#he’d be capable of using technology

[qazastra]

i like that only friends is so predictable honestly lmaoooo but that made ep 4 all the more jarring when it just pulled out the most high stakes plot (imo) so far apropos of nothing

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 2)

☒ Summary:Your search history was probably alarming, but you trusted that no-one was monitoring it too closely. After all, you hadn’t resisted your fate, had been pliant and sweet for the television demon, even sleeping with your face nestled into his shoulder, his arm draped around you. You awakened in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Having fallen into the clutches of your doppelganger's nemesis, you plan an escape, blissfully unaware that the Radio Demon himself now knows of your existence.

☒ Warnings: Alastor X Reader, Vox X Reader, hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epliogue

Alastor sat in his usual breakfast spot on the balcony of the hotel, taking tea. Before him on the table sat an envelope, stamped and sealed with Voxtek logos. No-one sent letters in Hell these days, what with the smart phones that everyone seemed to love, but the weight of the item was such that it could only contain one thing. Photographs.

What was old Voxxy playing at? Alastor turned the envelope over in his hand, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In different circumstance, he might assume that this would be a threat or a blackmail attempt, but there was no-one in Hell he really cared about, and since his return after his seven year sabbatical he had committed no crimes worth speaking of- his deal made sure of that. Still, there didn’t appear to be a trap on the envelope itself, no microchips, not even a trace of Valentino’s irritatingly potent pheromone powder.

With a sigh, Alastor slit the envelope open with a single claw, and dumped the contents onto the table. What he saw took him a moment to register, and when he did he spat his tea.

What Vox had sent him were pictures of him. Alastor, naked and fucked out, electric blue cum dribbling down his inner thigh. Alastor on his back, eyes teary and pleading. Alastor with his knees hooked over the top edge of Vox’s screen.

Alastor crushed the first photograph between his claws, eyes becoming red dials, his grin extending to his ears. Vox had gotten him somehow. How? How had this happened? He’d been so careful, he’d never met in person, he’d brought his full mastery over technology to batter Vox back whenever they had interacted through screens. Yet somehow, here he was, splayed on Vox’s bedsheets. A hiss escaped him, angry static. Someone would pay for this violation.

“Hey, Al-” Angel Dust stuck his head out of the door but froze. “Oh fuck. See you’re having a moment here, I’ll go-”

“Nonsense.” With effort, Alastor forced himself down in size, his eyes returning to their usual form. “Just had a little surprise, that’s all.” With a little canned laughter, Alastor started to scoop up the photographs, in his haste scattering them more.

“So you finally fucked the TV, huh. Good for you, smiles.” Angel Dust squinted at the photograph that fluttered to land by his foot. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I didn’t-” distress started to creep into Alastor’s voice, a high-pitched feedback tone as he snatched up more of the pictures, grinning with only his teeth. “I would never.”

Angel Dust gave him a doubtful look. “You know there’s nothin’ wrong with fuckin’, right? Hell I’m the last one ta judge-”

“I have no memory of this.” Alastor hissed, crushing another photo between his claws.

“Oh. Fuck.” Angel Dust gave Alastor a compassionate look. “Sorry, man, I shoulda listened. Lemme help you with those.”

“I am quite capable of gathering these-” said Alastor archly as Angel bent over to retrieve some of the pictures that had fallen under the table. To his annoyance, Angel held one photo up to the light, squinting at it. “Give me that.”

“Nah. Wait. Look, I’m a professional at this okay? Nothing I haven’t seen before. And this? This ain’t the tall dark and creepy I know.”

Your stay in Vox’s suite was enjoyable, but not something that could last. Mercifully the television demon worked long hours, which left you a good amount of time alone. It hadn’t taken much persuading for Vox to give you a phone, a shiny new model with his company’s logo emblazoned on the back. And once you had that, this place’s equivalent of the Internet was your oyster.

Your search history was probably alarming, but you trusted that no-one was monitoring it too closely. After all, you hadn’t resisted your fate, had been pliant and sweet for the television demon, even sleeping with your face nestled into his shoulder, his arm draped around you. You’d even let him dress you, a fanciful blue outfit with a tailcoat and bowtie, and if that wasn’t a sign of co-operation, you weren’t sure what was.

what is hell pentagram city

As you suspected, you were in Hell. Though you had no clear memories of your death, you were fairly certain you had died. The memory of falling to the ground in darkness was there, along with the pain in the back of your head, a taste like metal in your mouth. And being here rather than the other place, assuming the other place even existed, was no real surprise to you. Heaven was for the meek and obedient, and you’d done things that were neither. Scanning the information online, and reading between the lines, you picked up the basics. Sinners were ruled by overlords, and Vox was one of these, in a coterie alongside Valentino, the man who had pulled you in and a third overlord you hadn’t met. Overlords gained power from owning souls, but a quick scan of the information told you little about what this actually entailed. Was owning souls like slavery? Did being locked in Vox’s bedroom mean your soul was already forfeit? All you found at first was that soul ownership required a contract of some sort, so you continued your search.

how to tell if you have a soul contract can you be forced into a soul contract how to get out of soul contracts

There was conflicting information on the exact nature of soul contracts, but the general consensus was that the contract required the participant to be cogent enough to sign their name, or at least shake the hand of their new owner. That meant that it was unlikely that Vox actually owned your soul. The bad news was that a person could be coerced into handing their soul over, and you still didn’t have much leverage on Vox. Eventually he would want a handle on you, and the thought of it made you uneasy. You needed an out. It looked like murder would work to break a contract, but Hell’s social media sites were full of people complaining about how difficult murdering a fellow sinner was. People, it seemed, could recover from nearly any level of injury. Fascinated, you followed the topic further.

can you kill sinners how to kill sinners

Unsurprisingly, you weren’t the only person on Hell’s internet interested in this topic. Aside from certain massive injuries, the answer that came up time and again was yes, angelic steel could kill sinners permanently.

what is angelic steel how to get angelic steel

The material was apparently from weapons dropped by heavenly exorcists, and highly sought after. It looked expensive, and you doubted that Vox would continue to buy your innocent act if you started asking him to bring you weapons. You checked the uses, scrolling down the list of applications until one caught your eye. Wire made from angelic steel was sought after by audiophiles for its use in the cabling of sound systems. And what was Vox, if not a man who would make for himself the best high fidelity sound system that money could buy? Stalking into the sitting area of Vox’s quarters, you surveyed his sound system. It stood about seven feet tall and a little longer across, the mesh over the speakers so black that it almost registered like a hole in your vision. You could almost imagine the sound it would produce just by standing there before it, the way the vibrations would run through your hooves and into your shins and through your spine. A shame, really. If you had been planning to stay longer, you could have asked Vox to play some music on it and sat there basking in the sound. Maybe even fucked to something slow and sensual, letting an external rhythm dictate your movements, letting the music override you.

With a sigh, you set the idea aside, opening one of the drawers set into the frame of the sound system. The thing was beautiful, so much so that you were reluctant to dismantle it unless you had to. Fortunately, a little rummaging led you to the spare cables that you hoped would be there, and running a talon over the protective coating, you slit one open. The metal inside was a whitish gold, braided thin enough to make a decent garrote. You tested the strength of it, winding each end of the cable around your hands and pulling it taut, and the feel of a weapon in your hands brought a giddy feeling to your chest. After days of feeling adrift, the tension of the wire between your fingers felt like finally hitting land.

You wouldn’t kill Vox. Not only was it a bad idea- you had no idea how much strength he had, and killing him would set Valentino and Velvette both after you- but you didn’t want to. Even if he had spent the entire time moaning the name of the man with your face, he was still a good fuck, and it felt like bad manners to repay those tender services with a red and sticky end.

After a moment’s hesitation, you took the bottle of Valentino’s pheromones from the dresser by the bed, slipping it into the inside pocket of your tailcoat as you tossed the Voxtek phone you had been using back onto the bed. Drugs had never been your usual route of attack, but who knew what would be waiting for you outside the walls of the Voxtek compound?

Getting out of Vox’s suite was easy enough- the override password on the door was fuckalastor, all lower case. But once you were outside, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Even with the length of angelic steel wire wound around your hand, you didn’t feel quite safe.

Alastor watched the V tower from the shadows, an ugly feeling in his chest. If the demon in the photos wasn’t him, as Angel Dust had claimed, he really had nothing to complain about. But the fact that Vox had seen fit to find a demon who was his doppelganger and then find fit to send evidence of those exploits to him? That was still an insult, a figurative glove across the face. His problem was twofold, however. Firstly, the constraints of his deal forbade him from undertaking violent action against anything not a direct threat to the hotel, which V tower very much was not. The second problem was that of his injuries from his fight against the angelic horde. He had lived, barely, but the rent across his chest was a persistent throbbing ache, a gap in him from which static escaped. It rendered him weak. It reduced him to watching and skulking like some street level cur.

It was in this state that he saw you exit the tower through one of the side entrances, your movements furtive and your ears down. You wore a copy of his own outfit in Voxtek blue, and the very sight of it brought a sour taste to Alastor’s mouth. How dare you, an impostor, a fraud, go round the city wearing Vox’s livery, as if the television demon owned you? It was embarrassing. He would make you take it off. Hissing rage between his teeth, Alastor followed you.

There was definitely someone following you. You could feel it. You had been on the other side of this equation too many times in your life, the fear of the other at the periphery of your awareness, chasing down with heartfelt and open-mouthed glee, that it was impossible to miss when you were the one being stalked. The shadows in Hell grew long and strange, studded with eyes and horns and mouths, and you took another blind turn into another darkened alley, grounding yourself with the sting of the angelic steel wire across your palm. You still weren’t wholly used to your new shape, and even now though you were no longer the trembling-legged fawn that Vox had half-carried to his bed a few nights previous, your gait wasn’t the steadiest. If you started running, you were fairly sure you would fall.

You would deal with it, whatever it was. That was how you had always done things. You chose the pragmatic option, you coped. You chose the righteous option, even if no-one agreed with you, even if it meant doing what no-one else could bring themselves to do. You chose the dangerous option, even if it meant staring down the creeping fear in your own heart. You slipped into the shadows, your back hard against the wall, garrote threaded between both of your hands, the pulse of your heartbeat a thunder in your ears, a pulse in your throat, the adrenaline of it making you almost dizzy, almost nauseous, almost aroused. In this your new body was the same as the old. You would catch your hunter, whoever they were.

He stalked round the corner, a figure in red, and with a start you recognized his silhouette as the same as your new body. Alastor. What had Vox said about him? A washed up radio host, a demon with no real power to speak off, feeding off the nostalgia of a bygone era? With a single motion you stepped behind him, looping the angelic wire around his neck and yanking it tight, pulling his body back against yours. He struggled, claws going to his neck, but his claws couldn’t shear the angelic steel any more than yours could.

Hissing, he twisted in your grasp, claws raking a symmetrical gash into your forearm, and you gave an involuntary, crackling cry, holding fast as you felt the blood well. Then two thick strands of shadow sprouted from Alastor’s back, pushing past your chest and wrapping around your own neck. You stumbled back in panic, back hitting the brick wall, vision blurring as the tentacle constricted your blood flow, your grip on the wire slackening. No! You couldn’t lose. There was no air in your throat but you still managed a noise, a soft whine like a capacitor failing to discharge, before your vision went truly black.

Well, that would have been an ignominious way to die. Alastor felt the mark at his throat and his hand came away bloody. His own blood. Sloppy. He gave a low noise of displeasure as he looked down at your unconscious form, the bright blue of that ridiculous parody of his suit now ripped and stained. He hadn’t been expecting a fight, not from Vox’s fucktoy. Had this been a trap after all? No, there were no reinforcements, no cameras. Not the television demon’s style.

Bending down, he took your chin between thumb and forefinger, examining your face closely. As it had been in the pornographic pictures that Vox had sent him, your face was a close match for his own, expression relaxed and naked in something close to sleep. What was more, it didn’t appear to be a disguise, your cervine features quite genuine.

Alastor ran his fingertip over your antler, freezing when he felt the velvet covering, the blood vessels just beneath the skin, a jolt in his heart. You were so vulnerable like this, a single cut and you could bleed out. No deer demon would go out like this. At least, not one who had knowledge of their own body. The implications sank in his gut like lead. How long had it taken for his antlers to mature, when he had come to Hell? A couple of weeks? Alastor felt his lips curl back further past his teeth, hating Vox a little more. Vox had nearly made him kill you, a newcomer to Hell, for the crime of being weak and confused enough to be dragged to Vox’s bed.

What should he do with you? Leaving you here so close to Vox’s domain would get you dragged back to the television, and you were an innocent, well, not quite an innocent, you had tried to garrote him with angelic steel wire, but few people in Hell were truly innocent. He couldn’t kill you, at least not now, with your supine form posing approximately no threat to him. With a resigned sigh, Alastor scooped you up in his arms, disgusting blue suit and all, and began his walk back to the hotel.

You awoke in an unfamiliar place, your face pressed into the pillows of a four-poster bed. It smelled like musk, a rich, smoky sort of smell, with an undercurrent of formaldehyde, and it was oddly comforting, wrapping around you almost like an embrace. Drowsily, you took stock of your body, the ache around your neck and a burning throb that seemed to cover your forearm, remembering the struggle in the alleyway. The scent in your nostrils pulled you back to the memory, with your hands at the back of your double’s neck. This was how Alastor had smelled. This was, unmistakably, Alastor’s bed. He had hunted you, and now he had taken you to his lair to toy with you. Your garrote was missing, predictably, as was the pheromone bottle you had stolen from Vox. You rolled onto your side to survey the room, and Alastor loomed from the shadows.

“Ah, the impostor rises,” chirped Alastor. His smile stretched practically ear to ear. “Tell me, how are you feeling?”

“My windpipe hurts,” you said, frowning at him.

“Oh, quid pro quo, dear child,” said Alastor, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and undoing the collar of his shirt to show the bandage at his neck. “Do you have any idea how long it has been since someone made me bleed my own blood?”

“You were hunting me,” you said, not bothering with any of the cutesyness you had tried with Vox. Alastor had felt you close a wire around his neck- he would never see you as harmless.

“And you were quite the game, little impostor.” Alastor leaned over, and with a slow, deliberate motion, pressed his fingertips to your antlers. You had done your best thus far to ignore the existence of the two prongs sticking up from the top of your head, and even Vox had avoided touching them, so the sensation took you by surprise.

Your antlers were incredibly sensitive. You felt every variation in pressure, every adjustment in position, through your antlers, through their connection to the bone of your skull and further, down your spine and into your loins. Alastor met your eyes, his own half-lidded, and gave a gentle squeeze between thumb and forefinger. You whimpered, feeling the prongs grow under his hand, feeling your face heat.

“Hm. Soft,” he murmured, half to himself, before bringing your attention back to him with another little squeeze, directing your head to his lap. “Not much fight in you now, is there?”

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, heart in your throat.

“My dear, where would be the fun in that?” Alastor replied, his tone shifting to genuine amusement. “A touch could kill you right now.” As it to make a point, he ran a fingertip from the tip to the base of your antler, and you shivered as you felt the touch echo through your body. “Do you have any idea how much blood you would lose, with just one little nick?”

With Alastor touching you like this it was difficult to think straight. It was as if he knew this body better than you did, each touch intense to the very edge of painfulness, the sensations continuing to resonate through your body. You swallowed, burying your face against his thigh. “What do you want?”

“Now now, little pretender. That’s my line, not yours.” Alastor gave a soft laugh. “Though I imagine I know what you might desire. A world where Vox has no ability to drag you back to his bedchambers would be a start, don’t you think?”

Slowly, you nodded against his thigh, and Alastor gave a soft noise of approval. With both hands now he worked his touch from the base of your skull to your antlers, each movement a vivid, carnal pressure through your body. It was like nothing else, and you felt your antlers grow still further, your pulse throbbing through them, your cock aching untended against the inside of your pants, your cunt clenching unfilled. You bowed your head to Alastor’s gentle, dexterous touch, your mouth open as you moaned against his trouser leg, a clipping edge to your audio.

