#is miserable with EVERYTHING.

[cosmosnout]

The most doomed siblings ever

[pankiepoo]

II17 SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

waiter waiter! more fan angst!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[stupidrant]

I salute to you and thank you for your service 🫡😔

u guys weren’t there in 2018 fighting the atreus annoying and useless allegations like i was. i was on the front lines

[starcurtain]

Sometimes, I think about how much Alhaitham's entire adult life has been shaped by Kaveh and I just... have to sit down for a second.

Kaveh was Alhaitham's first, and, as far as we've been told, only friend until recently. At the very least, Kaveh was likely his only close friend throughout Alhaitham's entire schooling years, from teens into adulthood.

Alhaitham lives in the house he received for his work with Kaveh. The house Alhaitham lives in wouldn't even exist without Kaveh.

Alhaitham's ideology and behavior have been shaped by his diametric opposition to Kaveh's perspectives. He acts and thinks the way he does in part because of how their debating over years shaped how Alhaitham sees the world.

He's become an active part of a friend group almost entirely because of Kaveh. Alhaitham's story quest says that he didn't become particularly friendly with the rest of Sumeru's saviors even after they saved the archon, but now we see him hanging out with Cyno and Tighnari all the time because Kaveh was friends with them first and eased the way.

He even drinks a particular brand of coffee because he and Kaveh picked it together.

If you removed all trace of Kaveh from Alhaitham's life, virtually nothing would be the same. He wouldn't live where he does now. His house wouldn't look like it does inside at all. He very likely wouldn't have a single close friend. His ideology would probably be significantly more pragmatic and cold. Literally the only thing in Alhaitham's current life that hasn't been shaped in some way by Kaveh is Alhaitham's job. Which is... probably why work is Alhaitham's least favorite aspect of life.

Meanwhile, Kaveh is honest to archons over here wondering "What does Alhaitham even think about me?"

I don't know, buddy, probably that you're his whole world?

[hyolks]

the collar of his shirt pissed me off so! shirtless

[suntails]

toot toot!

[otrebot]

Hayakawa

[fairycosmos]

i wish i had a purpose in life and a supportive network of friends!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 5

tw: explicit content, noncon/heavy dubcon. 4k+ words. Satoru/Reader/Suguru poly. afab!omega!reader, alpha!gojo, alpha!geto. yandere gojo and geto.

mind games, de-socialization/infantilization, caregiver/dependency kinks, piss kink, humiliation/control, captivity, stockholm syndrome, physical restraints, force-feeding (briefly), restricted bathroom access, suggestions of heat/breeding/pregnancy, reader has a panic attack.

Prompt: An omega is made to regularly piss themselves to show submission to the alpha(s) around them.

It’s for different reasons that Gojo and Geto force you to piss yourself during your captivity, but it always ends the same.

Laughter in your ears. A teasing joke – kinder, if it was from Geto – and perhaps they force you to sit there, soaked, for a few minutes until they tire of taunting you and carry you to the bathroom to wash it off.

They never leave you in there unsupervised, so it’s not like you’re ever relieving yourself without either of them present, as awful as the thought is.

That had happened only a couple times, early on.

Gojo had snapped that if you wanted to be left alone so badly, then he’d do it, even as Geto frowned in disapproval.

He’d continued to deliver you meals but otherwise went along with Gojo’s plan… even though you were chained to the bed, unable to so much as go to the bathroom on your own volition.

It was in part due to your own pride that you didn’t ask one of them to help you. You held it as long as you could – surely Geto would have to know.

He’d even asked if you needed anything one day in, and you were just about to ask him to take you to the bathroom when someone – Gojo, presumably – dragged him away.

Then you’d been left in the humiliating position of being forced to soil yourself. Literally, there’d been nothing else you could do.  

Afterwards, you’d gone on something of a hunger strike. Couldn’t have your bodily functions and sanitary conditions held hostage if you didn’t eat or drink, right?

You would have been proud of how long you lasted, were it not for how it ended.

It was hard – very hard – to keep on declining food after Gojo started to get desperate, realizing that you really were starving yourself.

He started bringing you offerings of all the best food and drink you could think of. Tempting you with a picnic on the balcony, what would’ve been the first fresh air you’d gotten since they kidnapped you.

That might have been his rut coming on, which would explain his shitty attitude. Being possessive over Geto, over you.

Wanting to provide for you, feed you, growing utterly distraught that you refused to eat the food he presented. Going through a thousand options to please you, like you were his mate.

He was scary. Gojo had always been scary, so upfront and outright with his desires, so unwilling to ever hold anything back.

And it pleased you, somewhere in the dark part of your heart, to make your displeasure – your rejection – so plainly known to the alpha before you.

Later you'd realize that Geto was the scary one. He’d come in one last time, made a final offering and a strict but firm warning.

You turned him down again and he’d returned with a cloth soaked in chloroform.

When you woke up, it was to a tube down your throat and your arms and legs strapped down.

Geto waiting patiently at your bedside for you to wake up, shushing you as you struggled and tried to choke it out, holding your head down gently so you didn’t hurt yourself.

