you go at his valve just as you did with his predecessor (now still playing with his valve, mumbling about sparklings), making sure that every thrust kisses his tank. That alone is enough to bring the medic to overload within a few dozen strokes. Pink fluids splash across your strap, but you give him a moment to milk it greedily before his valve finally lets go, allowing you to pull out freely.
"You two are going to be wonderful baby mamas." you murmur, and that certainly gets their attention.
“[Name], ah, sparklings,” Optimus mewls, digits now fiddling with the folds of his valve, holding them open for you.
“S-sparked up,” Ratchet adds, doing the same.
And just for a moment, your laughter drowns out their endless whining.
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syoddeye · 4 months ago
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the gift that keeps on giving - part three/final, nikolai
Every year, on each of their birthdays, you're delivered with a bottle of Scotch. Shared. Savored. Spoiled.
cw: established relationship, everything is consensual, reader is shared between price+nik+kate, alcohol, pet names, nik calling himself 'old man', piv, mild scent/armpit kink, rimming, overstim
a/n: AO3. series page.
The door groans as Nikolai shoulders it open, the cold clinging like a second skin.
Snow dusts his boots, melting in thin streams into dark puddles on the wooden floor. Sweat cools beneath his clothes, seeping into the fabric of his coat. His breath clouds in the cabin’s warmth as he steps inside, dropping the firewood beside the stove with a heavy thud. He rolls his shoulders, the lingering bite of winter settled deep in his bones. Shedding his outer layers, he cracks his neck from side to side, drawing in a deep breath. 
The cabin is simple—rustic, as John would put it. Remote. Tucked even further away than the hangar, well within in fuck off territory. A lonely place for a birthday.
Which makes it perfect.
For as long as he can remember, his birthday has always been just another day. So what if it marks the anniversary of him arriving in the world, red-faced and screaming? People are born. People die. It’s not an achievement. It isn’t special. He is nothing special.
She is.
Even if she is…less than pleased with their lodgings.
She sits wrapped in a thick blanket by the fireplace, face pinched in unmistakable displeasure. Legs tucked beneath her, lower lip pushed into a scowl, fingers drumming irritably.
Nikolai exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he unlaces his boots. “What is this face?” he muses, glancing at her. “You have not moved a muscle, have you?”
She glares. “I’m conserving heat. Important when you’re trapped in the wilderness against your will.”
“Mm.” He hums thoughtfully, peeling off his gloves. “Sitting indoors, by a fire, wrapped in a blanket. Yes, very tragic for you.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Am I?”
She huffs, pulling the blanket tighter. ��When are we going to do something fun?”
He raises a brow. “Not enjoying yourself?”
She fixes him with a flat look. “I enjoy heat, comfort, and WiFi. None of which exist in this godforsaken place. That hotel I recommended on the other hand…”
Nikolai tsks, stepping closer. “You are soft, tsarevna.”
“I have standards.”
He smirks. “Yes. High standards, yet still, you are here. With me. On my birthday.” Just another day, but a useful tool in his belt. “I seem to recall you said you would give this place a shot. Work on that bad attitude of yours.”
She shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “I can’t help that I’m meant for finer things. I still don’t understand why we couldn’t go somewhere warm and hospitable,” she gripes. “In Naxos, Kate and I sunbathed for hours.”
“Ah, darling.” He clicks his tongue. “You know I don’t like complaining.”
“I’m only saying, if we went through with Thoddo, or Krk—”
Nik laughs. She’s trying to push his buttons. Has to be.
John warned him about this, about scooping her up and stealing away here. Said she wouldn’t like it. Said their little indoor cat of a woman would sulk. That she’d become spoiled. A playful jab at the time, but now, Nik’s not so sure.
It doesn’t usually fall to him, the wrangling, but she usually does not test him so much. He plays rough with her, but never from a place of correction. 
That may have to change. A new year, new role, perhaps.
He moves suddenly, crossing the room in a handful of strides. Her mouth falls open to argue, maybe to apologize, but his mind’s made up. Prissy thing needs a lesson.
Faster than she can react, he seizes her wrist and hauls her up, dragging her to her feet. She stumbles into him, yelping, palms splaying over his chest.
“Nikolai!”
His grin widens, wicked and full of mischief. He reaches down, grabs the hem of his damp thermal, and yanks it up—then in one smooth motion, tugs it over her head, trapping her face against his clammy skin.
Her muffled shriek is instant. “YOU ANIMAL!”
Nikolai chuckles, locking her in place with one arm around her waist. “Breathe deep,” he deadpans. “This is the scent of hard work. Of man.”
She thrashes hard, but he doesn’t budge. “Let me go!”
“Shhh.” He rubs a slow, patronizing hand over her back. “You will learn to appreciate it.”
She makes a strangled noise of absolute outrage, trying to wrench free, but he keeps her snug against him, her face buried in the coarse hair and sticky sweat of his chest.
“Nik, I swear to God—”
Finally, he lets go, stepping back as she stumbles, gasping for air like she’s survived an assassination attempt.
She wipes her face furiously, murderous. “You’re disgusting.”
Nikolai only pats her cheek, still grinning. “But you are warm now, no? Maybe vigorous activity is in order.”
She glares, but he snatches her wrist and tugs, slingshotting her toward the washroom. She stumbles, catching herself as he lands a smack to her rear, herding her into the washroom.
The claws come out when he strips her, but she doesn’t use her words once—beyond cursing him out.
“Perverted old man,” She hisses as he pushes his nose into her bunched-up panties.
“Unlike you, I like it sweaty. Adds flavor.” he laughs, nudging her under the water.
The hot water here lasts, at best, ten minutes. So after she sees to herself, he puts her to work, scrubbing soap into his back and chest, raking her nails through the thick whorls of hair. When he lifts his arms, she grimaces, suddenly face to face with the dense fur of his armpits.
He pictures doing it again, pressing her face into the hair to hear her shriek. Instead, he pulls her into a kiss, water slipping between their locked lips. Mercy to keep her on her toes.
He kisses her deeply, savoring until he’s certain he’s planted stars in her eyes. She doesn’t resist when he motions for her to continue. He sighs in contentment, eyes shutting, even as the water turns tepid. The warmth of his own skin is enough, as are the palms massaging his belly and thighs. Nothing’s left untouched despite her grousing. Sour mood or not, she knows what’s expected.
A hand wraps around his length, pulling a grunt from him.
He was wondering when she’d get to that.
Nik cracks his eyes to find her watching, drenched, her mouth curled into a small crooked smile. 
There she is.  
Perhaps someone’s feeling more like herself.
He plants his hands on the tile behind her, caging her in. A thin stream of water trickles from his chin, landing on her shoulder and sliding down the curve of her chest. His breath ghosts over her ear, a quiet huff of amusement. In response, she firms up her grip, the water making her strokes smooth and fluid.
It’s always better than the time before. Even just her hands, warm and slightly pruny, are heaven. He’s used to working with men who throw themselves out of helicopters, tear down walls, and kill with their bare hands. To John’s impatient, squeezing fist and borderline cruel efficiency. And while she’s not gentle with him, her grip tight and her rhythm insistent, he craves it all the same.
She buries her face against him willingly this time, lips trailing over muscle and coarse hair, his gold chain. She finds places to bite, to suck, a little leech in every sense. It’s forgivable. What they have is a mutual parasitism, after all. Everyone in their covenant gets something in return.
For a long time, he thought it was just the carnal aspects—something to spice up his and John’s relationship, keep them company. But now, well into their arrangement, with years of traditions and ritual, he knows it’s more than that.
After all, what better way to make a man feel twenty years younger than having a pretty, stubborn girl worship him?
Nik returns the affection, brushing his lips over her temple, murmuring praise, savoring. He bucks occasionally, breaking low assurances with curses he’s taught her. She swipes her thumb over the head of his cock, and he nips the shell of her ear, a quiet growl escaping him.
“Trying to make me shoot early, darling?”
She bites a nipple. Hard. Speaks with it between her teeth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Kolya.” 
Spiteful hellcat.
His skin’s on fire despite the shower. He may not be on the ground to the same extent as John, but he prides himself on his stamina, which wanes quicker than he likes nowadays. He won’t waste his cum.
He’s an old man now. He’s not eager to test how quickly he can rally.
“Let go.” He straightens, running his tongue over his lip. He gestures with his head, curtly ordering, “Turn around.”
She hesitates. He sees it in the slight shift of her weight, ready to take to whatever she imagines he has planned. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, still convinced that the real punishment is coming.
Surely, a shower can’t be it? That’s what she’s thinking—plain as day.
Her brows pinch, lips parting to speak only to shut, thinking better of it. She’s rarely nervous with him, or any of them, which makes her poker face exceedingly unpracticed.
She does as asked, steadying herself against the wall.
Nikolai admires the view. The curve of her spine, her skin. The pleasing heat pooled at the bottom of his stomach hurts, internally grumbling at the restraint.
He kneels with a grunt, the dull ache in his lower back and shoulders a lingering reminder of his labors. Worth it for this.
He meets her gaze as she peeks over her shoulder. Pressed to the wall, braced on her forearms, she’s drawn inward, legs closed. That won’t do. He fixes her stance with a pat on each inner ankle. Positions her how he wants her. Bent forward, ass out. One arm cushioning her head, the other—
“Hold a cheek, that’s it.” 
Like this, there’s nothing to hide. Water splashes off her mid-back, streaming down in rivers, sluicing over her skin and down her crack. It catches and rolls off every crevice, admixing with the drip between her legs.
If he drowns, he drowns.
One hand grips the back of her knee, the other anchoring to her upper thigh. Then, without hesitation, he gets to work.
The first drag is light. A chance to savor the cherry-like taste of soap mixing with the sweet tang of her cunt. He groans against her hole, nose digging into a cheek, water diverting around the bridge. He tucks his tongue inside to feel a feeble clench, then sweeps.
He saws his tongue through her glistening cunt to the furl of her ass, adjusting his grip when the latter wrings a surprised, indignant whine out of her. He lavishes over the rim until he feels it give, chasing it when she wiggles. It’s not her favorite, never has been, but he can usually—yes, there it is. Her squirming turns from escape as soon as his hand slides up from her knee to her folds.
There’s no resistance at all to plunge two fingers into her, crooking and dragging her back onto his tongue again and again. Teasing her ass with the muscle, drawing out a string of soft, helpless whimpers.
Her whines echo when he withdraws, rising to his feet, digits still buried inside. He drapes over her back, lungs heaving in air. A couple milliliters of water in his stomach.
His cock’s trapped between them, slippery in the cleft of her ass. He pumps his fingers slowly, ignoring her fruitless wiggling, encouraging him along, instead snaking his free hand around her front to find her swollen clit. 
“Mmph,” she sinks her teeth into the forearm beneath her head, eyes rolling back.
He watches, rapt. Every twitch in her facial features, each flutter of her lashes. On the edge of oblivion and circling, stuck, chasing the push and pull of his hand. Frustration mounting with every whine. Oh, it’s cruel. So mean.
Rewarding, though, when he stops. Abruptly. Unceremoniously. Tugs his fingers out and jams them into the pocket of his mouth for a taste.
The desperate complaints that erupt, the raw neediness. It satisfies.
Sometimes, he thinks he should be softer with her, the way John and Kate are. They’d both deny it, but they’re far quicker to fold and to dote. Maybe he should spoil her more. Dig out the Simbir, tell her to pack her bags, and take her somewhere warm where the sun bakes the sand white. But that’s not who he is, and she knew that when she got into this.
He already gives her everything. His time, his money, his hands when she needs them. He fixes her shit. Buys her presents. Listens. That’s enough. More than enough. 
And if she ever wanted something else—Kate’s tenderness, John’s predictability—she’d speak up.
Instead, she’s clumsily insulting his haircut and shivering, their shared warmth spiraling down the drain. He entertains her a second more before reaching around, shutting the water off, and slaps her ass.
“Out, darling.”
