#but like. why does it make HIM glitch though

[wheucto]

ok so why does he glitch here

[helluvapoison]

Make Me Weak

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Everything you are she should abhor– and would if it was anyone else— so she doesn’t pretend to understand how you weave into her life so easily. That time is instead spent wondering how the fuck she’s survived both her hellish lives without you

• Velvette always felt she was owed the praise and compliments she got. Receiving them from you was an entirely different type of high to ride. Your candied tone and sickeningly sweet words clung to her like smoke and had her itching for more

• You massage her hands so she has no choice but to surrender her phone, only then does she realize how cramped they’ve become. You sit in her workshop during Hell Week, sending a mellowing wave that relaxes her chaos in the form of a simple thumbs up. You make up for not being on the receiving end of her camera by setting up aesthetic dates for her to capture instead

• Velvette captures your chin, “You put up with a lotta my shit, Dollface. I’m not great at sharing credit, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re my muse, baby. Gimme the word and I can have you on a billboard tonight. Fuck Joanne, the raggetty bitch, I’ll bump her and have you up there for all of Hell to see!”

Your smile falters to a grimace, your eyes telling her what she already knows. Vel doesn’t get why you hate the limelight. This conversation always ends one way and if she hears you say one bad thing about yourself, she’ll tear out her hair. With a sigh, she tucks you back under her arm and kisses the crown of your head

“Fine. I didn’t wanna share you anyways.”

Your light laugh makes her smile again

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val does everything in his power not to allow you to witness one of his volatile moments. He has a very specific image of you in his mind and to a looser extent, you do too. You’re not prim or naive that you don’t know what he does, but his violent tendencies are something else to behold. You’re too sweet, too pure to completely join his world

• It’s never bothered him before, seeing that look on someone’s face. The one where their eyes go wide in horror because they know exactly what comes next but there’s no telling what would happen if the pedestal Val put you on crumbled because you saw him grabbing a whore by the neck and using them as an ashtray

• Truly, no indulgence he’s ever sampled has come close to taking the edge off him like one of your hugs. Softer than angel wings and more intoxicating than any elixir, you’re euphoria trapped in a sinner’s body

• “I almost feel bad for keeping you to myself,” Val purrs in your ear. He’s been laying underneath you for six minutes and already the shittiness of the day evaporated, “I could bottle and sell you. Make everyone in Hell as happy as I am.”

A nervous, bitter laugh escapes you

“You wouldn’t make much money, Val.”

“I would make millions, corazón” He argues seriously, though he has no intention of sharing you

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The irony is lost on him; someone as soft as you could bring him, an Overlord, to succumb. Below the surface, he’s more insecure than he lets on. He’s perfected the mask of a charming show host, developed it so well that it bleeds into his personality. So much so, that you make him glitch when he gets an inkling of self doubt. Your gentleness makes him weak and it terrifies him, fills him with the urge to push you away but your arms are so inviting that he lets himself be cradled by them. How could he do anything but?

• Rare are the days where he actually feels tired but those are the days he seeks out your affections. To him, you’re safe. You won’t judge him, you don’t pry for details, you’d never tell him to suck it up

• Vox lets himself sink into the couch beside you, tapping your thigh with a claw to invite you to come closer. You never fail to accept and deliver exactly what he needs. It’s bizarre how you know what he needs when he doesn’t himself. Turning to straddle him, you rest your head on his chest and hug him impossibly closer

• “You’re tense today,” You comment quietly, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come with me to set for once, you’ll find out why.”

Nuzzling into his chest as if trying to find his nonexistent heartbeat, you replied, “Nah. Sounds like too much of a hassle.”

“Exactly why I need you there.”

“Promise not to bring me on air like you’re always threatening to?”

A dry cackle escapes as he keeps his gaze towards the ceiling. Vox has this fanatical plan that you two could be the power couple of Hell, outranking Lucifer and Lilith (and lasting twice as long) if you would just sit at the same desk as him, deliver news and playful banter that would knock 666 News down a couple thousand pegs. You were worried someone wouldn’t want to see your face, you’d make his ratings plummet, you’d ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He hates when you spiral like that.

“No.” Vox mumbles honestly.

He’d prove you wrong like he’s done everyone else, one way or another

[juniperdugong]

Relationship Quirks 95s ver.

Aka habits I can see the boys doing in a relationship || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line ||

Scoups Calls you his "wife" while you guys are still dating

NOT AROUND YOU... at first but I doubt that the guys wouldn't secretly take video of him whining during practice talking about, "I miss my wife..." all pouty and everything (he saw you this morning), and NOT send it to you.

He's awkward when you bring it up because he doesn't know if you feel that way about the future of your relationship but once he knows you do feel the same way WHEW you do not hear the end of it.

Suddenly, all the reservations he makes are preceded by "Well, me and my wife...", anytime you're brought up in a conversation dude glitches out and HAS to mention you as his wife at least once (especially if it's to someone he thinks might be interested in you), and the yearning only gets worse! He'll leave for tour and after he texts his customary airplane goodbye message to you your phone will be blowing up with texts from the boys complaining about having to hear their leader practically sobbing about how much he misses his wife.

Jeonghan Steals your stuff

Has big "What's yours is mine" mentality, but don't worry! What's his is yours too! He swears it! Despite the drastic difference in how much he's using, borrowing, or straight up taking your stuff...

Let's be clear though, he never takes things he thinks you'll miss and if he finishes something of yours he always makes sure to replace it pronto. If you do get upset he makes a mental note to not mess with that particular item ever again.

Have you noticed a suspicious amount of your clothing (mainly hoodies, hats, and bags) go missing and suddenly see your boyfriend wearing them during a live? Yes. Has there been multiple arguments about this behavior? For sure! Does it absolutely warm your heart when you're at a concert and see a staff member run on stage to hand Hannie his current comfort item (a childhood toy of yours that you didn't even know was missing from your room)? Absolutely, it does. (Apologizes profusely once you find out...doesn't mean a single word of it and you know it because he's giggling the whole time)

Joshua Buys 2 of everything

Since the dawn of your relationship, Shua has gotten 2 of every item he buys. His initial reason was to get to know one another better by trying out things the other liked. This then spiraled to him doubling every single grocery item, clothes he buys, and pretty much anything he orders. Could be an insanely valuable item worth thousands that he's getting paid to promote but if there isn't a matching one for you then it's off the table. And no, he doesn't necessarily want to be "matching" all the time but he likes knowing that you guys could match whenever you wanted to.

He also gets extremely offended if you question why there's so much of everything, seriously he doesn't even want to hear it, like "Because it's ours! And we share! So we need double! Do you hate me or something!?"

"Babe, why do we have so much shampoo..." "I'm promoting it." "There's 2 of every type in here." "Yep." "We don't ne-" "We do need it." "It's too much." "I don't understand what you're saying to me right now."

A/N: The brainrot I have for these men is so real rnnnnn. I just had to separate these by years bc it was getting too long :( I'll have 96s up by today too, so stay tuned for that 96 line OUT NOW!! (Have to do it for my babe Nonu) Reblogs and Comments are much-appreciated lovelies!!

TAGLIST (open): @bemybabiibish

[chaoticace2005]

Why Vox needs to GET THE FUCK OVER THE RADIO DEMON:

(By Velvette, the only competent of the Vees)

(Her list for Valentino here)

1. He’s just not into you

2. We have better things to do than allocate company time to this.

3. He makes you look stupid

4a. He makes US look stupid (and Valentino already does that enough)

4b. Seriously how are we supposed to stop your boy toy from chasing whore around town when you can’t do the same with your ex? We need to set a (gag) good example for him.

5. What do you even see in him? Tacky coat. And that voice is so old-school.

6. You have two people who (reluctantly) want to work with you. Why spend energy on a guy who doesn’t?

7. This was seven years ago babe. Give it up.

8. I’m tired of finding your Alastor Body Pillow around the penthouse

9. Speaking of the body pillow, did you really have to spend 5k on it?

10. Company money should be used for COMPANY things. The fact we even have an “Alastor” budget is stupid. HE DOESNT EVEN GO HERE. ( @onesidedradiostatic )

11. He fucked off once, he probably will again.

12. Do you really want to fuck with someone who has the princess and king of Hell on his side?

13. It makes Valentino insecure about his sexual prowess, which is not good for anyone.

14. I have to LISTEN to him complain about it.

15. No matter how hard you try, nobody will ever beat “Susan” for #1 rival in that man’s heart. (Which is valid cause Susan SUCKS.)

16. Also you’re wasting company time by having Val put together shitty-Alastor look alike porns? Angel Dust does NOT look like Radio Demon ffs, I though Val was the blind one not you.

17. Your screens keep crapping out whenever you think about him, and we’re running out of ones in storage.

18a. I don’t want to keep having to go to overlord meetings for you because you’re having a breakdown over of he’ll be there or not.

18b. Speaking of breakdowns, STOP MAKING THE WHOLE CITY LOSE POWER.

19. You’ve taken over the entire office space with your Alastor-shrine. It’s not really an inconvenience, just creepy.

20a. Not to kinkshame but I walked in on you and Val fucking with Alastor-wigs on, REALLY?!

20b. Also I think you’re making Val insecure about his lack of hair.

21. STOP asking me to design Alastor-cosplay clothes for you. I don’t want anything to do with this.

22. I already have to deal with one pissbaby

23. Seriously, he isn’t into you. Maybe it’s cause you’re a mess. Maybe it’s cause he’s AROACE. Who knows.

24. You keep interrupting channels to brainwash people into hating the Radio Demon, when we should be brainwashing them into other things.

25. We can all hear you talking to yourself in the shower when trying to come up with shitty comebacks.

26. You display your dreams when you sleep, and while it was funny at first at this point it’s so boring. Val and I want to watch something actually interesting for once rather than the same shit.

27. You keep glitching out in bisexual whenever he comes up and it’s annoying waiting for you to put your shit back together again.

28. I’m sick of movie nights where we just watch your self-made compilations of “Alastor’s Epic Fails” or just watch security footage of him at the hotel.

29. Why do you even try and film him? Your shitty cameras can pick hardly anything up.

30. Honestly this whole thing is just pathetic.

31. Like it used to be cute but now?

[selineram3421]

*sleepy*

Courting Pursuit

Part 2

Part 1

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ gender neutral (gn) reader, mule deer reader, assuming Alastor is a marsh deer, Spanish translated, stalking-Vox, cussing, implied/suggestive, italics=thoughts, ha..watch out for the end ⚠

You continued to act affectionate towards him.

Even the others noticed and most of them would often ask you to do their work if it was related to him.

Niffty doesn't care and does her work as usual.

The thing is, you don't mind one bit and take up the work.

"Hola Alastor.", you'd greet him every time.

Today you were helping someone else, Husk to be exact, putting away some bottles in storage.

And then he heard that obnoxious voice of the sad excuse of an entertainment performer through his radio next to the television shop, Vox.

"Top of the hour! Today I have a special little treat for you, though the image is sadly glitched out, you can still see what is going on in the photo.", he says. "It's the Radio Demon, receiving an affectionate peck on the forehead from another deer!"

What a creeper. Alastor rolled his eyes and waited for the perfect moment to jump in and make the flat headed piece of tech look like a complete fool.