“Oh my, you are enjoying that.” The growl in Alastor’s voice was salacious. “Is it your first time? Does the mean old television demon not know how to touch you like this?”

You weren’t in the mood to indulge Alastor’s fantasies about Vox, not after days of doing the inverse, so instead you whimpered, “Thank you.”

“Mm. At least you have manners, I suppose.” Alastor lifted his hands from your antlers, and you gasped at their absence, the air cold where his fingertips had been warm. With a touch to your chin, he indicated that you should rise, and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows before sitting back.

Sitting up, you noticed that you were not the only one who had grown an impressive rack. Alastor’s antlers extended like the shadows of trees in winter, his own arousal written over his smiling face. They curled, dendritic and beautiful and unmistakably tied to his own libido, echoing through his own body in the same way as yours did. The way he touched you told you that, if nothing else.

Your eyes glazed, head tilting forward. You wanted to lock antlers with him. You wanted to touch him, bone to bone, and feel the same waves resonate through the two of you. You wanted it very, very badly.

Alastor caught you by your injured throat with a hiss. “If you do that,” he said. “You will die. Your antlers are too fresh, and you will damage them, and you will bleed out on my bedspread. So instead, sweet little pretender, you are going to lay quite still and let me tend to you.”

“S-sorry,” you stuttered as Alastor released you, the pain from his grip bringing you a little way back to your senses, your heart fluttering as tears stung your eyes. What did he see in you, you wondered. Was it a way to get one over on Vox? Or simply a reflection of his own face?

“Silly creature.” Alastor sighed, pushing you onto your back, and crawling over you, a depraved gleam in his eye. “You strangle me half to death in an alleyway, risking damage to my precious voice, and now is when you are tearful and apologetic? When I am trying to stop you from hurting yourself?” He placed a hand at your neck again, though with less pressure this time, just enough to hold your head in place.

You didn’t just want to lock antlers with him. You wanted to feel his lips against yours, sharp teeth against yours. “Would you kiss me?”

“I suppose I don’t see the harm. Hold still, now,” Alastor warned, and you felt how carefully he closed the distance between the two of you, how carefully he avoided even a brush of his antlers against yours, though electricity sang in their proximity, the shivering static of not quite the barest touch as Alastor’s lips closed on yours.

Compared to Vox he was a chaste kisser, not bullying his way in but leading you to him, leaving you wanting him, touching tonguetip to tonguetip, nose to nose, needlepoint tooth to lip. It left you gasping, left you quivering, your cock straining against the fabric of your trousers. With an almost coquettish roll of his hips, Alastor pushed his pelvis flush with yours, and you felt his own matching tent. Through four layers of fabric it was still an aching kind of hot, his pulse through it as surely as it was through his antlers. With a slow, measured motion he ground himself against your length, making you whimper soft distortion into his mouth, the tip of your cock leaking wetness and your neglected cunt absolutely slick.

“Oh, this will be fun.” Alastor’s eyes creased at the corners as he pulled back a little, his cock still pressing hard and hot against yours. “Call me a narcissist if you will, but I know that expression. Are you really going to climax, just from a little kissing?”

You would have corrected him, but he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how well he knew your body, how adeptly he stroked along the tines of your antlers, sensation resonating deep and intense through your body to your core, a master on an instrument you had yet to learn. Locking smug eyes with you, he rolled his hips against yours, grinding against you further, and you mewled for him, hips bucking a little as sensation threatened to overcome you, fighting against the inexorable tightness that built. But just as in the alleyway, this wasn’t a fight that you could win.

You came, your cock pulsing wetly against the inside of your pants as the reverberations through your body sang, a static whine on your lips, absolutely understanding why Vox had moaned Alastor’s name.

Both of you stilled for a moment after that, your body still wracked with aftershocks, Alastor watching you closely, his expression contented. He made no move to please himself, but rather traced the edge of your face, from your temple to your jaw, with his talons. “Good?” he asked, nonchalantly.

Good didn’t begin to describe it. It was sublime, another aftershock hitting you even now. You closed your eyes. “The best. Thank you, Alastor.”

“My pleasure.” Alastor looked down at you with a pleased smile. “You’ve made a real mess of that suit,” he said, a tilt of his head, his own desire for release seemingly forgotten. “Allow me to take it off for you.”

Alastor grinned at the hidden camera on the suit’s lapel, saying nothing but making sure it got a good shot of his face before he crushed it between thumb and forefinger.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Could I get Storm, Magneto, and Nightcrawler with a reader who’s mutation isn’t for combat? It makes them feel weak compared to the others

Here are some headcanons for how Storm, Magneto, and Nightcrawler would react to an S/O whose mutation isn’t combat-oriented and who feels insecure or weak compared to the others:

Storm (Ororo Munroe)

1. Ororo would immediately recognize the importance of your mutation, regardless of its combat capabilities. She’s wise and empathetic, and she’d reassure you that every mutation has its place and purpose. She would remind you that her own powers, though formidable, have many uses beyond combat—like nurturing the earth or bringing rain to parched lands.

2.Storm would encourage you to explore the full potential of your abilities. She’d work with you to find ways your mutation could be used to benefit the team in non-combat scenarios, whether it’s healing, providing support, or something entirely unique. She’d help you see that strength isn’t just about fighting; it’s about contributing in meaningful ways.

3.Ororo is incredibly compassionate and would take time to listen to your feelings of inadequacy. She would share stories of times she felt out of place or unsure of her own powers, helping you understand that everyone, even the most powerful mutants, has moments of doubt.

4. Storm would ensure that the team recognizes and values your contributions. She might organize team exercises or missions where your specific skills are crucial, showing everyone—including yourself—how essential you are to their success.

5. Ororo has a deep appreciation for individuality. She would often compliment you on your unique abilities and encourage you to embrace what makes you different. She’d remind you that being unique is a strength in itself, not a weakness.

Magneto (Erik Lehnsherr)

1.Magneto has seen the wide range of mutant abilities and knows that not all of them are combat-oriented. He’d likely take a pragmatic approach, reminding you that every power has its utility and value. He’d encourage you to think strategically about how your mutation can be leveraged in different situations.

2. Erik would challenge you to rethink what it means to be “strong.” He’d point out that many of the most important and influential individuals in history didn’t rely on physical strength or combat prowess but on intellect, influence, or unique talents. He’d push you to see that your mutation might offer strengths others lack.

3.Magneto might take a personal interest in helping you develop your abilities. He’d offer guidance on how to maximize your potential, perhaps even suggesting ways to combine your mutation with other skills or technologies to increase its effectiveness in different contexts.

4. Erik is a big-picture thinker, and he’d help you see how your mutation fits into a larger context. Whether it’s through aiding in strategic planning, gathering intelligence, or supporting the team in ways that go beyond combat, he’d make it clear that every role is vital to the cause.

5. Magneto wouldn’t sugarcoat things; he’d be honest about the challenges you face. But his honesty would come with a strong message: you are part of something greater, and your value isn’t diminished because your abilities aren’t combat-related. He’d emphasize that everyone has a part to play and that your role is just as crucial as anyone else’s.

Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner)

1. Kurt would be incredibly empathetic towards your feelings of insecurity. He understands what it’s like to feel different or less capable, and he’d be the first to reassure you that your worth isn’t determined by how well you can fight. He’d remind you that the X-Men are a team, and every team member’s contribution is important, no matter what form it takes.

2. Kurt would make a point to highlight the ways your mutation has helped the team, no matter how small or behind-the-scenes those contributions might seem. He’d constantly remind you that your abilities bring something special to the group, whether it’s in the form of support, creativity, or another non-combat strength.

3. Nightcrawler would gently encourage you to explore your powers further, finding new ways to use them that you might not have considered. He’d offer to help you experiment in a safe, supportive environment, emphasizing that your powers are valuable and that there’s no need to compare yourself to others.

4.Kurt is deeply compassionate, and he’d be your biggest cheerleader when you’re feeling down. He’d remind you that being kind, empathetic, and supportive are strengths in themselves, and that those qualities are just as important to the team as any combat ability.

5. Kurt might share his own experiences of feeling out of place or inadequate, using his faith and personal philosophy to help you see that everyone has a purpose. He’d remind you that your worth isn’t defined by others’ expectations but by your own unique gifts and how you choose to use them.

[synthetickitsune]

Ashes Settle, Left Behind ✧ y.jh [part 1]

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x ghost!reader (gn) Genre: horror-ish angst Summary: Everything eventually comes to an end. Life. Love. Even marriage only lasts until death do us apart. So why should a soul bond be any different? Word count: 10k Warnings: a lot of inaccuracies that we shall all ignore for the sake of the plot (pretty please), mentions of fire, jeonghan has an invisible stalker basically A/N: Things got a little out of hand but lately that's all they do when it comes to me and writing lmao... Anyway, excited to finally be sharing the first part of my addition for @svthub's world tour collab! It ended up being more fun (and longer) than I expected and the second part hopefully shouldn't take too long now - unless I feel like torturing these two more. Also shoutout to @wooahaeproductions for helping me find out about the fire of Seattle that started all this! -> svthub world tour masterlist -> [part 2] (coming soon!)

You feel a shift in the air.

As if a tomb was opened and you could breathe again, see the world again. You see the light at the end of a tunnel. You let it envelope you.

You take a breath but the air doesn’t reach your lungs. You feel light and airy. Not held down by gravity; your lungs not weighted down by ashes and smoke.

You raise your hands and see. See - but not yourself. Just a blur. Like looking at the world through water.

Your body’s not there.

Just a ghost. A lingering memory someone dreamed up after an eternity.

It takes an effort to come to terms with your existence. Again. With a completely new form, in a new time. You’re not sure what’s a bigger shock - your ethereal self or how much everything changed. 

You can’t wander out, caged in another memory kept preserved in the bones of the city you lived in. 

The people are different. The technology is different. It’s hard to understand, but you have nothing better to do than watch the people who come in and walk through the graveyard that is your home. And you learn. It’s not much, but it’s enough.

The modern world is easy to grasp, but life… not so much. There’s only one thing that’s for certain: something changed. 

Something made the change happen. You have no explanation as to how or why. But you know one thing. He has returned.

As if you’ve been longing for eternity, you feel so relieved you could cry.

You can clearly visualize it. Him bursting in through the door, embracing you and spinning with you in his arms with that pretty and carefree smile.

He’s coming home. Finally, he’s coming home again.

You should get the dinner started…

But…

The kitchen burned down.

The house burned down.

The city burned down.

Usually he’d be cursing his alarm right about now, but today Jeonghan is already awake and sipping coffee by the window of his little shop.

Despite only having slept a couple hours, he feels energized and ready to face the day. He’s sure the exhaustion would catch up with him later, but the benefit of being his own boss and living right above his workplace is that he could always spend his lunch break napping in the comfort of his bed if he needed to. Although he isn’t sure he’d manage to keep his eyes closed or get a decent sleep until he figured out his battle plan.

What battle?

Figuring out the decoration for the upcoming city festival. The thought alone makes him breathe deeply and bite back a smile.

It was made very clear throughout the negotiations that he and his shop wasn’t the first choice; the general mood was more along the lines of you’ll have to do because no one else would accept an offer this low. But Jeonghan truthfully didn’t mind, he didn’t even mind the low pay even though it’d barely make him any profit. It was an opportunity to put himself and his business out there and show what he and his team are capable of. 

Having only tipped their toes into the waters of providing decorations for big events, this was huge. There was nothing he loved more than making bouquets for his customers and bringing smiles to faces that he sometimes couldn’t even see, but he also craved success. Not to mention that if his shop got contracted for more deals like this (with better pay, hopefully), he could likely afford to take better care of the people helping him, which was ultimately a stronger drive to make it big than the status of a successful business owner.

“Someone’s up early.” 

He turns in the direction of the voice and sees Joshua and Seungkwan walking in, both with a cup of coffee in their hands. Seeing them, he feels like he could work nonstop for weeks, all the way until the festival.

If everything goes well, maybe they could start doing weddings. Joshua is always going on about wanting to design and make someone's wedding bouquet. He'd be ecstatic if they got the opportunity. Most of them would be, Jeonghan thinks. He's seen some of Jihoon's ideas scribbled on loose pages around the shop. They were perfect, some fit for a neat modern wedding, others straight out of fairytale. Seungkwan daydreams of making little flower crowns for the flower girls and flower boys. 

Weren’t they simply meant to do weddings? It's not an easy business venture to get into, but with the festival... It's a good opportunity. Or maybe he’s just too hopeful.

"Good morning" he greets his friends with a warm smile. "It's gonna be a busy day so why not start straight away?"

"Someone's in a good mood," Seungkwan teases, but he's smiling too. 

The morning routine is a breeze with one extra person. Eventually, Seokmin and Jihoon come in and join too as they all agreed to meet and plan for the big event ahead. The back room is cramped with all of them gathered - another sign they need to make a lot of money and expand.

Although Jeonghan likes it this way, likes how cozy the main space of the shop is.

“Is there any theme they want? Colors, aesthetic?” Joshua asks, “It’d be much easier if there was.”

“No,” Jeonghan sighs, “They didn’t mention anything, so I guess we’re free to do whatever. It’s a history faire so I guess they have no idea either.”

“So something that will survive drunk dudes pissing in it for anything that’s not hanging in the air it is,” Seungkwan claps his hands like it’s a done deal, turning the attention of everyone to himself.

“Don’t ruin your boss’ illusions, dude,” Seokmin scolds him immediately, whisper-shouting as if Jeonghan couldn’t hear.

“He’s right though,” Jihoon points out with a shrug. Jeonghan pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s dream a little and aim for aesthetic over functionality, shall we,” he sighs, “Bushes and weeds might be practical and local but let’s take this opportunity seriously.”

He gives Joshua a sharp glare before he can speak up. He knows his friend isn’t entirely on board with this thing ever since he heard about the details of the meeting Jeonghan attended. He’s not stupid, he knows they’re not taken seriously and that, realistically, it will be a miracle if anyone cares what they do for the decorations. It is a good way to advertise themselves though. 

“We should do something fun,” Seokmin interrupts their little staring contest, “We could make something nice and historical.”

Jeonghan thought about the same thing, the issue is…

“Flowers aren’t really known to last long, you know,” Jihoon points out, “That’s their beauty.”

“It might be a challenge to find any historical inspiration,” Joshua hums in thought, “But it would be cool if we pulled it off.”

Everyone seems to agree, and it shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, Jeonghan's main goal whenever he was hiring was to create a team of people that would fit well together. He didn’t want them to feel like coworkers, and he couldn’t be happier that it truly feels like they’re friends first and colleagues second.

The idea grows and transforms. The idea of teambuilding is thrown around a lot, even though it sounds more like an excuse to hang out instead of doing actual research and hunting for ideas. Some suggestions are better than others, some more logical than others, but Jeonghan decides to sit back and relax. Whatever they do, he’s confident the end result will be great. They’ll do well. Even if this whole thing turns into one big hang out under the guise of working. It might do them well to have fun without any worries. There’s gonna be plenty of time for that later.

The scene is all too familiar. You feel it just as you did those twenty-something years ago, although who really keeps track.

The light returning to your life. The world welcoming you back. It feels like it’s opening its arms to you now.

His arms. The safety, the security. The love. You yearn.

You feel it now almost physically; truly an oxymoron in your predicament.

You kept looking for him in the strange faces coming day after day, but it was never him. Not until now.

He’s coming home.

He’s close.

It makes your whole being tingle, like a magnet drawn to another, like a moth flying too close to a flame yet unable to pull back.

You feel the shift in the air. A rush of fresh breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and the scent of the meadow where he stole your first kiss.

He’s here.

“This is stupid,” Jeonghan grumbles. His arms are crossed over his chest and there’s a displeased wrinkle between his brows. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden temperature drop between outside and here.

“Inspiration is a mysterious thing,” Joshua smooths that wrinkle away and chuckles, “Besides this is research. And that was your idea if I remember correctly.”

“My idea,” Jeonghan hisses, “Was googling a bunch of stuff and then deciding what had the chance of best results. Not going on a history tour that will be useless.”

“It’s more authentic. We’re going to breathe in the atmosphere of the old city,” the other man shrugs, “And c’mon, can you believe we’ve never been on one of these?”

