#glitch is a fucking piece of shit.

[infoglitch]

... So uh decided to write down some of my (and my ex's) characters (that I borrowed stole) bios.. enjoy.

Johnson Purgatorio Cardinal.

Species: Human.

Age: 17-19 

Sexuality: straight

Weapon: Gante. a great sword styled after a Saber.

Elemental alignment: Fire.

History: Johnson was born as the middle child in his family. He is the second heir to Arma Corp, the largest weapons manufacturing company in America. After his mothers death to an ogre beast attack (which also traumatized him) and a falling out with his father and brother, Johnson strikes out on his own in highway city NY. As Well as hoping to find his sister. He joins the hunter foundation to allow himself a stable living, due to him refusing to use the millions of money in his bank account that came from his family. He will awaken to the elemental merged with his soul, salamandra, and he will one day fight for his home alongside his friends.

Xander Kabuki Oakgreen.

Species: Human Kitsune hybrid.

Age: 18-20

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Weapon: Mizune. A gunto type sword with a green coloring.

Elemental alignment: Water.

History: Xander is.. an ordinary boy, his heritage is due to his mother, a kitsune from the ocean, meeting his father who was a mask maker, his parents fell in love and thus conceived him. He joins the ranks of the hunter foundation due to his desire to simply live his life to the fullest. He has fully accepted who he is as a person and holds an air of confidence. He becomes fast friends with Johnson and helps him on his way to understanding himself.. albeit also teasing the poor kid.  Even when his heritage is revealed to him in his adulthood, he knows who he is and he feels no need to be any different.

Lucius Magnus Blackwell.

Species: Demon.

Age: unknown, however he is theoretically in his early 20s.

Sexuality: straight.

Weapons: Thors and Raijin. Twin silver axes that he can recall using his selective magnetism.

Elemental alignment: hell lightning.

History: lucius is the Prince of hell, and the next sin of pride with his little sister being the next sin of sloth. Lucius holds his father's ambition but holds none of his cruelty and vitriol. Lucius seeks to change hell, turn it from a place of torment to a place that helps lead to atonement. So he, his mother Lilith, the current sin of sloth, his sister Blossom, and a few other demons plan a coup. But it changes when the seven deadly sins agree to release the apocalypse upon mankind on new years eve. So he and his sister flee to the surface world to tell the hunter foundation about the attack, they do this via a rune that would be carved into Lucius’s back, granting him the power of Godspeed, allowing him to control lightning and even turn into it to reach high speeds, and if fast enough cross realms. He at first is caught off guard by how friendly Xander and Johnson are but they soon become a trio and consider themselves brothers later on.

Jay Atlas Cobalt.

Species: Human.

Age: 19-21

Sexuality: gay.

Weapon: a backpack that has the ability of either partially or fully transforming into a large robot that Jay can pilot which he dubs “mini atlas”.

Elemental alignment: none. 

History: Jay is an oddball, he holds no personal uniqueness or trauma, instead he is simply a creative person, he is an inventor, tinkering with machinery as he finds technology a lot easier than humans. Jay however has a close bond with Xander, once teammates and eventually past lovers before becoming friends. Jay, while rather friendly on the surface, finds it difficult to converse with others. He feels as if he is different, both due to his sexual orientation and his tendency to be blunt if a little rude. He feels safety with his machines and consistently refers to them as his “babies”. However Xander always convinces him to hangout with the group. While he is an unofficial member all four consider each other fast friends.

Lance Paradiso Cardinal.

Species: human

Age: 20-22

Sexuality: straight (though some mistake him for being asexual)

Weapon: Aergil. A large scythe that was given to him by the embodiment of death.

Elemental alignment: death, soul flames and shadows.

History: Lance is Johnson's older brother and death’s vassal or his apprentice. Lance after his mothers death, and seeing his father shutting down, knew he had to try and keep his family together. Lance had his mother's heart and her love for her family. After Johnson and their sister Jennifer left, Lance made sure to help his father with grieving over his wife's death, as Lance became the CEO of Arma Corp. However he would wind up meeting death, as the force of nature tried to soothe a child's soul after they had passed. Lance never understood how but regardless he decided to assist eventually death would choose him as his vassal, bearing his power and ultimately mark him as a successor. Lance gained access to a portion of death's powers, even gaining access to his hunting hounds Skol, Hati, and Fenrir, he treats them as dogs despite them being death’s hunting hounds, he even asks fenrir to lend him his strength when Lance needs it. Now he arrives at highway city to convince his brother and his sister later on into mending their family. However Johnson Is stubborn and refuses to even speak to their father. However Lance is determined to heal his family. For that is the creed of the oldest child in his eyes.

Before we mention the secondary cast it is crucial we mention one (and one other) entity that is extremely important.

Salamandra, the sun dragon.

Species: elemental embodiment of fire.

Age: N/A

Sexuality: N/A (due to elementals having no specific gender and only assume traits of genders)

Weapon: Gante (due to him being merged with Johnson down to the soul, he is able to use Gante and even merge with it.)

Elemental alignment: Fire.

History: Salamandra is a primordial being, embodying the sun. He was sealed into a mage as he is now bound to the cardinal bloodline and theoretically all members of the Cardinal family can awaken to him but only those with a passion and a rage can wake him from his slumber. He now finds himself bound to Johnsons very soul as he helps guide and aid the boy, the two start off as purely associates but wind up being able to work and fight in tandem, representing the union of fire and man.

Now onto the secondary cast.

Jennifer Inferno Cardinal.

Species: human

Age: 15-17

Sexuality: Lesbian 

(she is also a functional hermaphrodite)

Elemental alignment: none.

Weapon: Deatrice. An O-dachi that she leaves unsheathed, however she does have a cover over the spine of the blade that she can simply pull off.

History: the youngest child of the three cardinal siblings. Jenifer was only an infant when her mother died so she was unable to understand the loss, but she could feel it through the aftermath as her father who tried to be there for her was shutting down after the loss of his wife. Eventually she couldn't even say her father was even recognizable as the man who should have raised her. Aware of her family fracturing, she decided to leave. She was the first and so far she has been doing alright, though she worries for her brothers.

Alexander Dio Cardinal. 

Species: human

Age: 45-47 (he however looks rather appealing despite his age).

Sexuality: straight.

Elemental alignment: None.

Weapon: Cherubim. A broadsword Alexander forged himself. While he has never fought he has it as a way to remember his past and his brother.

History: Alexander, the original CEO of Arma Corp, and the father of the cardinal siblings. Alexander is a man of principles and integrity. However after the loss of his wife Nora Cardinal and the death of his brother Grimm Cardinal, Alexander.. shut down, however seeing his family shattering before him he has decided to use his own hands, the same hands that forged weapons and the same hands to hold his wife, he used them to reforge his family. Despite all of his loss, he wishes to ensure his children are not forlorn and believe their father never once loved them. Alexander needed to ensure his family would not be lost to him.

Frost Vit Sai.

Species: human.

Age: 17-19

Sexuality: Bisexual

Elemental alignment: Ice (via falnix, the artic Phoenix) 

Weapon: Glaciärbrytare. A hammer able to be coated in ice to deal both heavy blunt force damage but also varying levels of cold damage. 

History: Frost was born to Oliver and Crystal Sai. A Royal family who live in the Arctic, said to be descendants of a Nordic tribe founded in Sweden. She is technically next in line for the throne after her father's passing. With her mother already being dead by the time she meets Johnson and his friends. Unbeknownst to Johnson and Frost, their fathers seemed to have held a rivalry. To the point it even seemed after Johnson's mothers passing, Frost's own mother sent Alexander letters to help him grieve. Regardless when her and Johnson meet they start off as simply friends.. However fate has a very different route in mind for them.