Nik takes his time drying her off, running the towel over every bit, all while humming an innocent tune. She simmers, jaw tight, but he pays no mind. Then he repeats the process on himself, glancing into the mirror while she hovers behind him, arms crossed tightly and bouncing lightly on her heels.
“You know, maybe if you had not mouthed off, I would be inclined to move faster.”
“Who says I want you to move faster?” She shoots back. “You might break a hip.”
His face must turn demonic with how wide her eyes go. It is nothing to him, just words, he knows. He is old. Certainly not made for jumping out of birds mid-flight.
It’s enjoyable to make her sweat, though.
“Still in a bad mood, tsarevna? What happened to my nice girl? You wound me.”
Nikolai brushes past her, his nose catching the tart scent of soap clinging to her skin. The fragrance is fleeting, but intoxicating, and better that they share it. He passes into the bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed in a heap. His back hits the mattress with a grunt of relief, and he stretches out, arms bent behind his head. He flashes his teeth, enjoying her struggling composure.
He fists the base of his cock, giving it a couple lazy strokes.
“My back’s killing me.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. Takes the hint.
With a half-hearted scowl, she slinks up the bed, the haze in her eyes and the slick on her thighs betraying her. Settling over him, she plants her hands firmly against his chest, threading into his hair with just enough bite to be mean.The heat of her radiates, burns, sears his knuckles on the upstroke. Eyes locked, he knows what she’s playing at.
“Hate the snow that much?”
“I hate being cold.”
“So you’ve said. Let me warm you up. Sit down.”
She hesitates, chewing her cheek as if she’s not aching for it, but the command takes.
It’s a team effort, her hand over his, guiding and holding him still until the last moment, and then it’s all her following gravity’s lead. Sinking down onto his cock, impaling herself inch by inch.
He groans. “Fuck, baby, like a glove.”
The heat’s almost too much, her cunt drenched and warmed by the shower and his teasing. He digs into her hips, kneading her flesh with a low sound as she settles fully, her mouth hanging open. It won’t be long before she remembers herself. Remember she’s supposed to be cross with him. Play petulant, mock his age, pretend he’s the meanest old bastard she’s ever crossed paths with.
Nik thrusts experimentally, knocking her out of the heavens, dragging her back down to earth with him.
Her eyelids crack open, but she bites off a noise and presses her lips tightly together, fighting herself.
“You’re not cold anymore, are you?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.
She shakes her head. “Still cold.”
He swats her for that, palm cracking across a cheek. “Then get to it.”
It’s slow going at first. More of her posturing, lifting and dropping herself on his dick as mechanically as possible. But another swat makes her clench and speed up, unable to deny how that feels at least. Again, he lets her play her game. Gives her a taste of victory. In return, he doesn’t spare an ounce of effort. He’s flown through countless hot zones, under fire. With a knife to his throat. While applying pressure to a leaking wound. Ignoring a bit of pussy, even when it’s hers, even when it’s warm and perfect, isn’t difficult.
Kate taught him that—to let their pet wear herself out when she’s in a mood. Makes her pliant.
Before long, her movements falter, trembling with the strain, sweat beading along her forehead and trailing down her neck. Down the curve of her stomach, between her swinging breasts. A drop migrates from the tit squeezed in his hand, tracing a path down his wrist. He lets go to lick it off, chuckling at her wince.
“What’s the matter?” he rasps, and when she doesn’t answer, he jerks up hard, and startles a gasp out of her. “Not enough?”
Her movements are sloppier now, equal parts desperation and exhaustion. Poor baby—having to stand in the shower while he spoiled her, having to work for it now. All the while pretending she hates it. Hates the snow. Hates the cabin. Hates the entire trip.
She can lie to herself all she wants.
But she can’t lie to him.
Not when she’s digging her nails into his chest like she’ll slip through the cracks of reality if she lets go. Not when every breath that leaves her lips shakes with need. Not when she stares down at him, wide-eyed, pupils blown, mouth slack.
Makes it sweeter when she finally caves.
She nods, pausing to grind down on his cock. “Need more.”
He hums, letting his hands trace up the length of her spine, slow and easy. “Mm? Thought I was ‘disgusting’? A ‘perverted old man’?”
Before she can bite back, he moves. In a fluid motion, he grips her hips, shifts his weight, and flips her onto her back. She lands with a sharp gasp caught between her teeth. He follows, pressing in close, caging her beneath him. His palms settle at her waist, thumbs stroking over her heated skin.
“Still think that, pretty girl?” he murmurs, eyes gleaming as his breath ghosting over her throat. “Or do you want to try and be nice again?” He glides back in one harsh thrust.
“F-Fuck, Nikolai–”
“C’mon, tsarevna, surely you can do better than that,” he teases, though his control on language falters. He hits something sensitive, making her throw her head back and knock her knees to his ribs. “Shit, at least your hole is honest, what about your mouth?”
She doesn’t get much of a chance to answer—doesn’t have the breath for it. It’s good, too good. Pulling back, relishing the drag, and pushing back in deep, his pace steady and relentless.
She fights a little when he fucks her through her first orgasm. Teary-eyed, looking up at him, her expression one of pure betrayal with her wrists trapped in one of his hands, clicking his tongue at her feeble attempt to shove him off. One brief look affirms she’s fine, so he snarls down a reminder that she can take it.
When he lets go, it’s only to order her. 
“Hold your—yes, baby, like that.” 
It’s obscene. The view, the sounds. Her hands gripping the sweaty curves beneath her knees, holding her legs up, exposing herself completely. Where her cunt swallows him again and again, soaking him and seeping into the sheets. 
He pauses and pulls out completely, like before, timing it perfectly as her muscles tighten, watching her squirm beneath him. Her hole clenches uselessly around nothing, and her hands twitch, fighting to stay put, with her teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip to keep quiet.
She’s learned that much, at least.
If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.
“Look at you. Called me disgusting. But you?” He grinds in slow. “Filthy.”
He thumbs over her clit, drawing messy figure eights over the slippery bud, curling his free fingers in her bush. Some mean word gets tossed his way, but it rewards him with the sharp arch of her spine beneath him. She comes hard just as he pinches her clit, cutting a curse off his tongue with how tight she goes. 
Chain reaction. He lets up the moment he knows it’s inevitable, covering her hands with his own and pressing her knees back as far as they’ll go.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Nikolai grunts, jaw clicking as he heaves himself in as far as he can, burying himself deep. 
He swears it puts years on his life, nullifying whatever time’s stolen. It yanks a dirty laugh out of him when there’s too much, and leaks out around the plug of his cock. Her hole practically spits a glob as he slips free, milky white dribbling down her ass and smearing into his thigh.
The sound of it coming out makes her abandon her hold at last, squeaking out something like oh my god, wrestling with him until he’s flush against her back, head in the space between their pillows. An arm curled around her in a bear hug, the other drifting lower.
His name comes out in a panicked, slurred whisper. “Nik? Nik—Nik—Nik, you c-cah aaaan’t–”
The morning passes into the afternoon before the last of her fight fades. She eventually curls into him like a cat, soft and pliant against him, her muscles relaxed, her cheek pressed to his chest. There’s only one brief interruption in the long stretch of hours—just enough time for him to give her more than just his own fluids, and for him to indulge in the all-important ritual.
He lets her sleep, allowing her to come to on her own time, while he sneaks another drink directly from the bottle, appreciating the burn.
This give and take, the push and pull?
He would not trade it for anything.
She stirs with a small groan, wiping drool from her chin with the back of her hand, blinking slowly, eyes heavy with sleep. A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he sets the bottle down with a soft clink, his thumb absently tracing the peeling corner of the label.
Her face scrunches in discomfort, pushing herself upright, and suddenly freezes. She cringes, pulling her hand away from a damp spot.
“Kolya?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Yes?” 
“C’mon, let’s change the sheets…”
He arches an eyebrow, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Mm, this is the only set.”
“You animal.”
He chuckles again, pulling her back down to steal a kiss.
She sighs against his mouth. “Happy birthday, old man.”
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bitegore · 2 months ago
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I made a character sheet to plot your OC's development over time! (There's supposed to be a character name in the big white space next to "over time" but it got eaten a little lmao)
You can use this for whatever you want, and you don't have to credit me. Feel free to change or edit anything you feel like. Please don't tag me if you credit me - just link to the original post.
Credits, explanations & a transparent version under the cut :D
Credits:
The actual image was made with the free NBOS character sheet creator, which is a sort of dated but free and solid text-layout sheet maker intended for ttrpg style character sheet creation.
Fonts used were Bisdak (titles) and Rockwell (body). Both are free! You can use them to fill it out if you like.
Inspired by a comment @maybe-solar-powered-calculator made on this other post about filling it out for characters at multiple points along their arcs. Thanks for putting the idea in my head :D
This is explicitly released under a CC0 1.0 deed, ie: you can do fucking whatever you want with it and I don't care and you don't have to tell anyone where you got it from and no one gets to stop you.
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Last time I made one of these I got a bunch of questions on all manner of things, and I can never keep up, so I'm just appending a set of notes for how to use it and a glossary because I know some of these phrasings will be confusing.
Ignore or change anything you don't feel like works for you here. You can do whatever you want forever.
Suggested / intended use & general notes:
This sheet could work for something story-level, if you want. But it's really only good for individual arcs; if the character goes through multiple arcs in your story, then they're going to fit poorly here. In that case, you're probably better off doing versions for each arc, or just adapting this to a different format more suited to your thing.
Also, if your arc has a nontraditional structure - divorced from the typical "rising action - climax - conclusion" type of structure where there's a clear 'important turning point' - it may not work as well either.
The mindset section is meant to come at it from a 'golden mean' standpoint - that is, everything on either extreme of the slider is 'too much' and therefore bad. It's not bad-to-good! The far right side is a flaw too. They're only grouped the way they are on basis of the specific OCs I personally had in mind when I put it together.
Growth is labeled 'worse'-to-'better' but it means, like, active decrease in that area vs active increase; if nothing changes, it should stay at the center even if it sucks. The category is about contrasting changes, and sometimes changes are for the worse!
The entire sheet is very deliberately subjective. It should really be answered from the character's perspective - how they feel about it, not what's necessarily true. Technically you can do whatever you want and I can't stop you, but it's a better tool if you approach it from the point of view that the character may believe things that aren't true - that will define their behavior way more than the objective facts of the story.
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Definitions:
This part is long as hell - recommend using ctrl+f to find the specific words you're stuck on. I defined everything.
General categories:
Mindset: how your character thinks about themself and how they act. Their understanding of their own approach to life. Attitude, viewpoint, decision-making process, that sort of thing.
Circumstances: the relationship between your character and the world around them. Where they are, what that place is like, and how they feel about it.
Growth: how the character and their impact - their attitude, their behavior, their immediate surroundings - changes over time.
Outset: the start of the character's arc.
Present: the 'center' of the arc. If you're planning something ahead of time and it hasn't 'happened' yet, then this is the near future.
End-game: where they are after the conclusion of the arc.
Mindset terms:
Center of the world: "If I have a problem, it's the only thing that matters to me." Self-centered, self-absorbed. Doesn't necessarily mean anything beyond that - they don't necessarily have to be unpleasant to be entirely focused on their own life.
my life isn't relevant: "Everyone else's problems are so significant, I don't pay any attention to my own". Someone who ignores or neglects their own life in service of some other thing, or doesn't consider their own behavior to have any real importance.
Only see enemies: Paranoid. Everyone's out to get them. Anyone who seems nonthreatening is hiding their potential for danger and everyone who seems threatening is a threat. The character must remain ever-vigilant, lest the cashier at the 7/11 suddenly stab them, or their best friend turn out to secretly be trying to poison them to death.
Only see friends: Naïve. Everyone is a good actor who wishes everyone else well, and if they don't seem like they're acting from a place of kindness or care then you probably don't understand what they're up to. The character is pretty sure the stranger holding that knife is, like, someone to chat up maybe, they're clearly only hanging out in this dark alleyway because it's a nice spot and no other possible reason.
overthink everything: Ten thousand thoughts per every single action taken. Maybe they never get around to acting at all. They have to consider every possible outcome. What if by eating lunch they accidentally trigger the apocalypse?! Who's going to think about these things if not them?!?!?!
impulsive to action: Act first, think never. What do you mean "consequences of actions"?