"From the looks of things, Alastor has a fuck buddy.", the TV demon grinned. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was taking it from behind.", he laughed and continued to rant on about innuendos like an idiot.

Turning a few knobs and flipping some switches, the Radio Demon was live.

"Salutations!", he greeted his listeners. "What an interesting start to the day! An overly cocky man acting like a news anchor when he doesn't have all the facts!", his smile widens. "For a demon asking his viewers to trust him, it's quite bold that he so blatantly lies to their faces."

"That's bullshit! I only provide the best-"

"Vox is so insecure and craving for attention from a powerful Overlord like myself, it's obvious that he's jealous.", Alastor laughed.

"Am fucking not you old timey prick-!"

"Why would he make such an announcement if not for that? Its clear to me that he wants someone to focus on him all the time.", he chuckles. "No wonder he always something new on his screens. But they lack so much that he has to resort to childish news broadcasts to seem important."

"Childish!?"

"As for the demon in the photo, that is a hotel guest and they do not understand English that much. There was a misunderstanding in translation and well..I'm not allowed to kill hotel guests.", then his voice switches. "This does not mean that I will let such an action pass, I will do something mμc# ￦θrs€ than death."

"You lying piece of shit! Tell me them the truth!"

"I should announce that the Hazbin Hotel has its doors open for all sinners who want a shot at redemption! Try to climb your way out of this fiery inferno, some might try to drag you back down, or you'll have trouble all on your own trying to redeem yourself! Anything is possible!", he put in his two bits for advertising the hotel. "And with that my wonderful listeners, I shall bid you all adieu~"

He switched on some jazz, not wanting to hear anymore of Vox's whining.

Something still irked him however..

Perhaps I should pay Rosie another visit. He thought. This time without them knowing.

As soon as he walked through the door of the emporium, his friend waved him over and pointed to her office, letting him know that she'd be there soon.

Once entering the office, he sighed and sat on the couch, already tired of what else would happen later in the day. He didn't want any other unnecessary conversations.

Rosie entered the office not too long after, setting her hat aside as she closed the door.

"You won't believe the gossip I've stumbled across today. Betty, the one with the pooch, not the one with the scar. She-", the woman started but then took notice of his mood. "What's wrong? You look worn out already."

"I don't know what to do with them. Vox, that piece of shit tech, has already made comments but I already put him in his place.", he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"I heard.", Rosie let out a short laugh.

"The deer is still doing things, not as bold as the first time but I don't want them near me. It's-", he growled and made a choking motion with his hands.

"If it's bothering you that much, you know you can tell them to stop.", she says.

He looks up at her with a wide eyed stare.

She dead pans.

"Alastor. You know you can tell them to stop. Right?"

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind.", he simply says.

"Oh for crying out loud-!", she tosses a pillow at him. "You are unbelievable! Go and speak your mind! You've never had a problem with it before!"

She was right. Why had he been so bothered about something like this?

He should have spoken up about it from the start.

It was late when he returned to the hotel. The lobby was empty and he could only assume that everyone had long been asleep. Walking to the dining room, he spots the kitchen light on.

Angel is probably making an abomination of a hangover cure- He thought and opened the door, only to find the mule deer leaning against the counter half asleep.

You perk up when noticing him.

"Bienvenido. Hice la cena y te guardé un plato.", you wave and smile. (Welcome back. I made dinner and saved you a plate.)

"What are you doing up at this hour? Granted, it is Hell and there are barely any rules around here, sleep is still important.", he says as you pick up a plate covered with tin foil.

Taking off the foil, you give him a plate of food.

Your fingers brush against his, making him flinch back and drop the plate, causing it to shatter on the floor with a loud crash.

Instead of focusing on the mess, you looked at him with worry.

"¿Estás bien? No estás herido, ¿verdad-?", you reach out to him but he smacks your hand away. (Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you-?)

"Don't touch me.", he hisses out. "I am not comfortable with your advances, so I advise you to stop NOW before I tear you apart and make you into tomorrow's dinner."

With that you took a step back.

"No quería incomodarte. Me detendré. Perdóname por no tener en cuenta tus sentimientos.", you muttered and looked away. (I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I will stop. Forgive me for not taking your feelings into account.)

Alastor didn't bother trying to translate your response in his head, just walking around you and to the door.

"Lo siento.." (I'm sorry..)

He heard you whisper as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.

With a sigh, you kneeled down and began to clean the mess.

Sad times means cookies.

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @sleep-7372 @wat4r @lustylita @xdolls-crownx @lonelysimp18 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @dap11 @al1fers-haven @futureittomainn @random-3455 @+?

ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

[acowardinmordor]

Steve has powers, specifically of a Doesn’t Stay Dead variety. He knows theirs a limit on how many times he can come back. Let’s go with eight. Aka he has nine lives. He knows there’s a cap, and he has some kind of mark on his body that counts down. He lost one as a kid, doing something like riding his bike too fast, and crashing over a hill. Nothing nefarious, just a bad accident.

He drinks himself unconscious freshman year, and wakes up in vomit, missing a marker.

He survives the demogorgon.

Billy kills him though. So does the Russian beating.

The kids realize after Starcourt that Steve really was killed by the Russians, but don’t realize there’s a cap. It makes them feel safer if they think that Steve will always be there for him.

He doesn’t tell them that he died twice. The only reason he knows about the second is because he woke up the next day missing one of the marks. He never went to the hospital, so doesn’t know why or how, just that he’s used six of his eight chances.

Definitely drowns getting dragged through watergate, and barely revived before the others reached him. Only one left.

Eddie survives, barely. Steve learned his lesson from Starcourt and goes to the hospital, takes the antibiotics. Takes it easy, tells himself that it’s all over. So it’s fine. And he still has one spare.

Gets close with Eddie as they recover and wait on the Feds. And Eddie loves stories, knows fairytales and immediately declares that this infinite life glitch is fake. There’s no way it’s Infinite. He assumes that Steve doesn’t know that, and isn’t going to tell him. They get close enough that Eddie sees the marks on the back of Steve’s neck, sees seven faded, sees one left. He freaks out for a while. Tries to talk to Robin about it, but even she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know how to tell her this secret that doesn’t belong to him.

Steddie is not quite together, but everyone knows it’s an any day now thing. That’s when Vecna comes back.

Steve goes down protecting the kids. But he gets up a moment later. It’s the first time they ever saw it happen, and it cements Steve as the coolest dude ever. He’s invincible.

Something something, they have a plan that needs someone to take on a very dangerous bait role. Obviously, to the kids, Steve is the only possible choice. And since it doesn’t matter, Steve wouldn’t let anyone else do it anyway, there’s no reason to tell them. Either he’ll survive or he won’t.

Eddie though? Not having it. Informs the group that he’s going with Steve. No one likes this plan. Eddie has vivid, vicious scars from last time. Steve can come back to life. It’s just stupid for Eddie to risk himself.

They’re both self sacrificing idiots, and when shit goes down, they’re both determined that THEY will be the one to die and save the other.

Luckily, they cancel each other out. Neither dies during the fight, and the others find them fast enough to get them to the hospital. It’s not until Eddie wakes up from the surgical anasthesia, and frantically asks about Steve that the secret comes out. He’s drugged out of his mind, and rambles his fears and the marks and how he knows that Steve won’t survive another one.

Unluckily, the kids and Robin were clustered around Eddie’s bed - around the bed of the guy they thought was at risk of dying and staying dead, because they knew Steve would be okay no matter what - and they hear all of it.

So it’s a horrible thing as they look at the other bed in the room, at Steve, still not awake, still critical, and have to grapple with that fear, even as they try to count, and learn all the times and ways that Steve has died before. Praying that it won’t happen again

[lunarmoves]

Can't stop thinking of the scenario where y/n leaves the Pizzaplex feeling like Sun honestly wanted them gone, and Sun becomes obsessed with finding them and also leads a robot apocalypse. What would happen if y/n caught wind that Sun is looking specifically for them and seeing all that has happened with the robots takes that as "Oh no, I thought he tolerated me but turns out he dislikes me so much he personally wants to get rid of me himself" so they try extra hard to go into hiding out of fear of what will happen if they're captured and taken to him?

ohhh my goddd nonnie u are so big brained!!!!!!! thank u for sending this in bc honestly i have also been thinking about this au for a while LMAO. if i was strong enough i would write a 50k fic spliced into two arcs (im thinking about it so hard u have no idea!!!!!!) for this but alas.... /stares at my incomplete wips/ i am not </3

(added in from future shay: what have u done nonnie this became so much longer than i'd intended, u basically get the whole fic outline here. cw for death and murder n stuff, typical fnaf. also spoilers for a fic i may or may not write?? like. this is me brainstorming and shoving all my ideas here lol. literally all of them)

okay so... let us set the stage a little bc i can't help myself. arc1 of this hypothetical fic would of course involve the pizzaplex where reader and sun get "closer" over the course of like a year. maybe more. well sun feels close to you. you, on the other hand, do not. why would you? this robot has been so passive aggressive with you and though it seems like he's nice enough to you (in comparison to the other humans), you really don't like how he treats you some days. what he says about humanity as a whole. you can't help it! yeah humanity sucks sometimes and robots were built to be everything that humans aren't, but he can't generalize in the way that he does at times and forget that these are people!! with feelings and ambitions and dreams! 'superiority complex' doesn't even begin to cover his issues, gahh!!

(the fact that he's been treated like absolute shit, working in the daycare does not help whatsoever. the mean parents, the kids who don't listen to him, the staff tht does the bare minimum on him in terms of maintenance because he's the daycare robot and not one of the glamrocks. it grinds his gears)

i imagine the reader in this fic believes that robots are indeed sentient, which is why you try to get sun to recognize and acknowledge his own emotions/feelings (which he vehemently denies, even tho there are literal riots happening worldwide regarding robot sentience. he's lying to you. you know he's lying to you. but you don't know why he denies it so much. ((maybe this is the point where he catches feels for reader and is denying the fact tht he's crushing on a human lol)). the government is not happy about these uprisings, of course, and every day the news shows more and more chaos unfolding as robots get tired of the conditions they are in). but eventually, things boil over and you end up leaving. that, and it's becoming more dangerous, living in this area, with everything going on. maybe your parents are trying to convince you to move elsewhere. maybe there are other external circumstances. in any case, you leave. there is nothing at the pizzaplex for you anymore, sun has made that clear.