Kira Jäger Prince

Species: human.

Age: 18-20

Sexuality: straight 

Elemental alignment: Stone

Weapon: N/A (uses boxing techniques and and kickboxing) 

History: Frost’s cousin after Frost's Uncle settled down to have his own family. Kira's life has been branded in struggle. From a family member doing something that.. he never should have done. All the way to having to be placed in boarding school as a manner to keep her safe from her family. Her relationship with frost is much more like siblings with Kira acting like the older sister wanting desperately to protect Frost so that way she does not have to struggle as much as she did when she was young. Her fate is tied with Xander's own as these two surprisingly create the perfect pair as at the start of the story they are already together. 

Cherry Espora N’moore

Species: human (mutated)

Age: 19 (has not aged after experimentation)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Elemental alignment: Pink Rot (due to experimentation.)

Weapon: N/A (does not fight but instead uses her powers to dispatch foes)

History: a poor girl who had the misfortune of being abducted from her home in Puerto Rico and sold to a mad scientist. The monster in human flesh that was the scientist mutated her, cutting her and experimenting on her until she died. All to be the vessel for his new creation. “The pink rot”. A chemical pulled from the depths of nature made of many fungi and parasitic plants. He injected it into her corpse. But almost immediately the rot did Something. It seemed to resonate with the girl. Reviving her body and even her mind. She was reborn, on the dissecting board of the monster. She almost instinctively killed him by melting him using her new powers. Once she did.. she ran, ran far away back to her family. Only to find her sister has passed and her parents.. gone. As she soon discovered, her father and mother sold her this hurt the girl to her core. Eventually she would leave for America before meeting.. Kira, the two became fast friends, with Cherry and Kira eventually getting together. Only to break it off as Kira despite how much she cared for cherry couldn't feel the same way cherry felt towards her. They are still close friends, as her, Kira and Frost all soon become a trio, until eventually Cherry discovers she has a brother. Living in highway City, she decided to contact him and after a bit she as well as now Kira and Frost (though Frost was not a fan of it) moved to highway City. Plus Kira now had a long distance boyfriend- who she totally didn't meet on tinder- she wanted to see. Cherry's fate soon intertwines with Lucius as the two soon become kindred Spirits in a sense, looking past what makes them “other” and finding love with one another. 

I do have the villain but I'm not sending that.. plus I still gotta make Jennifer's girlfriend/Lucius' sister/the future sin of sloth aka Blossom.. also Johnsons ex...

Ugh why do I do these things to myself?

[cloud-ya]

summer cats

[m1d-45]

Let it be known that I love writing fluff, and I listen to character audios sometimes. SO! I came up with a cute idea for sagau imposter au. I heard somewhere that Xiao's adeptus form is a bird, so I wonder, what kind of bird? And that got me thinking. Xiao being a little song bird, or perhaps even a cardinal.

Now imagine: while looking for the imposter, Xiao stumbles upon them sitting beneath a tree, just feeding some birds. Said birds are absolutely loving the attention since the creator of Teyvat is giving them food and love!

Xiao watches, rather curious. The creator he knows hates birds, because they always dive and cause problems for them. But now... these little birds have completely abandoned any fear they may hold for human beings, happily landing on the hands and shoulders of this supposed imposter.

So he decides to test something.

Xiao turns into a small bird and approaches cautiously. In his smaller form, he's vulnerable to attack. But the person before him doesn't try to hurt him. Rather, they smile and call him "little friend" as they offer food to him. In his distrust, he bites them with his sharp beak.

His heart shatters when he sees divine blood spilling from the wound.

He's about to fly away, get as far away from here as he can. He found the true creator, and instead of worshipping them, he bit them! He caused them to bleed, he shouldn't even be near them-!

His mind stills when they pet his feathered head.

They murmur kind words to him, apologizing to him. They believed that they had startled him, that he bit to protect himself. They forgave him, they felt no hatred towards him, no anger or disappointment. Instead, they offered some chopped almonds, hoping he'd prefer that over bird seed.

He sang for them as he perched on their shoulder.

After that, he did his best to secretly protect the creator he'd harmed. He would adopt his smaller form and sing for them when they felt sad, and he'd use his human form to guard them from a distance. Yes, it made his chest ache whenever they looked at him with fear when they saw his more human form, but the yaksha only shook it off. It only made sense that you'd be scared. He was a frightening person, one that had tried to harm you before. He refused to try and change your feelings towards him. He didn't have the right.

He would be content to sing for you as a harmless bird.

-sibling anon (sorry if this is out of character for him I just like the idea)

oh….. he’s so soft…..

xiao hovering near the edge of the crowd, at first, drawing your attention since he doesn’t seem to be eating any of the seed you’d passed out.

when he finally hops within arms reach, you reach to nudge some of the food next to him closer, only to quickly whip your hand back. the birds around (on) you all flutter at the sudden movement, but you inspect your finger, the blue blood of teyvat welling up. your instinct is to stick it in your mouth, but that doesn’t seem safe considering a bird bit it, so you dab at it with a napkin.

the bird cries and flaps his wings, distraught, and your heart hurts. poor guy, you probably scared him, moving so quickly.

you pull out some chopped almonds from your pocket. the plan was to have them as a snack, but now… you put a few in your palm and close your hand around it, reaching forward to gently run two fingers over the birds back.

the other birds in the area seemed receptive to that, and this one does too, calming down considerably.

you take your hand back, opening your palm to drop the almonds on the floor, nudging them close before backing off.

“there you go,” you murmur, as the bird dips down to inspect the food. “i won’t hurt you.”

you allow yourself a silent cheer when it eats one of the almond pieces.

you see the small bird fluttering around you often, always on the edge of your vision. it’s easy to identify, the purple patch of feathers on its forehead easily standing out, and you’re always certain to push some food over to it. almonds, not birdseed.

the bird is a dark blue-teal, the underside of its wings a softer blue. it’s like no other bird you’ve seen in liyue, something that quickly catches your attention.

you brush some dirt off you as you stand, noting the way the bird immediately looks up from its food, unlike the others, to flap up into the tree you were sitting under.

you crack a smile, carefully reaching a finger for it. you’re slower this time, cautious of its skittish nature, but it lets you approach. when you carefully pet over its head, the birds eyes close.

your smile grows, and you try not to laugh at how confused the bird seems when you pull your hand away.

“i have to go,” you explain. “the millelith… they’re getting too close again. i won’t be able to see you again, little friend.”

the bird chirps, nearly indignant, and you do laugh this time. putting a small piece of almond on the branch in front of it, you wave goodbye to the other birds, seeing the blue one hadn’t touched the almond.

you frown. hopefully it’ll be alright….

xiao watches you until you’re out of sight, and even then, he stays on the branch.

you…. he’d forgotten you were being hunted by the millelith. he’d forgotten the order to look out for you. he’d forgotten the qixing called you a criminal.

who could blame him? it was easy to forget everything at your side, when you carefully ran your fingers over his feathers, scratching at his jaw with the edge of your nail. yes, he was vulnerable as a bird, but it was easy to be vulnerable with you. it was easy to be open, to sing as best he could in this form, to allow himself close enough to see the way your eyes lit up whenever another bird landed on your outstretched finger.

xiao dropped to the ground, morphing back into his human form. predictably, the birds cawed and flew away quickly. he watched them go, his mind contrasting it with how readily they flocked to you.

you…

he turned to the branch he was on, to the small almond piece left behind. the small symbol of your care, of how you recognized that he didn’t touch the birdseed and instead offered him your own food to eat. normally he wouldn’t lower himself to eating off the ground at all, let along bird food, but almonds weren’t awful and you seemed so happy when he ate..

xiao looked back to where you’d gone, to the sandbearer trees swaying in a soft wind.

he allowed his form to fall away and spread his wings, taking flight on the same breeze that urged you along.

perhaps he’d forget his orders for a little while longer, if it meant he could spend that time with you.

perhaps he’d forget his orders for a little longer, if it meant he’d get to spend that time with you.