He cooed that you were just so helpless, you couldn’t take care of yourself, couldn’t even eat without being made to, so you absolutely needed to be taken care of.

Couldn’t you see? This was for your own good. You were literally starving yourself, and for what?

Geto reeked of alpha pheromones, which was worse. While Gojo had been inconsolable, seeking your approval and acceptance, Geto’s scent was all delight and satisfaction at having given you what you needed.

Your alpha who knew what was best for you, better than you did yourself, and he was easily able to wrestle his stubborn little omega into submission.

It hadn’t been all his patronizing rambling and smug proclamations.

It had been the fact that you were physically incapable of talking back, telling him he was wrong, telling him you were starving yourself because they did shit like this and you didn’t want to fucking LIVE LIKE THIS –

The fury had choked you, leaving you coughing around the tube for Geto to fuss over you some more, inordinately pleased with the situation.

He’d left you with the tube for two days. You’re sure he would have done it longer, would have left you miserable and uncomfortable like that, forced you to soil the special bed padding made for elderly patients, forced you to endure even more sponge baths like you were an actual invalid.

But Satoru whined about how lame it was to have to change and clean and check your tubes instead of sharing a nice meal together, how boring it was that he couldn’t speak with you, that you’d definitely learned your lesson now, right? Right?

You weren’t even embarrassed to nod as they both stared at you. Look me in the eyes, darling. You wouldn’t put us through that again, right?

Put THEM through it. Like you weren’t the one starving, locked in a room, treated like an actual fucking animal for not wanting to be cozy with your captors.

It’s worse because it plays into your instincts. That’s why they have these expectations, why they go along with all these insane things.

At first you’d been angry, as reluctant as any abductee would be, but the longer you were exposed to their scents, the more you grew accustomed to them.

The more they tried to take care of you, the more you wanted to let them. Two beautiful, strong, lovely alphas who wanted so badly to be good to you, isn’t that what any omega would want?

They knew it, too. That was the worst part.

Your heat was coming up, the first since they’d taken you away, and you weren’t proud or delusional enough to think you’d make it even a day without begging one of them to knot you. If Geto wanted to hold out, you knew Gojo would give in, all you had to do was whine for him.

It fucking stung, the fact that you’d already thought about it so thoroughly. It stung to know their plan was working, that you knew and expected yourself to fuck them during your heat, even as sexual encounters with them became more and more commonplace.

None of them were really consensual, but you weren’t confident calling them rape, either.

Not when they always did stop when you’d asked them to, even once or twice when you’d wanted it bad so so fucking bad.

Pheromones hot and sticky in the air, the scent of pleasure and desire tugging you in. Making everything perfect and right and safe with your alpha for just a few precious moments.

Just by his scent, you knew the alpha was just on the cusp; it was the most arousing thing you’d ever felt in your fucking life and everything inside you screamed to make them cum and give you more of those comforting, arousing, pleasurable pheromones… and you’d told him to stop anyways.

Just to prove that you didn’t actually have any power, this was all because of them. They were in control and they’d fuck you whether or not you wanted them to.

But they did stop.

Even when Geto’s impeccable self-control was in tatters, even when Gojo had gone feral with need fucking you hard; if you told them to stop, they would.

If you told them to get off you, they did. If you said not to touch, then they wouldn’t. At least, not for sexual purposes.

It didn’t stop either one from jerking themselves to completion in front of you; your alpha moaning and whining with a flushed face as he locked eyes with you.

What a tease, Geto would say, Needy little omega wants me to put on a show?

Gojo was no better, Fuck, babe, you kill me, you really do… but what my omega wants, my omega’s gonna get.

Utterly unfazed by rejection, by denial. It wouldn’t even stop him from cumming, from finding release as he gazed at you. The scent of his arousal was more than enough to keep you hot and wanting, hand moving to rub yourself without your permission at the sight.

Sometimes the other one would come and help your partner out, drawn in by the heated noises and obvious arousal thick in the surroundings. Eager to assist with a warm hand or a wet mouth, even locking eyes with you while he did it.

Something dark and possessive flaring inside you at the sight of the alpha that had been inside you seconds ago brought to completion by another. 

Something almost worse filling your core with heat at the sight of your alpha being ravished, and another alpha your alpha fluttering his lashes at you as if to say don’t you want to be next? Next to cum, next to us? Inside us, around us, a part of us, like we’re entwined now?

Insane. Insane insane insane they’re driving you insane with this behavior. This façade of care and consideration.

Like you’re really lovers except for how you’re not allowed to choose what room you want to be in at any given time.

You can’t go to the restroom without permission. Can’t eat except for what they feed you. Can’t pick what show to watch, can’t go on the internet, can’t read a book or do anything to entertain yourself without their say-so.

They’ve arranged it somehow so that one of them is always with you. Even your bedtime – in the king-sized bed in the main room of the penthouse – is determined by them. No doubt they schedule it intentionally, so that if they both need to be gone, you’ll be asleep.

You can’t choose anything for yourself, but that’s not an omega’s place. Your alphas will present you with everything you need or want. It’s their duty to know you well enough to keep you satisfied always.