(and moon... well, moon has been quiet lately. too quiet. you don't know what happened to him, he won't even look at you when you manage to get some time with him when the lights go out after your shift)

((i imagine this is maybe around when they get infected. that makes everything even more complicated. if you thought sun was obsessive before, then that's nothing compared to a glitched out sun unforch. it just amplifies the more questionable aspects of his entire personality. and like, he doesn't even have vanny/afton commanding him bc as soon as he gets the virus? he kills both of them))

(((also im imagining moon and sun don't really get along in this au bc they have differing ideals/views. like to balance out sun's unhingedness, moon is significantly quieter and softer and deffo does not believe in robot superiority lol. if anything, maybe he has an inferiority complex pfft poor guy. doesn't help when he gets glitchtrap'd and wakes up with blood on his hands)))

okay so you leave, right? and a few weeks later, you see the news on your phone--the pizzaplex has burned down. you don't know how to feel about it. sure you've been friendly to the glamrocks and stuff, but you find yourself thinking about sun and moon. there's a mention of one death--a blond woman, who died from her neck snapping before the flames could reach her. you don't want to think of the implications of that. there's no mention of the glamrocks--of sun or moon or the dj. you're not sure if the news anchors are just excluding robots, but either way, it makes your heart sink. you take a moment to mourn. bc at the end of the day.... you did know sun for over a year.

not even a few days after that, there is a robot uprising in your city. it's... bad. you're at home, watching the news with your apartment half in shambles from your plan on moving back home with your parents. in my head, since utah is home to fazco (a megacorporation with hands in the development of a LOT of the robots seen in society), it also means it's a hotspot for robot riots and the like. fazco vehemently denies robot sentience because it would mean a loss of money in acknowledging their workers are people yk how it is. as such, there are maany protests and riots and stuff, from both humans and robots. it's a shitshow.

ANYWAYS you're at home and it becomes evidently clear that you need to get out of dodge as soon as you can. they were killing people. the robots, built by human hands, were killing. it brings about absolute chaos. in prior riots/protests there were never deaths. injuries, maybe, but never deaths. people start evacuating like crazy.

you catch a glimpse on the news that the violent uprising in utah caused a chainlink reaction to extend all across the nation. maybe even the world. you're scrambling all over your apartment with the tv on the news, doing your best to pack up the essentials. there's live coverage on the tv from a helicopter somewhere not far from your apartment complex. and you're able to catch a glimpse of bright rays and a cheshire, white smile on the screen--leading what looks like an army of robots--before it cuts out.

you don't even know what to think. the image is seared into your eyes, the blood that painted yellow hands and a crescent face.

you get the hell out of your apartment and book it as far as you can. communications are down everywhere--the thing about robots? they know exactly where to hit humans to cause a catastrophe. as such, your phone is useless. they've hijacked the satellites and took down certain powergrids. having a phone on you would only be a detriment, so you ditch it. there's only you now. you must survive.

and then there's a bit of a time skip to start arc2. in this duration, you're long gone from that city in utah, living with a small survival group. if you've read my summer camp au fic, this is where i'll bring in "OCs" such as vincent (a play on 2015 vincent) and jeremy (fitzgerald or the VR guy tht used to work for fazco), maybe michael if i really wanna au fudge everything. you all live day by day, trying to run away from the robots.

at this point, a majority of humanity has either been killed or has gone into hiding. i think while the robots don't want to eradicate humanity completely (after all, there are certain tasks that need humans n such), they definitely want to make them a minority. they are a little more than halfway through their goal.

it's very difficult to evade robot surveillance. there are drones everywhere. all cameras are hijacked. i'm imagining a kind of cyberpunk type world. you have EMPs and tasers that you can use to disable electronics, but they're made from scraps you and your group scavenged. and upon immediately using one, all robots in the area are informed of your presence, so they can only be used in rare and desperate circumstances. they are all connected to the same network, which means they can have a hive mind, at times. life is scary, in this regard. big brother is watching.

you've heard rumors of a human base underground somewhere--a place safe from robots with the proper defenses. accepting to any and all. the only tough thing was finding the damn place, but you've seen the clues in graffiti and hidden messages designed to trick AI (think: captcha). you and your group just wants to get to that damn base and stop living in fear all the time, being out in the open or crawling as stealthily as you can through empty streets.

the one thing sun used to emphasize to you? the way robots are more efficient. and that they are. you see it in the way a new metropolis shines like a beacon on the horizon. they've already built their own kingdom of sorts. and their ruler? you grimace as you think about sharp rays and wide, white eyes. you haven't seen him in ages--not since that initial broadcast. but you hear the whispered rumors and news. how he has created a robot haven--the celestial city. how he scorns humans. you blame yourself sometimes. maybe if you had stayed and tried harder to convince sun that humans aren't all too bad, none of this would have happened.

(a memory comes to you--of your time back at the pizzaplex. of you sitting atop the security desk and kicking your feet lightly as you entertain sun's... uniqueness. ambitions--that you did not take as seriously as you should have.

"okay, i'll bite," you said in amusement. "what would a robot takeover look like for you?"

sun cocked his head, hands fidgeting with a plush. "hmm. well. i suppose it would be a very quick thing, for one. hit hard and fast." he squeezed the plush. "take down comms. strike power sources. go for those in power first, then the weaker ones." he gave you a shrug and an unreadable smile. "from then on, carnage."

and you--silly silly you--just rolled your damn eyes at him like he was joking around with you and asked him about more hypotheticals. picking his brain, in a way. it was exact with how it played out in real time. you thought about this often, at the dead of night.

it was all your fucking fault)

and then, one day, the scout/informant of your little group--jeremy probably--comes back with some news. the celestial ruler--sun--has been taking human hostages. it's been happening for a while now, apparently, almost nearly as long as the uprising. jeremy pulls out some hazy photographs he's gotten from some of the other humans he exchanges info with. you look at them, the hostages.

after a minute or two of staring, you realize something.

they all sort of resemble you.

there's a clear pattern actually. your hair or your face shape or your eyes or your smile. some combination of them. but never actually you. you ask jeremy what it all means, and he hesitatingly says that it looks like sun is looking for someone. it's clear to everyone who it is as they all stare at you.

and you? you're panicking.

he's looking specifically for you. just you. you've never heard of the robots taking hostages, and you have no idea what he's doing with them, but it can't be anything good. especially since he keeps taking more and more of your lookalikes hostage. you think back to your time at the pizzaplex--so distant, now, that it almost feels like a dream.

he wants to kill you himself. you're sure of it.

now you're trying even harder to get to that underground base. you go completely dark, doing your best to evade detection--and i imagine there are quite a few close calls, definitely a few instances where your face is captured on camera or you have to use an EMP. until finally, you and your group manage to integrate into the underground human base.

'base' doesn't even properly describe it. it's a whole city, actually, with unsteady houses made of wood and cloth. it's the perfect place to hide.

you spend a while down there, occasionally venturing up when you're allowed to by the guards (it's rare, very very rare). the city has strict rules that must be followed to ensure it's not found. the ones in charge are constantly looking for news on the actions of sun and the majority of robots. they don't really keep the citizens updated--it would cause too much chaos, you think. but you hear whispers now and then. (the robots have expanded territory. france is completely gone. australia's still holding out. most of china and india have been taken over and their factories have all been transformed to mass produce more robots)

for the first time in a while, you think you can find peace down here. it was only inevitable that this would be ruined one day.

you wake up to chaos.

the underground is under siege. the robots have found you.

you run out of your makeshift house and have to dodge crumbling stone. explosions rock through the air, sending dust and debris everywhere. you're scared for your life--your only instinct is to run run run get out it's not safe! you don't know where your friends are. you don't know if they're alive. for a moment, you hesitate. and then you're bolting to try to find them. they had their own little homes not too far from you. you can find them. no man left behind.

you can hear bullets and the hum of energy everywhere. people are screaming and crying all around you. you see people dying before your eyes, impaled by beams of light or stray bullets. it's all you can do to dodge and weave towards vincent's house.

but before you can get there, something tackles you from behind. you roll across dirt, and find yourself pinned under a robot--a staffbot from the pizzaplex, you realize. except it looks--different. more high tech.

it seems to scan your face. and just before it can finish, you manage to grab a stray metal rod laying on the ground next to you and stab it right through the eye.

you scramble, getting as far away as you can from the thing. but-- you run right into the path of a crumbling building. it buries you halfway under thick wood, and something sears its way through your leg. you're trapped. you're trapped and there's no one around to help you.

and just when you're on the brink of passing out, you see him. standing in front of you a ways away. those same star-patterned pants and dangling cap. but he's different somehow, he looks different. you can't place it, your vision blurring into red and purple.

moon looks at you as though you are the last thing he wants to see. and then you faint.

when you wake up, you're in a bedroom. your leg is in a cast and there are crutches near your bed.

it's... the nicest room you've seen in a while. the windows are covered by thick curtains that let in a sliver of light. you have to blink a bit to let your eyes adjust. and then you get up, noticing you aren't in the same ratty, dirty clothes you'd been wearing for forever.

you try the door first. it's locked. there's a sinking sensation in your gut that gets stronger and stronger the closer you get to the window. and when you pull open the curtains, you gasp at the towering buildings, bright green and blue light, and flying drones.

you are in the middle of the celestial city.

you panic hard. and then you notice the camera in the corner of the room, looking right at you. big brother is definitely watching. you give him the bird.

you wallow around in the bedroom for a bit. you are hungry, you cannot deny. and there is only a glass of water for you set on your nightstand.

but eventually, the door opens of its own accord. an automatic lock, you suppose. and it swings open into a dark hall. you do not have any other choice but to follow. it's clear you are being summoned.

there are no places for you to run or hide. you travel down a long hallway and end up in a wide room with someone tall standing at the far end by the window. it's a scene straight out of a movie. you are not impressed.

the figure turns around, and you do a double take. it's sun--yet it's not.

he looks different. taller, stronger. with clawed fingers and rays that look deadly to the touch. his smile is sharper, his torso has all sorts of compartments and attachments. he was modded to all hell, just like that staffbot you saw earlier. it had to have been self inflicted.

he only stares at you, really. white eyes rake up and down your form, taking you in. you don't say a word, only look back at him. and then you flinch slightly when someone emerges from the shadows next to sun.

it's... moon. looking just as modded as sun. you're confused. when did they become separate? but honestly, you think it makes sense. they never really liked each other. it makes sense that sun would want to be separated as soon as possible--and they had the resources to do so. you just wonder why they're still working together. comfort in the familiarity, maybe.

moon doesn't meet your eye. you notice his is different--the red tinged with purple. sun doesn't look away from you. it makes you uneasy.

you don't know why you're here, but one thing's clear: you are not getting out of here anytime soon.

i'm honestly not sure how to end things, but in my head there's a lot of reconciliation that needs to happen. obv sun is so incredibly down bad for you at this point (and moon), but there are many issues that need to be tackled first.

sun doesn't understand why you're so wary around him. moon keeps avoiding you at every turn. there's still an entire revolution and remaking of society happening. you are constantly being watched by cameras in the building. i can't picture things as returning to normal--post uprising--but i also don't know how to end things on a happy note LOL, though i do want to instead of killing off reader or sun/moon. maybe it'll be a bittersweet sort of end, maybe reader finally gets through to sun. maybe eclipse will make an appearance (jk, idk how i would even do that, this might be an eclipse-less fic).

in any case, the next bit would be a lot of sun and reader connecting better than they had in the pizzaplex, a lot of sun trying to understand humans better cuz he's trying to court you-- and has long come to accept his emotions tbh. tho he's still kind of mad at you for leaving, so there needs to be a conversation of sorts about why you left before sun can really begin to understand how he appears to you. idk!

i also feel like moon isnt nearly fleshed out as sun is?? i dunno, i might have to think some more about him. i just know he's terrified of hurting you, esp with him still having the virus (and sun, but he has better control of it). gonna be a lot of work on your part to get him to be comfortable around you again. also, he doesn't like the fact that society has come to this. he lowkey resents sun, but he doesn't have anyone else. what's a bot to do?

also there may be a scene where your survival group tries to save you lol, maybe with an army that tries to seize control of the celestial city. which may work. this would be a bad end, i think, cuz there's no way sun's getting out of that alive.

anyways yeah. i rambled enough LMAOO whoopsie! i rly just regurgitated all the thoughts in my head. no promises that this will be a fic, i've got enough on my plate as is LOL

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?" 