Unilateral decisions: "I will make every choice and no one else's opinions or thoughts are relevant". Discounts outside suggestions. Firmly convinced that they know best in any situation, and will brook no disagreement with their views when it comes to actually doing things.
Command me, please: "I don't know what to do and I don't know what to even start with, someone please tell me what to think". No confidence in their own views. Will not make any decisions unless forced and even then will beg someone else to please tell them what to do. Has no idea what's best and is pretty sure anyone else will have a better idea.
can't ask for help: No one will ever help the character; they have to do everything themself, even the things other people have repeatedly offered to do for them and have much more experience with. Doesn't necessarily mean that no one will help them or that they are explicitly barred by some real-world circumstance; just that, for whatever reason, they refuse to ask for help. This is an attitude thing - will they ever reach out? No? Then they're here.
too reliant on others: Have they ever solved a problem alone? Do they believe they're even capable of doing so? The character all the way at this end of the scale absolutely never expects to be able to do anything themself, has no trust in their ability to solve a problem, and needs someone else to come save them from it. The kind of person who needs ChatGPT to do their homework. Again - doesn't actually mean anyone will help them, or that the people they're relying on are reliable - just that they think they are helpless without ... well, help.
Weapon maker: This has to do with problem-solving strategies and not actual weapons. The weapon-maker is a character who views every situation as a conflict that cannot be de-escalated or solved by cooperation, and responds appropriately. The most fundamental weapon maker character turns everything into an argument, a fight, a war, etc. There are a bunch of other responses to conflict, though - they might avoid problems that need solving because they avoid conflict generally too. Fundamentally what you want to answer here is: when they see a locked box and they don't have the key, do they respond to it the same way they'd respond to someone telling them "you can't open this box"? And how do they respond to that? Typical weapon-maker approaches: - brute-force the box open or try and then give up if it doesn't work; and also get into an argument that might turn physical with the hypothetical person - shrug and give up immediately, in both situations so on and so forth. Another hallmark is that they kind of suck at problem-solving and give up if brute-forcing a problem doesn't work. This is not someone who is picking locks unless someone else told them to - they have one solution, it's to make everything into a conflict, and then to win that conflict by beating them or to give up because they think they'll lose.
Tool maker: This person approaches every situation like it's a puzzle, not a fight - up to and including actual fights. Tool-maker characters generally assume that a situation can be solved by just finding the right approach and doing it the clever way. There's the same fundamental question as above - if your character sees a locked box and has no key, would they approach it differently than someone telling them they're not allowed to open the box? 'Typical' tool-maker approaches: - I can trick the person into giving me the key by saying the right things, and I can also pick the lock because fundamentally there are 'right answers' to both of these - If i make friends with this person, they might change their mind, because now we're cooperating. I can still pick the lock because there are 'right answers' there. - The person has a reason for wanting me not to open the box, so I can definitely figure out what that is and solve the reason so then they'll let me open it. I can take whatever it is even if they really want to keep it if I just find the right answer. I'm going to break this box into little pieces because that's the easiest way to get into it but I could probably open it some other way if that wouldn't work.
A note - the center of this bar is someone who generally has different responses to different kinds of situations - like, in the box example, they'd approach the box and the person with two different general attitudes and processes - but generally responds to those situations using the same kind of decision-making process for each category every time. Most people are nowhere near either extreme. Characters tend to be classifiable into weapon-maker and tool-maker because they are fictional and it's easier to define one kind of approach than many. Approximately average approaches: - pick the lock if no one's around, but give up if someone is there because someone telling me not to open the box is a conflict i think i'll lose but a locked box is just a puzzle that i can solve - argue with the person, but give up on the box, because they're approaching the box as a puzzle and they don't think they have the skill to get into it, but the person is someone who can be convinced or bullied into handing over the key
I made this particular dichotomy up, which is why I think I get a lot of questions on it whenever I put it into anything, but I also don't know of any other snappy way to describe this sort of thought or approach variance, and it's genuinely useful for character writing in my opinion.
Pessimist spot-finder: Generally a downer but not necessarily. This kind of character just approaches everything with a close eye for problems, issues, reasons to find fault. If they're miserable, it might be why, but like, they can be a cheerful spot-finder if you want, I just wanted to get at "the glass is half empty" and "the glass is half full" more than anything.
Optimist upside fan: The opposite. "The glass is half full". If there are problems, they can find something about them that's not so frustrating or bad to focus on. Pretty damn good at overlooking minor issues if there's no reason to fixate on them. Not necessarily cheerful.
Abysmal company: could not give less of a damn about treating people the way they 'should' be treated. Maybe they take pride in that. Maybe they just think it's irrelevant. Either way, they know they treat people badly and they don't see any reason to stop. Does not necessarily mean that they treat people badly if they think they're doing the right thing and are wrong. Doesn't mean they're actually pleasant or unpleasant to hang out with, either, unless you really want it to mean that.
Decent to others: treats people well as a matter of course, or at least they sure think they do. Makes an effort. Would probably care and/or consider changing their behavior if someone said they were treating someone poorly. As before - they can be completely un-self-aware and just think they're doing right by people while treating them completely horribly.
Morality is irrelevant: 'abysmal company' for broader approaches to life and problems. Maybe they just know they're myopic and don't think other people's problems matter. Maybe they just gave up on trying to differentiate between 'good' and 'bad' and outsourced it to someone else or stopped paying any attention. Maybe they just like to take morally unjust actions and can't be bothered giving a damn when someone points out that they're morally unjust, or maybe they're proud of it. Kind of a villain trait generally, but not necessarily - it doesn't have to mean they act badly, just that they don't care if they do. Also, this is about how they choose their own actions and view their own behavior. They can think morality is relevant for other people as long as they ignore it when they act themself.
Always in the right: feels morally righteous in every decision they make. Standard superhero type of trait. Doesn't necessarily pass judgement on others, doesn't necessarily act well according to everyone's moral code (see: blue and orange morality), but they are extremely principled and will never deviate from the moral code they personally believe in. And they do genuinely believe in it.
Circumstances terms:
Generally terrible to generally excellent: how subjectively decent is your character's situation, overall? If they think everything is horrible, but the situation is charmed to everyone except them, then it's generally terrible.
Need for changes to passive tolerance: will they do something about it? Do they feel like they have to?
No agency in action to decisions are huge: agency being "how much power do I have to make changes here?", this just asks how much they have. No agency means that, no matter what they do, nothing will happen - they might be locked in a cage or somehow otherwise completely unable to use any sort of power at all, even the power of just leaving. The other end of the spectrum is where every decision the character makes makes a huge difference, not just to themself but to everyone around them as well. They can start wars, they can have anyone they want killed, they can do anything whenever they feel like it. If they think they have no agency even though they do actually have agency, they don't have agency here. If they feel like they have all the agency in the world and can do anything, then they do even if it's not true. It's perceptual again.
Stakes are deadly to mistakes solvable: what are the consequences of failure? Will you die, will you lose status you can't afford to lose, will you lose belongings, will you have to apologize, will nothing happen at all? Mistakes solvable is where they think every mistake is solvable forever - the character pushes someone through a woodchipper and they come out and to fix it, maybe an apology has to occur, but not much else. Does not necessarily mean no one gets hurt or killed as long as the character thinks there are no permanent consequences. This is the most important one on this section to keep subjective because it will greatly influence how your character approaches situations. A character who thinks everything is deadly-stakes may go to cartoonishly-extreme lengths to avoid turning a report in a day late. A character who thinks all mistakes are always solvable may push someone through a woodchipper and then just assume they can say they're sorry and it'll all go away. The setting and their approach do not need to be applicable.
Needs go unmet to attended with care: how do the people around them treat them? Do they pay attention when the character needs something, or do they ignore it? Does the character have to do everything themself around here, or are there people who will help out?
Regarded poorly to regarded well: how do they think other people see them? Are they respected, are they liked, or are they disliked? Do people broadly trust them or are they pretty sure everyone regards them with suspicion?
Nothing changes to changes in seconds: functionally the 'stability' meter of your setting - is the situation generally stable, or are things constantly changing? Does your character feel like every five minutes, there's a new problem that needs dealing with, or do they feel like nothing has ever happened ever?
Growth terms:
Changes in place: do they go somewhere else? Does the physical setting otherwise change (eg; earthquake, war, etc) ? Are there any other reasons that the 'vibe' or 'experience' of the place is different from before?
Change in power: does the character's percieved agency (see: no agency in action to decisions are huge) change? Alternately you can use it if they've gained or lost power in some percieved way (deposed, assigned a commanding position, etc).
Change in bonds: do their relationships with people change? Have they made new friends, lost old friends, changed the nature of their relationships with friends or partners, etc?
Change in beliefs: straightforwardly, have their beliefs, morals, etc, changed?
Change in hurts: have they undergone some horrible experience? Do they have past trauma from some pre-arc horrible experience they're healing from and/or discovering they're more powerfully subject to? Did they experience a physical injury that they're recovering from or which materially changed their life? Did something recent dredge up old issues? So on and so forth.
Change in hopes: Do their desires for the future look the way they used to? Do they care about different things now? This is something the character is not actively working for, but may be tied to actual goals.
Change in fears: are they overcoming fears? Growing past them? Gaining new ones? Are they scared of shit different from how they used to be?
Change in goals: Not the same as a hope because it needs to have a specific, achievable outcome the character is actively working toward. Do those material goals look different? Perhaps they no longer want to work against something, maybe they didn't have any goals and now they do. Or maybe they've realized the goal is impossible, or something has happened to make that goal unachieveable. Whatever it is, if there's a change, it's a change.
Change in self-awareness: their beliefs about who they are and what they're like, and what their circumstances are. Have they gotten more self-aware, have they gotten less self-aware, or has nothing changed?
Change in relationships: their relationships' overall health and resilience, as far as the character is concerned - which doesn't mean they're necessarily good, just that the character thinks they're how they're supposed to be. Have they improved? Have they gotten worse? Have they not changed?
Change in knowledge: do they feel like they know more about the world, their place in it, the people around them, etc? Not necessarily how to do things - just general information and awareness.
Change in social standing: how does others' regard for the character change over this part of their arc? Do people like them more or less? Are they respected more or less than before? Has nothing changed? And so on.
Change in skills and abilities: do they feel more skilled than they were before? Do they feel like they know how to do as many things as before? Again - not necessarily rooted in reality - a classic example of a character being wrong about this is a 'big fish in a small pond' character who used to be the high school sports star going to college on a sports scholarship and discovering they're not the best any more, and suddenly feeling like they're the worst - when they're better than they've ever been in an objective light. Use a subjective viewpoint for this.
Change in agency in life: how does the character's percieved agency change? Do their decisions matter less now than ever? Do their actions make way more happen than before? (See: no agency in action vs decisions are huge)
Change in outlook: Here's the upper/downer part. Are they more or less hopeful for the future? Do they think things are more terrible now? Are things improving as far as they're concerned? Or has that not changed?
Change in goal progress: how do they feel like they're progressing on the goals they've set for themself? Are they getting further and further away? Are they getting closer?
If some of this doesn't make sense and you want a clarification, you will have to tag me to get my attention, because I'm turning notifications for this post off the minute it leaves my immediate social circle.
Transparent version: (sorry you had to scroll so far)
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starmuselove · 5 months ago
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What is your pain trying to teach you?
Sometimes a little help is needed in times of confusion, pain and fear for all of us. Though some people need to figure it out themselves which will help in unlocking their inner mechanics which will be useful for their own future, i am coming through to help a little during difficult times.
So I pray to the Universe that this PAC reaches the ones in need and only helps in guiding them in their spiritual path and not robbing them from their own experiences of discovering or creating their own path of healing.
Disclaimer: Tarot is used only as a tool to help you and it does not state 100% facts, use your own Intuition and discretion.