[procyo9]

the shpider has been contained

[adelle-ein]

if ribblr has 1 hater i am that hater

[grr-bark-bark]

I hate my fucking job I'm supposed to be better than this. I'm supposed to care about us more than anybody. I'm not supposed to care what happens to anybody else as long as we're safe. I'm supposed to be the strongest out of all of us. If I'm not strong enough to do this shit we're just fucked. So I have to. But I can't even think about it

[tossawary]

Listening to someone else watch the original ATLA again, just starting season 3, and there's this line where Aang suggests that it didn't just look like he died, but he DID actually die and Katara brought him back. And look, I don't know much about the lore introduced by TLOK, but this sounds like a really fun place to start an AU inspired by "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"'s take on the temporary death and resurrection of a cyclical chosen one: Aang is brought back to life and is STILL the Avatar, but his temporary death still also causes another Avatar to be born into the Southern Water Tribe (or Swamp People or refugees on some southern island, whatever).

Like, I know the Avatar is a reincarnation thing, but weird things can happen with spirits! Maybe this glitch in the cycle causes the spiritual equivalent of mitosis to happen to the Avatar and the spirit attached to them, so there's just two of them now! Maybe having two Avatars has some spiritual downsides, maybe not, it's up to whatever path you choose to explore in this AU.

I just think it would be really funny for post-canon 20-something Aang (and the Gaang and the White Lotus and all the spiritual / religious orders on the planet) to suddenly be confronted with a 10yo water tribe kid who is ALSO the Avatar.

A water tribe couple shuffle awkwardly up to Sokka, like, "Sooooo... we think our 10 year old daughter might be the Avatar...? She can, uh, bend all the elements and all that. Look at this shit." And Sokka is like, "Fuck, Aang is dead?!" Before he's like, "Wait, I saw Aang last week, this kid is way too old?!" And he has to hastily contact Aang like, "Hey, buddy, you're still alive, right?" And Aang can only reply, "Uhhh, last I checked, yes?!?!"

It's probably Sokka and Katara who put the pieces of the timeline together and figure out what caused this, because all of the other Avatars are probably initially like, "Yeah, I have no idea what's happening here. I'm you and you're me, but I'm also her and she's also me, and you and her are kind of the same person, but you're obviously different people now? Wow! Good luck figuring all that out, kid! You're really going places none of us have gone before! A real groundbreaker!"

Aang, through gritted teeth, "I am really not TRYING to do that, thank you!"

[navigatorwrongway]

mobile game ads die die die die die die die die die die die die die

[keferon]

Odds of Survival Part 4

Jazz thinks he’s starting to figure stuff out and finds entirely new ways to concern Prowl.

———————————————————————

The flashing visual feedback from the cracked visor felt like his brain was being used for target practice by a middle schooler with a BB gun and the school just canceled pizza day forever.

Jazz was feeling pretty grateful to Prowl right now. Between the glitching visual feed and the misshapen state of his feet, Jazz wasn’t totally confident he could get into the mecha cradle on his own.

At least not without stumbling around like he was completely plastered and trying to decipher a fancy ass hotels space age shower controls.

Seriously, seven different knobs and a touch screen.

Blurr. Dude. Why.

As Prowl walked him through the outpost, Jazz continually got snapshots of his surroundings. Doorway, hallway, door again, room. Another mecha was inside.

At a glance, they looked like the same class type as Prowl. Face, wing thingy’s, and wheels. All the same but with a slightly different color scheme of red and grey.

Jazz was slowly working out what class of mecha they were supposed to be. They couldn’t be Striker class. Not with attachments Prowl straight up specified were delicate.

What even were they? They weren’t thrusters. The wings took the place of where car doors were on a regular car. Which, holy shit, Prowls mecha can turn into a fucking car.

Prowl also flexed and twitched them around a bunch, kinda like how Jazz used his horns to emote. Not that Prowl needed wings to emote because holy FUCK that face. It had micro expressions!!

Okay. Prowl had three things that were cool as fuck going on. An expressive face, delicate wings and the ability to turn into a (fucking) car.

What does that mean? Why would someone build a mecha like that?

Ever since Jazz got spat out by the wormhole and woke up surrounded by aliens, he’s felt like his brain has been slowly circling the drain of a sink. There was some missing piece to all of this that he could feel himself just skirting by over and over again.

Oh fuck right. The other aliens. There was alien life other than tentacle monsters out there. They were dicks sure but at least you could share a train car without any murder attempts.

Ooooohhh. Jazz swayed backwards a little as the tilted his head back in realization. Prowl catching him.

Prowl’s mecha was built to work with other fighters in space. He clearly had a life support system to survive in a vacuum. He had a highly expressive face to help communicate with aliens. The wings must be satellites for communication. The car mode was for fast tracking across planet surfaces. Prowl was crazy smart, over and over again Jazz had watched him figure out exactly where they needed to go and how to get there. Of course there was a reason he was so easy to work with. It was his job.

Prowl wasn’t any kind of pre-existing class from Jazz’s mecha program. Prowl was every Strikers pipe dream that kept getting brought up and then thrown out for “not being cost effective”.

Prowl was a Support Class Mecha.

Live on the field, giving real time updates and backup.

Damn.

Whatever shadow government Prowl worked for must be insanely rich. Wonder if they’re taking applications.

Prowl unhooked Jazz’s remaining functional arm from over his shoulders. He maneuvered Jazz to sit on a bench height concrete extension from the floor.

The microphones in his horns were still working fine despite one of them sending many unhappy damage report messages.

“Sit here and don’t move.” From the glimpses Jazz could catch, Prowl looked concerned but focused. Jazz wanted to ask why they didn’t go to some kind of docking station but figured Prowl knew what was up and went along with it.

Jazz could hear the mystery mecha talking. A lot.

It was in that other language Prowl had initially tried talking to Jazz with, except speed up by a bajillion percent.

From the tone, the new mecha was asking Prowl a barrage of questions. Prowl, for his part, replied in short concise sentences or occasionally a silent glare. The other mecha didn’t seem put off by this and merrily continued talking as he lined up another shot through some kind of rail gun setup built into the slit window.

Eventually, the new mecha started directing his questions at him. Apparently stopping to breath wasn’t a thing with this guy.

Jazz did his best to shrug. “Sorry man. No idea what you’re saying.”

Prowl interceded in common, “Jazz, this is Bluestreak.” He waved in the direction of the sniper, who smiled and waved.

“Bluestreak, this is Jazz. He is only just learning Common.” Prowl turned to Bluestreak with a scolding look. “I need to focus on helping him while you focus on the remaining quintessons. Understood?”

“I got it! I got it. I can stop talking when I’m working you know.” Bluestreak nodded and turned back towards the view port, but not without calling over his shoulder, “So Jazz, my brothers face is emotion positive positive positive?”

Oh Jazz could hear the shit eating grin from the other side of the room.

“HAH!” Jazz accidentally knocked his head back against the wall and visor started glitching worse. “Eugh. Eh, worth it.”