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know. 

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does. 

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?" 

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular." 

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says. 

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla." 

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows. 

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me." 

"That is not true." 

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything. 

"Something isn't right." 

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people." 

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger. 

"What should we do?" you ask. 

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well. 

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect. 

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…" 

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings. 

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence. 

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert. 

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him. 

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully. 

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle. 

"It feels off, you both said it." 

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–" 

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly." 

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan. 

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings. 

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue. 

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath. 

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!" 

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot. 

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts. 

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third. 

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus. 

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings. 

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind." 

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed. 

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?" 

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you. 

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it. 

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed. 

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says. 

"What? Where?" 

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him. 

You're closest. 

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could. 

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die. 

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different. 

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you. 

You aren't in the mood. 

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better. 

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way. 

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket. 

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up." 

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought. 

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll. 

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times. 

Your fingers curl around the remote. 

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again. 

"Are you hungry?" 

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture. 

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough." 

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say. 

"Eat something," he says. 

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now. 

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again. 

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest. 

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please." 

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes. 

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow. 

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed. 

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you. 

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile. 

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy.��

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'. 

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back." 

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel." 

"What? You think these are for you?" 

"Please, I want to see." 

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back. 

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones." 

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?" 

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones." 

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again." 

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it. 

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner." 

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers. 

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes. 

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay. 

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks. 

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk. 

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before. 

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while. 

You choke him half to death. 

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay." 

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me." 

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…" 

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless." 

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–" 

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face. 

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment. 

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault." 

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly. 

"To make you feel better." 

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?" 

"Why do you think?" he asks. 

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on." 

"Wrong." 

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud. 

"Because you care about me too much." 

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again. 

What a stupid hope. 

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits. 

"I really wanted to save him." 

"You can't save everyone." 

He knows better than most. 

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small. 

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it &lt;3

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Requesting IDW Megatron x Lost Light human liaison reader. Based on the song "Heaven's Light" from Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Thanks for the request! Sorry for such a long delay! I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this because I wanted to get it right. I went with Autobot Megatron for this one. I hope that is okay with you! Feedback is always appreciated! :D

Heaven's Light

Pairing: IDW Megatron x Human Liaison Reader

Word Count: 3588

Summary: Though he is now a hardworking Autobot aboard the Lost Light who's just trying to make up for the sins he's committed in his past, Megatron still believes he is a monster who is unworthy of ever being loved. That all changes when you, a little human liaison from Earth, makes your way into his life and implores him to reluctantly open his spark.

Megatron knows he is a monster.

  He has done horrible things. He has killed, he has tortured, he has maimed. His recharge cycles are plagued with the echoes of screams and the fallen frames of mangled bodies. He stands atop a pile of them. When he looks at his servos, they are drenched in wasted energon that isn’t his own. Nightmares, Rune calls them. Terrible warped memories of his past. He cannot escape them. The guilt will stain him forever.

  Megatron is aware that most of the Lost Light’s crew is afraid of him. With the exceptions of others like the captain, most steer clear of his way. When they see him thumping down a hallway with steps that seem to shake the entire ship, they scurry like glitch mice when a cyber cat is near. They speak to him with tremors in their voices and rattling in their joints.

  Not that he makes things easy for them, he admits. Megatron is aloof, calculating, and antisocial. His violent tendencies have devolved into simple growls and annoyed huffs. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to do a job: atone for the sins he has committed.

  And yet, the nightmares remain. They do not leave no matter what he does.

  Megatron is not a gentle being. He knows he is rough around the edges, and that scares people. So when he hears the announcement about a human boarding the Lost Light, his first instinct is to avoid them at all costs. It does not matter if they are a liaison. Humans are fragile and too easy to break. And he hardly believes Earth wants their delegate to be interacting with the former Decepticon warlord who has slaughtered thousands.

  Unfortunately, his dimwitted captain has different plans.

  “No.” Megatron crosses his arms and lifts his chin defiantly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Oh, come on.” Rodimus throws his helm back with an exasperated groan. “You're the perfect bot for the job! Why can’t you just say yes?”

  “I did not board this ship to inevitably become a human babysitter.” Megatron’s words come out harsh and unyielding. “The answer is no, Rodimus. Get someone else to do it.”

  “I agree,” Drift says. “In no way can I see this resulting in a positive outcome. Um…no offense Megatron.”

  Megatron snorts. “None taken.”

  “You two don’t understand.” Rodimus rubs his forehelm in faux exhaustion. “The human is here to learn about Cybertronian history and culture. Who else knows more about that sort of stuff than you?”

  Megatron bares his teeth. “Are you calling me old?”

  “I’m calling you knowledgeable,” Rodimus shoots back. “You can tell the human so much about us, more than Drift or I could combined.”

  “That is not my area of profession. Get Rewind to do it.”

  “No,” Rodimus objects. “I want you to do it.”

  “Rewind would be a much better option if we want this human to successfully integrate into the ship’s social life,” Drift advises.

  Rodimus punches the other mech squarely in the shoulder plating. Drift yelps and jumps back. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Are you on my side with this or not?” Rodimus snaps.

  “I’m on the side of wanting the human to like us, and I don’t believe pairing them with Megatron is the best way to achieve that! Again, no offense to Megatron, but we need to make a good impression.” Drift straightens and rubs his shoulder, wincing. “We have to think about this clearly, Rodimus.”

  “I am thinking clearly. I am the most clear-thinking mech in this room. I have never been thinking clearer, and I don’t think I ever will.” He points at Megatron. “You are going to be this human’s companion for the next six cyber-weeks they are here. You will educate them on our ways, teach them our history, and convince them that we are awesome and amazing and incredible. Understand? Come on, remember their little human motto! ‘Salvation through understanding, understanding brings in the light!’ There’s no way you can say no to that!”

  Megatron feels indignation churn within his tank. That indignation turns into something dangerous, something he has not been able to snuff out of himself completely since he’s turned over a new leaf. That something is hostility borne from the frustration of being told to do something he doesn’t want to do. He snarls, but Rodimus does not cower. The red-and-orange mech’s plating bristles and clacks together in an act of instinctual dominance. The two leaders stare each other down in a silent battle. It takes Drift being the middle-man to relieve some of the tension crackling between them. “Alright, enough! Both of you stop right now! The human is going to be here at any moment, and you want their first impression of you two to be this? Calm down and get a hold of yourselves!”

  Megatron scoffs. Without looking at either of them, he shoulders past Drift towards the door. “I will do as you say, Rodimus,” he rumbles. “But don’t you think I will enjoy a second of it. You are making a mistake.”

  He hears Drift whisper “This is a bad idea” to the captain. Megatron stomps off, ignoring how every mech around him presses themselves against the walls to avoid his path. They should have chosen Rewind.

  You are…not what Megatron was expecting.

  You arrive on the ship with a swagger in your step and not an ounce of nervousness within you. Your eyes are wide with awe and your little dermas are split in a wide open smile as you turn in a circle to take everything in. There’s something distinctly adorable about the way you shift the weight of your stuffed backpack from one shoulder to the other and drag a tiny little suitcase behind you that makes the softer side of Megatron want to say “Awwww.” Apparently he isn’t the only one either; Rodimus is smiling like an idiot, his servos fidgeting like he wants to scoop you up and coo at you dotingly.

  Drift elbows him. He snaps to attention and announces himself grandly, which makes Megatron want to cringe. “Liaison Y/N! So good to finally meet you in person! Welcome to the Lost Light!” He kneels and extends his servo with surprising mindfulness. “I am Rodimus Prime, captain of this ship.”

  Your smile widens when you hold the tip of his index digit between both of your little fleshy servos and shake it. “I am honored to be here, captain.”

  “The honor is all ours. And please, just call me Rodimus. You're one of us now. There’s no need for formalities.” Rodimus rises and gestures to Drift. The red-and-white mech steps forward and dips his head while he is introduced. “This is Drift, my third-in-command. And this is Megatron, my…co-captain.”

  Megatron keeps his expression neutral when he steps forward to loom over you like a mountain. You have to crane your neck back in order to take all of him in. Here we go, he thinks. Any moment now, you’ll recognize his name. You’ll retreat to a safe distance. Maybe even start screaming in fear. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he is Megatron, feared former leader of the Decepticons, one of the most ruthless and terrifying beings in the-

  Your smile does not waver and your attitude remains just as bright. “Megatron. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

  It takes a moment for him to register your words. Wait, what?

  Rodimus coughs and eyeballs him critically. “Oh.” Megatron blinks. “Um. Yes. Hello. It’s wonderful to, uh, meet you too.”

  Drift snickers. He wants to punch him.

  “I apologize for his flustered state.” Rodimus laughs nervously. “We’re all just very excited to have you on board. This is the first time much of the crew will be meeting a human, so I hope you’ll understand that some of us might not know how to interact with you.”

  “It’s no problem,” you say. “I get it. But that’s why I’m here! So if you are curious about me, then I encourage it.”

  Rodimus relaxes, looking relieved. “Yes, of course! We’re connecting two worlds! It’s absolutely incredible.”

  “If anyone makes you actively uncomfortable though, please let one of us know,” Drift adds. “We understand that there is a clear power imbalance between you and all of us. It’s important that you feel safe here.”

  “Well, that’s why Megs is going to be your partner during your time here!” Rodimus grabs Megatron’s shoulder and shakes him. It takes all of his strength not to growl. “You're here because you want to know more about us, right? Well, my co-captain is extremely knowledgeable in all things Cybertronian. He’ll do his best to answer any and all questions you might have!”

  You show no trepidation over this. In fact, your eagerness only seems to grow. Megatron is honestly stunned. “Oh, absolutely, I’d love that! As long as it’s okay with you?” You look back at him inquiringly.

  He starts to object, but Rodimus slams his servo over his intake. “He’s totally okay with it! He volunteered, after all! And he’ll start with showing you to your habsuite with Drift, so you can take all the time you need to settle in!”

  Your concerns are soothed. Taking up your suitcase, you follow Drift and leave the docking bay, with the other mech walking at a turtle’s pace in order to stay in tandem with you. Megatron rips Rodimus’s servo away from his intake. “You,” he hisses, “are the bane of my very existence.”

  Rodimus shrugs. “I can live with that title. But seriously, I’m doing you a favor right now. Enough with the brooding miserableness and more with the reinventing yourself. I’m trying to help you feel more at ease here. If you start with the human, you may find yourself actually being gentle.”

  He snarls, and for the first time in a long while wonders if he can get away with killing one last Autobot. But when he looks at you and sees the way you smile up at Drift with so much young excitement…something in him softens.