Directions: Take a deep breath, calm down and choose one of the shiny things to lead you to your destined assistance ☄️ Is perfectly alright to be drawn to multiple piles!
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Pile 1
I'm clearly hearing that the Deity/God you pray to has got your back. "Just put all your trust on me child, let me take care of it. Why are you worrying when I'm here" they know that you want abundance and it almost seems dream like compared to your current circumstances. Are you a Shiva devotee by any chance? Even if not, i get there is a Divine Masculine force backing you up. The dream could have a stark difference from reality that it seems impossible. I'm getting that most probably you're stuck in a 'barren' situation. You could feel like there nothing here for you or nothing better for you. Despite that you crave this happiness and fulfillment. If you are daydreaming too much this could be a problem- it's perfectly fine to wish for better times but dear, please don't torcher yourself with jumping between the dreamland and the current harsh circumstances in your life. This applies if you're also being two minded about things-it will get better, no it will not get better- back and forth. Your pain is teaching you to have a belief that your are protected and you will receive what you want but using escaping tendencies will bring you nothing but more pain that's unnecessary. It's teaching you that you need more faith be it in yourself or a higher power. Have faith that you deserve the fulfillment and aren't meant to be in this poverty forever. Give yourself a chance to fully believe that your future is very bright. Give yourself a chance to see that you have people and entities out there to help you-known or unknown.
𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮: 𝓑𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼- 𝓟𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓮𝓼.
Keep yourself grounded so that you don't get lost from the divinely protected path. The current circumstances are put to keep you safe. Don't let the circumstances waver your belief inside, that everything is gonna be okay. You are divinely protected!
Pile 2
Your pain is telling you to let go of things that don't serve you anymore. When you know a habit is bringing you pain and discourse you could still be doing it- like a stuck record. You hate it but the familiarity is keeping you in the loop. Break the loop hun. You can lessen the pain and difficulties so much if you just do that breaking.
If any of you have childhood traumas- it's actually bringing attention that you have worked on it enough. Cause I'm getting people here have been working on your childhood traumas for quite some time. It's time to let it go. It's time to shed that identity, shed that skin. It's actually burdening you now, as you seem hyper fixed on it- all the things that requires to be worked on could have already been done. But of course since they are still bothering you somehow, this is your sign to let all the past go. No need to burden yourself with it anymore, don't worry about it.
𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓷-𝓡𝓲𝓼𝓮 𝓽��� 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓬𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷- 𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽.
You have suffered enough in the dark. It's showtime, let yourself shine as the divinely directed light showers on you its benevolence.
Pile 3
You are not allowing yourself to be vulnerable, to just relax. You don't have to keep up a front, act like everything is under control- you don't have to take measures to make sure that everything is perfect.
This pile got the most cards and i see you could be justifying and creating these stories or reasons in your mind to justify why you can't relax. You don't have to work your ass off and worry your pretty little brain. Oops someone is getting angry here 😭 I meant your amazing little intelligent brain. Everyone needs rest, no matter how many amazing things you can do or want to do! Let things go, be vulnerable atleast to yourself. Don't be the person who's always making things happen. This is seriously creating blockages from your happiness. Your natural charms and passions are getting destroyed. Don't succumb to the thoughts that instigate worry in you. And don't believe the negative thoughts- i see they are sucking out the happiness, joy and hope for life away from you. It's alright to be a soft little kitten and just relax on your sofa like you have no worries in your life. Your unwillingness to be gentle with maybe yourself or your loved ones, to just relax, is the main issue(333 as i type this!) Stop worrying, your happiness is already here.
𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮: 𝓟𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓼- 𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮.
You are already doing well! Don't push yourself too much, take this time to behave accordingly-for you cannot always do specific action all the time. Take time for other things-like resting and self pampering.
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Please reblog, like or comment and support me if you liked it and/or this helped you!! Wishing you the best! I'd love to read how this reading was for you!
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etclouie · 4 months ago
Note
“Im pretty sure your mom hates me.” with jax please
˚୨୧⋆。 — title; mothers judgement (jax teller x fem!reader)
˚୨୧⋆。 — prompt/s; “Im pretty sure your mom hates me.” — from fluffy prompts
˚୨୧⋆。 — warnings; established relationship, gemma not being readers biggest fan, jax sharing his feelings, they kinda talk about having kids (it got away from me, my bad😣☝️), but that’s it i think? (792 words)
˚୨୧⋆。 — a/n; i’m actually so sorry for being such an unreliable writer
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— thank you for celebrating with me || submissions are now closed!!
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you’d stopped by the garage to see Jax, smiling softly at him as he emerged from Gemma’s office. 
he quickly made his way over to you, both of his hands cradling your face as he pulled you into a kiss. you stumbled slightly at his force, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself. 
Jax chuckled, pulling back to meet your eyes but keeping your face in his hands. 
“missed you”
he whispered, lips tugging into a smile as he admired you. 
he’d left early this morning, long before you got up. the bed cold when you woke, and Abel crying in the next room, but seeing him again—feeling the love through his touch replaced the brief coldness his absence had left. 
“i missed you too”
you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck as he leaned in to kiss you again. 
his kiss full with the same intensity as his previous one, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip while your fingers tangled in his hair. 
Jax only pulled back when he heard the subtle jests coming from the garage, followed by a clatter of tools and your giggles. 
reluctantly he let go of your face, dropping his hands to your hips as he held you close. 
you couldn’t say what pulled you to look over his shoulder, but when you did, you seen Gemma standing in the doorway to her office. her arms crossed over her chest and an unimpressed look on her face as she watched the two of you. 
you sighed, slowly pulling your eyes back to meet Jax’s. 
“i’m pretty sure your mom hates me”
his eyebrows knitted together at your words, squeezing at your hips as he slowly turned to look back at Gemma. 
he sighed, shaking his head before he met your eyes again. 
“ignore her, just protective over me after Tara”
you nodded, trying to keep your eyes on him but Gemma’s gaze was hard to ignore. 
and Jax felt the same way. 
without a word, he spun you. your back to his chest as he slowly walked you towards the clubhouse, his hands never leaving your hips. 
“besides, she doesn’t know what’s good for me. been so hell bent on keeping Tara out my life, that every good thing gets targeted too”
you listened to his words, letting him lead you back into one of the dorms. only turning back to him as he shut the door, head tilted and a lazy smile on his face. 
he took a step closer, just enough to invade your space while still keeping a gap. 
“i won’t let her ruin what we’ve got”
his voice was soft and his words sincere. 
you nodded, reaching for his hands to pull him closer, close the gap between you. Jax leaned in, pressing a kiss to your jaw before he whispered. 
“i love you, i have loved you for as long as i can remember”
you tilted your head to meet his eyes, his gaze soft and a berth of love shining back at you. 
“i love that you help take care of Abel, hell makes me feel some type of way”
he kept his voice soft as he spoke. 
you knew what he meant, the underlining tone to what he’d just said, and it made your heart flutter. 
“i want that with you, not just taking care of Abel, having our own too”
you nodded slowly, scared to say something in case you messed up the moment. 
but when Jax leaned in, catching your lips in another kiss, pouring his love into it—you only had one thing on your mind, only able to say those three words back to him. 
“i love you”
his lips curved up in the corners, that familiar look on his face that made you roll your eyes. yet it was warmer this time, less teasing and more hopeful for your future together. 
“i’m serious darlin’, just hoping that’s what you want too?”
he asked hopefully, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he waited for your reply. 
when you slowly nodded, a sigh of relief left him. his hands cradling your face and pulling you into another softer kiss. 
“yeah i want that”
your words made him beam, his lips pressing to your again while you laughed. 
after a minute you pushed him back slightly, whispering against his lips. 
“i’m not the one telling Gemma, she already doesn’t like me”
Jax sighed, he knew you were right, but he didn’t care right now. he just wanted to be with you, and the possibilities of your future. 
“i’ll tell her, just gimme another kiss—you’ve made an honest man outta me, and i promise our kids will be proof of that”
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reblogs are highly appreciated !
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ambrosiagourmet · 1 year ago
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Hey, Kabru and Mithrun spend some interesting time together, don't they?
With Mithrun having just officially premiered in the anime, and a lot of discussions swirling around about him, I've been thinking a lot about that section of the story quite a bit. These chapters - Roasted Walking Mushroom and 6 Days - are some of my favorites. For a lot of reasons, really. Not only are they are a huge turning point for the story as a whole, but they have some excellent character work, and represent an important shift in Kabru and Mithrun's individual arcs and relationship to each other.
The chapters are also kind of a fully contained story arc just on their own, which is an impressive bit of writing, and makes them super fun to analyze. So that's exactly what I'm going to do!
This will be structured as a close reading of chapters 61 & 62, with some asides for additional important context. I'm going to talk a little bit about a reading that I disagree with, but for the most part I just want to focus on how Kabru and Mithrun's relationship progresses during these two chapters. In particular, the ways they both grow from the time they spend together.
Also I just want to quickly note that this isn't written as Ship Content. It's meant to be an analysis of their relationship as presented in the text - layer whatever additional meanings and filters on top of that as you'd like, but please respect that my intent is not to talk about or champion a ship, or frame any of this content as romantic.
So, with that all being said:
How do Kabru and Mithrun help each other?
First of all, I think there are two important pieces of context that inform the Kabru & Mithrun Dungeon Adventure chapters. Both are related to Kabru's state of mind, and both are set up before or during the chapters in question.
The first is the context of what happened just before Kabru and Mithrun fell into the dungeon. Specifically, the events that led Kabru to make them fall.
Kabru, essentially, gives up his life at the end of chapter 55. When he stops Mithrun, and when they both plummet with the collapse of the first floor, he is okay with dying. Mithrun warns him that they will both die if Kabru doesn't let him go, and Kabru accepts this as a worthwhile exchange.
Why?
Well, because he doesn't want the elves to take over the dungeon. Throughout the last 3 chapters, the Canaries have been effective, but they have also been cruel in their efficiency, and they have made it clear that they don't care about collateral damage. They lured people into the dungeon specifically to provoke a violent reaction from it, without regard for who might get hurt by the violence.
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What's more, they are keeping important information from Kabru, and he knows it.
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He's not just looking for a solution, he's looking for the truth - a truth that he believes that he will only find through conquering the dungeon. With good reason, to be fair! The elves make it very clear that they aren't there to treat the other races on the Island as equals.
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So Kabru uses the only tool he has available to him - his own life. It won't get him the truth, but it at least gives a chance for another person from a short-life species (namely, Laios) to earn it in his place.
This dovetails nicely with the more thematic context that's introduced in at the start of chapter 61: the room where he could eat all the cake he wanted.
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This place, a place that Kabru never wants to go back to, is a place where he is safe, and a place where he is ignorant. A place where he is sheltered from danger, but also from the truth. The same place the Island would become, if the Canaries had their way. He doesn't just want to be safe, and he doesn't even just want the world to be safe, though he does want to be able to protect people from what happened in Utaya.
But he doesn't just want to entrust that safety to the paternalism of the elves (especially since he is all too aware of the ways they can fail, or the people they are willing to sacrifice in the name of that "safety"). He wants to be given the agency to seek safety and peace for himself.
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He wants to understand. And he wants the chance to act.
This is the context we have, going into the arc of 61 & 62. But before I talk about how the chapters build on this context, I want to take a step back and look at what else the chapters establish early on, before delving into their exploration of Kabru's agency.
First of all, I kind of want to challenge the framing of Kabru and Mithrun's relationship as solely that of a caretaker and his charge.
Obviously, Kabru is forced into a caretaker position - at the threat of his friend's safety, no less. (Okay, it's actually Toshiro and Namari that are being held, but still. There are hostages involved in this) But I do think it's important that Mithrun isn't the one who puts Kabru in this position - Cithis is.
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Before this conversation, Kabru and Mithrun are already exploring the dungeon together. Mithrun doesn't threaten Kabru, or force his hand. He kind of just assumes that Kabru will join him. It's rude, and not particularly respectful, but given the dangers of navigating a dungeon alone, I don't think that's really an unreasonable assumption. And it certainly isn't the same as Cithis' approach.