“Both of you be quiet or I will separate you.” Prowl threatened.

Jazz, chuckled good naturally but otherwise quieted down. He watched the stop motion footage of Prowl opening some kind of crate and collecting what looked like a tube of glue, a pair of giant tweezers and some kind of mecha sized chrome-mesh duct tape.

His face was suddenly very close and Jazz did not startle. Nope. Who said that?

He felt the pressure of a hand settling on his good shoulder. Prowl was wearing that highly concentrated look again. And Jazz was so focused trying to work out what the internal mechanisms of his eyes were that he missed what Prowl was saying to him.

“Could you say that again? My…uh.”

M’kay, how to translate ‘I definitely have whiplash and maybe also sort of a Concussion’ into common. “Head function negative? Uh, too much motion. Broken but small negative?”

Yeaaaah Prowl did not seem reassured by Jazz’s attempt to downplay his condition. Which meant he nailed the translation! He was so getting at least a B+ in this language class.

Fuck his head hurt.

“I want to help you as much as I can. I am not a person-profession-help. Can I help you with what I have?” Prowl had a little furrow between his eyebrows.

“Sure, I won’t fight you.” Jazz stabilized himself best he could. The sentence must have translated weird, because Prowl looked kinda concerned before pulling out a strip of shiny duct tape.

The winged mecha paused, examining Jazz’s busted shoulder, and then doubled the length of tape.

When Prowl wrapped the mesh textured tape around and just above the breakage, something weird started happening to Jazz’s systems. The Severe Damage Warnings and big bright Error messages Jazz had been actively ignoring for the past half hour started to reduce in number. One by one they all quieted down. Checking his mechas systems, the arm was still marked as compromised, but the ai wasn’t actively screaming into his poor brain anymore.

The quiet was such an overwhelming balm Jazz audibly groaned in relief. “I owe you so, so, many drinks. What is that stuff?”

Prowl stilled, “It is-“ he paused, clearly trying to work out how to translate a complicated term into a common equivalent. “It is a kind of repair mesh. You…you don’t know what repair mesh is?”

Jazz got a snapshot of Prowl and even Bluestreak’s expressions. The sniper looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and mouth open in silent confusion. Prowl’s stare was boring into him, making Jazz squirm.

“Um. Yes? At least it’s not something I’ve ever seen before. I mean, I don’t actually need it if it’s too expensive.” Jazz turned owlishly between the two.

Jazz heard Bluestreak start to make a questioning noise before having his focus be pulled back to the winding down invasion outside. Prowl looked into the distance for a moment, then took up the tweezers. He schooled his expression like he was about to do brain surgery.

“I’m going to work on your helm and visor now. Please hold still.” Prowl placed his hand against the side of his head, stabilizing.

“M’kay. Go ahead.” And Jazz put his mecha into Maintenance Mode.

The lights inside the mecha dimmed down to a low glow. Like this, the engine dropped into an idle hum, and the mecha could only move very slowly. Jazz had to hold a position for a few seconds before anything would respond, giving plenty of time for engineers to move out of the way.

Jazz also shut off the incoming feed from the visor, since looking at a bright flashing screen was probably on the list of things you’re not supposed to do while concussed. As well as fall asleep. Or operate heavy machinery.

Two out of three ain’t bad. Call it another B+.

Jazz felt like he might be dropping a letter grade soon though. He usually associated Maintenance Mode with being bored out of his mind, but after the insane last few hour’s, the slow quiet was practically a spa session.

It didn’t hurt that Jazz could feel Prowls hand cradling the side of his head. Technically, the mechas could only sense pressure. No heat. No texture. Given a reference point though, the human brain was pretty fantastic at filling in the gaps.

It felt warm. And soft.

“Jazz?” Prowl stopped what he’d been doing.

Ah.

Jazz came back into full awareness from where he’d been drifting off. He was pressing into Prowls hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” He lethargically pulled away. How do you explain “Hey! Sorry about pushing against you like a stray cat! I’m just kinda super into piloting mecha and being held like that is kind of a novel experience.” in a completely foreign language you learned that morning?

Jazz dragged his ass back upright.

“I’m not, uh, familiar? With a hold like that. Touch-positive. Normally I only feel touch-fight or touch-medical.” Jazz meant to say touch-maintenance, but he was already rambling and for some reason the words were really similar in Common.

Prowl didn’t respond.

Jazz felt his chest tighten. “Prowl?”

“I’m here.” Prowl said quickly. There was an edge of static to his voice.

He didn’t remove his hand. “I’m still here.”

The rest of Jazz’s maintenance went by quietly. Prowl kept his hand where it was for the majority of it, only repositioning once to tilt his head back while working on the cracks of his visor.

Jazz wasn’t 100% sure why Prowl indulged him. Maybe got it? Or maybe he just thought Jazz was passing out and needed to be grounded. Okay yeah, that actually makes the most sense. Plus it was also what literally happened.

Eventually, the pilots heart finally slowed to a resting rate. Mostly. Jazz kept jerking awake.

If falling asleep with a concussion was bad, then falling asleep with a concussion while piloting a mecha would probably do very bad things to his lightly fried meatball of a brain.

He tried remembering what he could of his mandatory pilot safety course he took with Ratchet before the doctor left the program. He mostly remembered sneaking out.

It was fortunate then the pilot was just delirious enough that every time he almost conked out, the spiritual embodiment of Ratchet would scare the fuck out of him.

Thanks Ratchet.

See? I did learn something.

He heard a tarp rustling, and then his busted arm was being manipulated. Jazz brought his visor back online, pleased to see it wasn’t flashing anymore. His vision was a little distorted in the corner on the left side but he could deal with that.

When he looked around, Prowl was in the process of tying makeshift sling in place to keep his damaged bits from jostling around.

Jazz also got a good look at the emblem on his mecha’s chest. It kinda looked like an angular mecha face. Jazz didn’t recognize brand design though. Maybe he’d remember once he’d recovered from the bullshit of the day.

He was kinda too tired to think properly at the moment. That circling-the-sink-drain feeling hadn’t actually left, even with the Support Class revelation.

“That is the best I can do for now. Our ship should arrive in five breems.” Prowl hesitantly let go of Jazz.

“Thanks Prowler, you’re the best.” He wriggled now free horns at him. Incrementally, Jazz brought his systems back online, running through well practiced motions to ensure everything was working. Well, everything that was supposed to be working anyways.

He heard a raspberry being blown by Bluestreak, the mecha had his hands on his knees and he was looking from Jazz to Prowl.

“Prowler?”

Prowl frowned. “Yes?”

“Prow-ler.”

Prowl frowned harder, “I’m aware.”

Bluestreak straightened up, “Okay, you’ve delayed this long enough. I need to talk to this guy one on one. Go talk to the Big Boss and I’ll watch Jazz. Please mech. I gotta. I gotta talk to this guy or I’m going to explode. Like, where is he from? Why does he look like that? How’d he end up floating in space? What’s his native language? Does he know any other languages? Why has he never heard of Common before? Is he super young? How are the others gonna react? What are you going to say to Elita? Oh Elita says hi by the way. Or, not really, she said ‘contact me as soon as possible’ and then hung up on me. Which is fine. Oh but you should seriously respond to you-know-who first.”

Jazz was getting maybe every third word of that. Bluestreak was still going. Wow. Impressive breath control no lie.

Prowl visibly sighed, straightening his posture into something military grade. Immune to the conversation tornado.