And when you do need to make a choice, when you need that element of control, they’ll give you the options to pick from, so you don’t get too overwhelmed.

Fucking archaic. No one thought that way about omegas anymore. No one treated omegas – anyone ­– like that anymore.

Nobody but Gojo and Geto, the only alphas in the world with both the power and the perceptiveness to provide so perfectly and so thoroughly.

But even those little moments where they offer you some choice, something they’ll actually follow through with, where your opinion truly counts – even that is just the illusion of power. They decide what to give you, when to give it to you.

And they do what they want, ultimately, hence the current situation. They like to make you drink, bring you glasses of water throughout the day for you to finish, “keep you hydrated”, and it’s laughably transparent what it’s in the service of.

But what can you do? They’ve proven they’re not afraid to force things down your throat. This is infinitely more comfortable than the alternative.

Sometimes if you complain enough they’ll bring you something other than water. Once or twice, Geto would let you pick – “Apple juice or orange, darling? You can always still have water, if it’s too hard to choose.” – and to your utter despair, you felt grateful.

Gojo, you think, genuinely gets off on the scent of your piss.

He’s a bit of a freak, though you’d known that from the beginning. Prone to nuzzling into the scent glands on the side of your neck while he took you from behind against some surface.

Inevitably, he pressed you into it, hard enough to pressure your lower abdomen. Between the pressure of his cock filling you entirely, and the press from outside your body as he fucked you against it, all you could do was whimper.

“S-Satoru,” He’s nicer when you call him by his first name, “Satoru, please, please, I – I have to go – ”

Another thrust, hot, heavy, harder than the rest you think, a grin you can hear, teeth against your ear, “I’ve got you, baby.”

“Eugh – please Satoru I can’t hold it – ”

“If you gotta go, baby, go,” He purrs into your ear, “Just follow your instincts. You can do that, right? Just let go.”

His words make it all the harder to hold back, the innate desire to please an alpha surging through you as your release approaches.

And you’re close, too, about to cum even as you can feel the urge to pee swelling with it. It’s gross, it feels awkward, but you just want it to be over –

“Aww, little omega needs some help? Let alpha help you along~”

Fingers trace over your clit and you squeak, Gojo just laughs while he rubs tighter against you, bringing you all the way over the edge. You cum with a cry, a shudder, clinging to him at your involuntary, humiliating release.

“That’s it, there you go, baby,” He pants, deep breaths as he thrusts his own release into you, “Piss all over my cock. Mark your territory. I can smell you.”

Heat shoots up your body, your cheeks. A sigh of relief as your bladder empties itself. Burning shame. It roils, churns; your thighs feel sticky with more than just cum.

You quiver, burying your head in his neck to avoid the smell. Gojo’s scent is sweet with delight as he rides you through the aftershocks.

He strokes your back while he coos, “There you go, wasn't that nice, baby? Didn't that feel good? Don’t worry, just leave the rest to your alpha.”

He made you do this. But it’s no use getting angry, tensing up or doing anything, really. Your omega instincts are telling you to give in, go limp and obedient and he’ll take care of you.

And you do. It’s either that or soak in your own piss. Gojo’s breaths are deep and he hardens inside you at the scent in the air, and all you can do is whimper.

You don’t complain when he fucks you again in slow strokes to avoid overstimulating you. When he gets fully hard again, you’re starting to clench against your will, and he starts pressing into your clit again in short circles.

His fingers are wet, warm, and it’s not long before he brings you to another peak, warbling high, soft noises while he purrs in satisfaction.

You try not to think about the mess on the inside of your thighs, on his cock. Gojo brings his finger from your clit to his mouth. Blue eyes boring into yours, grinning, while he licks it clean.

So you wait a little while before you whine at Gojo, “Bath,” leveraging the alpha’s need to coddle you.

It usually works. You’re usually only made to sit in your disgust for a few moments of hot, sticky, uncomfortable pleasure before he scoops you up and takes you to the bathroom.

You have a surprisingly thorough skincare routine. Geto likes routines, you think, and Gojo likes sweet-smelling soaps and lotions, and they both like pampering you.

Pretending that you’re their sweet little omega girlfriend they spoil rotten instead of a prisoner who can’t leave.

It could almost be nice. Gojo’s large form in the tub beside you as he carefully scrubs you clean, massages his favorite fruit scented shampoo into your hair.

Grooming you with a diligence that you wouldn’t expect from him, all soft hands and gentle circles. Rinsing everything out.

Your tongue darts out over your lips, purely reflexive, as he cleans you up. For his part, Gojo doesn’t even try to resist the desire to lick over your scent glands when he towels you dry.

You smell like him, after. It makes him hard, but it’s easy to make Gojo hard, like that’s his default state whenever you’re around.

Your bare neck does things to him, you think. It’s stranger that smelling Gojo on you makes Geto hard, when he comes in to make sure he's following your routine correctly.

Gojo kisses at the corner of your mouth before he pops out the cleanser. You sit down obediently for him as Geto walks in, like he can tell you’re going to be put to bed soon.

They fuss in unison; Geto wants a leave-in conditioner for your hair, Gojo thinks that’ll weigh it down. Taking turns massaging your face, your hands, with one product or another. You feel like a doll sitting there – they certainly treat you like one.