Yes. Yes, he’s perfectly willing to believe so, because these tours are for tourists and history nuts and they’re neither. They have a flower shop for god’s sake. 

He doesn’t say that aloud, however, because the tour guide appears and as grumpy as the cold might be making him, and as spiteful he might feel towards Joshua for dragging him here so early in the morning on their day off, he won’t spoil the mood. So he schools his expression into a curious smile and listens to the introduction.

It’s not too bad once he gets into it. Although it does absolutely nothing so far as searching for anything decoration-related goes and inspiration is yet to hit him, it’s interesting. More so than he expected. And Joshua being Joshua reads his mind well enough that he asks the questions Jeonghan is also curious about. The younger man gives him a knowing smile whenever Jeonghan nods along to the guide’s explanation. He rolls his eyes at him.

The tour is really nice - unexpectedly, they also discover a half-burned photograph of a couple with flower baskets behind them and also a newspaper clip with a photo of something that looked like a faire with flowers decorating the streets that his companion excitedly pointed out to him. Not that either of these were clear enough to get any real inspiration, but hey, at least they will have something to report back to the guys.

However, as the tour progresses, an uneasy feeling grows in Jeonghan’s stomach. He’s never had any real issue with claustrophobia, so he doesn’t think that’s it. Human bodies are weird though, and their minds even more so. He’s stronger than some irrational fear trying to pull a trick on him. Is it really a phobia though? Is phobia supposed to make him anxious to his bones and hit him with nausea that feels like a cold hand squeezing his stomach? His knees feel like they’ll buckle under him any moment now.

“Hey, Han, are you alright?”

He jumps and only the lump in his throat stops him from yelping when Joshua grabs his shoulder. He’s frowning.

“Sorry, is there anywhere my friend can sit down for a minute?”

He hears his friend speak but the words don’t really register in his mind. He lets himself be led to the side and sat down on a chair. He feels faint. His head is spinning. He barely hears whatever Joshua is saying.

He’s here.

He’s alive.

And in turn, his life makes you remember what it felt like to live.

You don’t need to breathe but in the instant you see him, you forget you ever could.

He looks different, but you’d recognize him anywhere.

His hair is longer. It looks good on him, framing his face like a dark halo. He looks like an angel. Did he come to save you?

The clothes he’s wearing make him seem out of place just like the rest of the group. Just a tourist in a place that he should call home. That he once did call home. You don’t recognize the man next to him, and your heart pangs. His friends used to be yours too.

You move closer without realizing. It feels like your entire body is pulsing with life long forgotten; with a heartbeat you no longer have.

He doesn’t look good.

He seems to feel unwell. The closer you get, the more it seems to hurt him. Love truly is violence.

The man next to him calls his name.

You repeat it. It’s different. It feels different on your tongue, yet it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. You suppose that just comes with the territory.

He looks like he’s about to lose consciousness. You can’t just watch him getting hurt.

You move closer, grabbing onto his arm the second before he can fall.

He doesn’t. Instead he suddenly straightens as shiver runs through his body. He seems disoriented when he looks through you. Almost like he can tell that’s where you are.

You’re dragged along with him by his friend. Even though you’re right in front of his face, he doesn’t see you. He looks like he’s about to faint. Pearls of cold sweat forming on his forehead, his teeth chattering and face deadly pale. His friend moves right through you when he crouches down in front of him.

“Jeonghan? Can you hear me?” he taps your lover’s leg without any reaction, “What’s going on?”

“Breathe,” you whisper. Like a magic trick, he does. He gasps for air like he’s drowning on dry land and his friend panics, shooting up to his feet and shaking his shoulder. 

“Slowly. You don’t belong to me yet,” there’s a bitter smile on your face when again he follows your instructions. Not yet.

It’s a strange and nauseating feeling. You don’t wish him death, but you long to hold and be held. His soul recognizes yours, it yearns for you too. But will his heart? Would his heart?

“Shua?” Jeonghan asks, brows furrowed and eyes vacant. He looks dazed, the color still drained from his face.

“Han? Can you hear me?” the man - Shua - tries again.

“Yeah,” your lover rubs his face, “Yeah, sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

“You scared me, man,” the other man sighs, “How do you feel?”

“Good, I’m good now. Isn’t it cold here?” Jeonghan rubs his arms, trying to get the feeling back in them as he stands up. Shua looks ready to catch him if he loses strength again and you feel a sense of pride. He always knew to choose his friends well.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a bit chilly,” Shua responds, apprehensive, and clearly not trusting Jeonghan’s legs not to give up on him again.

“We should head up,” Jeonghan says and tries to orient himself. You can’t let him go. His friend frowns. The temperature didn’t change since they entered, only Jeonghan did - you did. You latch onto his arm. You hold him like he’s the ghost that could disappear at any moment. 

His skin is warm under your touch. He shivers and looks at his arm, right where you hold him, before passing a hand over it. His fingers slip right through you. Nothing helps him chase away the cool sensation it seems.

“I’m not sure, Han,” Shua hesitates, “It’s pretty hot up there and you seem kind of… I don’t want you to feel worse because of the heat.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jeonghan manages a smile. The same smile you used to see every day.

“Are you sure? I don’t know about you but I can’t afford any hospital bill,” his friend jokes, earning himself an eye roll.

Tears burn at your eyes. His friends were always like that - caring, kind, but with a mischievous heart.

“Alright, lemme just check with the guide that it’s okay for us to just leave,” Shua finally concedes, seeing as your lover won’t budge. Jeonghan gives him a nod (and a smile when the man hesitates again - Jeonghan even sits down to finally get him going).

It’s just you and him.

He sighs. As he massages his arm to get some feeling back in it, his warm palm passes through you once more. He grimaces. Can he perhaps feel you? It doesn’t matter how little. Can he tell you’re with him? You know it’s selfish, so so selfish. But you crave acknowledgement. After so long, after waiting for so long…

He looks up, he looks in your direction - he’s still looking as confused and lost as before. A lost young man, a look you’ve seen on him before when he took you on a trip to the countryside. He always looked at you so fondly back then. And now he doesn’t see you at all. You want him to - as selfish and cruel as it is. As foolish as it is. You want it even though your heart would break. He’d be terrified. Perhaps he wouldn’t even recognize you. You don’t think he would but you hope, you wish. It’s not like you have any idea if the same feelings in your heart remained in his.

He keeps running his hand over his arm like an obsession, like he’s trying to ground himself. He massages it, he pokes at it, he pinches it. He must feel your touch somehow, he does - he just doesn’t recognize it, so can it really be said he feels it at all? You should let go. Whatever he feels, it’s not a pleasant feeling. But you can’t. You finally found him again. You can’t let go now. It’d be like letting go of the straw that keeps you from drowning.

“Jeonghan,” you try calling his new name aloud. A mere whisper.

Yet he whips his head up and gasps. His pupils shrink, his mouth hangs open in a silent scream. He freezes. Not a simple scare freeze - no, the type of fear rooted deep in human instinct, the fear of something unknown and unnatural, something that seems human but isn’t.

He meets your eyes. You truly think he does. His breath gets stuck in his chest.

“-aaand we’re clear to go!” Shua announces cheerfully, returning back in a rush - then he speeds up more when he sees Jeonghan, his face immediately falling. “Hey, you good?”

He needs to shake Jeonghan’s shoulder to get his friend to look at him. He gets no other reaction than a few blinks.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he tries to lighten the mood, although his brow is furrowed in worry.

Jeonghan is pale as a sheet. You notice he bites his tongue, he resolves himself to push back his true feelings - you’ve learned to read him like an open book. It only causes you more pain now.

“I just got a bit nauseous,” Jeonghan lies through his teeth, “I think I messed up my breakfast.”

“That’s why I keep telling you to consider the kitchen more of a decoration,” Shua huffs while he helps Jeonghan stand up, insists on it despite the other’s protests. He watches out for him even as he stands straight and steady.

“Let’s just go,” Jeonghan groans, “I think I should lie down.”

You don’t let go. You see his hand twitch as if he wants to touch his arm again but he stops himself.

You hang onto his arm. You haven’t managed to leave the buried remains of the past before, held back by an invisible force. It must’ve been fate looking out for you.

Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe you’re meant to haunt this place. 

Whatever happens though, trapped here or not, you will hold onto him until the last second.

You hold your redundant breath as you’re all nearing the exit.

You’re carried out, anchored to your lover. 

The sun shines through you.

“So, how did it go?” No surprise Jihoon is already back. They really should have bit the bullet and volunteered to drag him around. Looking back, Joshua really should’ve picked him over Jeonghan.

“Well…” Joshua hesitates and Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

His arms still feels off. It’s cold - he thought maybe it was the wind blowing directly at it once they came out of the underground. (Not a leaf moved on the ground, but Jeonghan will ignore the fact. Maybe he just offended the wind in some way.) Maybe there really was something wrong with him. Could he eat some parasite in his food lately? Maybe. Honestly he would take anything over what he saw down there. Anything over being possessed by a ghost. He has too many things to achieve. He cannot afford to lose control of his body; wailing and being creepy is bad for the business.

“I feel better now,” he pats Joshua’s shoulder. It’s not a lie - or it won’t be in a while, once he gets lost in work. His arm still feels cold. Occasionally the feeling skims over his skin like a ghostly touch. He doesn’t want to entertain that thought. “Nothing to worry about, I just got a little dizzy. Maybe I slept too little?”

He thinks aloud, overacting but it works to make Joshua sigh in exasperation and Jihoon nod in understanding. Of course he would understand. 

“Look, just be careful, okay? We can get through one day without you, boss,” there’s a teasing lilt to Joshua’s voice when he calls him that but he coos at his friend anyway.

“Why don’t I start with the orders for tomorrow then, that’s easy enough,” he doesn’t wait for their agreement and instead goes to the back. Joshua will explain everything to Jihoon and he doesn’t necessarily need to be around for that. He knows they won’t protest if he takes on whatever he feels like, both a little too caring for their own good. That’s why he wants them to have easy lives, do well and be rich. A goal that will be a challenge if he starts losing his mind and seeing things suddenly. He shakes his head. Work. Focus on work and it’s gonna be fine.

And it is. They keep it cool in the back so the flowers don’t wilt as quickly. He would need to focus to feel the difference of temperatures on his body - so he won’t do that. He doesn’t need to think about much else while he prepares one bouquet after another, picking the right flowers, twisting stems together, tying bows… Although they should be getting ready for the festival and among other deals they have, they need to keep the core of the business running. It’s back to basics, but he loves it. He genuinely enjoys preparing the orders. Some of them are more specific than others, but he likes the artistic freedom of those in which he can just follow what occasion the bouquet is meant for and put his own twist to it. It’s an honor that so many people trust them to convey their feelings… or at least to create something pretty. He gets it, sometimes you just want to give someone a pretty flower without thinking about what it means.

He gets so into the work that he forgets about anything else and by the time Seokmin comes to get him, he’s done with everything. 

“You were faking it, weren’t you?” Seokmin accuses once he sees all the orders that needed to be prepared for tomorrow done and stored away. Jeonghan rolls his eyes.

“Joshua is just too dramatic. You know him,” he sighs. His friend doesn’t seem convinced.

“Well, he looked really worried,” the younger man shifts on his spot nervously, “He said you looked like you’ll pass out. Like you saw a ghost.”

Jeonghan flinches a little. But he recovers quickly, gasping in a split second and hitting Seokmin’s shoulder lightly with a declaration of: “Don’t say scary things like that!”

Seokmin teases him for a while, but it’s fair enough. Jeonghan’s never been too scared of ghosts and such, never worried about being trapped underground forever - actually he doesn’t think there was ever a time his friends saw him scared, and the jokes remind him of that. Right. Ghosts aren’t real. He must’ve been just lightheaded or something. Maybe he’s more stressed about the planning than he realized previously.

“Right, I’ll do a coffee run, you want something?” Seokmin remembers, quickly getting to why he actually came.

“I’ll come with you, it’s hard to carry everything alone,” Jeonghan says as he washes his hands. 

He thinks about grabbing the jacket he keeps at the shop, but thinks better of it. It’s windy outside and Seokmin suggests he returns for it, but he absolutely won’t. The cold feeling shifted, resting around his hand as if assuring him it’s not going anywhere. Hand in unlovable hand - who said that? He shakes his head. It’s easier to ignore the sensation with the wind blowing this and that way, and Seokmin is good at distracting him.

They talk about the results of Seokmin and Seungkwan’s “research” while they wait in line and for their order to be made. It seems they were about as successful as him and Joshua, so Jihoon is their biggest hope. Not that it matters, it’s unreasonable to think anyone at the festival would care about the historical accuracy of the flowers used as decorations, and their shop focuses on the symbolism anyway, but Jeonghan likes little details like that. Even if it makes their work much harder. It would be nice to have something traditional or local for the centerpiece at least.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Seokmin asks all of a sudden. It takes him by surprise, but soon the expression is replaced by a soft smile. He nods. 

He’s not. But maybe the time he spends with his friends will help. Or maybe he’ll go mad and these are the last precious moments he has with them. Fortunately, the human mind isn’t capable of comprehending things in their entirety, and so even if his thoughts are gloomy, he can still smile. He’s grateful for that.  

“It was nothing. Maybe phobias are like allergies?” Jeonghan suggests, wondering, “Maybe they can just pop up randomly or disappear.”

“So you think I could get over my fear of bugs?” Seokmin considers the idea seriously.

“I’ll give you a raise if you do,” Jeonghan smirks and easily dodges his friend’s elbow aimed at his ribs. This is definitely better than obsessing over something out of his control. Something that might be all in his head.

(He still looks over his shoulder as they exit the cafe.)

As they sit at the round table - as Seokmin jokes - it’s very obvious everyone had a great time but it wasn’t really a productive means of reaching their research goal. They skip only quickly over his and Joshua’s trip, everyone well familiar with its less than ideal ending.

Jihoon of course agrees that local flora of history would be a great research topic for a thesis, but for now the idea remains to be extensively explored in resources that could be found at local libraries. (The silver lining though, clearly, is the stack of books in his bag resting against the wall.)

Seungkwan and Seokmin, who visited the botanical garden, did manage to get some interesting and useful information. A little miracle nobody counted on happening. They also went above and beyond to ask the visitors of the park about their favorite flowers. (“To make it like it’s made for them!” they claim, although the notion is as ridiculous as it is cute.)

Jeonghan enjoys listening to his friends, he really does. His eyes hurt with the effort to keep them on the person talking, always switching. He’s trying. But he’s so nauseous that it feels like he’s being continuously punched in the stomach.

His head feels like it’s full of cotton and fog, not a single thought forms itself in its entirety. All of them are just incoherent, broken pieces littering his mind. Jeonghan has never dived in his entire life, but he thinks he knows what it feels like now. He feels as though an entire ocean is pressing down on him. The meeting can’t end soon enough - as much as he loves listening to the chaos.

His friends fortunately aren’t blind and with all of them being aware of his almost collapse earlier, they don’t take long to catch on to Jeonghan not feeling his best. It takes some convincing that he’ll be fine, that he just needs to eat and rest, even as he’s putting all his strength into not doubling over and curling into fetal position to ease the sudden sinking fear gripping his entire body. They follow him the entire way to his door just upstairs. It’s comical, him and his four little ducklings. It eases the tension in his body and the fear, but he would lie if he said he doesn’t prefer to isolate himself whenever he’s not feeling well. He’s strong enough to lie and tell them he’ll be fine on his own.

The door closes behind him with what feels like finality. It feels like he just closed the door to his old life, though he wouldn’t hesitate to say it feels like he left his old world - whatever that means when there’s no other world. His apartment looks like it always did, like it did when he left this morning. It feels like that was eternity ago - he can summon the memories of his excitement, the energy he felt. There’s none left in him now. 

He lets his bag fall to the floor and lay there. He doesn’t bother to hang up his keys and lets them rest on the little shelf next to some trinkets the guys brought back from their holidays over the years. 

He drags himself to the living room and throws himself down on the sofa. He’s staring at the white ceiling, watches the stripes of lights and shadows following one after another where the glow of the street lamp is blocked by his blinds. It’s too quiet. 

