#it is my duty to ensure i do not suffer alone

[seijorhi]

i swear everytime i feel a little bit crazy i can reread your fics at the back of my mind so i feel alive. miss rhi dont ever go away I BEG U

i may be a bit (lot) slower with my writing atm but you will pry this blog and writing these fics from my cold, dead hands.

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

Homer!Odysseus and Epic!Odysseus would try to kill each other if they ever met

[moonmaiden1996]

The Monster Maomao Created Part 3

These things took time. Time to orchestrate, to implement, to get right. Time you, unfortunately, did not have.

Your father had not returned that night.

In truth, you had seen him only in passing for weeks now. One glimpse from a corridor, another when he handed off urgent reports to aides as he rode through the outer gates. Between strategy councils and leading drills with the troops, he seemed more like a ghost than man lately. The latest dispatches from the northern border had stripped away ambiguity—rumors turned to warnings, warnings into facts. War no longer loomed like a distant shadow. It advanced—quiet, steady, inevitable.

And with it, your father had vanished into his duties, leaving you alone in the palace with your own battle to wage.

This was not the battlefield he knew—no clash of swords, no banners raised to the wind. This war wore rouge and whispered behind fans. It traded in glances, not arrows. And you had to fight it without him.

Which is why you had done the unthinkable: stepped directly into the lair of one of the most powerful women in the palace—alone.

The private chambers of Empress Gyokuyou were a place of cultivated tranquility, where even silence felt intentional. Amber light spilled through silk-paneled screens painted with cranes in mid-flight and branches of plum blossom that never faded. The delicate scent of camellia oil lingered in the air, subtle and clinging. Toys rested in artful corners—a carved rabbit, a painted drum, a silken ball—placed not haphazardly, but with care. Even innocence was curated here.

The Empress sat before you on a raised cushion of brocade, her robes a symphony of reds and pinks, her posture as precise as calligraphy. Her face was unreadable, carved with years of composure. She watched you with jade-colored eyes. Her lips curved into a faint smile—not cold, but not warm. Perfectly balanced.

"I do not want us to be enemies," you said softly, voice clear despite the weight of the moment. "My path seems already set. I must walk it, whether I would or not."

She lifted her cup and sipped slowly. The soft sound of liquid moving was the only reply for a long moment.

"I have always admired your father. He is an honorable man. Loyal beyond question. He has supported the Emperor since the beginning of his reign."

"It is true," you said, nodding. "My father respects and loves the Emperor deeply. And he holds equal respect for you, and for your children."

Her gaze lingered, searching, as though peeling layers you had thought well hidden.

"And you?"

You bowed your head, the jeweled hairpin in your crown catching the midday sun. Light glanced off it, a deliberate gleam—subtle, but unmistakable. A token from him.

Everyone knew what the pin meant. The pin had been given months before, hidden away in your dressing box, ignored. It was beautiful—carved of white jade and inlaid with white gold—a design too fine, too significant to be random. The Moon Prince's pin. In the court, such a gift was no mere ornament. It marked imperial interest. You were being chosen. Endorsed. And by wearing it now, you stated the choice you had made to the Empress herself.

"I came here because I wish to affirm my devotion to my empress. If this marriage… if it comes to fruition might cause some upset. I wish to ensure that doesn't happen" You straightened your posture as you met her gaze.

She paused. The silence was long, but not empty. Her eyes flicked once to the toddler nestled against her side, to the baby in her arms, before she turned her gaze back to you.

"Would you care for more tea?"

You had not been dismissed. That was something. A small victory, in a place where such things mattered. If you made an enemy of her now, you could very well be suffering the death by a thousand cuts.

"Yes, please." You smiled, demure and serene. A smile shaped not for affection, but diplomacy. You had long ago learned how to wield your expressions like weapons, same as the Empress in this you were equal.

At her signal, her ladies-in-waiting quietly stepped forward, bowed, and disappeared through a side door, their silk robes whispering as they moved. The hush that followed was deeper now, the room emptier. Just the two of you—and the Empress’s children, her preoccupied daughter and son, tucked against her side.