Neither of them ask for your input on anything. Gojo styles your hair as he likes, using the hair dryer on you. The one time he hadn’t, Geto threw a fit, saying you could catch a cold.

It feels nice. Hands running through your hair, brushing it. You could almost catch yourself purring. And then Geto will mention a trim, of Gojo will suggest some styling, and you’ll remember with frigid clarity that it’s not really your hair anymore. Just the hair on their pretty little omega doll.  

Frighteningly, the thought makes you wet, sometimes. Sometimes you think you’re conditioned to get wet when you feel helpless, because that’s the only useful thing you can do. Get wet enough to make one of your alphas purr and kiss and fuck you into blissful comfort.

Gojo thinks it’s cute, thinks it’s darling, he’ll usually give in to you right away.

Geto actively tries to make you feel helpless. You think that’s what it is, when he makes you piss yourself, that’s what he gets off on. Making you drink more and more, knowing you can’t really refuse. Asking you to hold it just a little longer.

“Come now, we don’t want to make a mess, do we? Just another minute, little omega.” Geto likes it when you make a mess.

Or rather, he likes when you need him to clean you up. When you need him, in general.

“Needy little thing.” He sits you on his lap. The arm wrapped around your waist pressing against your abdomen. “One more minute, love, then we’ll head to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t encourage you like Gojo, but he wants the same thing. You’re not sure which one you hate more. He’s only pretending to fix your hair. Gojo and him are the only ones who see it. It’s not remotely critical, not like your bodily needs –

But you don’t get to decide what’s important. Geto does, and he says you stay here, even when you desperately, desperately need to go.

“Suguru,” You whimper, squirming. You just want it to be over. “Suguruuuu.”

No pretense, anymore. His hand that isn’t constricting your middle darts down between your legs. Rubs your clit over your underwear.

Rock hard. You can smell the arousal on him. But Geto’s worse than Gojo, because Geto doesn’t always care about getting off. Sometimes he’s happy just to finger you. Sometimes he either jerks himself or gets Gojo to get him off. Sometimes he’ll eat you out for hours, claiming you were too fussy, and if he puts his dick in you, you’re not awake for it.

The scent of his arousal has you dripping quickly, it’s not even worth it to stave it off. The best you can do is get him to do it faster, and even that’s not really up to you.

The pleasure comes beneath his fingertips, but it’s sharp, tapered by friction, and he keeps a steady pressure around your abdomen that has the pressure building in your bladder. It’s a painfully familiar feeling.

“Hold it.” He commands, your alpha, and you do, you really do. You don’t want to piss yourself, but you know he does, and he’s just fucking toying with you while he gets you there. “Hold.”

It’s hard, hard, pulling against the tide, fighting the promise of release that swells beneath his touch. You can’t do it long. Full to bursting.

“There you go, just a little more.” He finally drags his fingers beneath your panties. You’re ready to start crying. “So wet. You don’t want to make a mess, do you? Just wait a little longer.”

Lying lying he’s lying and the thought makes it so much harder to control but you don’t WANT to. You don’t!

You really do cry, a sob that catches in your throat when he dips a finger into you and you feel a dam begin to swell against the increased stimulation.

“What a good omega,” He purrs, like he’s noticing your discomfort and trying to relieve you, instead of enjoying it, “Hold it. Hold it.”

Another finger in. So full, you’re so full, it’s like his cock is inside you, there’s so much that it hurts, you just want to let go. He starts rubbing faster against your clit, a sweet friction that you have to fight not to buck into, muscles spasming, control faltering.

“Suguru,” Reduced to pitiful mewls. Just how he likes you.

“Hold it.” He says, and he knows, he fucking knows, he must know –

Fingers darting deep inside you, arm clenching violently against your lower half. Squeezing, squeezing, so hard, all while he pinches tightly at your clit. White hot pleasure pours through you, heady, flooding, and all you know is relief.

“Oh,” He says, like he’s surprised, even though you can feel his smile widen against your neck, “Oh, poor little omega. Had an accident, have you? It’s all right. It’s okay.” He prods tenderly at your clit, nursing you through it.

“I know how it is. You can’t help it, can you, baby?” He kisses against your neck from the left. “Poor thing. Don’t worry. Your alpha will take care of it. It’s only natural, silly little thing like you, you just couldn't help yourself.”

It’s a constant refrain they both like to repeat. Not to be ashamed of your instincts, your body, your needs.

You know why. To your great misfortune, you were born an omega, and so once you go into heat you’ll be struck with the insatiable desire for their knots, and it’s in their best interest for you not to resist that.

The less you resist, the better the chances their claiming bites will stick. Gojo already loves to chew at the glands on your neck – you think he’s even ‘called’ the right side, gnawing at there lazily while Geto is in the room.

For Gojo, it’s just dirty talk, but Geto likes to lecture you. There’s no one in your tiny world who has any level of disgust for your bodily functions.

They’ve seen it all, seen you helpless, sick, all kinds of messy, and they loved you, loved taking care of you. It was an honor for them to see you so vulnerable, an honor only your alphas deserved.