He should wash up. There are many things he should do, actually, but he has no strength or will to get up. His stomach feels uncomfortable and his muscles are tense. That probably doesn’t help with how he’s feeling. He takes a couple deep breaths, slows down his breathing even if it feels like he’s going to pass out.

His head throbs, but it’s better than the nausea twisting his stomach. He thinks he’ll faint soon, something bad is bound to happen to him, his body overcome with heat, then cold, all within a minute. His breathing is getting heavier. He tries closing his eyes, searching for any small relief. Instead he’s more aware of his body. 

Something tells him to move, something so primal he doesn’t dare to disobey. Like his own body knows if something doesn’t happen right now, he’s gonna die. He groans when he pushes himself up, clinging to the back of the couch. He needs water. He makes it to the bathroom, supporting himself on the walls. It only gets worse. It keeps getting worse and worse and he’s lightheaded. 

He holds himself up against the sink and turns on the water. It feels icy against his skin, but that’s what he needs. He splashes his face with it, and the relief is slow but it’s there. He drinks out of his palms and the cold water sliding down his throat helps. He’s nauseous still, he feels dizzy, but not on the verge of breakdown. 

At least that’s until he looks up.

The mirror on the wall shows two reflections. 

He shrieks so loud his throat burns despite the cold water sticking to it. 

He thinks he blacks out for a second. 

But when he opens his eyes, he’s still standing in his bathroom. His hands are cramped, curled around the edges of the sink so that he doesn’t fall. 

The mirror still shows another person behind him. 

His own shriek resonates in his head and his throat burns more at the memory.

Part of him wishes that what he saw looked like a monster. Something straight out of a horror movie, something inhumane. But it’s just a person. Barely there, a shadow of a human being. Something that isn’t there when he turns to looks back.

He closes his eyes tightly and only blinks them open after a few long minutes. He doesn’t know what he expected, but what he feels is a resignation. Something in him gives up when the person doesn’t disappear when he looks into the mirror again. He refuses to check if something hasn’t changed and the stranger hasn’t manifested in his home - he’s seen enough horror movies for that. He’d rather keep his eyes on the reflection. 

“I lost my mind,” he laughs, his head hanging between his shoulders. Tears pool in his eyes. Was it stress? Was it karma for the pranks he played? What was it that finally did him in?

He looks up and the ghost is wearing a sad smile. As if it’s pitying him. He laughs again. Even the creation of his own shattering mind thinks him a pathetic clown.

“You should sleep,” a voice says, and at the same time: “I should sleep.” He says.

He hears it, but it takes a second to comprehend that the echo of his voice wasn’t truly his voice, but some other, second voice. The ghostly figure behind him never moved its lips. Never moved. Never spoke. It just keeps staring.

Has he seen the face before?

The underground flashes in front of his eyes. The split-second trick of the light he saw there. Goosebumps erupt all over his body. Could it be the same face?

Surely he just saw something, some picture - the picture on the tour? It must be a waking nightmare, just a stranger’s face he saw once. It’s said you never forget a face you’ve seen and this must be it. Maybe he slept less than he thought. He must be exhausted, his body must be shutting down. That’s why he’s losing it. His vision starts swimming. He’s dizzy from staring at the figure so intensely.

Something like sleep paralysis maybe? He’s awake but ready to pass out from exhaustion. That must be it.

“Sleep,” he speaks again, and like before, there’s the echo of the second voice. He’s sure it’s just his sleep paralysis demon speaking. He’s pathetic enough that even demons would pity him.

Sleep… He needs to go to sleep. That much is obvious. But sleep seems like the stupid thing to do. He rubs his face again, splashes more cold water on it, but the ghost doesn’t disappear. So he does the unthinkable.

He turns around suddenly. So suddenly his head hurts and he almost loses his balance. He winces, but there is no one. No solid figure, no ghastly figure, nothing. Cautiously, he reaches forward, but he feels nothing. There’s the need to check the mirror again gnawing at the back of his mind, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns off the light so he can’t see at all. He extends his hand again but still - nothing. He takes a couple deep breaths and bolts. 

He’s stumbling and banging against the walls, but he makes it to his bedroom. He jumps on his bed, covers his body with a blanket and pants. His body is shivering, trembling, tight like his every muscle is cramped. It’s hard to breathe, the lump in his throat taking up too much space, the air can’t get through. He remembers the phone in his pocket and takes it out. It lights up and he can finally see again. 

It’s just him under the blanket. Only his body and nothing else. He sits up again. It makes him dizzy, the blanket falls. The phone lights up the room but it’s empty. It’s just him.

He sighs. 

He falls back, staring at the ceiling like he did before. The nausea is gone for the most part, and now that he’s lying down, he doesn’t feel like he’s gonna pass out in the next second. There is only the dread and anxiety left that make him lightheaded and wide awake despite the exhaustion. He knows his body will give out before his mind does, but that’s worse. He knows it’s gonna create nasty nightmares to haunt him, and it’s the last thing he needs today. He honestly feels like crying. He feels like calling someone - but what’s he gonna say? ‘Hey, I think I saw a ghost in my bathroom, can you come over?’ That sounds way too pathetic. It’s too late to ask anyone to come over, and to ask if they could stay over too. At least without a good reason. He knows he can rely on his friends, knows they wouldn’t ask questions and be there within minutes, but his pride won’t allow it. And looking like he does - he can imagine the mess that he is right now - they might not ask, but they’d be worried. Jeonghan doesn’t want that above all. 

So he takes a couple of deep breaths. If there is a ghost in his bathroom… If there is a ghost anywhere, if he is possessed… What’s he supposed to do about it at midnight? Nothing. There’s nothing he can do. 

He reasons with himself. He’s exhausted. He can feel his very bones weighing him down, and he already had some sort of breakdown earlier on the tour. Must be stress. Must be hunger - he doesn’t feel hungry at all, but except for breakfast, did he eat anything the whole day? He can only remember the breakfast and the toast Seungkwan basically forced down his throat. Must be that he’s starving. Must be the lack of sleep. Even though he felt energized, that doesn’t mean he was. His body must’ve lied to him - and now his own eyes and mind are lying to him. That must be it. There’s no way ghosts exist. 

He turns to his side and checks the calendar. It shouldn’t be too busy tomorrow, that should give them plenty of chances to brainstorm about the festival some more. He focuses on that. The festival. The orders they should get done tomorrow. All the practical and necessary day-to-day things. He should get some groceries too. A warm, home cooked meal would do him good, even if it was something simple that he cooked. It all must’ve been just exhaustion and hunger. 

He lets the screen go dark. He can barely make out his reflection in the dim light coming in through the window. Only his reflection. That soothes him a little. He can’t keep his eyes open anymore anyway. He listens to the sounds of the apartment and everything sounds as it should. No movement, no steps, no doors making funny sounds. He’ll laugh about it in the morning. He’ll tell the guys and they’ll laugh about it together. That’s how it’s gonna be. He allows himself a tiny smile.

Just a sleep paralysis that came too early. 

Errors happen even in the human body. 

That’s just how it is. 

You watch him fall asleep.

You don’t have a body, yet it feels like you do all the same. The pain feels real, even if it doesn’t have anywhere to anchor itself to. Passing points, your own ghosts of neurons shooting signals to each other in a messed up web all over your being. You are a nebula of pain.

It was obvious what’s going to happen. You knew it well. Yet it left your heart shattered on his bathroom floor. 

What hurts more - the terror in his eyes or that he doesn’t recognize you? Well, he has his own life now, one without you, so you suppose there’s only so many memories he can carry with himself. And you simply have no place among them.

It hurts. You want to scream, but you can’t - not in a way that would bring relief. And what if he hears you? In what universe could you endure seeing more of his panic? You know the answer.

Seeing him so exhausted hurt you too. Was it hard carrying you around? Bringing a second soul probably leaves a toll on the body just like carrying another body would. You wished to speak to him, but how could you utter a word when seeing you made him react the way he did. You don’t want him to lose his mind. You’ll have to be smart. You don’t want to hurt him more than you’re already doing. You can carry the hurt of the situation, you can withstand the hurt he causes you because it’s not his fault. Not his fault at all. Not yours either, you think, you hope, but you definitely have more power here. You comfort yourself with the knowledge you could probably talk to him. Just not tonight when the fear is fresh. 

You move closer to him, gently move some of his hair away from his face as if you were a cold breeze blowing in through the window. He looks angelic. His features are much softer than you remember, but he’s as handsome as he always was. You lie down beside him, admiring him in his sleep. It’s not gonna be a restful night. You see the first frown twist his face, and it stabs you right in your chest. You can’t protect him from nightmares, but you’ll share the pain.

Even if he won’t know.

“Wow,” Jihoon exclaims the moment he sees him, “You look-”

“- awful.”

“- like shit.”

Both Seokmin and Joshua pipe in. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

As expected, the night wasn’t kind to him at all. Well, perhaps he could find some silver lining in the fact that despite the night being quite hot, he was so exhausted he didn’t even notice. And despite the nightmares and the heat, he didn’t wake up sweaty and disgusting.

Anyway, he didn’t have the courage to wander into his bathroom and avoided mirrors like the plague, so he probably looks a mess anyway. 

(It was pathetic enough to crawl on the floor and blindly feel for his toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink without really stepping inside. To take a shower there was out of the question. Okay, maybe he was a little disgusting.)

“I couldn’t sleep well,” he shrugs, “Neighbours decided to have a party.”

The young couple living in the apartment above his own were actually the ideal neighbors, but that was good - with no reason to talk about them much, the lie would go unnoticed. He got several understanding nods in response.

“And… you feeling okay?” Seungkwan asks, and he’s once again touched by his friends’ concern that is mirrored on all three faces.

“Yeah,” he tries a small smile, “Would be better if I got actual sleep but it is what it is.”

“You can sneak out during lunch break, we won’t tell the boss,” Seokmin gives him an exaggerated wink. He scoffs, but smiles anyway. It’s genuine.

This is better. Normal is better. Last night feels like a fever dream compared to this. Just a joke played on him by his exhausted body and mind. He’s still shaken by it, though, the cracks it left in his confidence in himself and what reality is are still too sharp to joke about it. He hopes that by tomorrow he gets some quality sleep and his shit together.

“Anyway, let’s get to work so Friday isn’t a pain in the ass,” he claps, rolling his eyes at Seungkwan’s mock salute. 

He’s more grateful than he could ever express for these guys. The nightmare of last night is easily forgettable and written off as a glitch in the matrix with them around. 

When a cold breeze circles and brushes around his wrist though, as if lingering like a lover’s touch, he shivers and breaks out in cold sweat anyway. He turns around. He sees nothing. 

As it should be.

(Then why does he feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand up?)

You’ve always admired his hard working nature. The honesty and dedication with which he works. It’s quite the change from the man you used to know back then - you’d never think you’ll get to see him one day selling flowers, but it seems to suit the present day version of him. Very little of him changed in the aspects that matter. Bodies are no more than a shell to be eventually discarded - or that’s how you came to think of them over your short experience of being just a wandering soul.

You’re careful not to hover too close too often. He flinches any time the wind blows in, even if it’s a work of nature and not your touch. And so you lost your excuse to touch him. It still makes you uneasy to keep your distance. Your heart is filled with anxiety whenever you lose contact with him, terrified of being dragged back into the underground by the same mysterious power that allowed you to leave when you latched onto him.

Jeonghan’s friends watch him closely - trying to be as inconspicuous as they can to go unnoticed by him. Yet he does notice them, smiling a little to himself. He seems troubled but he hides it well. At least from everyone who can’t float around him and see him when nobody is looking. It pains your heart, it really does. But it can’t be helped - you can’t help it. Your instinct screams to stay close to your lover after what, decades - centuries? No way you’re letting him disappear from you now.

It’s painful to watch him be cautious and on guard, to be the only one aware of it, and the only one on the receiving end of this icy attitude. You don’t blame him. But it hurts. You’re tempted, oh so tempted, to take advantage of the moments when he speaks to his friends, moments when you know he’d fake being alright, to touch him. To wrap your arms around him and hold him. Just for a second.

He’s yours. Can’t he see? Can’t he feel it? His soul is yours, yours is his. Doesn’t he know?

It makes you angry. Some part of you is furious with him for not feeling the tug of your bond. It’s so deeply interwoven in your heart, bound to your very existence. Why else would you be awakened to your afterlife if not to meet him? To be one with him again?

And he doesn’t even bother to care about you.

All he seems to care about is how repulsive your touch is to him. When he’s left alone in the room, he turns around helplessly, desperately searching for something that is not there, yet something that makes his skin crawl, that invades his space, that he can’t run away from. 

Why would he run?

His eyes are wide and panicked, teary. You can see yourself in their reflection and you feel shame that makes you draw back.

But he’s still scared. He doesn’t know you back away from him.

He’s still backing himself into a corner, or against a wall, or a desk, or against soft blooming flowers that stop him in his tracks. And then you are reminded of his gentle touch and tender caresses and you want to weep. 

He might be terrified of the summer breeze, but he never harms the flowers. He stops himself before he can knock them over.

You’re a monster, and it hurts. You’re a monster but it hurts. You’re a monster despite and because it hurts. Being a ghost cannot possibly be described in any other way than the simple statement I am in pain.

You don’t want to hurt him. Yet it seems that’s all you can do.

You’re angry and you’re hurt, your emotions come and go like the waves at the sea.

And he’s hiding it all so well, acting like he lost his balance when his friends start returning. He laughs, pretty and bright. Like he was never on the verge of tears.

Truth be told though, it’s hard. He wants to break down, but he can’t and he won’t. Jeonghan won’t let them see him cry, he won’t tell them anything. He’ll let them tease him, he’ll whine at them. He’ll laugh. It’s important as a business owner to be able to act, to pretend. It’s what he’s always done. He doesn’t need help. He can do this.

It’s harder to let the work swallow him whole, however. He feels eyes on him. Hand frozen just a breath away from his skin. It makes him jumpy, but fortunately that can be easily written off and joked about as just him dozing off. It wouldn’t be the first time lack of sleep made him act weird, and for once he’s glad for that. At the same time, though, it stings. 

He wants to be comforted, to be reassured. At the same time, he doesn’t want his friends to be concerned about something that might just be his mind playing tricks on him. But it really doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. He can’t explain it; the impending sense of doom, like he’s about to have a heart attack. The fear so strong and urgent it enables him to act with absolute serenity. Jeonghan knows it’s not just the exhaustion - which means that yesterday was no play of the shadows in his bathroom either. It makes him nauseous all over again. It makes the scent of flowers overwhelming.

He makes it through the maintenance and prep for tomorrow with only a few tiny hiccups. Mostly due to the efforts of his friends to keep him entertained. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to thank them. They might quite literally be saving his life - or his sanity at the very least. But isn’t it the same thing at the end of the day - his life and his ability to comprehend that he’s living this life.

After the necessary is done at a record pace, a couple hours earlier than it would take under normal circumstances, they sit down according to plan to brainstorm. It’s more fun now that they abandoned the pressure of sticking to tradition and history - which in hindsight should be obvious to be impossible. It’s not like even if they wanted to, even if they could, it would be viable to only use the local wildflowers for all the decor.

Jihoon also shocks everyone when, unlike Seungkwan, he provides the list of artists and other entertainers who’ll be present at the festival. (“What? I have friends too, you know,” he scoffs when everyone turns to look at him with their mouths hanging open and Seungkwan grumbling to himself.) 

Most of the musicians are local and undiscovered artists, but it helps with imagining the vibe the festival will have. It’s starting to come together when they look up the official program and list of activities that will be available. Surprisingly it seems that it truly aims to celebrate the city’s history, if one’s willing to look past the few necessary activities for children that are planned. And memories, remembering, cherishing, all that is so easy to express through flower language. 

A little too easy. 

And Jeonghan is yet again grateful to his friends for a thing he’d find a little annoying any other day.