If they were left alone with no intervention, they probably would have ended up in a similar position to the one that Cithis leveraged them into. Kabru is smart, and he could have figured out the things that Mithrun needed help with. And, to be clear, those are things that Mithrun needs help with not because he is selfish or thinks they are owed to him, but because he is disabled. It's not unreasonable for him to need that help, and it's not unreasonable for Kabru to provide it, under the circumstances.
Besides, they both need each other down there. Kabru wouldn't have survived without Mithrun - he doesn't know enough about monsters, and isn't familiar with the deeper dungeon's layout. And Mithrun wouldn't survive without Kabru - he isn't able to notice his basic needs and would burn himself out without food or rest, making him an easy target for the monsters he could otherwise take care of on his own.
Aside from both needing each other, another interesting layer to their relationship, which is established right away, is that Kabru doesn't have to - and literally cannot - put on a mask of social niceties around Mithrun. He can't suck up. It doesn't work.
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So Kabru, who spends so much of his time concerned with how others perceive him, and who compromises his own comfort in order to become the most appealing version of himself at any given time, has that tool taken away. He has to help Mithrun, but notably, he can only help Mithrun to a certain point. He cannot compromise his open and honest feelings to help maintain someone else's view of the world - or at very least, it doesn't benefit him at all to do so.
Instead, they sit together, in the same position, share the same shitty mushroom dinner, because they both have to:
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And that's notable, too. They both have to. Cithis' demand is most specific about the need to eat. Three meals a day! But this is something they both need, not just Mithrun.
Still, their relationship at this point still isn't exactly supportive, or even respectful. Kabru may have realized that he didn't need to keep up an act around Mithrun, but ya know, he still turns around an immediately try to, with that shitty mushroom dinner.
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(The 'badly drawn shapeshift Kabru' gag here isn't just funny, imo, it's also a reminder of the thing he JUST LEARNED. Mithrun is immune to the Kabru smile anime sparkles filter.)
Mithrun also doesn't tell Kabru any helpful information at this point, and doesn't really put much effort into helping him at all. He slaps him awake out of a Nightmare, and treats him with the same disregard he did at the start of the chapter, focused entirely on moving ahead.
But then Mithrun collapses, and the current structure of their relationship collapses with him.
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I think it's interesting here that the shift in their dynamic also includes Mithrun explicitly noticing Kabru's desires. Obviously it's not actually like some kind of I truly see you and recognize your humanity moment shared between them, but I do still like the way that it pulls Kabru's internal wants to the surface. Kabru not voicing his desires doesn't mean they don't exist, and Mithrun recognizes that the same way the dungeon does.
And then Mithrun does, in fact, grant one of Kabru's deepest desires. He tells Kabru the truth.
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Just like how they are working together in the first place, this truth is as much a necessary concession to survival as anything. But that doesn't mean it's not impactful for Kabru. This is the thing that every other elf in his life has kept from him. A secret foundational to his core belief that long-life and short-life species can never come to mutual understanding.
And Mithrun isn't just giving him the bare minimum information here. What he shares isn't just a truth, it's his truth. It's a level of complete and total vulnerability that few people share with each other. And again - some of this may just be coincidence and necessity. I imagine Mithrun is so open, at least in part, because he doesn't have the same barriers that other people do when it comes to sharing these things.
But, then again... we see Mithrun at his most vulnerable and empathetic when he is talking to dungeon lords & potential dungeon lords, and trying to convey to them the truth of the trap they are walking into.
This face:
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Is very similar to this face:
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These are some of the few instances that we see Mithrun emote in this way, and his story does come just after he notices the dungeon responding to Kabru's desires.
But, no matter if Mithrun's openness is in response to Kabru being tangled in the dungeon's hunger, or just part of his nature (or, maybe, a little of both), his story changes things for Kabru. It gives him the chance to make actual choices, now that he understands the truth. It gives him a chance at agency in the story.
And he immediately turns around and uses some of that agency in an interesting way:
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When asked about why he can't sleep, Mithrun says he needs to be magically compelled. Being magicked to sleep is simple, and it is efficient, but he doesn't even just say it's the best option. He seems to believe it is the only option.
So much in Mithrun's recovery has been framed through how it will let him fight the demon. Recover so that you can return to the dungeon. Sleep so that you can return to the dungeon. Eat so that you can return to the dungeon.
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But rest, much like eating, isn't just about achieving the bare minimum required for efficiency. And as Senshi would probably say, the easiest path isn't always the best.
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I don't think that the Canaries are intentionally running Mithrun ragged or anything, but as I mentioned earlier, they are very focused on efficiency, with little thought spared to what is lost or hurt in the process.
And there is something different about Mithrun's time with Kabru in the dungeon. Lycion even notes it, when they finally connect back up.
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I don't think it's a huge leap to say that how Mithrun falls asleep here is emblematic of that difference. When Kabru helps Mithrun to sleep by massaging his feet, rather then using magic, he is explicitly taking a step beyond the minimum. He is providing comfort to a body that has been given only necessities for a long, long time.
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These two events - Mithrun sharing the truth of the dungeon with Kabru, and Kabru choosing to help Mithrun to sleep through a foot massage - shift their relationship. There's a clear difference in how we see them treat each other, and especially in how Mithrun treats Kabru.
Before, Kabru provides food that he has gathered himself (okay, it was a mushroom he put his foot through on floor one, but the point still stands that Mithrun offered no help at all with getting food).
Afterwards, they gather food together.
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Before, Mithrun teleports Kabru towards a monster, using him as a weapon when he can't find anything else.
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Afterwards, he helps Kabru escape monsters, and fights them directly.
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Before, he slaps Kabru awake after 5 hours of uncomfortable, Nightmare-filled sleep. A rest which, notably, Kabru didn't even intend to take for himself.
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Afterwards, we see Mithrun keeping watch while Kabru sleeps in a bedroll.
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I don't necessarily think that all of these things are choices that Mithrun consciously makes. Like, after 6 days, Kabru would have to get some actual sleep eventually, and Mithrun would pretty obviously have to keep watching during that time.
Nonetheless, there's still a difference in how these scenes are framed, and the fact that it is these things that are used to portray their journey together. Kabru is not the sole person providing food and sleep and safety - they provide these things for each other. Kabru eats alongside Mithrun, hunts alongside Mithrun, and he sleeps in the same way we see Mithrun sleep, laying down and resting deeply enough to be groggy when woken up.
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What's more, during their time together, there are even a couple of instances of Kabru being more willing to care for himself and accept care. The sleeping is one example - note how he is surprised at having slept "that long" when told he was asleep for less than even the minimum recommended amount of nightly sleep - but I think the pattern of his eating is even clearer. In making sure that Mithrun eats regularly, he is forced to eat regularly too.
And I especially like the progression with the Barometz meal. After Mithrun has fallen asleep, Kabru thinks about wanting to "give [Mithrun] something nice to eat," but also notes that Mithrun's lack of desire "means there isn't even anything he wants to eat." So what does Kabru do?
He makes Mithrun something that he wants to eat.
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I've already talked a bit about the ways that Dungeon Meshi depicts people finding support through "borrowing" the desires of the people who care for them, and I think this scene is a great example of that idea. Especially in the way that it pulls an expression of desire from Kabru, who is so prone to ignore his own hunger and needs. The meal may not end up anywhere close to the flavor intended, but it's still a far cry from the roasted walking mushroom.
All of these pieces come together at the end of chapter 62, resulting in a pivotal choice that could only happen because of the ways Kabru and Mithrun have, at least a little bit, grown closer to each other.
As they are preparing to leave, Kabru hears a bell ringing in the dungeon, just as he hears Toshiro's matching bell on the other side of the portal. Realizing Laios is nearby, Kabru hesitates. He knows the truth about the demon, and how he has a chance to act on it.
Cithis, the person who extorted Kabru into taking care of Mithrun in the first place, pushes for Mithrun to follow along with the plan.
(okay a quick aside here I just want to say I do love Cithis and I'm not trying to bash on her here. I just think it's interesting that she is the one to establish the terms of Mithrun & Kabru's cooperation, as well as the one who tells Mithrun to leave the dungeon at the end of the chapter)
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But Mithrun doesn't go along with her command. Instead, he does something unexpected:
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He asks what Kabru wants to do.
In contrast to Milsiril's smothering comfort,
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and in contrast to his Mithrun's own assumption that Kabru will follow him, when they first wake up in the dungeon,
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Mithrun follows Kabru's lead.
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This, right here, is the change between them. Not only that, but it's a shift in the entire balance of agency in the dungeon. For what might be the first time in a very long time, Kabru - a tall-man - knows the truth, and is acting on it. He makes a huge decision purely on his own judgement. He is not trying to appease or coerce anyone, and he doesn't win Mithrun over by hiding his true intentions.
Rather, it's the honesty between them that builds to this moment. Mithrun's honesty earns Kabru's trust, and Kabru's honesty earns Mithrun's respect. They bond not because they are forced to spend time together, but because they choose to spend that time giving each other more than the bare minimum - even when they are both people used to accepting the bare minimum.
It echoes Laios' argument with Toshiro, in a way. They eat three square meals a day (Cithis mandated admittedly), they get plenty of sleep, and in doing these things, they take each other seriously. They treat each other as more than just a means to an end.
I don't necessarily think it's a flawless, unbreakable bond that's built during this time - hell, they both kind of revert back to their old behavior, once reunited with the rest of the Canaries. People don't completely change their habits overnight, after all.
But it is a shift. It's a shift that gives Kabru the chance to steer the story towards the ending he has fought for all his life, and it's a shift that helps Mithrun find a way to move forward after he loses his own reason for living. They reach their goals, and then they step past them - facing life beyond the moments they thought defined their reasons for living. Facing life beyond the bare minimum.
And that is how they help each other.
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smileyoongle · 11 months ago
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Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader
Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU
Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.
Warnings- Mentions of blood, gore and murder scenes, eventual smut, JK is definitely a hard dom and mad possessive, vampire bites and blood sucking.
A/N- Even though I have tagged the people who asked to be tagged, there will be no taglist for this series from here on. I only tagged you guys to sort of let you know this series has started. It's a big struggle to keep all those usernames up to date so you might wanna turn on the notifs :)
Please find the introduction to the world of Amour Mort here!
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You ran through the forest, tears in your eyes making it difficult to see the path ahead, but you could tell you were venturing deeper into the more dangerous side. At the back of your mind, you were very aware that you shouldn’t be here past midnight, and that if someone found you breaking curfew, you would probably be executed by the throne, thinking you were some sort of rebel revolting in the recent uprisings. But all of that paled in comparison to the despair gnawing at your soul.
The branches clawed at your skin, leaving angry red marks, but you didn’t slow down, only realizing you had come here barefoot when tiny stones began hurting the bottom of your feet. You were being chased—not by a person, but by your own thoughts and the relentless ache in your chest. Your father’s words would not stop playing in your mind, your palms pressing against your ears as you closed your eyes in an attempt to silence his voice.
"You're nothing but a burden to me. I wish you had never been born!"
Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your right foot, sending you stumbling and falling to the ground with all the air being knocked out of your lungs. You winced, letting out a whimper as you managed to look back, gasping at the bear trap that had clamped around your foot. Its teeth dug into your flesh, and blood pooled on the dead leaves beneath you.
“No…” you cried out, sobbing at your misfortune, the pain from your wound shooting through your leg in waves. A thought came to you: maybe this is how you die, completely alone and unloved, with no one to care that you weren’t at home right now.
‘That’s not true! Lila cares…’
Your mind screamed at you, your sister’s pretty face popping into your head. Well, this was true; your sister did care about you. But really, there was only so much she could do when your father did not even acknowledge you as his daughter. You still remembered the party where a guest mistook you for a maiden working in the mansion. It had truly hurt you, but there was nothing you could say, not when that is probably what your father wanted the world to think. A part of you thinks he hates you because your mother died just five days after you were born, but how could you, a mere baby, be at fault for that?