Sometimes he calls it desensitization training, like there’s a purpose to making you piss yourself besides getting high on control and making you humiliate yourself into submission to their whims.

But you do think there’s more to that for Geto.

If they had their way, you’d be a complete degenerate, an invalid, helpless by choice and totally disinterested in changing that.

A spoiled, mewling omega just a few steps away from ferality. They already don’t let you do much on your own, attending to even the simplest things all by themselves.

Knowing only to whine for your alphas to entertain you, provide for you, comfort you, because that’s all you ever needed to do. Utterly incapable of functioning in normal society, and unable to see anything wrong with that.

It’s coming. Soon. You know it is, and you’re sure they do, too. Geto in particular probably knows your body better than you do; probably tracks your hormones and cycles, may even be feeding you suppressants or stimulants.

You can only pray he’s bothered to give you contraceptives, too. Gojo’s a lost cause, he’s probably chomping at the bit to put a baby in you, but Geto would at least be concerned with the implications.

They’d chained you to the bed and locked you up for a couple days alone but they couldn’t leave you alone if you were pregnant. Their instincts just wouldn’t permit it.

Thinking about it makes you shake, uncontrollably. In your shared bed, in their arms, even with their voices cooing in your ear and their purrs and cuddles desperately soothing you.

Your heart trembles. Your heat is coming, it’s coming, and after that you could get pregnant.

They couldn’t leave you alone if you were pregnant. No alpha would ever be able to tear themselves away.

Alone, alone, locked in that tiny room. Chained up. You couldn’t even relieve yourself. Stuck in your own filth, abandoned by your alphas, the ones who were supposed to love you, protect you, provide for you.

They couldn’t, they wouldn’t. No alpha could abandon their omega. But they had once. They had once. They do whatever they want with you, no matter how much you hate it.

You tell yourself desperately you don’t want to be bred, and even you can’t tell if you mean it, excuses flashing back and forth in your mind.

What if they got you pregnant and decided you didn’t deserve their company? Decided you weren’t grateful enough for the calming presence of an alpha during your most vulnerable time? What if they thought you’d look cute, all pregnant and desperate and crying for them?

There’s no fix for this, nothing you can do about it, they’ve taught you that you can’t control anything in your life anymore.

Realization after realization crashes down, each little thing, can’t stop them from leaving, can’t stop them from breeding you, can’t stop them from fucking you in your heat, can’t do anything can’t you can’t you can’t –

They’re going to leave you. You’ll be heavy with child, longing for comfort and affection.

They’re going to make you need them. They’re going to make you weak in the worst possible way. They’re going to use it to hurt you.

Jerking, sniffling. Someone comes closer – it’s warm, paler, probably Gojo – but the shivering just gets worse.

Come closer, leave you alone. They’ll do whatever they want to do. You’ll just have to accept it.

They’re going to leave. Leave you alone. All alone. All by yourself. Locked up, in chains, unable to do anything. They made you need them and they’re going to leave –

Wetness pools in your eyes, and you blink it away without really trying, without noticing so much how the tears roll down your cheek.

The numb terror overwhelms everything. Cold, it’s cold, and somehow so hot. Your heart is trying to bolt out of your chest.

A name you distantly recognize as yours rings in your ears, but you don’t notice, don’t understand.

You’re too busy trying to breathe through all your panting, all the adrenaline rushing through you with the panic.

You feel helpless, completely helpless. Pinned between the two of them.

Larger, stronger, alphas who can subdue your resistance just by existing, emitting pheromones that send you into dizzy complacence or heady lust.

Alone. Alone, alone, they’re here now but it’s not because you want them they don’t care what you want they do what they want you can’t have anything can’t do anything you can’t you can’t you can’t.

The thoughts coil endlessly through your mind, spinning, spinning, spinning in place. A hand rubs against your back, a desperate purr in the distance.

Background noise. You're alone, trapped in your head, trapped with thoughts that won't stop coming.

Spiraling despair that just goes deeper and deeper, new fears unearthed with every thought.

You feel like throwing up.

Would they feel like cleaning you up? You’d be at their mercy, caked in your own vomit.

You feel like you’re dying.

Mabe you are. Maybe this is how they kill you, from the inside out.

[katabay]

obsessed with the dynamic they have in mk1 like. ohhhh that is a MESS, I love it

[crushing-on-nico-di-angelo]

love is what defines us

cosmos, carl sagan // humanity as told by uquiz free text answers, @judas-redeemed // @cheruib // the good place, gif by @trueloveistreacherous // rien ne va plus, margarita karapanou (tr. by karen emmerich) // everything everywhere all at once, gif by @rosalie-starfall // les misérables, victor hugo // unknown

[lazylittledragon]

a very good measure for if you ACTUALLY hate yourself and need to work on that is to check if you're on your period and if your hair dye is faded. and if both are true you're probably fine