“We don’t have to have it figured out today,” he tries to join the conversation again, tries to steer it in a more productive direction. It’s hardly a conversation anymore, rather a contest of who can be the loudest. Jeonghan’s eyes meet with Jihoon’s who shrugs and lifts the paper in front of him. There’s a rough drawing of what looks like possible table decoration with arrows and names pointing to individual flowers that Jeonghan can’t make out through the flurry of hands thrown around in wild gestures. Jihoon mouths a what do you think? to him anyway, although he can’t quite respond.

He runs a hand through his hair just as Seungkwan scolds Joshua for apparently making the centerpiece look too much like a funeral decoration.

If something really has possessed him, he wonders what the entity must be thinking…

“Jeonghan was saying something,” Jihoon grumbles out of nowhere, and even though Jeonghan himself could barely make out what the other was saying, the room goes quiet and all the four heads turn in his direction. He sighs. Like he needs more eyes on him. At least these he can see.

“We don’t have to get everything finalized today,” Jeonghan reminds everyone and starts picking different colored highlighters from the table. He swipes different colors over the individual items on the list of everything they were contracted to provide. He tries to be fair with the division of labor and closely monitors the reaction when he slides the paper further down the table for everyone to check out. 

“I think it’s best if everyone picks out something and comes up with ideas for that,” Jeonghan suggests, “We have enough time, so let’s meet about it in two weeks. And if you have any ideas for the other things, write them down too.”

“Do you want to pick first?” Seokmin asks but Jeonghan shakes his head.

“I’m fine with whatever,” he waves them off. It’s not like he could get himself to consider and focus right now. Honestly he can’t be sure yet how big of a deal whatever’s happening to him is, so it’s better this way. If there’s a risk of him not doing as good of a job as he could, why take something one of the guys would enjoy?

He watches with fond eyes as his friends bicker over the colors more seriously than the tasks. He spins the pen he’s holding between his fingers. The eyes he feels on his back constantly never disappear but somehow it seems like he’s not the main focus now. Is he losing his mind for real? Jeonghan rubs his eyes. 

It’s like he can feel it. Like he can feel something hover around. He doesn’t see anything, truth be told he doesn’t feel anything unless… It feels foolish to say until it touches him because there’s nothing there but there’s no better way to explain it. If that something was a person, he can feel their gaze shifting. If it was a person, who could it be? He made his fair share of mistakes in his life, but he doesn’t think he’s ever hurt anyone enough for them to haunt him.

“Well, that leaves the centerpiece for you,” Joshua slides the paper back to him. He whines.

“Is it because Seungkwan hates your idea?” Jeonghan complains. He doesn’t care, not much anyway (although it does put a lot of pressure on him), as long as they’re happy but he is worried. It’s a big responsibility, and if this whole issue he’s having will drag on, can he do a good job? He doesn’t want to let them down.

“It’s because you’re the owner. You should be the star,” Seungkwan pushes at his shoulder. Jeonghan hopes his smile is convincing enough. He hopes they’ll read the anxiety only for the half of the worries they’re meant to see.

“Always being nice to me only when it’s convenient, I see,” he sighs, shaking his head. At least he can smile for real now. At least he can forget somewhat about the eyes when he play-fights with them. 

They throw around ideas for a while longer and go through the timeline again - when is the next meeting with the organizers, when are they going to need to make the order, when to start with the work. That’s gonna be the main issue - to manage everything in time along with the other jobs they have. It’s not like there aren’t ways to get around it, but it’s another huge thing on Jeonghan’s plate to figure out.

It’s not exactly a tiring day and all things considered, Jeonghan feels quite refreshed when he makes it home. Mostly because Joshua insists on hanging out with him for a while, so that takes away the anxious edge he feels about coming home. Still, he thinks it must be because the other man worries about his breakdown yesterday and it irritates him a little.

He doesn’t even know a half of it - if he knew the whole story, Jeonghan’s positive Joshua would treat him differently. Like a freak. Then the guilt hits. Joshua is too kind for his own good and Jeonghan’s paranoid. Of course his best friend would try to understand, he’d probably help him come up with a logical solution and offer support. It’s just Jeonghan’s mind trying to isolate him like it always does when he’s going through something. He wishes he could blame it on whatever nightmare he’s dreamed up, but he really can’t.

Once the door closes behind Joshua, Jeonghan feels like his heart dropped into his stomach. He can’t swallow. He can barely breathe. Not that there’s anything preventing him, but he can’t set any rhythm to taking breaths that would allow him not to choke. He’s gasping for breath, his ears ringing.

The eyes are on him.

They were the whole time, but he could push it to the back of his mind. Now it’s all coming back to him in full force.

He can feel them, burning into his back.

When he turns around, there will be nothing there.

He does, slowly, hesitantly, eyes glued to the floor. It takes all his will power to look up.

Nothing.

He smiles bitterly. At this point he’d prefer it if he was hallucinating as well. He wants to see that thing that he saw in the bathroom yesterday. Anything that would make it more real and less like a delusion brought on by a sudden attack of claustrophobia. Because he’s not going insane. He won’t lose his mind from a silly visit of a historical site that Joshua brought him on. 

Then a thought hits him - what if Joshua finds out about it somehow? If his best friend ever learns about what Jeonghan is going through, he’ll feel guilty. Like he’s not already beating himself over that sudden spell of nausea that overcame him then and over Jeonghan’s exhaustion and weakness.

He has to solve this. He has to figure it out, at least. Make any kind of first step of getting rid of this. Yesterday, he could easily dismiss it as a punishment for pushing himself too much - what else could he do? It was late, he needed to sleep. His own body protected him from the horrors that he can’t avoid today in the daylight. Sure, he’s still exhausted, but it simply doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense. There’s no reason for him to have a psychotic break, so why? Why is this happening right when he most needs to be in a good condition? His fists clench and unclench, his jaw set. His eyes burn holes into the air in front of him. He can feel something there. He knows it’s there. He doesn’t understand why, he doesn’t understand what he’s dealing with, but he’s going to figure it out. Now.

Jeonghan struts into the bathroom and in the mirror - nothing. Only him. He takes a couple of deep angry breaths that sound too loud in the silent bathroom.

Not a speck of dust stirs. There’s no breeze. No cold ghostly touches brushing against his skin. If it was a dream, a trick of his exhausted body and mind, so be it. But he needs to be sure.“Show yourself,” he spits, “If there’s anything - anyone - following me, show yourself right now.”

[redladydeath]

“Prototype Vox is how Vox looked when he first arrived in Hell” ideas:

Alastor goes to speak with another overlord, trying to decide whether or not he should kill them. While he’s there, he notices that said overlord has the most fascinating little toy/pet/jester. Such novel technology… he thinks he’ll take it, whether the overlord wants him to or not!

Alastor keeps Vox around because he’s cute and entertaining. As time goes on, a legitimate friendship starts to form as Alastor realizes that Vox is far more than meets the eye— tricksy, devious, and intelligent. He learns that before he arrived in Hell, Vox was a handsome, well-respected, adult man, and he isn’t too keen on constantly being mistaken for a child and treated like a joke by other sinners. A pity he has to live like that… but it’s not like there’s anything to be done for it! And Alastor must say, he’s fond of his little picture box the way he is.

With Alastor’s guidance, Vox slowly accumulates knowledge and resources, and discovers that he’s capable of modifying his body. He jumps on the opportunity at once— he doesn’t want to live like this anymore and he’ll do anything to be respected (or at least taken seriously) by other people again. Alastor disapproves, but holds his tongue.

Time passes and Vox changes more and more things about himself until he’s almost unrecognizable. He and Alastor get into arguments about it. It’s galling to Vox that Alastor keeps insisting he was better off in a form he hated. Mix all this together with the modernity and “morality”/standards stuff, and you eventually get Vox and Alastor falling out.

Years later, Vox hates that he was ever that weak and can’t stand being reminded of Alastor, their old relationship, or his early life in Hell. He works hard to destroy/bury any traces or who he uses to be, but Alastor is a walking, eternal reminder of the past he’d rather forget. Alastor is loathe to admit it, but he still misses his old friend. Sometimes he wonders if he ever truly knew him at all.

[maybe-im-dark]

Instinct

Based on this post

The night was thick and dark, a heavy silence blanketing the forest as Logan and Wade moved through the underbrush. Shadows stretched out from towering pines, and the faint glow of moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting everything in an eerie silver. Wade kept close behind Logan, who was leading the way with calm, measured steps.

They’d been out there for hours, following a faint trail left by their target. Wade, usually the one cracking jokes and keeping the mood light, found himself silent as he watched Logan maneuver through the darkness like he’d been born to it. Wade knew Logan had spent years outdoors, but he hadn’t fully realized what that meant until now.

“Alright, peanut,” Wade whispered, finally breaking the silence as he stepped over a fallen branch. “How exactly are you figuring out where we’re going? It’s pitch black out here.”

Logan didn’t even glance back as he answered, “Using the stars and the magnetic fields of the earth, Wade.”

Wade chuckled. “Haha, very funny, but seriously, how’re we finding this place? Are we even close?”

Logan stopped, finally turning to give Wade a deadpan look. “How do you think I managed to survive in the Canadian wilderness all these years?”

Wade stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but Logan’s expression remained steady, unbothered. “Wait… you’re serious?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You really think I need a map to get around out here? I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you might think.”

Wade’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Logan, trying to piece together the full extent of what he was capable of. “Okay, so you can track people down in the middle of a forest…without a map. That’s…actually kinda hot, but let’s stay focused.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Good to know where your priorities are.”

As they continued, Wade couldn’t help but be impressed. Logan moved almost silently, his every step calculated, barely a rustle in the leaves underfoot. He’d stop every so often, glancing up at the sky or feeling the air as if he could actually sense something out there. Wade was used to operating with gadgets, intel, and often sheer dumb luck. Logan, on the other hand, was using something primal, something honed from years of raw survival.

“Alright, sensei, teach me your ways,” Wade muttered, trying to match Logan’s stealth.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, amusement flickering in his gaze. “First lesson, don’t be loud.”

“Right, right. Got it.” Wade nodded, attempting to mirror Logan’s silent footsteps but failing miserably.

Twigs snapped beneath his feet, and he stumbled over a hidden root, only for Logan to catch his arm, steadying him without a word.

Wade looked down, a bit sheepish. “Alright, peanut, guess I’ve got some work to do.”

“Keep up and maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.” Logan shot him a quick smirk before pressing on, his gaze trained on the stars and the faint light peeking through the trees.

Wade watched him, caught somewhere between admiration and curiosity.

“How do you know all this?” Wade whispered. “I mean, the stars, the earth’s magnetic fields…I thought that was, like, folklore.”

“It’s not folklore,” Logan replied, pausing to adjust their course. “It’s instinct. And years of having to rely on something more than technology. You spend enough time out here, you learn to listen to things that most people ignore.”

Wade watched him, a newfound respect growing. He’d known Logan was capable, but this…this was something beyond skill or training. It was primal, something Wade didn’t quite understand but could only marvel at.

They reached a small clearing, and Logan stopped, signaling for Wade to crouch down beside him. Logan scanned the area, his senses heightened, and Wade held his breath, trying to feel the same tension in the air.

“There,” Logan muttered, nodding toward the faint glow of a campfire barely visible through the trees.

Wade peered out, squinting to see it.

“How did you…?” Wade started, shaking his head. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Logie, you’re full of surprises.”

Logan’s gaze softened just a bit, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. ��Guess you don’t know everything about me yet.”

Wade chuckled quietly. “Well, keep it up, and you might just make me fall for you all over again.”

Logan shook his head, suppressing a smirk. “Let’s finish the mission first, Wade.”

But as they prepared to move forward, Wade couldn’t help but feel grateful for this quiet, intense side of Logan—the man who could lead him through a pitch-black forest using nothing but instinct and the stars. And for once, he didn’t feel the need to joke or break the silence. Just this once, he let himself follow Logan’s lead, trusting him completely.

[harmonysanreads]

HARMONYYY i just finished the penacony quest and OH MY GOD. the emotional damage wtf... and the murderer 😕 i honestly don’t think anyone could’ve foreseen that

on another note, sunday really does have huge yandere potential !!! (i was swooning the entire time he was on screen im sorry.) he literally isn’t beating the allegations at all. even the other characters comment on how weird it is for him to casually keep a model of the golden hour, because what in the control freak 😭

he seems like he’d play dollhouse with darling. after all, in a place like that, every single aspect of it is under his thumb — literally. having that much control over your circumstances is a reassurance. oh, are the placeholder models crashing? don’t worry dear, he can fix the malfunctions. he can even make them speak more realistically for you. he can give anything to you, even change the layout of the place entirely if you’re bored of it. you want to get back to normal size? well, he can’t quite do that just yet, please understand..

or if he pulls that weird interrogation magic thing on them. darling who just lies through the entire thing, and he uses this to scare them about the death countdown while not mentioning the part that he has the power to really just cancel it in the end. though, the same trick won’t work on them twice. at least the process gets darling to become part of the family in the end.

not to mention the spies he has everywhere. stupid birds watching you in every corner…

idk i just want to hold him and shake him aggressively. out of love, of course.

- 🕯️

When I tell you I've lost sleep over the thought of just how much more Sunday is probably capable of doing, nonnie.

If he has access to technology and power like this, which are all unrestricted for his personal use moreover, imagine the things he's hiding. And imagine farther the things he had to do to get to where he is today, another dash of spice to the mix. I went back to his scenes and did some thinking. The me-slandering-Sunday is obviously a joke but I really, really hope people just don't focus on the morally-gray and questionable aspects of him and completely disregard his other characteristics now.

If you think about things from his perspective, he really is just trying his best to keep the image of The Family. But the loss of probably the only person he trusted with his heart and the disregard to bring justice to that case from The Family's side, compelled him to put his agenda first (as he himself mentions that he allowed Aventurine to pull that stunt so that it'd lure Gallagher out). What we get from this is, while Sunday is an extremely dedicated member of their faction, he had to learn to be selfish in certain situations to save his and Robin's backs.

The desire to control usually comes from a feeling of helplessness. We can make some speculations based on the current information of why Sunday has these tendencies, I've also seen some people say he has OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) but, we can't be sure until his full lore drops. Another thing to note about Sunday is how lonely he probably is, especially at present. The Family is in chaos, the situation of Robin, external forces' traps, the Charmony festival's deadline and he doesn't even have one person he can sit down with and not question their motives. He really must want to rest just as much as the characters around him are suggesting.

So basically, Sunday is a multi-layered character, just like Aventurine. He's definitely a politician, is what I'll say. Even though he is a control freak whose motives are hard to guess, he's still that little boy fighting for his and Robin's shared dream inside.

[sugugasm]

ORAL FIXATION - gojo satoru !

SYNOPSIS : ❝ gojo teaches his bestfriend’s sister some tongue technology. ❞

FEATURING : bestfriend’s brother! gojo satoru x fem! reader

CONTENT WARNING : minors do not interact, fem! reader, virgin killer! gojo kinda?? age gap ꒰ gojo is 30 reader is 20 ꒱ a little bit of mean dom! gojo [ he loves to tease ] gojo has a tongue piercing and i’m not sorry about it, gojo has tattoos, cunninlingus, squirting, fingering, use of pet names and profanity such as ꒰ sweet girl, angel, slut ꒱ AUTHOR’S NOTE : hiii, this is a re-upload for my friendship is magic series. as always, enjoy and reblogs n interactions are loved and appreciated <33. WORD COUNT : 3.9K!!!

GOJO SATORU loved the beach.

the sound of the sea singing a song with its waves is one of a kind. it was soothing, delicate, and tranquil, like the sand beneath his toes. it was the ideal location for just about anything, whether it was a party, a get-away, or even a place to clear his mind— he adored it even with all of the drawbacks: the fishy smell, the scorching sun, and the various trash and plastic waste littering the sand—it was worth it. gojo was indeed capable of overlooking minor annoyances. besides, thanks to you, he had grown to appreciate the sticky sunblock covering his porcelain skin.

the pretty woman reclining in a pink beach chair next to him. you were leaned back, your legs crossed with a book in your hands, drowning out the sounds of the world around you. your hair was pulled toward the back, a baby blue swimsuit hugged your curves, and the sun shone brightly on you.

and you looked absolutely gorgeous.

gojo realizes he’s been staring at you for a little too long when he hears your small voice say, "see something you like?" and smirks in return. your teasing tone of voice only prolonged his fixed gaze. you knew what you were doing.