  “So, I was told you know a lot about Cybertronian culture,” you say to him. Drift is long gone, and your habsuite is set up to house all of your accommodations. You sit back on the miniature berth covered with blankets and pillows, thin legs swinging idly while you regard him with a curious look. He glances at you fleetingly, then returns his gaze to the data pad he’s holding.

  “That I do,” he answers.

  “Mind telling me some stuff?”

  Your question is blunt and to the point. There’s no hesitation. You don’t look the least bit afraid. For a moment, Megatron wonders if you even know who he is. You just seem so…clueless. Did your human superiors really give you no sort of debriefing on who you would be dealing with here before you left?

  “What do you want to know?” he asks reluctantly.

  “I want to know about turbo foxes,” you reply.

  He stares at you. Then he bursts into raucous laughter that causes his entire frame to shake. You throw your hands up in feigned exasperation, grinning like an idiot. “What? What did I say?”

  “You said nothing wrong, little one.” He manages to calm himself down, shaking his head while still chuckling. “I just…I was expecting you to ask about the war.”

  “Why would I ask you about that?”

  “Because that is what everyone wants to know about. The war is essentially a defining factor of our history and culture. Our image cannot exist without it.”

  You shrug. “I can learn about the war from anyone. I already have. But turbo foxes? I’ve only read a single paragraph about those. They sound so cute! You have to tell me more.”

  “Wait.” He pauses, confused. “You…you’ve learned about the war?”

  “Of course I have,” you reply. “Like you said, it’s part of your history and culture. Who hasn’t at this point?”

  “So…you know who I am. Megatron. Me. You’ve learned about me.”

  “Yes?” You tilt your head. “I don’t know what this has to do about turbo foxes.”

  “No, it-it has nothing to do with them. I just-” He sighs, rubbing his optics in a tired way. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t acknowledged the fact that you know me. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of continuing to do.”

  “I haven’t acknowledged it because it’s not worth acknowledging.”

  “That is absurd. Of course it is worth acknowledging. I am Megatron. I’m the former leader of one of the most feared armies known throughout the universe.”

  “Former leader,” you say.

  “That-” He sputters. He isn’t sure where you are going with this; you’ve thrown him for a loop. “That has nothing to do with the current situation.”

  “Yes it does.” You stand up. “You used to be the leader of the Decepticons. You’ve killed, you’ve destroyed. But you don’t do that anymore. So now here we are.”

  “You are okay with completely looking past everything I have done? You're just going to…ignore it?”

  “No.” You take slow steps towards him. “I’m not. I’ve done my research on you. I understand that you’ve done terrible things. But I also know that you're trying to make up for all of that. You're good now. Being here, helping me…I know you're trying to be better. I appreciate that.” You hold up your hands. He understands, yet hesitates to fulfill your wish. You have to encourage him. “Come on, it’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

  He bends down and extends his servo. “How can you be so sure?”

  You hold his index digit and bring the tip to your cheek, allowing him to caress the soft organic skin of your face. You are so small, so delicate, so carefully made. Megatron isn’t caught up on the stories about the gods of your world, yet he knows-he can feel it-that whatever being made you put so much care and love into their work, he is sure their power rivals Primus himself. His walls crumble. He wants to hold you forever.

  “I’m sure because I trust you,” you say. “And when you earn the trust of someone you can so easily hurt…you know you are good.”

  Six weeks later…

Swerve’s bar is filled with life. Megatron hears it all the way from the deserted hallway he sits in. The laughter, cheers, and songs echo like the hauntings of spirits. Yet, he feels no urge to join in. The bench he sits on is as cold as space. He’s sure he can feel the chilling void through the large observation window he’s in front of right now.

  The soft pitter patter of human feet turns his attention away from the window. He sees you heading towards him with cheeks flushed red and a stupid smile. His olfactory sensors pick up on the faint scent of alcohol sticking to your skin when you make it over to him.

  “Are you drunk?” he asks.

  “A little,” you reply. A soft pat to his pede signals what you want. He gives it to you, scooping you up into a gentle hold and placing you on his right tibulen. You lean against him with a soft exhale. “Why didn’t you come join us?”

  He lifts his gaze to the window. “I’m not a big drinker.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s okay. Neither am I.”

  The warmth of your little body is comforting. It makes him want to focus on you. Yet, he can’t manage to do so. It’s such a foolish situation; him, of all mechs, so infatuated with this little human, he can barely look at them.

  But it goes beyond that. He knows it does. So do you. Six weeks are nearly over. Your time here will soon be done.

  He doesn’t know how to handle that anymore.

  “Why did you leave Swerve’s?” he chooses to ask you, because if he brings up the topic of you leaving, he thinks he’s going to lose control of his emotions.

  “I wanted to be with you.”

  He snorts. “I hardly think a party being thrown in your honor is worth leaving in exchange for spending time with some old bot.”

  “Oh, please. You aren’t just some old bot to me. I like being around you. Is that so hard to believe?”

  He smiles humorously. “You might be the only one on this ship who does.”

  You don’t respond, and Megatron fears he might have offended you in some way. When he looks at you, he sees your shoulders slump and your head hang like you are mourning the dead.

  “I’m leaving soon,” you murmur.

  “...I know.”

  “I asked my superior if I could stay.” You draw your knees to your chest and hug them. “I begged him. Another week. Hell, another day. But he wouldn’t give in. Fucking asshole…he knows I’ve gotten attached.”

  “Getting attached was the point of you coming here.”

  “I know. But…not like this.” An invisible chord tightens around your little body. He can tell your composure is crumbling. “This…wasn’t something I was trained for.”

  His spark aches painfully. If he were younger, he’d do something rash; threatening your superior would have been his first course of action. If that didn’t work, he’d steal you away and whisk you off to the far reaches of space, away from Earth, away from anything or anyone who might prevent the two of you from being together.

  But he’s not his younger self. He’s old. He’s tired. So he simply heaves a sigh and lifts his optics to the stars. “You know…so many times out there, I’ve watched a happy pair of lovers walking in the night.”

  You lift your head and look at him. There are tears in your eyes. Megatron rumbles out a deep purr and reaches for you, gently maneuvering you into his servos and lifting you up to his faceplate. You lean forward and place a tiny hand on his nose.

  “What were they like?” you ask quietly.

  “They had a kind of glow to them,” he responds with a sense of wistfulness. “It almost looked like…Heaven’s light.”

  That makes you giggle. “How the hell do you know what Heaven is?”

  “Lets just say I’ve done my research,” he answers with a smile.

  You lightly tap his nose with your fist. “Sap.” Your expression falls into a contemplative frown. “What were you thinking when you saw them? The lovers? Were you jealous?”

  “Well…not exactly. Jealousy isn’t the right word to describe it. But…I envied them. I wanted to be like them. But I knew I’d never know that warm and loving glow, though I might wish with all my might.” He closes his optics, steadying his breaths. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of you. “No face as hideous as my face…was ever meant for Heaven’s light.”

  You open your mouth to retort, not at all willing to listen to him put himself down. That’s one of the things he loves about you. No matter who it is, you will always step in to make someone feel better. It’s a quality many Cybertronians are lacking, yet it abounds in humans plentifully.

  He had been wrong about your kind, back when he was still the leader of the Decepticons. You are so much more beautiful than you realize.

  Megatron cuts you off gently with a low puff of air into your face from his nose. You sputter and stumble back, and he laughs. His thumb comes up to stroke your hair, then travels down to trace the outline of your jaw. You still, eyes widening when you see the lovesick look he’s giving you. “But suddenly an angel has smiled at me…you, little one. Come on, smile.”

  There’s no sharp-witted reply from you to make him chuckle. You just obey him and smile. His spark skips a beat and he feels like he is going to melt right then and there. “You are the only one to smile at me in this way,” he whispers. “And you…you’ve touched my face without a trace of fright.”

  “I could never be afraid of you,” you say. You press yourself against his nose, hugging him in the best way you can. He feels you trembling. “I’ve dreamt of this. I’ve dreamt of you. I still dream. I dare to dream that you might even care for me…”

  Megatron leans into your touch. “My cold dark tower seems so bright…I swear it must be Heaven’s light.”

  There is silence between you for some time. The noise from Swerve’s bar has faded away. You sniffle and don’t pull away. “Stay with me,” you beg.

  “You know I can’t,” he says. “Not forever.”

  “Then just for tonight. For as long as we have left. Stay with me, please. I don’t want to let you go. I love you.”

  “You don’t have to.” He hugs you with his free servo. “Not right now. I’m here. I love you too. You are the only one I will ever love. My Heaven’s light.”

  “Salvation through understanding,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks. Yet, you are smiling. It’s a grateful smile. A smile that tells him you are so, so lucky to have ever met him at all.

  His optics well up. He lets the walls break. “Understanding brings in the light.”

  Megatron knows he is a monster.

  But after meeting you…he knows he’s a monster who’s worthy of receiving love.

[squids-and-waffles7]

what if belos makes another grimwalker?

[ ID: A digital comic featuring the main cast from The Owl House, all in their post Thanks to Them designs. In the first panel on the first page, from left to right, Gus, Amity, Hunter, Willow, Luz, and Camila are standing, facing off against an unseen Belos. Hunter is in the very back, with Gus and Luz more to the front, and everyone else is somewhere in the middle.  Luz is holding glyphs out, the top of her face obscured by the panel. She says, “End of the line, Belos. There’s nothing else you can do.” Clouds float by in the background. In the second panel, everyone is posed the same way, except it’s zoomed in on Hunter this time. He has a shocked/confused expression on his face. He whispers, “is that..?” Meanwhile, an (again) unseen Belos says, “ Oh Luz, you really are a fool. You didn’t think I would have anything else up my sleeve? Why do you think I sent Hunter on all those supply missions?”  The third panel is a close up shot of Hunter’s eyes, which are brown. He looks shocked and confused. The text around him says, “The Selkidomus scales.... Those Galdorstones...” Belos continues talking, as the dialouge in the bottom says, “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet. Especially after he betrayed me.” End of Page One.

In the first panel on the second page, a masked golden guard can be seen stepping out of the dark, hand on his mask. A partially obscured Belos in his monster form lurks in the background, head obscured. His hands are on both side of the golden guard, almost like he’s presenting him. Belos continues to speak, as the text on the left reads, “What a shame, really.” The right side reads, “... But, Oh well. I can always do it again.”

The second panel on the second page is a closeup shot of the new golden guard’s eyes, which are the magenta/pink colour hunter used to have. This grimwalker looks ahead, eyebrows furrowed. He has a birthmark on his left cheek and a light scar across his nose, similar to Phillip’s in Elsewhere and Elsewhen. The text below it reads, with Belos still speaking, “... Do tell me though, Hunter.” With a crossed out/ glitched “Caleb” before the word Hunter.

In the last panel on the second page, the new golden guard can be seen from the waist up, wearing Hunter’s old golden guard uniform. He holds Hunter’s old staff, looking ahead determinedly. Belos’ hand rests on his right shoulder, with a looming Belos over his left shoulder in the background. Belos’ head is obscured except for his mouth, which appears to be an almost smile. He says in the text below the panel, “How does it feel to be replaced?” End ID.]