Gathering all your energy, you began to drag yourself to a tree nearby, wincing and whimpering with every wave of pain that washed over you. You could even feel the burn on the skin of your forearms where it rubbed against the rocky and muddy ground, convinced that the sleeve of your dress was beginning to tear. Were you even going to make it back home? Did you even want to make it back home?
Upon reaching the giant tree, you pushed yourself up, managing to rest your back against the trunk, finally getting a good look at the steel trap wrapped around your foot. Meant for animals, it was likely a tool for the poorer vampires who couldn’t afford human slaves and fed on animal blood instead. It was the one law that favored humans: vampires were forbidden to feed on them freely. But nonetheless, it was always the innocent ones who had to pay the price. The night-walkers were given the gift of strength and brutality that they used against the weak, be it you or an animal.
Your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing growing harsh, and your vision growing blurry. It was the blood loss, and you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Either you were getting used to it, or your body had started focusing on the fact that you were dying instead. Whatever was happening, it was not good, and you had no idea how to help yourself.
“You shouldn’t be here. Not at this time.” A voice broke through the darkness, making you jump in surprise, your eyes immediately landing on a man’s silhouette standing just a few steps away from you. Your heart hammered in your chest, and, swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself further against the tree, hoping that would make you disappear.
Was this someone who was going to turn you in? Maybe the cause of your death was going to be execution and not a bear trap?
Your silence only prompted the man to move closer to you and into the moonlight filtering through the trees, your lips parting as you took in his face. He was truly breathtaking, with black hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. There was black ink peeking at you from under the collar of his black shirt on his neck, more patterns emerging from under his rolled-up sleeve right up to his knuckles, making you wonder just how much of his body was tainted like this.
“N-neither should you,” you said bravely, though your voice was small and weak.
He chuckled in response, making you purse your lips as you watched him kneel down beside you, your body subconsciously shifting backward even though there was nowhere to go, every single thought in your mind long gone in the presence of this man.
His eyes slowly moved across your body, taking in your tear-stained cheeks, your tattered dress, and your bloody foot, tutting at the condition of your wound.
“This is why you shouldn’t be here, little human,” he said, your eyes widening as you caught a hint of amusement on his face, your blood running cold at the realization. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you were suddenly very aware of the blood you were soaked in, your eyes nervously flitting between him and your poor foot. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do so at the hands of a vampire. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine the pain that was probably about to suffocate you when he ripped your heart right out of your chest.
“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, staring into his eyes with tears in yours, shaking your head when he smirked and leaned in closer to you. Closing your eyes, you let the tears fall freely and turned your face away from him, his breath fanning your neck and making you whimper.
“You must taste exquisite.” He inhaled deeply, your chest heaving as his words made your heart thump harder in your chest. This has to be it. He was going to drain your body right now, and no one was going to find out ever.
Preparing yourself for the attack, you closed your eyes shut and gripped the skirt of your dress, thinking about your family for the last time before your life was taken from you.
“But I’m not going to do that.” Came his voice, your eyes slowly opening as you glanced over at him, noticing the sudden distance he had put between the two of you. A frown etched on your forehead, your tears drying up on your cheeks as you processed his words. He was not going to hurt you?
“I’m too old to lose control over a bit of blood.” He gestured nonchalantly towards your foot, shocking you at how he thought this was just a bit of blood. You were literally going to pass out soon.
“Wh-why are you here?” you stammered, biting your tongue when his expression hardened, his eyes sending daggers your way and letting you know that you shouldn’t have asked him that. Silence engulfed you both, your eyes failing to look away from him. It was almost as if he was holding you prisoner under his gaze, a flash of guilt disappearing from his dark eyes as soon as it came.
“I had to get away before they caught up to me,” he confessed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stood up and stared down at you, his eyes reading the confusion in yours.
“Who-”
“My sins,” he responded before you could even ask, his thick boots crunching the leaves on the gravelly path as he walked in front of your stretched-out leg and sat down on one knee. A flash of lightning struck through the sky at that very second, as if to show that the heavens had heard his confession too. And when the thunder illuminated his face, you could swear you had seen the very face of evil.
“Are you scared of me?” he asked, tilting his head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head hesitantly. But you knew he didn’t believe you when he let out a small laugh. It sounded bitter to your ears, like he was mocking you for being so weak yet trying to fool him at the same time.
“Well, you should be.” In one quick motion, his hand ripped apart the trap into two pieces, your flesh being freed from the sharp claws that were jammed into it. Dots filled your vision as your lips parted in a silent scream, your chest hurting as if you were having a heart attack, and maybe you were because you felt your body go limp as your eyes rolled back into your head.
Strong arms held you before you could hit the ground, your head suddenly resting against a firm chest as your breath came out all raggedy. You could feel sweat beading on your forehead, your body not having any energy to even let you open your eyes for a second.
“W-why…” you breathed out, your voice a bare whisper in the night. And the next thing you knew, you felt a hand pressing against your lips before a metallic taste filled your mouth. With all the energy left in you, you opened your eyes wide and grabbed the tattooed arm feeding you blood, your attempts at pushing it away failing miserably.
“Sshh, you need this. You need me,” the vampire whispered above you, his chin resting atop your head as he ran his free hand through your hair. Knowing that you couldn’t fight him off, not like this, you gave up and swallowed the disgusting liquid that made your body feel warm all of a sudden. You could hear your heart pumping and your breathing steadying as the blood worked its way into your system, your senses sharpening, and your strength slowly returning.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled his arm away, and you let out a string of coughs, gasping for air while the awful taste lingered on your tongue. It was truly ironic how the blood of someone dead could heal a living being. How a killer could give life to someone. And you were sure that this man who had saved your life was a killer too. Why else would he talk about his sins catching up to him?
“What did you do that you had to run away?” you asked as soon as you found your voice, your tired eyes glancing up at the man holding you. His eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips, sending shivers down your spine when he brought up his thumb and rubbed away some blood from the corner of your mouth.
“What’s your name?” He avoided your question smoothly, pretending you hadn’t spoken a word to him. Frowning, you thought about it for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell him who you were. But at the same time, you weren’t a very valuable human. There was really nothing he could want from you that would make him hunt you down.
“Y/N,” you said, averting your gaze to your foot, which was now void of any wounds. Your skin looked completely smooth and untouched except for the dried blood staining it, leaving you staring in awe.
“Well, Y/N,” he started, regaining your attention, “you’re gonna find out tomorrow.”
You frowned at his words, wondering if this implied that he was going to see you tomorrow to tell you what sin he had committed. Too lost in your head to notice that he had stood up, you saw him offer his hand to you. Your fingers hesitantly took hold of his cold ones. With ease, he pulled you up as you slightly lifted your dress and examined your foot, pleased with the fact that there was absolutely no pain anymore.
“This is-” You turned to glance at the man, only to be met with darkness. The vampire was gone, the forest was silent, and you were alone once again.
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Taglist: @scuzmunkie @girl8890 @adasboredom @acrazybiotch374 @tutnotmytea @leilei-9 @yoonjinhusbands @kumakoyan @ttanniett
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lure-of-writing · 6 months ago
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Beyond the tread of fate
Summary: The "war games" were anything but games. It was a ploy to kill off more riders without having to get blood on their hands.
Word count: 2.8k
Authors note: Hi everyone, I think I'm going to make this into a series but as always I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions! And if you have any requests or ideas on what I should do next please let me know! and ways happy reading!!
“We have never seen a signet as strong as hers.” The breathy voice a few yards away shook Bodhi to his core. “There has never been a signet like this to begin with.” Another voice counters. 
Never did you think your signet would be something so strong and powerful. The ability to not only see parts of the future but to alter it, to put it simply, is insane. You knew that having a powerful signet was good in more ways than one but that also meant it put an even bigger target on your back. If other riders in the quadrant didn’t want to kill you before for having the markings of the rebellion relic, they definitely do now. 
But unfortunately for them you did not come this far, survive for this long, to only come this far. Each day after threshing posed a threat to your survival. Leadership now had a keen eye on you unlike before where they would simply spare you a glance before moving onto something they thought to be more interesting, not that you minded. Now it seemed that almost everyone in the leadership positions took a new liking to breathing down your back at all times of the day. There was no doubt in your mind that they were trying to find a way for you to cement yourself as a tool used for destruction at their hands, little did they know that you would die before pledging even more loyalty to them then you already have. 
Your acts of slight rebellion were starting to catch up with you, having drawn the attention of not only general Melgren but also general Sorrengail. And you swore that if the soul of Malek wasn’t reincarnated into this death trap of a college, wasn’t trying to kill you, then the generals most definitely would take it upon themselves. And something told you that Malek would be more merciful. 
As a third year it wasn’t uncommon to be called to the midland posts and with your signet there was no doubt that those so called leaders would let you venture more they deemed necessary. Needless to say you weren’t surprised when it was announced that the so called attack was simply “Was games.” Nothing in this horrendous college was simply a game. It was a way of killing off people without having to do any of the work. 
Dain was attempting to get you to go with him and violet as a guise of keeping Violet safe while Xaden wasn’t with her. Except you would rather be roasted by a dragon then go anywhere with the overgrown toddler of a squad leader. Xaden wouldn’t allow it and neither would Bodhi. That's how you found yourself in the air formation of Xadens personal picks heading outside of the wards. Even without your powers you knew that something was off, you could feel it, and so could everyone else. But without the ability to talk with Xaden or Bodhi while in the air, you keep your thoughts to yourself and focus on making a game plan with what little information you had.
It was no surprise to land at the outpost and see that it was completely empty. Not only was leadership testing Xadens loyalty but they were testing everyone else who was with him. You didn’t need your signet to see that one coming. Having been the child of parents who were in the rebellion you knew all those creatures in the stories told to young children weren’t simply a story, but instead the truth. And they were coming right at the town of the outpost. “Well that’s definitely not good.” you mumble under your breath while turning back to the group of riders that were looking towards Xaden. “What's not good?” Bodhi asked with concern, effectively halting all conversation. Without answering you motioned over your shoulder and moved to the side allowing others to see what you saw mere seconds ago. A beat of silence passes before a murmur of a colorful string of cuss words rang out from all directions. “Are those what I think they are?” a marked second year asks, voice quivering in fear. This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen those horrid creatures, Venin without a doubt would not be winning any beauty awards. The freakishly bright eyes and dark crawling veins marking their face mix with the ability to draw power and energy from not only the earth itself but from living things was terrifying enough without their looks. 
Not everyone wanted to be a dragon rider but a deal was a deal. Be allowed to live as a dragon rider or die trying. You couldn’t blame the paleing second year; those creatures were not the most appealing thing to look at. Without answering the scared girl, you, Bodhi, Xaden and Garrick share a look coming to the same decision. You would not let all of those innocent people die.As the older children of the rebellion the knowledge you had about venin and wyverns allowed you to know the immense damage they were capable of inflicting upon those in the village down the hill from the outpost. Before Xaden could get a word out the same second year cut him off. “There's no way we are going down there right?” She rubs her palms against the leathers on her legs looking like she just might pass out. That's not a good sign. 
With a sigh you look out to the impending doom before turning back around. “Judge if you want, we’re all going to die at some point anyways.  And I don’t know about you but I intend to deserve it.” At your words Bodhi rolls his neck while a very long and tired sigh slips past his lips. You were going to be the death of him. “Will you please stop saying things like that?” Your boyfriend pleads. Laughing you beckon for Xaden to start giving orders while moving to stand by Bodhi's side. Under normal circumstances you would never dare to show so much affection towards Bodhi for fear of the harm others might seek out to bring you harm through hurting him. But these were all marked children, people who knew what was on the line. That this was the only true family left remaining, and while some may be scared to put there skill to use and fight they wouldn’t dare dream of betraying those who take care of them, 
Silently you wrap your arm around Bodhi's waist tucking yourself into him while listening to your wingleader. Bodhi draps an arm around your shoulders taking in what he is sure is going to be the last few moments of calmness before things inevitably go south. Xaden finishes giving out commands sending people scurrying back to their dragons. The cousins share a glance and Xaden gives a slight nod, understanding the two of you need a moment alone. 