“you really wanna’ flirt with me while your brother is sleeping just inches away?” you stare back at him, looking at yourself through the reflection of those infamous, black sunglasses, “what are you going on about anyway?”

you shrug your shoulders and return to your book. satoru snorts at your carelessness. he didn't think traveling with his best friend on a family vacation would be difficult, but you seemed to have no trouble disproving him. you’d been acting out since the start of your seven-day retreat: flirting nonstop, embracing him a lot more than usual, and strutting around in these tiny skirts and dresses like a devious little minx.

he was well aware of your crush on him; it was obvious. not to mention the numerous times he's overheard you telling your little friends how 'cute' he was. he presumed that as you grew older, it would only be a matter of time before you began to act on your feelings.

“you’re playing a dangerous game here, yn.”

you twirl the gum in your mouth around your finger while lowering your glasses to look at him, “aww, poor satoru. would you like to forfeit?" you taunt while batting your lashes flirtatiously. you interpret his silence as agitation and decide to lay off, despite how it was entertaining it was to mess with him.

he was driven mad by you, despite his playboy persona. in a matter of a wink or two, he was willing to give it all up. sometimes you wondered why he hadn't made a move on you already. regardless of you being ‘off limits’ you would assume he’d catch on to your antics by now.

“why fight it, gojo?” you ask, piqued with curiosity, “is all the frustration worth the effort?” he chuckles lightheartedly in response. this small front you were maintaining could only be kept up for so long. he could tell by the way your body tensed up at the first hint of his attention that you were more bark than bite.

sounds like you both had a little crush— and satoru was determined to get you to admit that.

whether or not this situation was forbidden, he found himself wanting to see you as more than just his bestfriend’s annoying little sister. he’s seen the best of you, and the worst— but he loved every part of it. his attraction to you was becoming harder and harder to balance in secrecy— “you talk a lot of shit for a virgin,” satoru begins suddenly, “you’re a tease too, but i think you like the chase a lot more. you’ve just never been caught before, huh?”

you lie, “i don’t know what you mean,” and he nearly scoffs, “and i’m not a virgin by the way.” your attempt at being naive wasn’t your best performance, he saw right through you.

“oh i think you know. and are you sure? i can recall you leaving someone with blue balls the first time you tried. said he smelled bad, remember?”

yeah, you remember. it was quite literally one of the worst nights of your life.

“i don’t like liars, baby.” he glides his tongue across his top row of teeth, a piece of metal from the middle poking from his lips as he gets closer to your face, “but i’ll tell you what,” he continues, “why don’t you knock on my door later and show me what you’ve got? i know i may be scary, but i don’t bite— most of the time.”

his proposal sounded more like a step by step tutorial on how to embarrass yourself, but you weren’t the type to refuse a challenge. if you had to fake it till you make it, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

“fine. whatever. and handle that little friend of yours in your pants, it’s noticeable.” gojo peers down at the hard cock that poked through his swim trunks, smiling a bit when he catches you staring too.

“‘ little’ is much of an understatement. you’ll figure that out later on though, won’t you sweetheart?” the sound of geto’s heavy footsteps shuffling on the sand stops him from toying with you any further. he moves closer and motions for satoru to join him while holding a football in his hand.

“what are you two talking about?” he asks, juggling the football in his calloused hands. you abruptly shake your head from side to side, “just books,” you utter, smiling innocently up at his tall stance.

“lame. well then, you should be thanking the gods above that i’ve come to your rescue, huh satoru?” he jokes and satoru stays silent, his gaze still fixed on you as the conversation you just had rummages through the tabs in his mind.

“yeah, guess i should..”

geto gives him an odd look, but quickly ignores the awkward tension to begin their game of catch. you watch as the two boys vanish into the distance while wondering how the hell you were going to escape this one.

evening comes quickly, with only the pale moonlight illuminating the dark night sky, you were finally ready to take on the challenge that was: gojo satoru. as you stood in front of your mirror adjusting your shirt and adding finishing touches to your flawless makeup, you prepare for the night ahead of you— but when it came time to use your room key to lock your beloved humble abode, you couldn’t help but to worry. the chances of getting away with this were slim, but when would you ever get another opportunity like this?

for crying out loud, he was gojo—a person you've been drooling over for years. even if you wanted to express your feelings openly, you weren't in a position to do so. he was your brother’s best friend— practically family to everyone other than you. the desire ran deep, but the last thing you needed was to come out like a desperate fool.

as you approach his room with a full head, anxieties and numerous ‘what if’s’ begin running circles around your mind. you raise your hand to lightly kick against the wood after sending him a quick text telling him that you were there.

a creaking sound of the door opening in front of you drowns out your thoughts as a shirtless satoru stands before you. his chiseled abs did your panties no justice— just like the small cross tattoo carved into his v-line.

when did he get that?

“see something you like?”

you roll your eyes as he mocks your words from earlier, “i guess the tattoo is cool," you shrug. gojo chuckles and moves aside, creating a gap for you to squeeze through. like promised, you discover that your brother is nowhere to be found as you scan the room.

"you look cute. dress up this nice for little ole’ me?” satoru takes a seat for himself on the crimson love seat and motions for you to join him. you do— after neatly putting your shoes by the walkway, you plop down next to him, deliberately making your thigh brush his own.

“don’t get too cocky. you’re not special.” you’re careful to mumble that last part quietly. you didn’t want to get to ahead of yourself— but if we were being honest, you were far past that point by now, because here you were: sitting next to a guy who you’ve wanted to pursue for so long. it was almost surreal, especially since you were about to partake in something so personal, so intimate.

“and what would i be cocky for? i asked you to join me tonight and you did. i must be doing something right, don’t you think, yn?” he tilts his head to the side and quirks a slick smile— it spread across his lips so easily, not even realizing how how much it’s making your stomach churn.

“why would i turn down a good time?”

ah, testing your limits— but still managing to keep it flirty. smart girl.

gojo uses your response as an opportunity to move a little bit closer to you. just enough room is left between your bodies so that his arm doesn't quite touch the back of your neck, yet he’s still so close. you almost believed he could smell your nerves like this— more like predator and prey.

“a good time, huh? think i’m some kind of professional?”

“could be. why else would you invite me here?” you ask. gojo soon detected that each of your inquiries were intended to stall the conversation; as a result, he decides to surprise you by asking, "why are we avoiding our wants?"

“i should be asking you that. i was waiting for you to make a mov—“

you’re taken aback when satoru plants a sweet smooch on your lips. they gently touch, but it’s enough to make you grab him by the necklace and pull him closer. his lips were incredibly soft and smooth, almost like a feather skimming across your mouth with each peck as his hands squeeze and caress your exposed thigh here and there. it was sweet, and everything began slowly, with your lips moving in unison against each other, exchanging a series of moans and groans.

“i’m sorry, but i had to shut you up somehow," he says in between breaths. he guides the pace of the kiss in slow motion, taking his sweet time tasting the mango flavored lip gloss you smeared on them beforehand. “you just looked so fucking pretty," he exhales, his chest heaving up and down with excitement.

“well then, don’t stop.”

you didn't have to tell him twice. this time, he attacks your jaw with pressure, “you feel really good, gojo," you moan, throwing your head back as he begins to bite and bruise your neck.

“yeah? im glad you think so, but i think i can make you feel way better, angel.”

as you feel his hand reaching for your waistband, the butterflies in your stomach flutter faster than before. but it was that exact gesture that jolted you to your senses, “gojo you can't. you know geto would actually kill you—” you object, but a small laugh escapes his lips and silences you.

“baby, i’m thirty, and i make my own damn decisions,” he interjects, “and it seems that you feel the same. you don’t think i can feel how wet that pussy is when it’s rubbing up against my thigh like that?”

he wasn't mistaken. you were certain that there was a damp spot on the inside of your underwear just from kissing. it was almost embarrassing, how quickly he’d gotten you there— but how couldn’t you when he was touching and talking to you like this.

"what if geto comes back before we finish? he’ll tell my parents, and you know how strict they are—" your rambling is interrupted by faint kisses to your cheekbone. gojo presses his knee against your cunt even more firmly and licks a long stripe up your neck—

“well i guess we’ll just have to try our luck, hm? now, what’s with all the running, sweet girl? just let me pet this pretty pussy why don’t ya?”

it only takes a simple ‘yes’ for him to scoop you up and carry you to the larger couch. he wastes no time peeling off your shorts slowly, leaving you in just your underwear. with each exhale, you could feel the air leave his nostrils as his face drew closer to the heat of your pussy. gojo briefly pauses to inhale your scent, the aroma immediately sending a wave of euphoria through his chest. he could feel his cock begin to rise all over again just from the smell of you alone.

“i wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,” he states, “i think it’s time we find out, yeah?” he runs his thumb across the band of your underwear line, fingertips tickling your hips and eyes sparkling at the sight of you.

“fuck, please—gojo.”

he laughs, “now it’s please? just a moment ago you were chickening out on me. i think you should just come out and tell me what you really want.”

“don’t be a dick.”

as you begin to watch him peel your panties off, your hips wiggle from side to side to help shimmy away the fabric completely, your moans coming out as a light sigh. he maintains eye contact while doing so, making you far more nervous than before. you grab a hold of his wrist to pause his actions, “i’ve never done this!” you exclaim, and gojo gives you that sexy chuckle of his. as he places a gentle kiss on your calf, then toward your inner thighs, your face scrunching in embarrassment.

“you don’t think i knew that already? look at how responsive you are, baby.” he says this as he lightly glides his index finger over your swollen clit, flicking upward at the small bud before casting a bright grin at your whimpers, “i also know that virgins get wet so easily. i could do it again and you’d probably cum all over my hand, but that’s okay. make a mess. i don’t mind getting a little dirty.”

he kisses his way up your thigh, then looks you in the eyes as his mouth reaches your cunt. gojo began with a small peck to your clit, but hearing you wince and lift your shirt to better see him made him want to devour you right then and there.

“what if i touched you right here?” he uses his thumb and index to roll your bud between his fingers, the slight pressure making your body flinch, “would you cum for me?”

“y-yes. feel’s s-so good.”

“or, hm, what if I did this?” he lays his head against your thigh and begins to suck on your clit with sleepy eyes. “gojo, oh my god—” you cry in delight, raking your fingers through his snow-white hair. you didn't expect him to go to such lengths when he said he could make you feel even better. because of your sensitivity, even the smallest action would have pushed you over the edge.

"oh my, look at how you're trembling. that’s how good my tongue feels, huh?” he mocks you by licking a long stripe against your pussy with the flat of his tongue. the cool metal of his tongue jewelry flicked at your clit, making you shiver. he swirled and twisted his tongue around you as if he were licking on a lollipop— just eating you completely up.

“you taste so fucking good.”

gojo closes eyes and the smacking sound of your cunt was followed by grunts and whimpers of contentment coming from his chest. you could almost compare gojo’s audible reactions to those of someone discovering candy for the first time: disoriented and blinded by its sweetness.

truth is, satoru was completely infatuated by you. he was biting, sucking, and slobbering on your inner thighs and folds, leaving love bites and saliva trails in his wake. every moan you let out seemed to humor him, dark chuckles falling from his lips leaving a vibration to rattle through your core. he tried his hardest to keep it under control, but you were just too adorable to ignore.

“gojo—fuck, m-my stomach feels weird.”

you’ve had many orgasms from simply masturbating before, but something about this one seemed overpowering. there was a strong pressure on your lower tummy, almost as if you needed to go to the bathroom.

you begin to worry, hoping that the amount of pleasure to your sensitive pussy wouldn’t cause you to let out the wrong kind of release, but gojo quickly swats your anxiety away when he intertwined his hands with yours, “don’t worry, my love. it’s totally natural. you’re about to squirt for me, baby,” he mumbles it so casually and your eyes widen.

you can briefly remember seeing people do it porn, but you’d never done that before, let alone had someone else drive you to it. as weird as it was, there was something making you want to feel that bubble burst.

“can i take you there? please? i want it so bad, sweetheart— just give it all to me.”

his lovely words paired with his tongue were already plenty, but when gojo’s finger accidently brushes past your hole, the moan from your lips becomes louder than intended. gojo picks up on this, giggling a little as he detects your reaction to his mistake. he takes a break from licking to look up at you. you could clearly see his handsomely sculpted features sitting between your thighs right now.

his blue eyes were so intensely lighted by the fluorescent lighting that they could look right through you. his swelled lips were gushing saliva, and your heated slick was all over his mouth and chin. he looked like something straight out of a dream.

“oh? did you like that? don’t tell me i turned you into a greedy slut.” you were aroused more than you should have been by the degrading name, but you weren't one to complain. you eagerly nod your head up and down, whining a small, “mmmn— yes! i'm all yours,” as you move your hips toward his face, hoping he'll resume eating.

“hah, looks like someone wants to cum.”

you were dazed by this point. you were so eager to cum that you were willing to let anything get you there, and fortunately for you, gojo was more than willing to assist.

despite his desire to savor his meal, he succumbed to greed as well. allowing im to stick his finger in was just going to drive him insane. you could only imagine what he'd do if he was fucking you right now, because the sounds of your breathy moans were nearly enough to get him high.

he asks, “you ready?” as you watch him spit on his fingers before teasing your entry with his middle finger. you whimper, “y-yes,” and tighten your hold on your thighs, raising your legs in an effort to spread them wider for him.

gojo circles your hole before inserting only the tip of his finger. “you’re doing good, baby,” he says slowly, watching your every move and expression, wanting to make this as painless as possible for you. “how does it feel?"

“i-i feel good," you could only flutter your eyelashes as he moved his finger in and out of you, the creamy sounds of your warm slick staining his fingers being the only thing you could hear between you two.

your gaze is drawn to the veins protruding from his arm, which were brightening the inked patchwork he'd gotten all those years ago. when you turn to endure him, his gaze is already fixed on you, a grin on his face that was more determined than deviant, almost as if he was eager to finally make you unravel.

“toruuu! shit! that feels s-so—,” your hoarse voice tries to scream, but when he picks up the pace, you're officially silenced. he observes your eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of his finger flicks upward. your heat's squelching wetness easily tells him everything he needs to know, “you want more? it seems like this pussy does,” he chuckles. you were so close. he just needed to find that perfect spot.

he knew one finger would suffice, but he wanted to see you corrupt. he briefly teases his ring finger, which ironically had the mood ring you’d found and given to him a few days ago. you must not have noticed due to the sensations clouding your brain.

you feel this— the second finger, and you whine at it. you wanted more, so much more, “put it in! p-please, please.”you cry. you weren’t even concerned about the burn of the stretch. you just wanted him so badly, your lust was overruling your worry.

“relax for me. it’s just us, okay? it’s only us,” he reassures while slowly entering in that second finger. the words he was mumbling surely did sooth some of the pain, your mind paying more attention to the sound of his voice rather than the burning stretch between your legs.

“look at how easily you take me. wrapping around my fingers like this— you’re so beautiful.”

you were in a frenzy as you watched his fingers tap at the same spot over and over. for reasons you couldn't fathom, he was drawing you in closer and closer.

your stomach bubble reappears, but this time it appears to be about to burst: “toruuu —‘s too much,” as you groan and struggle to get the words out, he sticks his fingers in and out of your pussy. at this point, you begin to try to break free from his grip. maintaining he pressure on your abdomen was becoming increasingly difficult. "t-toru, baby, slow down!” a prickling sensation tapped against your womb, begging you to just let go.

“what was that? this pussy’s talkin’ over you— you have to speak up, love.”

the animalistic groan from your lips propels him to go faster and you cry out, “satoru! f-fuuuck, i’m gonna’ cum!” he seizes the opportunity to hover over you while pressing down on your lower belly, “cum for me, baby,” he groans, and your orgasm becomes more abrupt and violent as you begin to spurt droplets of fluids from your pussy.

gojo continues to finger fuck you until you're wetting up his arm and the couch beneath you, hollering out broken whimpers and releasing crystalline tears from your eyes. to calm you, he immediately takes his fingers and rubs light circles on your clit.