[delugguk]

4:17am || jungkook

genre: drabble.

word count: 700 (lmao 7)

author note: this is not edited.

he deep breathes. “I like your waist a lot.” as you’re hugging on top of him while he traces his fingers onto your lines.

jungkook is the type to kiss your waist whenever he got the time to. there’s nothing he loved more than to kiss all over your entire body. it was like a monument for him. his favorite place to stay, his favorite piece of art. like he always says.

“‘want to eat you whole. you have no idea.” he snorts to himself with a little cheeky but shy smile. you wondered how he managed to look so cute but hot at the same time every time he did that.

he liked sex with you so much.

hard.

hard and wild sex.

messy sex in specific.

even though his angelic but sinful (at times) face doesn’t really show that.. jungkook’s very crazy and passionate about sex. but don’t get this wrong.. he it isn’t to the point of him being obsessive. — he says that not just anybody can make him be this turned on. said he has only felt this horny for you.

you believed him.

not because he had those pretty doe eyes once he told you but because ever since you started dating jungkook, he has always showed you how sincere he was with whatever he did or even said. telling you about how much he doesn’t get why people have the necessity to lie when it comes to relationships or anything else, really. - that actually was a very nice conversation you both had that you’re surely telling whoever is reading this letter, later.

he enjoyed eating you out and god damnit how much you loved that too.

he lays your body down while his kissing your tummy and waist. every time he did that you already knew what was coming next. — his piercing.. his new one in specific, you could feel it hit your clit whenever he kissed you there each. time.

smirking about it, he always did that whenever your legs glitched.. god. he even spits on it, you adored how much he wasn’t afraid of getting so messy even his chin shined of how wet you are.

not feeling even embarrassed, you could never feel that way with him. feeling him as your own cozy home, he truly is your safe place. could never get embarrassed in front of him with these type of things.. but you do are whenever he randomly compliments you..

“turn around and close your legs. want to see your ass while I fuck you like this.”

his dirty mouth.. he should shut up, but not actually.

you do as he says.

“mmh this is what I wanted.” he hisses once he opens your pussy with both fingers. very slightly. your arousal sticking to your walls just like glue is what turns him on the most. “I’m the only one who gets you like this, huh?”

he slap-grabs your ass. only making you arch your ass a little.

“fuck” he whispers more to himself.

when his dick is full out and angry slightly red, he can’t help but stroke it with your arousal before entering you. he’s playful, you hated-loved that.

pushing your ass so he can finally enter, he smirks getting the memo. a soft moan falling down his lips when he does.

he goes deep and slow. just how you like it. he preferred going a little hard but strangely enough, whenever it came to this particularly position, he always liked going so deep and slow. said you wrapped around him even better.

you could feel him full. pussy lips wrapping around him just the way he loved it. you cummed and he continued to fuck you. he cummed and still continued to fuck you. the creampie just going crazy for him, it turns him on so badly and you know that when jungkook gets like that it’s dangerous.

dangerous because of his energy and stamina. a horny jungkook is very.. dangerous.

—————————————————————————-

okay I’m ending it here lmaosososksk

I guess part two will start with “a horny jungkook is very.. dangerous.”

[suppermariobroth]

Normally, when Yoshi is hit in Yoshi's Island, Baby Mario floats away from him in a bubble, during which he cries loudly. In an interview with the developers, it was revealed that the loud crying was made intentionally grating to urge players to retrieve Baby Mario as quickly as possible, as the playtesters would otherwise not hurry to retrieve him if he did not cry.

However, there is one place in the entire game where Baby Mario will not cry. During the Raphael the Raven boss battle, Baby Mario will simply sit in his bubble and not make a sound.

If either the sound or the crying animation alone were missing, this could have been explained as a glitch, but due to the fact that both the audio and visual cues of the crying are missing, this is more likely to be a deliberate choice instead; though it is unclear why exactly Baby Mario was chosen to not cry here in particular.

Some players have theorized that due to this battle taking place in space, this could be either be a reference to how sound does not travel in space, a lack of air for Baby Mario to cry, or both.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: YI (NA, SNES)

[puff0o0]

Pls more self aware 141 au Oml my heart is MELTING with every new Drabble

Also thank you for making your stories so sweet it’s such a nice change from all of the dark ones out there you write the boys so sweetly I love them all and ily💛💛💛

AWH THANKS 🥹🥹🥹🩷

@shoukiko @gazbanddd

Gaz

☆ Hes a tease for sure, he absolutely loves messing with your gameplays whenever you get too cheeky. Oh? what was that? you killed a whole team without dying once? you seem a little too proud, let me glitch you out

☆ it could also be because you're not playing as him during the game lmao

☆ But there are times where he will get you free stuff or lower your countdown on a weapon you lost in the dmz (he is also known for lagging out ANYONE who dares says something mean to you in voice chat 😒)

Soap

☆ after mw3?? he's here for you don't worry 😭😭 usually he would make sarcastic remarks or make silly jokes in his voicelines when you play as him during multiplayer, but after you played (or watched) mw3, he started being more.. tender.

☆ Nicknames like 'Bonnie' and 'love' were used a lot more

☆ He can't stand seeing you sad after all :( You can't seem to ever close the game down though, you never found out why. (He literally cannot leave you alone after it all happened he's been so worried omg pookie)

Ghost

☆ He'll make some bad and dark jokes throughout his voicelines, ones that you've never heard before. It always makes you look it up just to make sure you're not glitching but no one else gets the voicelines

☆ You were stunned when he said "We got this, luv" once

☆ He couldn't help but be amused as you dropped the controller off your hands and stared at the screen with wide eyes as you tried to register what the fuck he just said

Price

☆ "captain's got your back" yeah he knows what that voiceline does and it amuses him so much, he never stops saying it LMAO. It confuses you because there literally isn't any other Price on your team?? why is he saying that??

☆ He loves spoiling you in the shop

☆ He can't help it, he loves getting you skins of your favorite characters and even getting you free gun skins and tank skins. He loves seeing how happy you get when you receive something you want, it's like candy for him

[donelywell]

October 5 2023

I changed things up because it's got Frontiers Final Horizons Spoilers. I know the updates been out for like 2 months now but I'm being really cautious.

Super Sonic was really fun to play in the base game, having the auto combo thing on and just seeing so much bombastic energy and over the top moves being thrown at giant titans was so much fun.

I did however, not read the instructions where they tell you to hold the parry, I thought it was a perfect timing thing like a normal parry. So fighting Giganto and Wyvern for the first time was a nightmare for me until I actually read the instructions. =v='

For the design, I didn't change much, Super Sonic is really cool. I basically just changed the green parts of his shoes to red to reflect his new eye color.

Super Sonic² was so cool! The casual backhand slap, the sass, the move where he basically does the idw move, the finger point when he gets back in the game!

The only issue I had is that I didn't understand at all how to fight the final boss. I didn't 100% complete the map so I didn't get the hints. (I am still stuck on the stupid ball hoop map puzzle thing, I swear there is no way to do it) So unfortunately, I had to look up a guide. That kinda dampened the experience, but there was no way I was fighting Supreme over again, getting to the same glitch because I killed him too fast, and then fail the final boss fight again because I didn't know I was supposed to press r2.

I made his quills seem like they are turning into flames at the tips, I made his torso kinda have a sun symbol on it, I made his secondary fur white and his base fur/ quills bright yellow to kinda give it more sun imagery. His arm patterns are a little more detailed, his gloves have kinda formed into the body, making the cuffs look like they're on fire too. His socks turned into bandages and blue rings floating on him with the soles of his shoes kinda smoking on the back. It was a lot of fun interpreting this design differently, giving it a more ancient vibe with a modern twist. The original design is still really cool too!

Cyber Super Sonic... one of the coolest forms in my opinion and yet we see him for less than a minute in only a cutscene. I'm not complaining, the cutscene was so cool! Me and my sibling were star struck when we saw it!

I love the Fleetway elements! The sharp teeth, the crazy eyes, the chaotic behavior that almost made it seem like if Cyber Super Sonic wasn't being literally shot out to his enemy, he'd not be able to tell between friend or foe! God, it was so cool!! Even if it was just limited to a cutscene where you can barely see the entire design in a single image!

I did actually have a static version of this image too, but I'm not including it because it gave me eye strain, and I don't want to hurt you.

For the form I actually decreased the amount of polygons on Sonic. If you look, he's more angular & simplistic and his legs and arms are rectangles! I thought it'd help give him more of a Cyber Computer vibe. I used the blue static and made it kinda an accent color so you can see where things are. I don't really know why, but I also made some parts of him detached? The inside parts have the white spirals that Cyber Super Sonic's eyes were.

The update was a lot of fun to play when it came out, even if it was EXTREMELY challenging for a casual player like myself. Almost made me quit a few times and a couple guides were begrudgingly looked up. Playing as Tails and Amy were definitely the highlights of the update for me though. I hope it was as much fun for you as it was for me. :)

[rubra-wav]

Hiya! I absolutely loved your posts about the HH main cast dealing with a sick reader and them being sick. You did a phenomenal job with them!

As for a request, what about Vox, hell’s resident bipedal tv, hc’s of him realizing he’s legitimately falling for reader?

Vox realises he has feelings for you

A/N : Thank you so much seriously!! 💛

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, suggestive comment at one point, angst-ish/ Vox coping

- It'll be a good long time before he realises he's fallen for you, and when he finally does, he's fully in it. There's no turning back and there's no backpedalling. He's absolutely whipped.

- It hits him one day like a train that he's actually in love with you all at once.

- He hung out with you the afternoon, and that night he's laying on his back with his phone gripped in his hand against his chest.

- It's been exactly 3 and a half hours since you were out together on a movie date at the VIP premiere. (as in in the ridiculously lavish movie room he had within Vee tower)

- He had been counting.

- You hadn't texted him back yet, and he was tapping his claw impatiently waiting for you to message him back with the world's biggest pout on his face.

- He'd already sent 4 texts, and none of them had been answered yet. He had to stop himself from sending more because he didn't want to seem too desperate. (Even though he was)

- He told himself he'd be mad that you had made him wait whenever you got back to him. He'd blow up over it.

- However, the second his phone buzzes and he sees the notification from you saying you had fun and were sorry you hadn't gotten back immediately it's like his dopamine receptors have been kicked into absolute overdrive.

- He's giddy. Warmth is flooding his chest, and he starts breathing heavier as the world's dorkiest smile spreads across his face.

- It isn't then that he realises exactly, but it's when you leave to go to sleep after texting him for a couple of hours with a flirtatious comment that has his head spinning and sparking.

- You were talking about how you'd washed your sheets that day and were making your bed. He acted like he was bored, and your next words absolutely took him out.

- "Fine. Next time, come over, and I'll spread you out on my bed then."

- When he calms down, it's messed up again as he's questioning himself.

- Why did I glitch out to them saying something that resembles a shitty pick-up line? Why did I count every minute that passed the second you went home? Why do I feel like I'm on drugs the second you pay me the slightest bit of attention.

- OH FUCK -

- He goes through all stages of grief as he realises he's in love with you in a single second and ends up causing a blackout in his bedroom in the process.

- When he roboots, he holds his head in his hands and chugs delulu juice instantly feels absolutely terrified.