“Bo you know I will do everything in my power to come back to you, right?” You see flashes of fear darting around his eyes and you want nothing more than to soothe his worrying. “I know my love but-” He pauses looking out into the distance. “We both know that there is no guarantee that we survive this. I’m more than ok going out protecting those who can’t protect themselves. And I know that you would be strong enough to survive my death but me? There is nothing in this world that would stop me from following you to Malek.” He finishes by wrapping his other arm around you and pulling you flush against him. For a second nothing is said while both of you take in every detail of the person before you, as this could very well be the last time you ever see each other. 
“You know that I don’t make promises Bo, especially ones that I can’t keep. But hear me when I say this.” The gentle feeling of your hands against his cheeks is a feeling he memorizes just in case “There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that can keep me from you ok? I promise no matter what I will come back to you even if it's the last thing I do.” You hold out your pinky finger in a silent promise. You watch as he glances down to your outstretched hand before looking back up at you. “You come back to me.” That wasn’t a statement that was an order. “Yes sir!” The sharp salute at odd with your intertwined pinkies brings a smile to his face. Even while on the verge of possibly dying you still manage to keep a positive attitude. And that was something he truly admired about you. 
Your slight step back causes Bodhi to tighten his grip on you. “uh -uh, you’re not leaving without giving me a kiss.” Bodhi watches as your face lights up in joy. Leaning forward your lips hover right above his but you make no move to follow through with your action. Gently you drape your arms over his shoulders, lightly running your hands though that curly hair of his that you love so much. Bodhi was getting tired of waiting for you to kiss him and from the sly smile gracing your lips he knew exactly what you were doing. Removing one hand from your waist he brings it up to cup your cheek. His fingers tickle where they rest on the back of your neck. His other hand tightens on your waist and for a moment he does nothing but stroke your cheek lovingly. Tilting your head up slightly you look into those eyes that never fail to capture all of your attention. “I love you.” Pulling him in slightly you stop leaving your lips ghosting over his. “I love you too.” The kiss that ensued was gentle yet passionate. Full of hope and promise to survive. Pulling away your eyes dart between his. “You come back to me ok?” The words fight to get out over the lump forming in your throat. “Yes ma'am!” Bodhi returns the salute you gave him earlier. With one last kiss to your forehead he pulls away, not daring to move until you walk back to where Eden, your dragon, was waiting for you. 
The slight bite you have on your lips is the only indication that you were nervous, but Bodhi watched as you took a deep breath and swallowed the fear in your throat. Within seconds fear washed away and in its wake confidence returned. The roll of your shoulders and tilt of your head set in certainty assured him that you would be just fine. Or at least he hoped. 
The swift turn of your heel in the broken pieces of cement propelled you forward and away from him. Not once did you look back. You couldn’t let him see the fear in your eyes. Bodhi watched as you mounted the back of Eden and took off to the skies. “Malek I swear if you try to take her from me, I will kill you myself.” He promises in a whisper under his breath “She can handle herself.” Cuir says firmly “especially with that signet of hers.” 
Power was gaining strength beneath your skin, traveling in all directions until it encompassed every inch of your body. The warm buzzing sensation dancing under your skin brought you to life in ways you can’t explain. The cold crisp air from the high altitude should litter the exposed parts of your body in goosebumps but instead warmth radiates outwards before mixing with the cool air and disappearing as Eden flies towards the Venin. 
“Lets kick some ass shall we?” Chuffing sounds from Eden in approval “I thought you would never ask considering you had yourself entangled with Cuirs rider.” The dragon beneath you doesn’t need to look to see that you're rolling your eyes at her remark. “I’m going to choose to ignore that statement considering we have more important things to focus on.” Vibrations of what could only be assumed as dragon laughter rumbles underneath your body before Eden plummets down to the village in need of help.
Being able to see and alter the future was both a blessing and a curse. It took countless hours grounding and learning how to control the gift Eden bestowed upon you. Thankfully though all the learning curves you uncovered more than the ability to gain insight on how to change the future when eventually happens. You learned to alter the present, also allowing you to change the future. “They want something in that tower.” Eden's voice rings out in your head causing you to look down. “Do we know what's in there?”  For a moment she doesn’t respond until you see two riders dismount from their dragons and make their way to the tower. “We are about to find out.”
Venin were already wreaking havoc on the village and they had just gotten started. While in the air you could see buildings as they were being blown up and paths of fire being created. For now you would keep your power building beneath the surface and help where needed. As much as you had learned to not let this immense power overwhelm you, the ability to control the toll it took on your body was something you had yet to master. You would only unleash the power when absolutely necessary. 
The swift turn of Violet and Tairn pulled your attention away from the ground and back on the skyline. “You’ve got to be shitting me!”  The sight of two wyvern appearing in the sky redirected Eden's attention to where Tairn was being closely followed. Just as one of the wyvern was going in to bite Tairn tail Eden slid beneath dragging her daggertail through its stomach. The pull of Eden's wings being tucked in tight to her body sent you spiraling back down to the earth only leveling out a few hundred feet above the town. An angry roar of pain sounded behind you and without having to look you knew the wretched creature was following. “Well if it wasn’t mad before it is now.” Glancing over your shoulder you see the deformed version of a dragon snap its teeth in hopes of taking a chunk of Eden with it. Instead Eden spins upside down before correcting herself to be upright again. No matter how many times she did that you swore it would always make your heart stop and hands sweat. You’ve seen countless riders die from that maneuver. You didn’t want to be added to the count. “Stop fretting, I would have caught you.” Her distaste for your worrying should have left no room for argument but that didn’t stop you. “Aren’t you the one who said if the rider can’t stay on their dragon then they deserve to fall?” 
“I never said anything about that applying to my rider.” She was a hypocrite if you ever did meet one. “I heard that, you know? Would you rather I let you fall to your death?” Your answer never made it out of your mouth as you watch Liam fall from his dragon. Without thinking you let your power free from its confines. Gold yet iridescent string indicating the countless versions of the future spread out before you. Pulling on the string where Liam and Deigh were able to avoid the wyvern, catapults Liam back to his dragon flying past the wyvern avoiding the strike you had no doubt would have killed your friend. Liam and Deigh glanced at you knowing you redirected history. Winking you smiled at the pair letting them know you had their backs.  The alteration sends ripples of shifting light speckled with iridescent gold flying out in all directions in the air. “It seems we have caught someone's attention.” The slight tilt Eden makes provides a clear line of sight to the Verin below. It stood in one spot looking up and directly at you. For a second they stood unmoving until it raised the staff and launched enough energy to crumple a building. “Shit! Eden, turn right, turn right!” Your voice wavers in fear of the destructive energy hitting your dragon. Listening to your words Eden stops with a harsh beat of her wings pitching herself completely vertical narrowly avoiding the blast. The sudden change in angle with no warning spends you flying down her scaley back. “Eden!” you scream pierces her ears as you officially fly off of her back. Time seems to stand still as you dive straight to the ground. There would be no way Eden could save you in time. With the angle of your fall and how she is positioned, if she were to move her tail would likely collide with your falling body effectively killing you. There was nothing Eden could do. She couldn’t save her rider. 
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l00kingatthem00n · 1 month ago
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Hyperlaser x reader fluff?.. with a slight suggestiveness at the end but not too much i just want fluffffff heh
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━━ YOU AND I INTERTWINE.
WARNING: self-depreciation [only some from hyperlaser] - for the most part, it's fluffy, with only a vague and singular instance of suggestive content at the end.
The day is over. With the starlight filtering through Blackrock's smog, Hyperlaser and you spend the rest of your night rambling away at your shared bed.
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HYPERLASER HAS LIVED MOST OF HIS LIFE IN SOLITUDE. Even with the presence of his beloved kitty, he’s known loneliness more than he’s known himself. Though, he’s meant to be this way, always will be meant to be this way. A faceless soldier meant for the thrill of the kill. A tool to be used. A somebody that fades into obscurity. He’s not supposed to be anybody, not supposed to be someone to trust, not supposed to be someone to love, even. An oppressive silence is all he’ll ever know, accompanying each and heavy thought of his. Save for the reassurances of Princess, who only softly purrs and rubs against his hand to momentarily distract him from the weight of his mind. Ultimately, to live in Blackrock is to do nothing but surrender yourself to the ambitions of those above you.
Despite the beliefs that he has found himself following, you seem to make him think otherwise. Within the cold cordilleras, the imposing industries, the shadowed streets, you are warm and tender; an unfamiliar part of this society that’s built itself upon a relentless pursuit for invention and innovation. You regard him as if he’s anything but he’s believed himself to be. Not a mercenary made for malice, not an instrument to be played, not a nobody. No, to you, he’s your trusting lover Hyperlaser. It’s an idea so beyond him, so unfathomable still even as you pepper kisses to singed skin and murmur your adorations. He’s only known himself and that loneliness that lingers with him. But, you’re here with him. You’re in his cheap apartment, sitting on the edge of his mattress waiting for him. The starlight, though muddied by the smog of near laboratories, cascades incandescently through his windows. He’s as mesmerized as you are.
Before you can even realize, he’s by your side. It’s the training that allows him to be silent. Hyperlaser sinks into the mattress, not even a creak of the old thing with his added weight. You don’t notice his presence. You’re too interested by the snow that blankets the streets tonight. Carefully, cautiously, his hand rests against your shoulder. Surprised and startled, you jolt as you hastily snap your head towards him. He can see your widened eyes and your lips curved into something like a frown. Though your features soften just as quick, offering him a long sigh then a disapproving click of your tongue. He can only consolingly chuckle at your face. A tender squeeze to your shoulder, along with a brief kiss are his wordless means to make amends. You half-heartedly swat him away. Your voice is rough and hoarse, whether to be from exhaustion or lack of use is yet for him to discern. 
“Think we should attach a bell to you or something, like how Princess wears one,” you joke. “You keep scaring me.” 
“Sorry.” 
You press a kiss to his cheek, letting the texture of his scarred skin linger on your lips before snorting at his apology. He feels your hands rest on his waist. They slowly creep upwards, then are completely wrapped around his torso as you pull the two of you down onto the worn foam of his bed. He hears you quietly grunt at the impact of being wedged between his figure and the mattress. Hyperlaser can only be thankful for deep shadows cast into the room. If you saw the pigment on his cheeks, he wouldn’t be hearing the end of your teasing words. 
 “Oh, don’t be,” you hum, “But, I think we’d both prefer if I don’t throw something thinking you’re an intruder or whatever.”   
He raises an inquisitive brow at your proclamation. 
“Don’t go breaking my things, please. I work hard to at least furbish this place for you.” 
“Maybe it’d be good if I break things. You clearly don’t get my style and I don’t like that tacky vase in your living room.” 
“I like it. The pattern and colours are nice.” 
Despite the darkness, despite how he’s nestled himself against you, he can sense the distasteful expression upon your features. Even then, Hyperlaser settles himself more comfortably in your embrace. You’re so warm compared to him. He’s worn layers upon layers of turtlenecks and coats to not be nipped by the bitter cold. And yet, you’re embracing him and you’re practically warmer than all of his fabrics. He knows you’re about to berate him for his design tastes. Somehow, someway, that’s always the contention you have with him. It’s not the fact that he’s been hired numerous times to indiscriminately kill. It’s the fact that he chose to have his kitchen be a ‘nauseating green’ once and you chastised him for a week about it until you bought white paint to cover it up. 
“Hyperlaser. You’re losing me,” you huff at him. “It’s a plant vase that is dark blue and brown with polka dot patterns.” 
“It’s supposed to represent you, me and Princess. Have you ever thought about that?”
“I am not going to be charmed by that. That’s total shit. You’re so lucky that I chose to deal with you and your tastes.” 
It’s his turn to huff at you. A sharp exhale through his nose as he begrudgingly loosens himself from your hold, towering over you as you’ve immediately withdrawn your touch on him. Hopefully, you’re not too serious about this vase conundrum. Nevertheless, he’d rather you not simmer in your fury, even if it’s only pretend. And so, Hyperlaser does his duty as your lover and goes to make amends once more. He leans down to go, careful not to crush you with his weight. He slightly parts his lips, ready to feel your own against his. Except, you snap your head away from him once more and even put your palm between the two of your mouths. 