“Jazz, I must speak with our factions leader. I will not mention you to him until you have a better understanding of our military structure and you are able to choose to engage.” Prowl kept his hands folded behind his back. The total shift in body language was jarring.

“Okay,” Jazz nodded slowly. “I’ll be here, thanks again.”

Prowl nodded curtly once before shooting a warning look at Bluestreak, and then left the room.

The loss was weird in a way Jazz couldn’t properly describe. Prowl was so easy to click with that once he was gone, Jazz remembered he was stranded in deep space surrounded by what were effectively perfect strangers.

He didn’t get to dwell on it long though, as Bluestreak sidled up to him, propping his chin on one hand.

“So! I’ll let you go first. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you all about it!”

Jazz had a lot of questions but figured he’d start with something basic to help along his language acquisition.

“What,” he poked Bluestreak in his purple badge, “Are your cuss words?”

———————————————————————

Prowl: What do you mean you are actually capable of experiencing pain?

Prowl: What do you mean you don’t know what local anesthetic is?

Prowl: What do you mean no one has ever touched you when it didn’t involve medical treatment??

Prowl: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE GONE THROUGH MEDICAL TREATMENT WITHOUT ANESTHETIC.

Man oh man, this is the end of this arc but there’s more I still want to write. Gonna start cataloguing and saving these as well.

-SSTP

OH MY GOD. OH NO. Oh my god

Yeah no that makes SO much sense khftugssujdsthdd. Without that one little important piece of information their understanding of each other. Oh man. It's not just bad. It's FANTASTICALLY wrong but somehow generally still in the vaguely right direction??

Like Jazz being regularly medically mistreated is kind of true BUT NOT IN THE WAY YOU THINK PROWL

And Prowl being that sweet sweet support class mecha?? FUKFDEY Y e ah.

Oh this is amazing. Oh thIS IS FUCKING GREAT SSTP I WILL DIE FOR YOU

[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🦌

[jyoongim]

IM OBSESSED WITH ALASTOR X VOX!SISTER READER! (also hi its pixie again lmao)

ok so i was thinking that since vox!sister reader is a “pampered princess” because vox has the power and money to give her anything, alastor does the same! so after a day of hanging out with alastor and shopping and stuff, vox!sister reader goes back to the vees tower wearing red (alastors color, while her clothes r mostly blue to match with vox) vox immediately gets reminded of alastor seeing her clothes and he gets rlly angry and jealous and stuff, and ofc since alastor is a cocky little shit, he makes a broadcast for vox to hear to tell him how much of a good time he and his sister had to piss him off even more! :3

I enjoy writing Vox!sister with Alastor. It brings me joy knowing Vox is just gnawing at his wires knowing Alastor and his baby sister are a couple in very sense of the word hehehe~

————————————————————————————————-

You loved when Alastor took you shopping. Through you could and did have anything you wanted thanks to your brother, it was nice that your lover still chose to spoil you just as much. Today you were out buying a whole new wardrobe and decided that you were in need of a new color scheme. You always wore blue. It was your signature as Vox’s sister and a color you declared only you could wear. But as of late, you strayed from the comforting color to a more fiery palette. 

“I’m home!” You shouted even though you knew your brother already knew you were home. You had your assistant bring all your bags in and you heard the familiar zap of Vox entering the common area. “Finally! I thought I was gonna have to-what the fuck are you wearing?” Vox growled. You smiled and spun around “isn’t it the cutest!? Never thought of myself as a red girl but this color is gorgeous!”

Vox screen glitched. You were wearing red and black. Your usual blue completely gone and replaced by the radio demon’s colors.

”You spent money to look like that fossil? Sis we just finished your closet like last week”

You pouted and shrugged “A few different pieces dont hurt, besides I think its cute to match with my boyfriend”

That’s right how could he forget that Alastor was dating his baby sister.

You skipped to your room with your bags and began to reorganize your closet. Again.

Vox growled as he rubbed his screen.

His antennas buzzed at the change of frequency and his mood became even more sour as Alastor voice filtered through.

”Salutations wayward sinners! I just had a wonderful time with my girlfriend. You lot might know her as the Voxtech pampered princess. Yes yes i know what you’re all thinking…” 

Vox eye twitched.

”me and the little lady had quite a time shopping today. That darling is a looker I tell you, she can make anything look good. My those hips and legs really know how to make a man sweat” Alastor laughed.

”Anyway you might notice the Vees tower slowly changing. I think red is a lovely color and so do my darling.Maybe be on the lookout for a new design change folks. After all blue is such a dull color hehehe”

Vox was fuming.

”I am so going to kill him”

[macabr3-barbi3]

Bluetooth Bogie

week three! give it up for week three!!!

I hope everyone is eating well with everything we have on our Menu so far, lovingly crafted and beautifully executed by our lovely @synamartia! Thank you as always to my love @fraugwinska for the pretty pretty banners she made for me, and to the other wives as well! @minkdelovely @hazelfoureyes @sugoi-writes 🩷❤️🩵

Summary: reader uses a production headpiece to drop filthy one-liners in Vox’s ear, live on air!

Vox is minding his business reading off the evening news report when he hears the telltale beep of one of the production headsets connecting with his Bluetooth. He continues with his sentence, figuring it will just be someone updating him with something new that was happening that he needed to touch on, just more of the usual shit that people pinged him about while he was live.

“I’ve been thinking about sucking you off during broadcasts.”

He stutters- the sentence he had been in the middle of dies on his lips as his screen glitches in the monitor he uses to watch himself. He powers through, regaining his train of thought and scanning the crowd of people beyond the set for the culprit; it could only be you that was stupid or brave enough to say such a thing to him in front of so many people. No one else seems to have any reaction to the words, so he knows you’ve used the tech skills -that had caught his eye enough to hire you in the first place- to isolate the signal so it only came through to him. He doesn’t see you in the immediate vicinity or recognize your shape in the group before him, and his eyes narrow when he hears shuffling from your end of the connection.

He keeps going. “And hey, wouldn’t you know it- Lucifer himself has been spotted out and about Hell again! Maybe with that shitshow Hotel up and running he felt it necessary to remind Hell how royalty is supposed to behave-”

A moan warbles through his processors. “Do you think you could concentrate with me under the desk while you did your show? Choking on your cock while you try to get through the news?” He thinks he can hear something in the background, faint and slick, and he’s hard behind the shelter of the desk before he’s finished his sentence at the implication of what you’re doing on the other end.

Vox holds it together this time, managing to get through his thought about Lucifer with your soft sounds of pleasure in his ear while you touch yourself on the other end of the connection. He can’t risk checking any of his camera feeds to find where you are on the off chance of his equipment malfunctioning and showing you off for all of Hell to see; that would be a fuck of a cover-up for Velvette to handle when he offed anyone stupid enough to snap a screenshot from the broadcast and post it online. 

“I know how loud you like me to be- we could watch the footage back later and see if the production mics picked up the sound of me moaning around you… ohhh…” The sound trails off, wet and muffled like you’ve shoved something into your mouth to replicate the feeling of gagging on his cock.

Could he end his broadcast? He’s paused live on air, the set manager exchanging curious glances with the rest of the crew- he could say his battery was dying, or one of his mechanical pieces needed to be replaced; anything to get out from behind this desk and go find you, fuck you into the nearest flat surface and then maybe reprimand you for interrupting his work even if it was sexy as fuck. 

“Would anyone notice if you fucked me under the desk?” 