[la-pheacienne]

marius is always so passionate about everything and yet he never belongs anywhere. he's impressionable yet distant, reckless and impulsive yet observing from the outside. he's obsessive yet fickle. he is ready to give his life like it's nothing yet he's not truly one of les amis. he never went to their meetings, yet he will forever mourn their loss. he refuses the comforts of the bourgeoisie and feeds off his love and his ideals alone, yet he ends up a rich lawyer. he's weak and miserable and lonely yet so loved and cherished that people sacrificed their lives to save him. he's a neglected orphan, yet a privileged kid. abandoned by his father, who adored him. he wanted nothing to do with his father while he was alive, yet latched onto his ghost when he was gone. he's pitiful in his misery, cruel in his happiness. he's the epitome of idealism yet he's selfish. his intentions are pure yet he inadvertedly caused great suffering and death. he has something about him that suggested day - and night. his face was illuminated by the light of the dying day and by the thought of a soul that is taking flight. not yet a ghost, no longer a man. he's truly the most character ever and u guys just don't get him like I get him

[aroaceleovaldez]

one of my favorite Percy headcanons is that even after he no longer has the Curse of Achilles, the small of his back is still his Achilles' Heel. It won't kill him but it's still his weakest point.

Like, he hates if anybody even brushes against there unless it's Annabeth because it's too sensitive and it basically physically hurts him. He has to be the little spoon Always because it makes him feel like his back is protected. If anyone hits him in the small of his back even without a lot of force, like a friendly slap on the back, he will crumple like wet paper. His friends poke him in the small of his back just cause every time he will immediately stumble and start complaining at them and they find it funny. If someone actually smacks him in the back with any amount of real force he will be on the ground immediately and stay there. If he gets actually scratched there he will be bedridden for days. The curse may be gone but he will always carry it with him.

[lexosaurus]

work on the current chapter of ur fic and not the fun future chapter challenge

[brandwhorestarscream]

Megatronus talking to Megatron fic please?

Hell yeah lets go. Mostly just transcribed from my rambling in discord, but nyeh

Consider: the cogs they've been given influence their host a bit. Like how, donated organs sometimes have "memories" from their old bodies that they had before. Giving the host physical sensations and habits they didn't have before (it's a real thing, look it up)

We know that Liege Maximo wasn't responsible for orchestrating Solus's death in this universe, but it's still very possible he's still got a very dark and twisted streak inside him. What if D-16's sudden, violent resolve to kill Sentinel came from Liege Maximo? He 100000% wants Sentinel dead because he's a traitor and doesn't deserve to live, and his influence still on his cog combined with D-16's righteous anger came together into the drive to rip that mech apart, with his bare hands.

What I'm getting at is, the cogs have "memory" and influence, to a point. Optimus got Prima's cog, so naturally he stepped into a more rigid leadership position that was staunchly against purposefully extinguishing sparks. So, when D-16 takes Megatronus Prime's cog from Sentinel's chest, he gets hit with a blast of Presence from the God of War himself, and already riled up and angry he kinda. Spirals out of control.

The Spirit of War drives him to fight, protect, destroy. Raze that evil mech's influence to the ground so not a single shred of him remains. Unless his presence is completely annihilated, there's a chance it could seep into the cracks and take up root again, and slowly sink it's insidious fingers into their people once more. He cannot allow that!

Fast forward to that night and newly christened Megatron is still angry, angry, angry… until he falls asleep and his processor can get a much-needed rest and defrag. He dreams about- about Orion, about… the surface, about Sentinel, about everything. He sees Sentinel taking Orion away, sees Orion bloodied and lifeless falling into a pit of despair. He sees himself, out of his body, trying to save him but he can't. He sees his best friend looking at him in sadness and disgust and, finally, feels the sadness and misery he'd been stubbornly choking down suddenly force it's way into his throat.

...Is he awake? Is he asleep? It hits him so intensely he can't tell, and just. Plops down on the ground, arms wrapping around himself and beginning to sob with all the force of his broken spark. It's not fair. Everything… everything has changed, he's lost everything and everyone and- and he's still angry! Why does he feel like this? How does he make it stop? He doesn't want to be angry anymore, he doesn't want… whatever this is that he can feel slowly creeping toward him. This isn't over. Something bad is coming. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this, he doesn't want this-!

He about jumps out of his plating when someone suddenly touches his helm, and nearly falls over when he looks up and finds a hulking, huge mech had settled down next to him. Thrice his size, at least, and before, that wouldn't have been strange. Expected, even. But now he has his cog, his alt mode, he's much bigger now. Even so, he feels puny in this mech's shadow, but his size alone isn't the surprising part.

Painted purple and black with a face that Megatron knows extremely well. He rubs his optics and shakes his helm, but he's still there. His vocalizer squeaks when he utters the name, "M- Muh-! Megatronus Prime?!"

He's definitely still dreaming. He has to be. But- But everything feels so grounded and lucid and real- but-

Megatronus Prime chuckles softly. "Sorry to frighten you, little one," he lats the ground next to him. "Sit with me?"

"I- um," he blinks. "Y-Yes sir?"

Megatron has no idea what to say. He sits a respectful distance away, hugging his knees and just o.o staring at him shellshocked the whole time. It- It has to be a dream but it feels real. Is… Is Megatronus actually here with him? Surely he can't be, but…

The Prime waves his servo out in front of them, and warm, gently burning orange fire materializes from nowhere. It floats in a ball before them, lighting the dark, shadowy night. Megatron can feel the heat on his cheeks, and the sensation is too real to be anything but.