“you did so well,” he mutters as you sway his hand away from your poor, sensitive pussy, using your force to bring his face down for a kiss, your eyes blinking shut as you feel him scoop you into his arms bridal style.

eventually, satoru escorts you back to your room after cleaning you up and allowing you to shower for about thirty or so minutes, that way, you could finally lie down and relax, safe and sound after one hell of a night.

it wasn’t long after before your brother returned from his night out. he enters the room with a confused look on his face as he sees satoru cleaning up what looked like a wet patch on the chic furniture, “why’s the couch wet?” geto asks, sliding his shoes off his feet as he makes his way toward the kitchen.

“i had a girl over.”

satoru’s response sent a shockwave through his chest, “you? a girl? no way. who?” he bites into his sandwich and rushes to a seat near his best friend, excited for the details.

“i don’t kiss and tell.”

©️ SATORUBI 2023 please do not copy, repost as your own, or translate any of my work without my knowledge &lt;33

tagging my lovely’s <33 : @spoiledbunny @venusflytrapstar @lemonadebreeze @f4iryvile @neesiewrote

[circeyoru]

Game of Guessing = Requested

[Alastor x Great Grandchild!Reader]

The Request

Let’s say you had a hard life due to being related to a serial killer. You never met your great grandfather since he died before ever getting the chance to live as long as the predicted age, but you heard and known plenty of him to know your harsh treatment happened partly because of him

You lived under a false name and kept your family history a secret after moving away from your hometown. Let’s say something happened and you maybe possibly accidentally killed someone to keep your secret

Boom! You ended in Hell

Now being in Hell, you learn the ways of demons and your unique powers. Thinking that it was a bit odd that you were a deer demon when you didn’t even have anything relating to one. Then you recall how your great grandfather was an avid deer hunter and thought since you two were technically family, then maybe?

You definitely recognized Alastor as your great grandfather first, but you didn’t want to tell him since his reputation was way too scary for someone like you. Yet you stayed at the hotel because you want to be near some sort of family (even though that family is the cause of your misery)

So you slowly let down your guard and you were perfectly masking your identity as Alastor’s family member that he never knew and met. You moving to another place during the living instead of staying in your hometown helped even more

I’d say you slipped up here and there from time to time and didn’t exactly notice it. But Alastor did. It was small at first and nothing worth thinking over. When you made friends with everyone, that included himself. So being close to him made him spy on you sometimes. You know, to catch you vulnerable and offer a helping hand or make a deal

Alastor actually pinpointed you to be someone of his hometown, but you were definitely not from his time period since you were more akin to technology away from radio and the like. There was this connection between the two of you that he can’t quite explain. Call it parental care or attention

Your biggest mistake was making a family recipe of jambalaya. If you had used any other ones, Alastor couldn’t tell, but it was one that his mother passed down within the family. So now he knew, you were related to him. Never his child, no, no, no. But somewhere down the line, there’s you. Haha, boy did he feel old now

Even though, Alastor knew, I don’t think he’ll come out and say it. He’d maybe be more observant of you and care for you a bit more than before, but nothing to show he knows and cares. If that makes sense. Hell, even you don’t notice it

Alastor will ask what sin you committed to be here. Being the black sheep of the family, he knew the future generations were careful not to end up in Hell, hence why only he was there to be your only haven, in a sense. He was curious if you were like him, a black sheep. When he found out you weren’t and a bit too pure for Hell, he got protective of you

Why? You reminded him of his mother, that’s why

Alastor actually gasped that you were capable of handling yourself in Hell. He’s pleased that you managed before appearing in the hotel. So he doesn’t exactly limit your activities. He only does when it’s extermination day or some on-going battle is nearby. It’s not making you forcefully stay, but he does list out dangers to you or indirectly suggest you stay

Secrets will eventually brust right? Yeah, you two had a good run. It took Angel’s comment to put you two offguard. Both of you defending and denying the idea that you and Alastor was related. Vaggie’s was even worse though. She said you two were siblings. Oh, then there’s Sir Pentious that said you two were a nice couple

With one shared glance between you and Alastor, the secret was out. You’re the great grandchild and Alastor’s the great grandfather

Angel had a loud “Knew it!”, Vaggie looked away, and Sir Pentious kept his mouth shut for a while when you two were around

Now that the ‘secret’ was out, Alastor was more openly caring and fatherly to you while you were more playful and carefree

Overall, I see you two being something like angel and devil duo. While you were bad, next to Alastor you’re a literal angel

Note: Very short haha~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

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@donustellaron

[runa-falls]

scratches and bites - 4

pairing: miguel o'hara x spider-girl!reader

cw: suggestive scenes, insecurities, a bit of cussing

wc: ~2.1k

a/n: god i am SO sorry how long this chapter has taken. i'm not the type of writer to have multiple chapters in a series done before posting them every week, i literally post chapters right when i finish them lol. thanks for sticking with me and being patient!

series masterlist | main masterlist

----

Miguel is still a grumpy man, sneering at anyone who dares to get in his way, still stressed out about keeping the multiverse on track and recruiting capable Spiders to assist him, but at least you’re no longer the main culprit of his frustrations.

Well, you’ll take that back, you’re no longer the one being yelled at.

Your transgressions are dealt with in another way…

Miguel is…insatiable to say the least. Since the day he reprimanded you through very unconventional means, seven suits have fallen victim to his desperation, shredded until they slipped into a pile below you.

Before he could destroy another one, you demanded a nanotech one of your own, tired of having to wait days in between for another one to be tailored, but he refused to give you one because he’s concerned about the unstable WIFI.

Eager fingers tug at the neckline of your suit. He groans, listening to the delicious sound of his claw tearing at the fabric. Red eyes darken as he watches each thread give out to the sharp point of his claws, slowly revealing the supple skin of your throat. He only gets down to your collarbone when you suddenly move away with a huff.

“Mig! Stop.” He frowns when you pull away from his touch, confused as to why you’d reject his advances.

“Sweetheart?”

“You’re always tearing up my suits.”

He’s still confused. You’ve never complained about it before. Actually, you seem to enjoy it, flushing with desire when he uses his claws on you.

“Look, I’m done wearing the extra shirts you keep in your office, Miguel. It’s…awkward having to navigate through HQ to get home without real clothes.”

Miguel’s frown grows deeper. He loves seeing you in his shirts, watching how your smaller frame practically drowns in the fabric and brushes against the softness of your thighs. There’s a hint of domesticity in a sight like that, one that he’s longed for since losing his family. It brings out a whole new side to him and he’s stubborn to let it go.

“Plus, all the Spiders wear their suits 24/7 so it’s even weirder that I’m only in a shirt!” You don’t seem to notice how lost in thought he is, how much your words are impacting him. “...so how about getting me one of those nano-suits? That way I don’t have to worry about bothering the seamstress for the fifth time this week…”

Miguel’s hands pull you closer, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb fiddles with the small tear against your throat. “Mm…no, nanotech isn’t super reliable…” His hand drifts down and cups over one of your tits, “and I’m not letting anyone see what’s mine under here.” He squeezes gently, watching avidly as your lips part with pleasure.

“Yes, but–”

“No ‘buts,’ honey. This isn’t up for discussion. You know exactly what I’m talking about…”

It’s true, you’ve seen the risk of technologically powered nano-suits first-hand when Miguel gave the Spiders a glimpse of his impressive *cough* stature *cough* during a debriefing meeting.

Needless to say, he was the talk of the city for reasons other than being the grumpy boss…

“Okay, fine. But still…I’m serious about the suits.

That’s when you established the first ground rule of the relationship: no ripping suits unless there’s another one ready to go.

Sure, Miguel sulked about it for a week, making sure you saw his pout when he’d peel your suit off you, but he still made an effort to follow it, carefully evading the sharp tip of his claws when he’d get too eager to see what’s underneath.

You weren’t surprised when you returned to your apartment a few days later to boxes full of suits. Miguel stood there with a proud grin, fangs and claws ready, eyes glowing like rubies. You barely got in the door with your suit still intact.

You also made another rule: no touching during work hours.

You were surprised that you had to make the rule as Miguel is universally known as a strict boss, but similarly with your shredded suits, sometimes he just can’t help himself.

There were enough instances of almost being caught and having to scramble for one of his shirts (or tug on the biggest piece of suit left on the floor) because Miguel forgot to lock the door, that you had to put your foot down.

You grumble as Miguel attempts to pull you onto his lap.

“You know the rules, baby.”

His arms loop around you as you stand between his legs, “But it’s five o’clock!”

“Mm…check again.” He looks up at the holographic clock, you were right, it isn’t five. “It’s four fifty-five.” He raises a brow, unamused.

“Hm…” He yanks you against him causing you to fall over his seated figure, “Fuck it.”

“Miguel!”

—

Sure, being with him is hot and fun, but Miguel isn’t exactly ‘boyfriend’ material.

But it’s not like you’re any better.

Back in your dimension, you were never interested in relationships. You preferred to coast through flings and crushes rather than get emotionally involved with someone.

So this, whatever it is, is all new to you.

That being said, you had zero expectations when it came to this thing between the two of you. You’re like an eager puppy, enthusiastically taking everything he gives you and returning it tenfold. This could mean everything…or nothing.

You assume it’s been a while since Miguel has been with anyone. He’s…hesitant with you, sometimes, like he’s holding a part of himself back. Like it would be too much if he were to fully commit to you and show you what he wants deep down. There’s a constant push and pull with Miguel and it’s either very intense or barely there at all.

It’s a dynamic you’ll never get used to.

Sometimes you spend hours curled up on his lap, content with enjoying his company without a word exchanged between the two of you as he works on his computer, matching anomalies to dimensions and answering messages from different Spiders.

It’s peaceful and oddly domestic. You can almost forget about the collapsing multiverse, the worries that loom over all Spiders, and pretend it’s just you and him.

But then, there are the other times.

Moments that you’d like to forget.

Sometimes he needs space. He needs time to methodically plan out missions and brood in his office until it gets late enough that you know he isn’t coming to your apartment.

Sometimes he disappears for days, or even weeks at a time, never giving you a hint of where he’ll be, just an, “I’ll be back,” thrown over his shoulder. And then you’re left at the entrance as he shuts the door behind him, desperately waiting for him to return so you can be happy again.

You don’t know why he turns cold, and you’ll probably never find out because he doesn’t talk about his past.

It could be your fault.

You never ask.

You never push him to tell you about that little girl whose photo floats on his desktop, or the ring that sits in a drawer right beside his side of the bed.

Sometimes you wonder if you should. If that’s what you’re supposed to do in a ‘relationship’ like this. If you deserve even a crumb of vulnerability from him. But you’re too afraid to lose the fragile thing you have.

You left everything for Miguel. Without him, you’d just be a girl floating in a sea of spiders.

For some reason, you’d rather constantly be on the edge of your seat than lost without him. Because that’s how it would end. You convince yourself that the good times outweigh the bad.

Your infatuation blurs the blue waves and disperses the confusion and hurt until it barely feels like a pinch. He buries your seeds of worry with delicate kisses and numbs the creeping feeling of defeat with the heat of his touch.

With every cold shoulder comes a warm embrace, and you’ll wait weeks in the chill if it means you’ll be in his arms again.

—

Hobie is back, again, despite claiming to quit a couple of weeks ago. Always expect the unexpected with Hobie because consistency is not in his (very British and barely decipherable) vocabulary.

“Oi, Black-Widow, long time no see, eh?” His eye must’ve caught on to your new outfit, a custom dark-gray suit with nano-tech details. Miguel finally reimbursed you after carelessly shredding through your one and only suit.

It’s really nice, and you’re finally more recognizable with this one than the old red and blue traditional you sported before. You turn, spotting his iconic hair and piercings.

“Hobie! You’re back!” You practically jump into his arms, and he catches you easily. “Where’ve you been?”

“Ah, you know, here and there.” A cleared throat echoes through the room and he sets you down on your feet before slightly stepping away from you. Right, you’re still in his office. Whoops.

“Brown.” Miguel acknowledges Hobie, barely, despite talking directly to him. Hobie looks between the two of you, picking up on the change almost immediately. Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t show it.

“O’Hara.” He replies with an amused expression.

“Ready to get back to work?”

He shrugs, clearly not shaken in the slightest. “S’why I’m here, innit?”

“Good. Go report to Drew, you’ll be leaving in 20.”

“Right…” Eyes back on you. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah, we can catch up later! Be safe.”

“Will do, Spider-Woman.” You catch Hobie sending Miguel a teasing smirk as he draws away from the two of you and leaves the room. 

Freaking bugger, he’s trying to rile him up!

“I don’t like that guy.” He says it after a few seconds of silence.

You sigh, “I know.”

You turn to face him, meeting his signature scowl as he continues to glare at the door.

“With you.”

“I know.”

—

You’re still trying to do things your way, which, in your opinion, is the right way. And Miguel is still webbing you to any convenient surface and telling Parker to watch over you so he can get back to work.

“Not today, sweetheart.” You tug against the wisps of glowing red webs, nearly growling in your struggle. He’s clearly upgraded their strength after you’ve been able to escape and secretly tag along behind him.

“Wait, but, Miguel–!”

“This operation is especially sensitive. I can’t have you window shopping in a crumbling mall again.”

“That was one time! And we weren’t even on a mission.”

He raises an accusing brow, “Exactly.” He starts to walk away, ignoring your groaning and moaning. “Don’t forget you’re still on thin ice after you disobeyed orders last time.

“Ugh! C’mon, that was eons ago. I think I’ve proven myself.” He walks away, clicking a few buttons on his watch before a portal appears.

“Yeah, on unauthorized trips.”

“Still!”

“Brown, you ready?”

Hobie pushes off the wall he is leaning on and gives Miguel a teasing salute, “Aye-aye, sir.”

“What?! I’m stuck over here, but he gets to go?” The Brit sends you a teasing wink.

“He’s dispensable, cariño.”

“Ouch.”

You look over to the other side of the room where Peter sits.

“Okay, and what about him?”

“He's on babysitting duty.”

“Really? We’re still on this?” You raise an annoyed brow.

Peter holds his hands up in surrender, “Don’t look at me, look at your boyfriend. You’re not the only one suffering from this arrangement.”

“Boyfriend? More like father…” You mumble grumpily.

Hobie’s mouth quirks up, “Father? More like d-”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, Brown.” Of course, this doesn’t discourage him, if anything, the low growl only makes him smile wider. Miguel sighs, releasing the sudden tension from his body with a quick roll of his shoulders. “Alright, we should be back in a handful of hours.” He begrudgingly looks over at his mission partner, “Let’s go.”

“Okay, call me if you need help!” You yell as Hobie disappears into a flash of neon lights and pulsing sounds.

Before Miguel follows and slips through the portal, he stops and looks back, not at you, but at your babysitter, “And Parker,” He pulls his mask on, always ready for battle, “Make sure she behaves.”

“Oh, come on–”

Peter grins and sends Miguel a half-hearted thumbs up, “You got it.”

[swappingbryn]

Contest Winning Halloween Costume

My name is Derek, and I everyone around here knows my name and gives me as much space as I demand.

Halloween was coming up and I had secured an invitation to a highly exclusive party, obviously invite only, filled with hot chicks, free drinks, and the best part was the costume contest with a $10,000 prize. The rules were simple, “Best Costume Wins, No Holds Barred.” I had an idea, I’d need my buddy’s help, but he wasn’t invited to the party and I’d cut him in on the prize money if it work.

My plan was to go to the party in a different body, the ultimate costume. My buddy’s dad worked for a government research company that had perfected the technology. Before I even started looking for a body, I made sure all the body swap trope shit wouldn’t be a problem, like it wasn’t a one way trip, there wasn’t an issue with a body swapping back with itself, if the machine was destroyed we wouldn’t be trapped and there were other machines capable of doing the swap in case one malfunctioned.