He feels an error message flash across his screen and he tries to recover, laughing awkwardly and shuffling his papers on the desk. “Sorry about that, folks! Just a little buffering- on to our next bit of news…” He tries to split his focus so he can keep presenting while still listening to your whimpers and soft cries through the connection. It’s not working well- he keeps getting distracted by the noises you make, causing lulls in his speech while he tries to report, the production team looking more and more frazzled the longer it goes on.

His cock is straining against his pants with the way you’re teasing him, a wet patch against the front where the tip of his erection leaks. “You’d have to gag me somehow- or everyone in the Pride Ring would get to hear what I sound like cumming on your cock.”

Vox is ready to call it. Hell could live without another fucking update on the Radio Demon- he had more important things to tend to when he managed to locate you. The team is whispering amongst themselves- “Sir?” The production manager asks hesitantly through one of the properly connected headsets, the hand holding his clipboard shaking minutely across the way.

“I don’t think you could handle it,” you whisper into your end, and that stops him from giving the order to end transmission. “You’re so vocal when you’re inside of me- I don’t think you’d last a whole segment without breaking and telling me how well I’m taking you. I’m not even there with you now and I can tell you’re thinking about shutting down production.” A breathy whine of his name, and the faint, rhythmic noise he’s been hearing intensifies as you fuck yourself harder on whatever toy you had gotten your hands on. “You’d be the one to get us caught.”

Vox closes his eyes for a moment and processes the challenge you’ve issued. “How about that acid rain, everyone?” He asks, and he hears your stilted chuckle through the headset. “Temporary glitch, nothing to worry about- rest assured that those responsible will be held accountable. Our next piece here is gonna be a big hit with those over in the Industrial district…”

He locks his shit down, reporting the news without another hitch even with the distracting sound of you in his head as you bring yourself to orgasm over and over. His cock twitches and jerks in time with the noises but he refuses to even take his hands off the desk to palm himself for some relief- that would be your responsibility once he got his fucking hands on you. The production team looks relieved that he’s back to normal, and you know better now than to try and tease him any further beyond the soft gasps of his name as you pleasure yourself.

At the scheduled time- and not a moment sooner, thank you very much- the live broadcast ends, and the connection to your headset goes dead. He turns away from his desk and finally pulls up his camera feeds; there you are, spread across his sheets all sweaty and fucked out, one hand already back between your legs and the other blowing a little kiss to the blinking red light of the camera. His stage manager hardly gets out the first part of his question about what the fuck had happened before Vox is gone, zapping into the nearest cable line and on his way to teach you a lesson about interrupting his work.

[m1d-45]

OHOHOHOHOH THAUMIEL READER…. it’s so funny to imagine the foundation suffering like “what do you MEAN that’s not a keter what the fuck we had everything set up and now they’re the EARTH?? fuck this”

there’s a ton of horror stuff that we could go with for this but also. i love the idea of teyvat being like “where creator?? where creator go???” and the answer being the creator is currently being used as a jail. they’ll be back in a bit just wait for them to do a little containment breach.

and then i also had the thought “if the universe bends in the reader’s favor…. what if that somewhat applies to other scps’ powers as well” which THEN led to the thought of “what if the foundation purposefully pits you with dangerous scps to see how well your powers can protect you and if they extend to people around you” because we love a bit of unethical experimentation in this house!

should i be paying attention to my innovation class? maybe. but this is more important - teddy anon

honestly the entire wing of the foundation is real tempted to retire

“do a little containment breach” as if it couldn’t end up a world-ending calamity event-

honestly i’d hate to be the guy that accidentally discovered that reader wasn’t a keter class. like their shackles suddenly gain extra links so they can reach for something they’d been planning on using as leverage (like a “if you cooperate you get this”) and the researcher just…. double checks their notes, the guidelines on the floor, their notes saying they shouldn’t be able to reach beyond the red line but the leverage a good foot beyond that- they just stand and leave, clipboard in hand, not looking forward to the hellish meeting that’ll have to follow

experiments follow, testing how far your powers reach, eventually bringing in one of the safer scps. i’m blanking on any example, but they slowly ramp up and up, testing just how far reality is willing to bend for you. scp 173 is brought in, but doenst move when you look towards fhe researcher behind the glass, counting your peripheral vision as “looking”.

they take you to scp 3008 but none of the workers bother you, you’re able to find the exit with ease, unharmed, blåhaj in hand.

you name him finley.

[0strawberrysorbet0]

𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝐼𝑠 𝐺𝑜𝑑.

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝑉𝑜𝑥 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!

This is based of the song from Heathers! Enjoy!

PLS PLS PLS send some suggestions I'm out of ideas and wanna start writing more!

Summary: Vox finds out you've been a victim of two perverts from Valentino's dungeon, and he has a little.. Fun with the demons who did it.

Warnings: Talk of death, murder, mention of suicide, yandere, vox is a little mad, hitting, stabbing, blood, violence, pervert shit, groping, undressing

Vox wiped the tears off your face, examining the bruise, you had been helping with Valentino, even though he had been forced to release you from the contract you still had a few odd jobs to do in his so-called 'sex dungeon'.

While you were helping on set two perverts came up to you, groping and running their hands on your flesh, squeezing you till your skin had bruised. They had dragged you to a separate room but you had managed to escape before they could do anything.

It had been a few days but some of the marks were persistent, at first Vox had called you a cheater once he spotted them. Screaming and babbling nonsense.

"You.. Yøū cHëætîñg lītTlë SlûT!" He had screamed, voice glitching wildly as he grabbed your arm, however things had changed as soon as a tear slid out your eye and onto your cheek.

"No. Darling, I'm sorry... Shhh shhh it'll be fine" he said, pulling you close as if he wasn't about to hit you two minutes ago

"Now.. Who did this?" He asked, voice stern as he held you tighter.

After you had given the names he told you to go get yourself dolled up, after finishing you went to him. He led you to a large grassy area outside of the tower, the sky was filled with stars.

"Are we.. Having a picnic?" You asked him, head tilted as he pulled something from his pocket.

"Oh? Oh dear no.. It's far too late for that" he smiled a toothy grin, he pulled the object in his palm to his face, a gun..

"What are you doing with that?"

"Hunting Filth."

Filth? That wasn't really an answer, he pulled his watch out and called Valentino and asked him to send the perverts outside.

Holy shit.

The demons could be seen walking out of the building, disgusting smirks across their faces.

"Wonder where the bitch is waiting" one said before laughing "Can't believe that whore wants us both at the same time.. Score!" The other one fist-pumped the other.

Vox hid himself in a bush as they approached you.

"Hey hot shit~ so.. How are we doing this?" He said, already unbuttoning his jeans.

"Well... I was thinking you could.. Strip?" You said awkwardly, trying to okay along with whatever he was doing.

A few minutes passed and now both demons were in their boxers gripping your waist when suddenly..

BOOM!

The bullet fired straight through the first demon's head, blood splattering across your skin.

"Bro?.. Holy shit! (Demon 1 Name)! FUCK!" The second one screamed, pulling away from you as he looked around, spotting Vox behind him,

He began to run, through the field and to the street, this demon was fast but luckily Vox could bounce through each screen he passed until he had him cornered, he was back right next to the field, he had led the demon in a circle,

Like his prey almost.

You had spotted them as they came back, walking and peaking through the corner of the wall to watch.

Vox had a sadistic smile on his face as the demon begged for mercy.

He wasn't given it.

Vox pulled out a knife and ripped the demon the fine pieces of meat, making him unidentifiable.

"Darling? You don't need to hide in the corner! You can watch if you'd like" he smiled sweetly at you.

"Okay" you said as he pulled you to in front of the sliced-up demon.