"You… y-you're really here-!" He gasps and wipes clumsily at his still-wet face. "Oh- Oh my Primes, you're really-" Promptly slaps a servo over his mouth, optics wide. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear, I know we shouldn't use the Primes names in vain I just- y-you're here and- and-"

Megatronus laughs and shakes his helm fondly, reaching over to gently pat his helm. "Peace, youngling, peace. I take no offense." Prima, on the other hand… ooh, how he hated hearing their children swear. It amused the god of war, more than anything. He gave the little silver mech a thoughtful once over. "You have my cog." It's not a question.

Megatron flinches and brings both servos to to his chest. "I- I'm sorry!" He means it too, hanging his helm and looking ashamed. "I- I was just- he took it, he killed you and he took and I- I couldn't just let him keep it," it was impulsive, he would admit, swapping it for the cog already in his own chassis. His voice lowers to a shameful whisper. "D'you… w-want it back?" He doesn't want to go back to being cogless, but…

Luckily, Megatronus shakes his helm. "No, no, keep it. I've no use for it anymore. Heh," a humorless sound that could almost pass as a sarcastic laugh. "Though, I should ask. Wouldn't you rather have yours?"

"What do you mean?"

He holds out one huge servo, palm flat, and an image flickers to life, misty and glowing blue similar to the visions Alpha Trion had shown them. It's simple this time, just a standard transformation cog. But… Megatron chokes. "You mean-?! Th-This one is-?"

"Yours," the Prime nods. "We keep track. We've kept track of every cog he stole, and whom it belongs to. If you want yours, I'll grant it to you."

He's stunned silent, mouth hanging open and entranced by the vision. He… he could have it back? He'd come to accept that his cog was gone, that that monster had molested his newborn body and plucked it right from his chassis, that a part of him had been stolen and desecrated before he even opened his optics for the first time. A hurt that could never heal… a wound he'd carry til the day he died.

But now, Megatronus Prime, his greatest hero and idol, is talking to him and offering it back. All he can do is sit there with his jaw slack.

The god of war seems amused, laughing for real this time and reclining back against the solid metal behind him. He reaches out and wraps one arm around the youngling, who squeaks in surprise, and pulls him close against his side. "You don't have to decide now," he promises. "You can keep mine, if you like the way it feels. And if you change your mind someday, that's fine too."

He's not at all expecting the sudden sob that bubbles up from his side, and looks down in surprise. Little namesake suddenly curls against him, shaken by the first positive physical contact he's had in multiple days, beginning to weep with earnest against his hero's side.

"Wh-"

"I'm sorry!" The words burst out of him in a rasping voice heavily laden with sorrow and wet sobs. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry! I- I didn't mean to, it wasn't supposed to happen like that, I didn't wanna hurt him, I- I didn't mean to I was just so mad-"

This… really isn't Megatronus's forte. He doesn't know what to say, so opts not to say much at all, instead gently draping his arm around the young, miserable bot and just letting him huddle beneath him, weeping brokenly.

"I know, little one… I know. It's alright-"

"It's NOT alright!" He wails. "Nothing is alright! I wanna go home but I don't have a home anymore, and- and Orion hates me and everyone probably hates me and- and I killed my best friend and I took your cog without asking and," he takes a great, heaving, wheezing invent. "And I'm just like Sentinel!"

Megatronus goes from awkward to actively panicking in about 2 seconds. Ok, tears he can deal with. Let them cry it out and release all the stress and they'll be fine afterwards. That's how it goes. But… super deep seated self doubt and worry you've turned into the monster you just defeated? That's- That's really not something he knows how to deal with. Megatronus Prime does not know how to deal with kids.

"...wait, no-" he gives the little one a gentle shake. "No, no, that isn't true-" he continued to wail and cry like the world is ending, like his spark really has shattered into pieces. "You're not- you didn't intend to hurt your friend and wouldn't have if it was up to you, and--forgive me, Mother--Sentinel needed to be dealt with. "You've nothing in common with that mech aside from the cog you both hosted in your chest-"

That just seems to make him cry harder, and Megatronus flounders. What to do, what to do?! Um, uh-

"Oh!" He reaches up with both hands, undoing clasps and deactivating invisible magnets. "Here! Do you want to try on my mask?"

That gets him. Megatron raises his helm suddenly, still hiccupping, tears still streaming down his cheeks. His mouth is still trembling, but he's no longer wailing.

"Wh-" he whimpers softly. "What….?"

Megatronus undoes the last clasp and removes his giant purple mask, lowering it slowly and giving the little silver mech a somewhat sheepish look, red optics peering over the rim. "Do you… want to try it on?"

Megatron blinks twice, then thrice. "That's a mask?"

The god of war nods, lowering it further. He has an unexpectedly pretty, almost delicate face. "My Solus made it for me," he admits, sounding almost shy. "To tell the truth, I… ahem, I get… rather anxious when people see my face. Solus made this for me, quite a long time ago." it's huge when he reaches to offer it to Megatron, nearly the size and width of a small table.