Satisfied, I went about finding the best, most different than my own, body. I found it as I was leaving the gas station, he was a guy asking for change on the side of the road. He had to be close to sixty, his clothes were dirty and looked greasy, and I could smell him as I approached. I gave him a $20 and asked if he wanted to make more. He thanked me, but looked suspicious and asked what I meant. I explained my plan and offered him $200 to swap, and an extra $250 if I won using his body. I explained that it was safe, that all the safety protocols were in place, that there was no risk. He just laughed and said “it seems like if anything happens, I don’t need to worry about being safe, I’d be making out pretty well.” I guess he was right haha.

We went to the lab and initiated the swap, and it went off without a hitch. I walked out of the room in his old, smelly, dirty body. When I got to the party, I was stopped at the door (which is a good sign that I’d be winning the contest, since no one recognized me), but I presented the invite and explained who I was, so I was let in. I was definitely in a great position to win, no one recognized me, and when the host questioned me, I pointed out he specifically said “no holds barred,” which made him laugh and reply “you’re right bro, you’re right.” I spent the night drinking (which didn’t do much to me since I guess this hobo has a high tolerance), hitting on chicks, who weren’t into it since I looked gross. When the contest winner was announced, it was no surprise I won. The host even said “I know it’s seems like a cheat, but I did say ‘no holds barred,’ which I meant to mean much less drastic measures, but still, his WAS the best costume, no one would ever guess it was him.”

I collected my winnings and decided to leave soon after. Chicks were ignoring me, alcohol didn’t work, other guys avoided me saying I smelled, and this body ached all over with age and years of abuse on the streets. I went back to meet my body and swap back. He wasn’t where we agreed to meet and I freaked out, he was supposed to wait for me and not leave. However my fear subsided as he walked over, saying he didn’t expect me back for a while. Turns out while I was gone, he’d gone to the gym with my buddy who had helped us swap, my body said on their way back he stopped to get a drink from the store, and apologized for using $5 from my wallet. I was so relieved and just laughed, I told him not to worry about the $5.

We went back to the lab and got ready. I gave my body the money and kept his $250 in his pants, and he placed my money in my jacket pocket, since after the swap we’d both have our money. The machine whirled and flashed, but nothing happened. We tried it again, I felt it working, but nothing happened. I asked what the fuck was wrong, and my buddy’s dad said there was a problem with my body, it was resisting the swap. This homeless fuck was preventing us from getting back. He promised he wasn’t doing anything, he was ready to swap back, he knew it was only fair.

My buddy’s dad ran some tests and said he figured out the problem, turned to me and said “it doesn’t look good,” before looking at my body and asking “do you want to swap back?” “Of course, I have to give him his body back, it’s only right,” my body replied. “That’s not what I asked. Do you WANT to swap back or would you rather stay like that?” “Well, I mean, I obviously like this body more. I’m younger, better looking, I don’t smell, and people don’t walk away from me to avoid me. But I know I can’t keep it.” “See Luke, that’s the problem. He is willing to return your body, he’s consenting to it, but he doesn’t WANT to swap back. The machine wasn’t calibrated for a forced swap, and we can’t change that mid swap. Since his mind doesn’t want to swap, the machine won’t do it.”

That was almost a year ago. That fucker has been in my body all that time. He has been living as Luke Potter, the hot jock, the big man on campus. He has been hooking up with everyone he can find, guy or girl, he’s been doing a little modeling and even became an OF star and gay findom.

And I’m stuck as Derek Grainger, the old, fat, drunk hobo. I developed a huge reputation at the homeless camp under the bridge. I’m ready and willing to fight any motherfucker that gets in my way. No one believes me about some swap, they think I’m just an old alcoholic that imagined it.

[mychlapci]

That Dolly Sentinel au has been on my mind again. Except what if it ended in an Autobot victory because Shockwave was cocky and got himself hypnotized by mistake. He was going to use it on Blurr, but surely examining it first wouldn’t hurt. It’s in the form of some ridiculous reality tv show, and Shockwave really must give the Autobot high council points for creativity, but surely since he knows about it the hypnosis won’t affect him. Except he’s wrong. It runs while he’s looking through the file specs, inane background noise about attracting your dream mech. He’s not even in his disguise— Shockwave’s just too smart to get hypnotized, so there’s no need to worry about how relaxed he’s getting. Decepticon victory is all but a given now that he has this technology! Once the war is over, Shockwave can finally have the partner of his dreams… he’s always wanted a mech to take care of him. Hasn’t he?

The show, just a basic induction meant to relax the target and prime them for imprinting a new husband, loops over and over and Shockwave goes from looking at the spec to watching it. It’s all for science of course. He needs to see if he can spot any tells, so he can protect less intelligent and capable Decepticons from the hypnosis! He’s limp in Longarm Prime’s desk chair and on rewatch number 5 when Blurr comes in, imprinting himself on Shockwave’s melty hypnotized processor as the mech’s dream husband. Blurr, of course, turns Shockwave in immediately.

And instead of executing him, Autobot high command rewards Blurr by wiling Shockwave’s memory of getting caught and putting him back to work. This is how they’re going to win the war, Agent Blurr. This Decepticon wanted to turn you into a ditzy, simpering housewife, and instead you’re going to turn it back on him! …and in the process get the hypnotic tapes in front of as many Decepticons as possible, once the new issues are ready.

Blurr, having had a somewhat embarrassing crush on his boss, is all too happy to ensure that Shockwave stays his darling Longarm Prime forever! It’s cute, watching his boss’ face flush when Blurr walks in the room. Shockwave doesn’t know what to do with all of these new feelings. He’s never noticed how sleek and streamlined agent Blurr is… how handsome and dutiful. He’d be the perfect husband for some lucky mech, and Shockwave’s rarely used valve warms at the thought. So when his favorite agent and dream mech recommends him a show, Longarm Prime is willing to try it out.

It’s a hit, of course. Shockwave feels less and less trapped by his Longarm disguise with every passing cycle. Actually, it feels right. Which is good, because obviously he can seduce Blurr like this and, um. Help the Decepticons win? The plan needs workshopping. But each new episode of his favorite series leaves Longarm more desperate to get with the speedster. Primping and polishing his plating until it gleams, trying on a lacy skirt for the first time. It doesn’t fit his figure, so Longarm shifts the weight around a little more. A slimmer waist, a fatter aft. A new pair of tits pressed behind his chestplate to make sure he looks sexy enough to seduce his top agent.

And then his show suggests playing dumb. Except it very rapidly isn’t playing. All of that spy stuff Longarm Prime used to be good at is soooo hard now! Blurr has to step around the desk and help explain stuff lots and lots of the time, petting Longarm on the head and stroking his cheeks softly as he coos that it’s “alright for silly little things like you to need help, Longarm, it’s only natural that you rely on a mech to take care of you. You need taken care of, don’t you, sweetspark? You’ve been so brave doing all this hard work, just let me take over for you.”

And when he gestures for Longarm to stand up out of the chair, the mech does. Blurr takes his spot as chief of intelligence before flipping his skirt up swatting the larger mech’s aft. The mech who used to be Shockwave can’t help but moan a little, arching his back to beg for another spank. This one lands right on his panel, a harsh slap over the valve that has it opening instinctively. Another slap, right on a blinking red node. Longarm squeals, but stays braced on the desk.

Blurr will spank Shockwave until he overloads, before revealing that he knows the truth. And Longarm will apologize over and over for disappointing his dream mech… only for Blurr to tell him that he’s already been forgiven. Node still burning from harsh slaps. Longarm isn’t a bad girl anymore, so it’s time to start training him into a cute little wife. And the mech that is/was Shockwave can only cum again.

And soon enough the high council will realize just how roomy and fertile Decepticon wombs are. Which is how Shockwave helps the Decepticons “win” a place as the Autobots darling, needy wives!

ouh lord... Shockwave hypnotizing himself into becoming a perfect little wife is so funny... He thought he was untouchable, huh. Now Longarm Prime is a chubby little wife to a very satisfied Blurr, giving aaaaall the secret decepticon intel up for an overload <3

[mirx-xko-offical]

give me ur crewel thoughts oh starving writer

thank you ever so dear anon for feeding me 🙇

for you: some platonic and romantic headcannons of mine (all sfw btw ^^)

Platonic:

🐾you’re either the best in his class or he just really liked you, there’s no in between!!

🐾I honestly see him as that seemingly uncaring father figure on the outside but if anything had happened to his little pup (you) he’d literally kill someone.

🐾Doesn’t want anyone dating you unless they do well in his class or seems like an overall capable person of taking care of you.

🐾Definitely grew you up as a dog person (me too bud, me too)

🐾The blank in his split hair look make me feel like it was permanent dye so he definitely has experience in dying hair and doing your hair overall, no matter how short or long.

🐾Tries his hardest to support your fashion choices but sometimes he just can’t help but look at one of your shirts in utter disgust (he refuses to admit it though😭)

🐾You definitely carry his sass. It has to just run in the family.

🐾He gives off beige mom vibes but if you want to paint your room, he’ll allow lighter/muted colors. (Your room is huge btw, he might be a professor but damn I see him as rich.)

🐾Spoils you rotten clothes and technology wise.

🐾Fashion savvy? He definitely chats with you regularly about uprising trends and such in your spacey living room.

🐾Perhaps more technological? Maybe you could introduce him to some fashion games like that dress to inspire game you play at times. (DTI ref❤️)

🐾No matter who you become, he will be there by your side to help you.

ROMANTIC:

🐾If you drink coffee, he will definitely remember your entire order no matter how complicated it might be and makes sure to get you a cup every morning.

🐾I could see you two just dancing in an empty room, soft music playing in the background.

🐾Not the biggest on cuddles but he’ll be fine with almost anything if you want to.

🐾Definitely gives you forehead , cheek, and on the corner of your lip kisses. If he feels rather content though and relaxed maybe some neck kisses too (I love those sm).

🐾If you teach at NRC too then you two most definitely become one of the best duos. Doesn’t matter if you’re sassy like him or have a hard time saying no.

🐾IF you’re more shy, he’d most definitely walk up to the cashier and order for you! And if they added anything you had asked them not to he would definitely speak up about it.

🐾This is for my fellow blood sisters/siblings: He definitely keeps a heated blanket around the house or in his classroom incase those cramps are acting up. He also has the needed products (that you prefer) on him at all times incase you forgot to get any.

🐾Definitely uses nicknames like: My Love, Dear, Dearest, Darling. Sometimes call you puppy if he feels like it.

🐾Also spoils you rotten with jewelry or plushies! As long as you’re happy, he doesn’t matter how much money he spends on you!

I’m not all that knowledgeable on his character but like just thinking of him gave me these.

I need this relationship fr 😔😔

[blueikeproductions]

Some Chinese trading cards based on TFONE came out, and they show off models of two of the other ancient Primes.

Spoilers obviously.

The movie shows us all 13, but because of the nature of the story we don’t really get a good look at any of them besides Alpha Trion.

These cards show off the designs of Quintus Prime and Micronus Prime.

Quintus takes heavy cues from his Aligned design.

But simplifies it greatly and pushes the design into a clearer Hindu god like direction.

I like to think he sounds like Apu and, per a friend’s idea, did this to the Quintessons:

Because all the Primes had Cogs, they all can Transform (which runs counter to Aligned’s idea of Amalgamous Prime being the first one to Transform and pass down the Cog, but then Aligned contradicts this with Nexus Prime being able to Transform also, so…), but into what we don’t know. Once more Quintus eludes us into what he turns into, though this design has notable wings, so maaaaybe he turns into a jet? At this version looks capable of Transforming, vs his Aligned & EarthSpark designs.

I still kinda prefer the monk design of EarthSpark Quintus, and I still like to think he Transforms into a G1 style Quint ship.

But I’m hazarding a guess the upcoming Age of Primes toy line will probably use the TFONE design as a basis, so maybe we’ll finally learn what he turns into.

The TFONE Quints do loosely resemble Quintus, so maybe this toy is already a hint at what Quintus Transforms into.

Micronus meanwhile looks like this.

He looks like a hybrid of the RiD15 Micronus and ROTB Rhinox.

I like that they kept the RiD15 body type, as I prefer Micronus being a squat, bulky guy like Hey Arnold’s Ernie Potts vs the hard to read skinny design they had for Aligned originally.

Still don’t know what Micronus turns into in TFONE, though the RiD15 design implies he’s a Buzzsaw like Jetstorm and Slipstream.

Funny enough, like how the movie never clarifies if the Quintessons were created by Quintus Prime, Mini-Cons, Micronus’ descendants in modern media, are never referenced as existing on TFONE Cybertron. The Miners are tiny until they get their Cogs, but they’re not supposed to be Mini-Cons, so. -shrugs- Modern media also says the Mini-Cons are native to Cybertron’s moons, a nod to their original creator, Unicron, being disguised as Cybertron’s moon in Armada; so maybe the TFONE Mini-Cons are up there chilling on the Moons, lol.

The movie made the wise choice to keep things simpler for casual audiences, but the modern 13 Primes are themed around certain races, genders, powers, and technologies, and it feels like writers are never sure on what to do with them because of this. Onyx Prime still makes more sense as the main antagonist for RiD15 because of the emphasis on animal type Decepticons, but they used The Fallen for rule of cool and marketable reasons. I feel like Cyberverse could’ve had Vector Prime as a central character due to the show’s habit of flashbacks and time skips over Alchemist/Maccadam, and Quintus Prime to better tie things to the Quintessons. I feel like Liege Maximo would’ve worked well in Cyberverse too but I don’t know what he’d DO either…

Still now that we have a better look at the TFONE Primes, they look cool, and I want to talk about the other designs once we get proper character models, so stay tuned for that.

My current guess now, until we get toys that say otherwise, is the upcoming Primes toys might use TFONE’s designs as a basis, as the intent was to use TFONE as the new backstory anyway. I suspect aspects of Cyberverse and EarthSpark might influence things though, as those who got a good look at TFONE Alchemist say he takes most of his look from Cyberverse Alchemist Prime.

So hopefully we don’t have much longer to see toy wise.

[stirringwinds]

reflecting on ye Olde Hetalia strips 🤔 tbh I think as a chinese person back then, I did weirdly appreciate himaruya’s take where the First Sino-Japanese war was depicted as Kiku being aggressive unprompted and completely surprising Yao because I was concerned about portrayals being too soft on Japanese imperialism. so on that level, it’s by no means a bad or inaccurate thing to show Kiku as capable of being aggressive that way.

but—looking back, I guess it’s very different from how I’d now write the first Sino-Japanese war, particularly when it comes to Yao: Yao’s shock because it’s contrasted to his memories of Kiku as this cute kid he found in a very Princess Kaguya/Tale of the Bamboo Cutter way feels like it skips over a lot lol! Because Yao being backstabbed by Kiku really shouldn’t be a big surprise to him, when we snap in the longer timeline of East Asian geopolitics. the disastrous Imjin War in the 1590s, which came right before Japanese isolation, was a Japanese invasion of Korea with the goal of overthrowing Chinese imperial power after all. and the First Sino-Japanese war is….such a literal mirror of that in so many ways. despite its name, it was a power struggle over Korea too, and this time Japan succeeded in ending Qing China’s political influence over Korea. So—less a surprised and startled man rudely shaken out of his nostalgia than a famous but weary, injured old general grimly feeling the aches and utter weakness sinking into his bones—as his once-student finally beats him at his own game.

Kiku and Yao as I see it, used to play xiangqi (which is basically Chinese chess) together. It’s one of the things Yao “taught” him almost a thousand years ago—and they probably played shogi and go too, which are Japanese strategy games. Coming back to the 1890s, it’s the once-apprentice holding a gun to his former mentor’s head and coolly saying ��checkmate”. Probably politely even, and that farcical decorum pours more salt into the wound! and Yao is so, so utterly bitter and resentful—but he’s not surprised. At all. An even longer time ago, during the Tang dynasty, he’d defeated Kiku easily despite being outnumbered in a battle because of his superior naval and military strategies. So, the way I see it, Kiku may have looked to Western military models, but Yao knows that there’s plenty in the humiliation of the First Sino-Japanese War that Kiku learned from his example. History can rhyme in some of the most terribly ironic ways. Disrespecting your teacher and elder may be very un-Confucian, but winning because of superior strategy and technology is right at home in Chinese history.