"He should've just let me shoot him" Vox muttered

You didn't respond, instead letting him engulf you in a tight hug, both demon's blood mixing onto eachother.

"You didn't have to do that" you whispered, wiping blood off his screen around his eyes.

"But I did. Our love is god after all, isn't it dearest?" He smiled.

You simply nodded, accepting they you'd be stuck with him for all eternity.

[lacedinweb22]

Vampire Next Door ♱✮♱ Miguel O'Hara x reader Miguel's POV Chapter 3: and I remember her... ˚○◦˚.

ch. 1 ch. 2

Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

── ⋆⋅⟡⋅⋆ ──

She looks just like I remember her. 

Plump rosy lips, that same flush of color in her cheeks, soft hair that falls perfectly into place, and a beautiful, contagious smile, one I’d let myself be infected by, that is, if I wasn’t thinking of the one million things I had to do, the people I had to protect, and that piece of shit tied up in my bathroom.

When she talks, when I stare hard enough, I can find little changes in her: the way she carries herself, the way she looks up at me, the slight change in the colors she wears, but still, even through that, I see her, and I remember her… and the thoughts from then rush back.

But I’ve changed … a lot in the past two years. A lot. So I wasn’t too surprised when she didn't remember me. There were three hundred people in that hall, and I was just one of many TAs. I do remember making eye contact with her more than I could count. I thought she’d notice, thought maybe she’d feel it,

but guess she didn’t.

Anyways, can’t be too involved with new girl. I acknowledged the odds that she round up across the hall from me, but also acknowledged the risks. I can only keep work so far away from home. Shit follows me. 

She let me walk through her apartment. It’s empty, but just from the one box I carried, I can tell she’s going to make it her own. 

Boots. She had her own style then and she has her own style now, and I know her place will reflect that when she’s done with it. I wonder if she’ll invite me over at some point, when she’s done decorating and settling in. 

Now, I stand in her empty bathroom, watching her unpack. Today’s my off day, so I figure I’ll bother her a bit, jog her memory. 

The walls are thin, I know that now. 

The fucker thumps against my wall, forcing my visit at her place to be cut short. I rush to my front door, he whines through the red webs I shut him up with. I flash her a smile, “Ha yeah, gotta help the little guy, I’ll- uh I’ll catch you later,” I say, blocking her from seeing the inside of my apartment. 

I know I seem like an asshole, and the shitty side of me, the Spider-Man side of me, wants her to perceive me that way. I can’t afford to get close to anyone again. Not after what happened.

I slam the door shut. 

I storm over to the bathroom. The anomaly I’ve caught, who I still need answers from, sits tied up in the bathtub. He glitches in the red stringy mess he’s tied up in.

I would have brought him to HQ, but Jess would want to help, probably scold me, and I had to deal with this one on my own. 

“Maldito idiota, I told you, I’m not letting you go, and I’m not letting you die until you tell me who fucking sent your ass! How did you find me in this universe?!” I kick him as he lays sideways on the tile floor.

He rolls his eyes.

“Coño, I didn’t want to have to drag you across my freshly mopped floor, but you’re disturbing the neighbors.”

Dragging him to the kitchen, I question him a bit more, rip off the webs on his mouth, and when he smart-talks, I shut him back up and relent. 

Letting out a self-pitying groan, I tap my watch. The portal opens and I drag him back to HQ. 

My suit activates upon arrival. Jess looks me up and down from the platform.

“I hope I’m wrong about where you just came from, Miguel,” she mutters, looking down at her watch.

“Shut up, leave me alone … Peter Parkedcar, anomaly control. Pick-up in my office, please,” I speak into my watch.

I leave the anomaly glitching on the floor, and shoot web to pull myself up to the platform. 

“What did I tell you about bringing work home, Miguel?”

I storm by her, ignoring her scolding, heading straight to the hologram screens. 

“Yo sé, yo sé,” I mutter, swiping across the screen.

“Hmm, your hair looks nice. It’s … different.”

“Different?” 

“You don’t usually have your hair that way, is what I’m saying. What’s the occasion?” 

How can she tell? 

“Are you seeing someone?” she asks, standing behind me, reaching her hand beside me to help organize my tabs.

“No, why would I– no,”

“Miguel … I’ll get it out of you eventually, so might as well tell me now before you start letting it affect your work, act weird, and end up making a mess of yourself … a mess that I’ll have to clean up … not that I’m complaining I just–”

“There’s a new girl, someone I knew back at NYU … and now she lives across the hall from me. I don’t want her to get in the way.” 

“Get in the way of what? Stop bringing work home and she won’t be in ‘the way.’ Easy,” she shrugs. 

I exhale. It was … recent. Time won’t fly. The pain in my chest deepens, I remember it all for a second. I feel her eyes looking up at me. She knows. 

I look down at the hand she’s now rested on my forearm. She looks up at me, brows knit together, her worry visible even through her goggles.

“You can let it go, Miguel. You can have a life outside of … this.”

“This is my life. This is my responsibility.” 

“No. There are hundreds of us, Miguel. It’s all of ours. You know … if I could find love, create life, and still be here kicking ass and being a good friend to you, then so can you. You can live again,”

I sigh, head hung low. It takes a lot to admit to myself, how exhausted I am … from everything. I haven’t breathed in months.

“Let yourself live again.”

I breathe back the tears welling up. 

“Yo sé,” I manage to mutter.

“Invite her out, Miguel, put yourself out there,” she encourages, patting my back then jumping off the platform.

“How’s … Baby doing?” I ask, turning around to watch her leave.

“Baby’s healthy and happy,” she calls out, rubbing her belly.

“Gracias a Dios.”

“Miguel, do yourself a favor… be more like Baby,” she mutters walking out.

I let myself chuckle then look back at the screen. 

My fingers subconsciously open that file. I feel myself smile, watching my past self be happy, full of life.

Let yourself live again.

Maybe I’ll try.

○◦˚.˚◦○˚

ch.4 here >:D

my lovely taglist: @wingedturtledream @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia @ur-fav-ginger @lacook246 @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @blair6th @missing2socks @thel0velykey190 @ladymoztaza @ta3bae @dhollandhs @qiaipia @deputy-videogamer @kinkybandages @murnsondock @obi-mom-kenobi @rjasmin2021 @syarblu @smokers-sweetheart @cheezit-luv3rr @tayleighuh @sukioyakio @maripositanoctruna @coffeeislifeyes @lilmissyrainbowstar 

[clarepreed]

Micro-Story: Faulty

Story Content and Summary: 1,750 words. Micah's wife succumbs to a fault in a futuristic prosthetic heart. No EMS. On-site resuscitation.

--

Fuck!

The way she fell, first stiffening, then going boneless and collapsing in a heap before he could reach her. The way she fell, her face slack and her eyes rolling back. The way she fell pulled a silent curse from him, one he kept repeating as he skidded to his knees beside her, the accidental impact of his body rocking hers in the dirt.

“FUCK!” Micah finally shouted, losing control, his hands shaking as he reached for her, already knowing what was wrong as his fingers pressed into her neck.

Goddamn artificial heart. First mass-produced cardiac replacement piece of shit!

The artery beneath his fingers lay still, and her light eyes stared half-lidded up at him, even as her mouth slanted open and her lungs stuttered air.

Recalled.

He unzipped her coat and spread it wide, then dug in his pocket for his knife, flipping it open. Her hands curled, body shaking as her brain freaked the fuck out at the sudden lack of oxygenated blood. Micah sliced his blade through the collar of her t-shirt, then tossed his knife to the side and gripped her shirt with both hands. The shirt tore down to her navel and he spread the fabric wide open, reaching next for the small, rectangular lump just below her collarbone and above the cups of her lavender bra.