- It's humiliating for him to have such delicate feelings, let alone for someone who surely doesn't feel the same way. His experiences with real, genuine romantic love for other people have hardly ended well.

- He likely tries to distance himself from you because he's scared of the fact he is so attached to you.

- It's been ages and ages of being attached to you but he's only fully realised - or at least fully acknowledged the extent of that attachment.

- His distance from you is shortly lived however as he craves you and your presence so badly he's disgusted at himself.

- He would not be the one to confess 9 times out of 10.

- Even if it's glaringly obvious you are also into him, he copes so fucking hard he's actually delusional with the excuses he makes about it.

- He basically friendzones HIMSELF.

- You could kiss him on the cheek or hold his hands in yours or cup his face lovingly and he would be there glitching while thinking about how you must just be like this with everyone else-

- He's charismatic, charming, and can often read everyone around him like an open book - analyse their behaviours, true intentions, expressions, thoughts under it all, etc.

- But he's so terribly stupid with love.

- You need to confess to him first most likely and he'll probably still think you're bullshitting him.

- Literally finds every reason of why you aren't in love with him and tries to twist everything that way.

- Even when he's in love, he wants it to be reciprocated obviously. The thought of it not being requited as he expects is embarrassing at best.

- But, he's genuinely probably even more terrified of what that means if you do love him back.

- It's easier if you don't love him back for him because he's scared of the way you might further bring out whatever imperfections and vulnerability he's shown you already after actually being in a relationship with you.

- He craves being in a relationship with you and the security you could bring him to expose those parts of himself he desperately conceals with masks resting on masks, but also its deeply unnerving to him simultaneously.

Infuriating watching the process of this man actually realising he's in love for real, honestly 😭

[korpuskat]

Metal in Flesh

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (GN, has a vagina) Rating: E WC: 4.4k Warnings: None, it's pure smut & fluff. A special thank you to @statuetochka for indulging my silly ideas & drawing his hands so much. ===

He tastes like his machine oil. Freshly cleaned, not a trace of dirt between his purple-painted joints. It’s hard not to flex your tongue against him, to explore the little creases in his plates that tease the side of your tongue.

But the hand on your jaw and the precarious placement of his fingers- two under your tongue, his thumb on top, keep you still. He’s exploring. Though it’s not your tongue itself that he’s examining. He drags his thumb down, making the object of his obsession spin- a particularly strange feeling that is still novel even after so long healed.

It’s only taken him a few months into your relationship to notice- or at least to ask about it.

“…Why?” Is the particularly succinct question he comes up with.

“Becath aylikith”

Ramattra’s gaze lifts ever so slightly, from your pinned tongue to your face. Reluctantly, he lets go. You push saliva over your tongue, wetting it before you try speaking again.

“I said, because I like it. I like how it looks.”

“Aesthetics?” Ramattra tips his head, looks down to your lips. You obligingly open your mouth again and present the jeweled rod again. This time, he just looks at it, rather than trapping the muscle for investigation. “I would think that should hurt rather badly just for aesthetics.”

“It did.” You confirm. “When I first got it, it hurt a lot, I couldn’t even eat the first day. But it’s all healed now. Doesn’t hurt at all.” To prove it, you catch the bead on your top lip and pull your tongue sideways, making the entire piercing rotate again. “Besides, you’re in no place to judge; I know you also changed stuff on yourself for how it looked.”

He scoffs, “That is hardly the same. Repainting my enamel coat isn’t remotely painful, nor did it impair such a basic, important function as eating.” He touches the purple plate at the back of one hand with the other. It’s more subconscious than anything, but you still watch his hands with that same fascination. “Besides, my modifications aren’t exclusively aesthetics.”

You grin widely. That kind of stubbornness, the mild disdain in his vocoder… It’s so easy to goad him. “Neither is mine! It has a very good use, actually.”

Ramattra’s head actually bobs as he modulates a disbelieving noise, “Really? Exactly what functional purpose does a metal rod in your mouth serve?”

Excitement washes over you and you don’t bother trying to hide it. “I can show you! I’ve kind of been meaning to for a while, actually, but you keep insisting I don’t have to.” This alone makes his head twitch to the side, perplexed, intrigued. You reach for his hand, and he happily allows you to take it and bring it back to your face, much too curious.

Here, you pause and stare up at the dark slits for his optics. His huge fingers caress over your cheek, cool and firm against your skin as you gently kiss the circular rubber pad of his palm. Ramattra hums softly- which breaks into a stuttered, staticked mess of a noise as you lick that rubber pad. He can feel it, you’re almost sure given the twitching of his fingers against your cheek. Those pads are sensitive, meant for traction and precision- you know he must feel the warmth, the softness of your tongue completely surrounding the hard point of the piercing’s ball. Even with your spit, the metal drags against rubber, catching on the textured ridges.

“You--” His voice cuts out, glitches sharply as though gasping. It’s a rare treat to see him worked up, indulging his own desires, so you bask in the roughened sound of his voice and the dull hum of his ventilation system ramping up. “I should have known it would be that...”

You grin again, then kiss his palm innocently, as though you don’t feel the warmth that’s now radiating from him. “I did want to use it sooner. You’re too selfless for your own good.” You pull on his arm and he allows you, lets you trail kisses up the smooth plate of his forearm. “Can try it now, though.”

His nod is sharp, firm enough to jostle the endcaps of his mane. “Yes, perhaps I would… enjoy that.”

You snicker, but don’t comment on the breathy tone his voice takes, already dysregulated from a single lick, don’t comment on how quickly he sits on the bed that he’d gotten for your sake nor the speed with which he releases the latches on his pelvic plate. Air rushes from his vents again, almost like a sigh as his cock bobs freely.

You might never get used to it, knowing that he made something so obscene just for you… The thrill of it- of all of him- rushes through you, makes your belly heat. But you set that aside for now, instead pushing the golden joints of his legs apart and lowering yourself down to your knees. Which only makes your growing desire ever worse.

Like this you’re so very, very aware of how big he is. Built for war, he dwarfs you in every way. Beside you, his thin, bird-like legs are almost up to your shoulder, just barely giving you enough room to comfortably lay your arms on his thighs. Looking up at him… He sits so stiffly, one hand curled into the previously pristine sheets, the other is curled across the lowest part of faceplate as though obscuring his mouth. Shy, maybe, you think. Would make sense- he doesn’t particularly enjoy receiving one-sided attention. So, you smile up at him, rub your hands soothingly across his canvas-covered thighs and hope that soothes him.

Finally, you let your eyes wander back down his body. Slowly, you ease your hands in from his legs until they brush the base of his cock, where the silicone meets his inner frame. Without any lubricant it’s a dry, sticking feeling, but it’s still enough for you to hear the hum of his fans pitch up in anticipation.

He’s been so patient, so nice to finally let you try this, so you only tease him a little more. You straighten up and stare up at his faceplace, hands moving firmly onto his cock as though you’re going to take him into your mouth immediately. He tenses, waits the sudden onslaught of your mouth around him-- and finds instead your soft lips laying against the smooth head, pressing a delicate kiss to the silicone. Ramattra’s legs twitch,, a little whiny noise coming from somewhere inside him-

And you lower your head down, dragging the tip of your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up. His ventilation kicks and a staticked gasp slips from his vocoder. With only the tip, not yet letting him feel the jewelry, you lick at him, you flick your tongue against the soft ridge at the head of his cock until you think you might break him.

Ramattra hisses your name, somewhere between a plea and a threat. Desire surges in your core again, but you think he's been patient enough. Slowly, deliberately letting him watch as you move- you open your mouth and ease his tip past your lips.

Immediately, Ramattra groans, both hands twisting into his sheets as he processes your warm, soft mouth on his cock. He's big enough that even just his tip makes your jaw twinge in annoyance, but you relax your muscles and urge him further in. His body bursts with heat, already struggling to keep up with the hot air that’s soaking his processors- but that's not quite the reaction you were expecting. So you press your tongue firmly against the underside of his tip- though you aren't sure if Ramattra's cock is particularly sensitive here too- and drag the piercing over the ridge.

A high-pitched noise spits from his vocoder, almost a yelp as his whole body flinches. You'd almost worry you hurt him, that the metal was too rough on the silicone, except for the rough, rolling gasp that comes after. For Ramattra it's a distinct feeling- your mouth all soft and inviting and one firm bead of resistance that pushes back against him, that emphasizes each stroke of your tongue along his cock. It's addicting, one tiny piece of metal in all of that plush flesh. His hand lifts- nearly burying itself in your hair unbidden, but he kills the impulse- tries desperately to be still for you.

You gently bob your head, working up to a slow rhythm. With each motion you keep your tongue moving, sweeping across the silicone. Each time you move down, you try to take in more of him, slowly inching his cock deeper until he's prodding at the back of your throat. The first touch makes you gag, your mouth tightening around him as spit floods your mouth- and Ramattra's hips jump, momentarily fucking you mouth- and he moans.

You clit throbs at the single rough thrust, at the absolutely musical noise from his speakers- his need completely betrayed with the strain on his synth, the first touches of static to his voice. A desperate whimper escapes you just knowing that you're the one making him feel like that and Ramattra sucks in air in turn, his fists curled so tightly you can hear his actuators whining.

Even just listening to his pleasure, knowing you’re the one causing it-- it's all too much. You take him in deep again, sucking his cock with purpose, but you slip one hand between your legs. Trying to keep your focus on him is nearly impossible when you can hardly think with how badly you need to be touched. You shove your pants down and the first touch on your clit is near ecstasy. Sucking his cock, hearing his appreciation alone has left you swollen and soaked, trembling with pleasure as you moan shamelessly around his cock. You circle your clit and shiver, the pace of your tongue on him stuttering-

And this time, Ramattra doesn’t stop the impulse. Ramattra's fingers curl into your hair. You expect him to push you down, that his self control is broken, that he'll fuck your throat and-

he pulls you up. Your scalp stings softly, but you can only mewl in confusion, in desire- how must you look to him? Your own spit covering his cock, eyes glazed over in lust, one hand working yourself with a desperation- and Ramattra catches your arm with his other hand. You whimper, a mindless plea of no, please don't stop- as he pulls again, draws you up, up off the floor-

And you think for a moment he's going to fuck you, to get you in his lap-

“Come here.” His voice is almost unintelligible, harsh with static. He doesn’t even let you comply, dragging your body onto the bed with him as he lays back. Your head spins, too clouded to understand what he wants- which is fine, because he moves you exactly how he's thinking. He pulls you on top of him, legs spread wide over his broad chest and then spins you around so you're looking at his cock again.

That's all the prompting you need. Still spit-slicked, you take him into your mouth again. The new angle is different, unusual- his cock arcs down towards your tongue, making it easier to take him deeper-- and making the press of your piercing into him all the more intense. Ramattra makes some noise behind you- and you would try to squeeze your hand beneath yourself to keep rubbing, but with your belly pressed to his, it’s too tight a fit. The metal of his chest would dig into your wrist too much. But your clit aches, too needy to be ignored. Desperate, you rut your hips against his chest, hoping to find any friction at all against his hard bands of armor-

And Ramattra's big hands land on your hips.