Megatron's hands are still shaking as it's laid across his lap, pinning him to the ground end eliciting an "oof!" of surprise. It's heavy! It weighs more than the miners did when they were cogless! Probably still weighs more than some of them! He runs his hands over the smooth, tempered metal, awed by its quality and sheer size.

"You wear this all the time?" He asks, starstruck.

"Indeed. I never take it off, in fact." this was a special occasion, though.

"I… we thought this was your face," Megatron admits, nearly sheepish. He reaches up to touch his chassis, where the likeness of the god's mask is still etched painfully into the metal there, thanks to Sentinel. He steals a glance up at Megatronus, unable to quite believe what he's seeing. "Everything in the datafiles and history stuff, you're always wearing it. We- We thought you didn't have a mouth!"

Megatronus smiles at him, amused, and for the first time in days Megatron manages to smile, too.

"…can I really, uh…?"

The god of war snaps his fingers and the mask shrinks obediently, til it's just the right size. "Go ahead, youngling."

He exhales nervously and slips it on, fumbling unsurely with the clasps. It smells like sulfur and high quality energon, and something about it makes his whole body prickle.

After he's got it on, he looks up at Megatronus shyly, fidgeting. The world looks different from in here: his peripheral vision is cut off, and everything is framed with the shape of the optical slits. "Well…?" He wrings his servos nervously. "How do I look…?"

"…heh," Megatronus lays one servo on his helm, jostling him gently. "Like a little champion of war." He may be called Megatron now but he's still a child at spark, right now. He's painfully young, and Megatronus Prime is worried for him.

When Megatron wishes he had a mirror so he could see what he looks like with the mask on, and Megatronus is all too glad to grant that wish. It's good to see him less emotionally devastated, but soon after the little silver mechling settles back against his side. "I don't… wanna go to war," he admits forlornly, hugging his knees. "I… I wanna go home. I don't want a war."

"That means you're smart," Megatronus tells him seriously, which earns him a confused look. "I preside over war and reap power from it, but only a fool hopes for war. War incurs heavy loss no matter who you are, and those who actively seek it seek their own destruction in turn. Tis my duty to govern that domain and stand as a guardian over those who must do battle." The Patron Deity of Warriors, Megatron recalls easily. The Guardian Prime of all who take up arms.

If the god of war himself encourages not to seek his domain, it's probably best to listen, no? He sags helplessly against the divine mech's side, feeling helpless.

"You said you want to go home?" Megatronus asks, and Megatron nods wordlessly. "Then… perhaps you should."

"I can't! Orion said- he's a Prime now, and he doesn't want me there, and- and I said I'd never trust another leader again-"

"You trust me, don't you?"

It's plain to see how much the kid idolizes him, and trusts him enough to, at the very least, cry his spark out and air his grievances. That certainly speaks of trust.

"Well- yes but, that's different!" Megatronus Prime isn't just some leader, he's one of the 13! One of the gods! Trusting him is different than trusting some uppity mortal that thinks they're better than everyone else and is willing to suck their lives away for their own benefit! Megatronus Prime isn't like that-

"Do you think your friend Orion is like that?"

"No!" The reflexive leap to defend his friend comes before he can really process it. "No of course not, he's-"

Megatron covers his mouth. Oh. Slag.

"Perhaps," the Prime reaches down and gently removes his mask from Megatron's face, gently lifting his chin with one finger. "A better vow would be to no longer place blind trust in those who lead. Don't deny yourself faith or hope, little one. Both are important in order for you or anyone to have a future."

A future. Right. He sighs, shoulders falling to their lowest point and averting his optics. What future? He's stranded on the treacherous surface with a bunch of bloodthirsty strangers, and if he shows even an ounce of weakness that screechy seeker is going to be jumping for his throat. If not him, then one of the others, surely. He couldn't have any sort of comfortable or trustworthy future with people like that surrounding him. Every friend he's ever had, all of his batchmates, his siblings, his family, they're all back in Iacon. The mecha in the high guard hold no love for him, nor do the ones he's left behind. None of them ever will again. Even Orion, his... his everything, even he surely hates him now.

"Do you truly believe that, little one?"

"Yes! Wouldn't you?! I- I killed him!" Accidentally, and because Orion threw himself in front of his weapon, but still. "Sentinel Prime killed you, don't you hate him?" internally, Dee hates himself for hurting Orion. Surely Orion must hate him as much as he hates him, right?

"Sentinel," Megatronus spits the name in a vengeful rasp. "Murdered me in cold blood, as he did several of my siblings. We're still deciding what to do with him. Orion Pax threw himself in front of your weapon and was caught in the crossfire. You did not seek to murder him, nor did you seek to harm him. Twas an accident, nothing more, and not deserving of hatred. Not the hatred you hold for yourself, nor the hatred you presume he holds for you."

"But..." Megatron shrinks in his shadow, tears beading along the bottom lid of his optics. "But..."

"Hush," the Prime's command is firm but still very gentle. "You want to go home. You don't wish for war. Then I ask you, little one: what must you do to achieve those goals?"