Recalled, and a fucking waiting list…

He pressed the center of the implant, just like he’d pantomimed with her before, when he’d printed the reset instructions from the manufacturer’s website. This time, he felt a button click, depressing firmly and then popping back up beneath his fingers.

“Come on, Gretchen,” he breathed, quiet now as he reached for the butterfly clasp of her bra. He popped it open as she gave another rattling agonal breath, quickly spreading the cups and sliding his fingers down to the tiny display implanted laterally. The miniature monitor glowed red, awakening with the activation of her reset button. He pressed the center of the glowing light three times, initiating the reset sequence.

Stay calm! the instructions had advised. The heart WILL restart!

“I’ve got you,” Micah gasped, his hands skimming over her chest and settling low on her sternum, along the line of her first surgery scar.

Okay. I have to be her heart and lungs until the device restarts. 

He linked his fingers, rolled his shoulders over his hands, and started pumping.

“One, two, three…”

His mind flashed back to the little practice mannequin he’d bought and subsequently worn out in the basement where she couldn’t see him desperately trying to learn. Terrified that one day, before she could get in to surgery, her replacement heart would glitch out and take Gretchen away from him forever. 

What good is a heart that resumes beating ten, twenty, forty-five minutes later if her brain is dead?

“…thirty!” Micah leaned down and quickly tipped her head back before pinching her nose closed and drawing a deep breath. Strands of her silken hair clung to her face and his fingers as he gripped her jaw with his other hand. He held her mouth open and covered her lips with his, exhaling, watching her chest rise out of the corner of his eye. Micah broke the seal and felt his recycled air waft over his face before giving her a second.

He returned to her chest, his voice shaking as he started counting. Gretchen’s ribcage sank and her breasts wobbled as he worked, the force rocking her head from side to side. Each time he pressed down, her navel popped up in a harsh seesaw motion. Her shoulders shrugged rhythmically, body bending to the force of his love.

“Huh, huh, huh…” Breathless sounds slipped from her parted lips as he reached thirty again.

Her soft mouth beneath his felt lifeless, already cool to the touch of his overheated skin. Another breath, her cheeks rounding out, neck swelling slightly as the breath made its way down her airway. Micah turned, quickly getting back into position for compressions, his hands skimming her smooth skin as he found his landmark.

“One, two, three…” Her breast felt soft under his fingers as the heel of his stacked hands thrust into her. Her nipples, erect in the cool autumn air, pointed briefly inward with each hard compression. Oblong tracks appeared in the dirt beneath her slim-fingered as her body danced to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“…twelve, thirteen…”

Her brainstem stopped trying to make her breathe as her eyes locked on nothing, already glassy with death. Shadows gathered beneath her eyes.

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

A glance down toward her feet showed him that her entire body twitched with each thrust, legs rocking, toes drawing little circles in the air.

“Please, Gretchen!” he begged, before giving her another deep breath. Her breasts swelled once, twice. His eyes darted to the illuminated display in her side as he resumed chest compressions. One line, regular and jagged, represented his chest compressions. The second line, however, lay flat. Asystole.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve…”

Micah rocked into her chest, forcing himself to work as perfectly as he was capable, judging his compression depth with a critical eye and keeping the rhythm going as he counted. Each harsh thrust forced her sternum to squeeze blood from the useless artificial organ. As he pressed, her belly rounded against the waistband of her leggings, the hollow of her navel riding the crest of each wave. Sunlight stretching through the canopy dappled her body, leaves rustling as he shifted on his knees. A snoring sound abruptly emitted from Gretchen’s throat.

“…Christ! Thirty!” He sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with his, closing her nostrils just in time. Again, the air puffed out her cheeks and throat visibly. A thin string of saliva pulled between them as he broke the seal long enough to let her body exhale. Micah pressed his lips to hers again and gave her another breath. Then his hands slammed back into the center of her chest, fingers quickly linking. “One, two, three, four…”

“Hurk, huh, huh, hurk…”

“…nine, ten…” Her chest popped, the sensation crackling under his palm. He kept at it, watching her sternum and ribcage sink and bob beneath the strength of his pumping arms as he hoped, begged, that his effort was good enough.

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…” Watching the wave of force ripple down her abdomen, eyes burning, he choked back the tears that threatened to fall.

Let this be enough. Let me be enough…

As he bent for mouth-to-mouth, he thought of her that morning, legs spread wide beneath him, mouth ripe for the taking, skin so soft as he stroked her. Now, she lay lifeless beneath him, her mouth slack and her eyes staring as he forced air into her silent lungs. The flat line on her prosthetic monitor haunted him as he shifted back over her bruised, motionless chest. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, even as the sensation of her body softening under his hands sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

“…nine, please just start beating, fuck, come on! PLEASE! Fifteen, sixteen…” Micah worked desperately, letting his weight fall into his hands. She made abortive grunts as he thrust down into her chest, air escaping her lungs in harsh wheezes. “…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty—”

BEEEEEEEP! An artificial sound cut through his panic.

“Gretchen?!” Micah leaned closer, hands shifting to frame the heart prosthesis screen. The chest compression line disappeared, but beneath it, where the flatline had been…

A rhythm!

“Gretchen!” Micah lunged, planting his hands to either side of her head. Her face tipped slightly to the side, skin ashen, eyelids slightly lifted. He moved one hand to her face, patting her cheek gently at first, then harder. “Honey? Gretchen!” Micah’s eyes trailed over her mottled chest, looking for signs of life. Despite her beating heart, Gretchen remained completely still. 

He moved a hand over her mouth, suspicion leading him to feel for breath that apparently wasn’t coming. Fear made him shiver as he bent to open her airway and tip his ear close to her pale lips. He hovered there, silently counting out the seconds as the dead air spread between them. 

With a groan of anguish, Micah crashed his mouth into hers, the angle of his face blocking her nostrils as he filled her lungs, pressure forcing a buzz of air out of the corners of their mouths. He pulled back enough to feel the air drift across his face, remembering then to pinch her nose. His eyes grazed the display embedded into her side, reassuring himself that the artificial heart still beat. Then he gave her another breath, the fingers of his other hand gently stroking the soft skin of her throat as it expanded beneath his fingertips.

“Please, Gretchen…” His plea came out quiet and broken. “I was right here. I helped you. Please!”

Another breath. His mind filled with awful thoughts. Gretchen dead, Marcus forced to sign paperwork to remove the heart surgically prior to her burial. Gretchen in long-term care, unable to recognize him or care for herself. His Gretchen, dead as her body lived. His eyes grew wet as he exhaled a fourth breath. 

As he broke the seal, Gretchen flinched beneath him and sucked in a shallow, ragged breath. Micah gasped and cupped her face with both hands, watching as her eyelids fluttered. “That’s it, Gretchen! Just breathe! You’re okay. I love you, you’re okay!” He shook with relief, his eyes blurring with tears as she coughed and gasped and moved her hands weakly. She curled them onto her chest, covering the redness there and letting out a soft groan.

Micah brushed her hair back from her face and then covered her hands with his. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain. Just open your eyes for me so I know you’re alright.”

Gretchen complied, her eyelids peeling open. She blinked several times before her eyes focused, latching on to his own. “Micah,” she whispered, barely audible. 

Micah shuddered and curled over her, pressing his forehead to hers and choking out: “Thank you… Thank you! Oh, I love you…”

“Love you…” she wheezed. “S’okay…”

His fingers threading in her hair, Micah wept.