He pulls you back- back as far as he can without dislodging your mouth from his cock. You want to ask, can't seem to understand what he's doing- until each thumb slips between your legs. You moan softly, try to question what he’s doing, but if he hears you, he makes no response. Ramattra parts your folds, revealing your pussy. Warm air washes over your sex- another rush of his ventilation- and you whimper, twisting in his hands at the embarrassment of him looking at you so closely.

You don't expect the press of cool metal directly to your clit.

The temperature makes you jolt away from him, but his hands keep you still, keep your clit trapped right against his faceplate as Ramattra moans. All crackling and ruined, his voice is vibration right against your clit- and you finally understand. You bob your head again, determined to keep those noises coming from his synth.

You sink down on him, taking as much as you can. Ramattra purrs against your pussy, a low rumble that makes your hips twitch, rutting back against his face, your clit rubbing delightfully on the divot between his faceplate and jaw. It’s so primal, needy-- and Ramattra’s grasp on your hips shifts, pulling you towards him again, urging you to keep going. You’re so close already it’s hard to hold any rhythm, but he helps, pushing his mouth against you each time you come up on his cock- and each time your piercing catches the tip he moans, a bolt of static pleasure rumbling directly into your clit.

You can’t help it. You dig your nails into the coverings on his thighs, try desperately to focus on him, on making him cum- but the sound of him, the taste of his cock, and the incessant buzzing of his moans against your pussy are too much. Your rhythm breaks entirely as he pushes you over the edge. Your own noises are muffled, lost to the silicone in your throat. Metal hands keep your thighs spread as they twitch and try to close around him, forcing you to feel as he moans, praises you indistinctly through your orgasm- the words lost against the overwhelming feeling of the continued vibration of your clit.

You can’t think, the pleasure too sharp, too strong- you try to squirm away, to get any relief, but his grasp shifts, one arm now wrapped around your waist to keep you still. The other presses to the back of your head. His hips lift- and he as fucks your mouth desperately.

Ramattra moans, all static-garbled and needy, still rumbling against your pussy. And still you work your piercing against him, match his careful pace with hard licks of your tongue- and each panting, growing moan you can feel him getting closer, every Ah, ah, ah- buzzing harder into your clit as acute pain- a raw overstimulation that only builds into whimpering, twitching second wave that makes your whole body tremble in his hands-

And it’s your hips throat twitching around him again that makes him gasp- the rushed intake of air and firm press of his face against your pussy in a long, droning note as he overloads entirely. His hips thrust up into your mouth one more time before steam rushes from his vents, fills the room with hot air and every joint in his body goes lax.

For a long time you lay there, shivering and boneless. His arms are a pleasant, heavy weight across your back, a good counterpoint to the weak shudders your body gives from time to time. Your clit and throat ache, but it’s a monumental task to move yourself just enough to no longer be choking on his dick or have your over sensitive clit pressed to his firm metal. It takes three tries on your shaking arms before you can manage it.

You lay there, limp and much too tired to try to extricate yourself further from the heft of him. Instead, you close your eyes and enjoy the silence, letting your body relax and cool off until the soft harmony of Ramatta’s internals returns. First, the hum of his processors, then the fans of his ventilation resume, much quieter than they had been before- then his lights return. Positioned as you are, you don’t see his array’s lights, but you do watch as the indicator lights in his cock turn from a yellow- muddied by the purple tinting in the silicone- to green, to finally red.

Ramattra’s fingers twitch on your back, and you laugh slightly as he mimics clearing his throat. He gently lifts your hips and helps you roll off of him, but with a limp waving request of your hand, he then helps you to turn around and lean against his broad chest, half on top of him again.

If you had any energy left at all, you’d be embarrassed- or perhaps aroused again- at the sight of his faceplate; he’s soaked. Everything between his optics down to the tip of his chin is coated in your wetness.

And yet when he speaks, “I apologize I was… overly enthusiastic.” It’s all contrition. One hand touches the side of your neck, a silent voicing of fear of injury.

Instead, you press your face to his hand and he meets you halfway, stroking along your cheekbone with unspoken reverence. “But you liked it?” While his voice has been perfectly reset, yours is still rough, rasping from the strain on your throat.

“I…” He starts- and immediately his fans hum louder again. Your lips barely crack into a knowing smile before he admits it, “Yes. It was… enjoyable.”

“See, more than just aesthetics.” You say, melting onto his chest more, idly stroking at the long pistons mimicking collar bones.

“I suppose I have to agree. You can hardly see it to begin with.”

“Maybe you should give me a piercing you can see, then.” You say it offhanded, a little joke-

“What? I couldn’t.” Ramattra shoots back immediately, “I have no experience with that.”

And his rejection only makes the idea more appealing, more real. “No, wait, think about it! You could research how to do it and where. Your hands wouldn’t shake, you’d be able to center it better-- I bet you could even design it yourself…” You grin and look up at the dark slits for his optics, half pleading. “Come on, at least you’d be saving me money and a trip out.”

Ramattra’s hands on you stop moving, but he doesn’t pull away. So completely motionless, you know he’s processing it, mulling the idea over. “You… want me to pierce you?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess? I mean I like piercings and I think you’d do a good job… and…” You blush softly, finally averting your gaze from his as though this is somehow more intimate than sucking his cock until he overloaded and cumming on his face twice. “Maybe I kinda… like the idea of having jewelry that you made, that you put there…”

His design on your body. It’s not just intimate; it’s possessive. A silent, private mark of your relationship… If you weren’t not so thoroughly spent, it might bring another wave of heat between your legs. He must have come to the same conclusion, because something shudders in Ramattra’s chest.

“I see.” He says coolly, as though you don’t feel the streams of hot air that again slip from his vents. “Then, I will look into it.”

In all, it takes Ramattra three days. Three days before he’s guiding you into his workshop and lifting you up onto his desk. The thrill of how easily he picks you up- big hands cradling your rib cage as he sets you onto the metal surface- always makes you a little giddy. Even more so is the little purple velvet box that sits nearby. You reach for it-

And Ramattra snatches the box up with a tut, “No peeking.”

“Fine.” You sigh exaggeratedly, watching as he skims over the tools he’s acquired in the last half week. A bottle of antiseptic, forceps, a marker-- and your eyes wander to a small package of needles. Your stomach tightens a little just seeing them, so you look at him instead, distracting yourself as Ramattra finishes his preparations. “Where did you decide?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead gently putting one finger under your chin and turning your head away. His other hand drifts over your ear- and eventually catches the little flap in front of your ear canal between thumb and forefinger. “Here.” His hands abandon you, turning back to his tools and grabbing the marker. “It is called the tragus.”

You hum in acknowledgement, but otherwise keep still as he focuses on your ear. Carefully, methodically- Ramattra touches the tip of the marker to your skin.

He draws your chin back towards him, examining the dot he’s made from the front before retrieving and handing you a mirror. “This is… acceptable?” He prompts as you look at your reflection. You could almost laugh; the ink of the marker is perfectly centered- likely is, mathematically. You knew he’d be good at this.

“Yeah, it looks perfect.” You look at the mark a moment more, picturing jewelry in its spot. It is… a strange location. “Why’d you pick this one?”

Ramattra pauses, his turn towards his tools a little too intentional. “If you wish to remove it later, any scarring should not be too disruptive.”

Something tightens in your chest. You reach out to him, gently touch his forearm. His head only slightly turns back towards you, just enough for you to see the corner of one slit. “I’m not going anywhere.” You say it, squeeze his arm again and hope he’ll internalize it this time. His only response is a small hum, an acknowledgement of the words, if not their meaning. So, you redirect him. “Can I see the jewelry now?”

Again, Ramattra hesitates, but caves with a halting, “Yes, I suppose so.” He holds the box a second too long- so tiny in his big hands- but offering it to you.

You don’t even hide your ecstatic grin as you take it- too excited at the possibilities. His designs are always so sleek, but you don’t know what he would choose for you to wear. You crack open the box- and the first thing you recognize is the color. Purple- the exact shade as his accents, as his jaw. But it’s not just his paint- you hold the tiny box closer and squint. It’s almost an inverted teardrop shape, but not quite. There is a silver dot embedded in the lower half, the point that would be sharp is clipped, a notch taken out of the wider top… You look at it for a moment longer- and your excitement melts into something warmer, recognition.

“It’s your chest plate…” You murmur and reach for him again. Only the lower half is visible under his tan cowl, but Ramattra stands still, lets you lift the soft fabric to reveal his own inverted teardrop- the purple latch right in the center of his chest.

“There’s more…” His voice falters, rasping through a whisper, strained with the same feeling that’s twisting in your throat.

You look back to the jewelry, unsure how there could be more meaning lain into it- but you take it from the little velvet cushions that hold it in place- and understand. The back of it is green with tiny golden lines etched into it. A circuit board. You brow pinches for a moment, dragging a nail over the back- feeling the protective coating over the circuits. It’s too small, too clipped to be functional. Just decorative, symbolic?

“When I…” He starts and stops, stepping closer to you- laying one hand on the outside of your thigh. “When I installed…. that I also had to replace and redesign some chips that were in my hips for functionality. I… kept the originals.”

“This is… you?” You murmur, tracing the tiny golden threads again. An actual chip from his body… “Or, was part of you?”

Ramattra nods stiffly, watches as you examine the tiny thing. “It’s… acceptable?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle, “I love it, Rama…” then hurriedly put the jewelry back in its box and shove it back towards him. You rub at your watering eyes and force out a tight, “Hurry up and pierce me before I cry.”

Ramattra nods again, shifting easily into his practiced movements. He swaps your ear with antiseptic and dips the piercing into the bottle, laying it on a sheet to dry as he picks up his tools. You focus on his faceplate and stare up at him as he steps in front of you. He waits there a moment- soaks in your gaze before touching your chin and urging you to turn your head just as he had earlier.

You close your eyes, don’t look as he clamps the forceps down.

“Breathe.” His voice rumbles, so close to your ear. You shiver, but obey- taking in the cool air of his workspace, the scent of his oil, relax into the warm proximity of him-

And as you exhale he pierces you. Hot pain washes over the whole side of your head. You clench your teeth, try not to flinch as he moves quickly, replacing pieces with a smoothness that you should’ve expected from him.

“Good,” He praises, still low and quiet and so close to you- and finally he pushes his design into the backing.

Ramattra steps away, but you grab at him- hands landing on the silver handles at his hips. He stops, turns towards you- and the tears you’d managed to suppress before being stabbed boil over.

“Does it hurt? I-”

You’re crying before you can even wrap your arms around him.And realizing you’re crying into his cowl- your face pressed right up against the exact plate he used as a design makes you weep harder. But he steps right up against the table and shushes you, strokes your back with an affection no one else has even seen in him.

“I love you,” You manage between shoulder-racking sobs- and something inside Ramattra shudders.

So quickly he adjusts, no longer holding you to his broad chest, but near doubling over, half lifting you off the table to press his faceplate into your shoulder. He buries himself in the warmth of your body- and shudders again as your grasp scrabbles over his back, no longer cinched around his tiny waist, but sliding up under his cowl, grabbing at the long bars of armor and holding yourself up against him.

“I love you so much,” You murmur to him, half broken by sniffles- and he squeezes your ribs in turn.