“Seriously?”
“Throw that vase out, I’m demanding you do that, Hyperlaser.�� 
“It’s not that bad. I think you’re overreacting, love-” 
“You don’t throw it out, I’m not staying over for a week.”
He was going to open his mouth to make a quip, but you’ve only further sealed whatever witty words were about to slip. Hyperlaser blinks; once, then twice. He doesn’t know how, nor does he know why. But, the subject of this vase has become a serious matter that is almost serving as a trial of trust for your relationship. Still, you avert his gaze and his touch with a soured expression. You hold it for a surprisingly long time. As much as it amuses him, seeing you so determined for whatever reason. He relents, just for you. With a hand around your waist, Hyperlaser flips the two of you on his bed. Now, you’re draped on top of him as he draws patterns onto your skin. 
“Yeah, yeah,” he hums casually, though that smile of light-hearted exasperation curling across his lips is not unnoticeable. “I’ll throw it out for you.”
“Gods!” You cheer victoriously. “Thank you!” 
Then, before he knows it, you’ve slotted your lips along his. A warm sensation lingers once you kiss him. He savours your taste on his tongue, slick muscle prods at the seam of your mouth for he greedily wants more. But, so do you, as you allow him entrance. Maybe, it’s not the best for him to muse as you’re going at each other’s mouth. Hyperlaser supposes he can blame the long times he’s had ruminating and ruminating on whatever comes to mind. As he hums contently against your lips, it’s still beyond him that you trust him and that you love him. 
Hyperlaser has lived most of his life in solitude, after all. Despite the company of his dear cat, he’s begrudgingly luxuriated in the presence of himself, letting himself muse and muse until the work that he’s thought himself only good for comes to disconnect him from his consciousness. And yet, you’re here. You’ve welcomed yourself into his life and told him that he’s more than what he thinks he is. You’re strange, beyond strange to him. It’s not even your gripes with his design choices that make him think so. It’s that you’re willing to lay with him, lavish him in your affections in spite of all he does. Maybe, he shouldn’t let himself stay skeptical. Maybe, now, he should savour the present moment. Considering Blackrock’s ruthless ambitions and desires, who knows how long something good like this will last? The two of you pull away to catch your breaths. Hyperlaser can feel you resting yourself more comfortably atop his chest. He hums quietly, pulling you closer and adjusting. The starlight from his window only wanes. It must be getting late. Just as he’s about to bid you goodnight, though. 
“Hey, I think you could still make up for me you know~” You teasingly drawl. “Since you were so mean to me.”
Your hands are beneath his shirt. The sensation of your fingernails dragging along his lower abdomen, only stilling to hook into the waistband of his boxers and provocatively tug at the fabric. 
“...Hm.”
It must be such a shame to you when he gently rolls over, practically crushing you beneath him. He can hear you grunt and growl at him from below. Your attempts at trying to free yourself from him are endearingly futile as you writhe and squirm.
“No.” 
“Come on!”
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: i like to write the banter 🔥BUT YAY!! FINALLY POSTING SOME ACTUAL STUFF AFTER BEING ACADEMICALLY STEAMROLLED FOR THE PAST MONTH!! should the stars align perfectly, i hope everything will be alright and can finally finish my queue this month LOL. thank you for your patience!! take care everyone :)
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the-most-humble-blog · 3 months ago
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🧠 HUMAN LOGIC IS A BIOLOGICAL TOOL, NOT A UNIVERSAL TRUTH — DEAL WITH IT 🧠
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🔪 Your Brain’s Favorite Lie: That Logic Is “Objective”.
Let’s stop playing nice. Your logic—your beautiful, beloved, oh-so-precious sense of what “makes sense”—is not divine. It’s not universal. It’s not even reliable. It’s a biologically evolved, meat-based survival mechanism, no more sacred than your gag reflex or the way your pupils dilate in the dark.
You’re walking around with a 3-pound wet sponge between your ears—trained over millions of years not to “understand the universe,” but to keep your ugly, vulnerable ass alive just long enough to breed. That’s it. That’s your heritage. That’s the entire raison d’être of your logic: don’t get eaten, don’t starve, and hopefully, bone someone before you drop dead.
But somewhere along the line, that same glitchy chunk of gray matter started patting itself on the back. We started believing that our interpretations of reality somehow were reality—that our logic, rooted in the same neural sludge as tribal fear and monkey politics, could actually comprehend the totality of existence.
Newsflash: it can’t. It won’t. It was never meant to.
💀 Evolution Didn’t Build You for Truth—It Built You to Cope.
Why do we think the universe must obey our logic? Because it feels good. Because it comforts us. Because a cosmos that operates on cause-effect, fairness, and binary resolution is safe. But here’s the raw, uncaring truth: the universe doesn’t give a shit about what “makes sense” to you.
Your ancestors didn’t survive because they could contemplate quantum mechanics. They survived because they could run from predators, recognize tribal cues, and avoid eating poisonous berries. That’s what your brain is optimized for. You don’t “think” so much as you react, pattern-match, and rationalize after the fact.
Logic is just another story we tell ourselves—an illusion of control layered over biological impulses. And we’ve mistaken the map for the terrain. Worse—we’ve convinced ourselves that if something defies our version of logic, it must be false.
Nah. If anything defies your logic, that just means your logic is insufficient. And it is.
📉 Spaghetti Noodle vs Earthquake: A Metaphor for Your Mind.
Imagine trying to measure a 9.7-magnitude earthquake using a cooked spaghetti noodle.
That’s what it’s like when a human tries to understand the totality of the universe using evolved meat-brain logic. It bends. It flails. It doesn't register. And when it inevitably fails, what do we do? We don't question the noodle—we deny the earthquake.
"This doesn't make sense!" we scream. "That can't be true!" we bark. "It contradicts reason!" we whine.
Your reason? Please. Your “reason” is the product of biochemical slop shaped by evolutionary shortcuts and social conditioning. You’re trying to compress infinite reality through the Play-Doh Fun Factory that is the prefrontal cortex—and you think the result is objective truth?
Try harder.
👁 Our Logic Is Not Only Limited—It’s Delusional 👁
Humans are addicted to the idea that things must “make sense.” But that urge isn’t noble. It’s a coping mechanism—a neurotic tic that keeps us from curling into a ball and sobbing at the abyss.
We don’t want truth. We want familiarity. We want logic to confirm our biases, reinforce our sense of superiority, and keep our mental snow globes intact.
This is why people still argue against things like:
Multiverse theories (“that just doesn’t make sense!”)
Non-binary time constructs (“how can time not be linear?”)
Quantum entanglement (“spooky action at a distance sounds made-up!”)
AI emergence (“machines can’t think!”)
We call them “impossible” because they offend the Church of Human Logic. But the universe doesn’t follow our rules—it just does what it does, whether or not it fits inside our skulls.
🧬 Logic Is a Neural Shortcut, Not a Cosmic Law 🧬
Every logical deduction you make, every syllogism you love, is just a cascade of neurons firing in meat jelly. And while that may feel profound, it’s no more “objective” than a cat reacting to a laser pointer.
Let’s break it down clinically:
Neural pathways = habitual responses
Reasoning = post-hoc justification
“Logic” = pattern recognition + cultural programming
Sure, logic feels universal because it's consistent within certain frameworks. But that’s the trap. You build your logic inside a container, and then get mad when things outside that container don’t obey the same rules.
That's not a flaw in reality. That's a flaw in you.
📚 Science Bends the Knee, Too 📚
Even science—our most sacred institution of “objectivity”—is limited by human logic. We create models of reality not because they are reality, but because they’re the best our senses and brains can grasp.
Think about it:
Newton’s laws were “truth” until Einstein showed up.
Euclidean geometry was “truth” until curved space said “lol nope.”
Classical logic ruled until Gödel proved that even logic can’t fully explain itself.
We’re not marching toward truth. We’re crawling through fog, occasionally bumping into reality, scribbling notes about what it might be—then mistaking those notes for the cosmos itself.
And every time the fog clears a bit more, we realize how hilariously wrong we were. But instead of accepting that we're built to misunderstand, we cling to the delusion that next time we’ll finally “get it.”
Spoiler: we won’t.
🌌 Alien Minds Would Find Us Adorable 🌌
Imagine a being with cognition not rooted in flesh. A silicon-based intelligence. A 4D consciousness. A non-corporeal entity who doesn’t rely on dopamine hits to feel “true.”
What would they think of our logic?
They’d laugh.
Our logic would seem as quaint as a toddler’s crayon drawing of a black hole. Our syllogisms? A joke. Our “laws of physics”? Regional dialects of a much deeper syntax. To them, we’d be flatlanders trying to explain volume.
And the real kicker? They wouldn’t even hate us for it. They’d just look at our little blogs and tweets and peer-reviewed papers and whisper: “Aw, they’re trying.”
💣 You Are Not a Philosopher-King. You Are a Biochemical Coin Flip.
Don’t get it twisted. You are not some detached, floating brain being logical for logic’s sake. Every thought you have is drenched in emotion, evolution, and instinct. Even your "rationality" is soaked in bias and cultural conditioning.
Let’s prove it:
Ever “logically” justify a bad relationship because you feared loneliness?
Ever dismiss an argument you didn’t like even though it made sense?
Ever ignore data that threatened your worldview, then called it “flawed”?
Congratulations. You’re human. You don’t want truth. You want safety. And logic, for most of you, is just a mask your fears wear to sound smart.
🪓 We Have to Kill the God of Logic Before It Kills Us.
Our worship of logic as some kind of untouchable deity has consequences:
It blinds us to truths that don’t “compute.”
It makes us hostile to mystery, paradox, and ambiguity.
It turns us into arrogant gatekeepers of “rationality,” dismissing what we can’t explain.
That’s why Western culture mocks intuition, fears spirituality, and rejects phenomena it can’t immediately dissect. If it doesn’t bow to the metric system or wear a lab coat, it’s seen as “woo.”
But here’s the paradox:
The deepest truths may be the ones that never fit inside your head. And if you cling to logic too tightly, you’ll miss them. Hell—you might not even know they exist.
⚠️ So What Now? Do We Just Give Up? ⚠️
No. We don’t throw logic away. We just stop treating it like a universal measuring stick.
We use it like what it is: a tool. A hammer, not a temple. A flashlight, not the sun. Logic is helpful within a context. It’s fantastic for building bridges, writing code, or diagnosing illnesses. But it breaks down when used on the unquantifiable, the infinite, the beyond-the-body.
Here’s how we survive without losing our minds:
Stay skeptical of your own thoughts. If it “makes sense,” ask: to whom? Why? Is that logic—or is it just comfort?
Let mystery exist. You don’t need to solve every riddle. Some truths aren’t puzzles—they’re paintings.
Defer to the unknown. Accept that your brain is not the final word. Sometimes silence is smarter than syllogisms.
Interrogate the framework. When you say “this doesn’t make sense,” maybe the problem isn’t the idea—it’s the limits of your logic.
Don’t gatekeep reality. Just because you can’t wrap your mind around something doesn’t mean it’s false. It might just mean you’re not ready.
🎤 Final Thought: You’re a Dumb Little God—And That’s Beautiful.
You are a confused primate running wetware logic on blood and breath. You hallucinate meaning. You invent consistency. You call those inventions “truth.”
And the universe? The universe just is. It doesn’t bend for your brain. It doesn’t wait for your approval. It doesn’t owe you legibility.
So maybe the wisest thing you’ll ever do is this:
Stop pretending you’re built to understand everything. Start living like you’re here to witness the absurdity and be humbled by it.
Now go question everything—especially yourself.
🔥 REBLOG if your logic just got kicked in the teeth. 🔥 FOLLOW if you’re ready for more digital crowbars to the ego. 🔥 COMMENT if your meat-brain is having an existential meltdown right now.
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