The children were the reason for everything. The reason for Jinshi—or whatever his name was to be in the rear palace, the reason for you needed to be here. Children were always sources of trouble—the need to secure their future, to keep them safe, to even have them. You did not know the Empress well, but you knew she was a good mother, and despite her kindness she would be as savage as any bear to protect her children. You appreciated that. You would be the same. But it made this even more difficult.

Then, without warning she spoke again.

"Could you love him? Truly?"

Your fingers hesitated on the rim of your cup. The question hung in the air. Did you? No. Could you? Maybe. As a young girl you might have been giddy, gushed around the Prince—but as a women you know how truly dangerous it was .

"I think… I could." You pondered. "I know I will be a good wife."

She looked down into her tea. "Jin... Ka Zuigetsu is shy after being isolated from much of court life due to his...illness. He... lacks confidence, even despite the front he wears. He is dear to me… I owe him much. I only want him to be cherished, as I cherish the Emperor."

"I can only try." You offered the words carefully, letting your tone soften just enough. A small show of sincerity—but never vulnerability.

She studied you again, not with suspicion, but with calculation—the kind that had become second nature to women like her. "You would be a fierce wife. Sharp. Loyal. Intelligent. The court would do well to fear you. And you would make a strong mother, no doubt."

Her hand moved gently, almost absently, to brush a lock of hair from her son’s face. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake, safe and warm beneath his mother’s arm. "This war comes too soon, when everything is unsettled.,. It gives people ideas," she said quietly.

You shifted slightly on your cushion. The Empress rarely spoke carelessly. But she was right, the prince was still a babe and with the war, it meant power struggles . And "ideas" could be the most dangerous thing of all in a place like this.

"They wouldn’t dare," you said, voice firmer now. You leaned forward, ever so slightly. "Your son is the only rightful choice."

Her gaze narrowed, not with anger, but with testing intent. "He is young. And there is no guarantee…"

"You will be blessed with more sons. All destined for greatness," you said quickly. It was true the young prince was young, and there were many dangers in the palace.

"And you? You want children, do you not?" Her eyes lifted sharply to yours.

Here it was—the threat. If you bore Jinshi children, they would not be minor princes to be married off to distant provinces. They would be born of imperial blood and martial lineage, noble on both sides. Children with your father's steel in their veins and your mothers connections to the western world, and Jinshi's royal blood, court-born charm and beauty and in anyone's eyes a dangerous weapon. Any child would be a threat that no amount of diplomacy could ignore.

Even now, the Empress must have seen it. How could she not? She was no fool. Her smile had been warm, but beneath it there had been calculation. The measured look of a woman who understood all too well how easily people turn.

You were not the enemy today. Not yet. But if you could establish a truce or an understanding, you and your family might just survive.

"I do." You held her gaze. No point lying. "But… these things take time. I doubt I will be blessed until there is a strong second born to bare the weight of the Emperors legacy."

You hated these layered words, this careful game of hint and half-meaning. Even if you did have a whole brood of strong boys, you would never let them near the court. It was too dangerous. You wanted a safe and happy family. Give them a childhood like you had. But that was not the game. No one would believe you. Why should they? So you played the game anyway, as all women at court did.

"You cannot know that," she said, though her voice softened around the edges. Her daughter toddled past the table, chubby legs wobbling slightly as she made her way toward her mother, giggling.

"There are ways," you replied. "Women have known them for centuries."

She understood. The knowledge passed between you, wordless but potent. Until the heir was secure—until a second son was born—you were not to conceive. It was easy enough to do. The safest thing you could do.

"It would be safer not to have children," she murmured, almost to herself.

A ripple of chill traveled down your spine, though you didn’t let it reach your face.

"I am still young. I have time to take a more leisurely approach," you said, still smiling, lifting the teacup with steady hands. "Though you do tempted me, especially when you show me your beautiful children to sway me into motherhood.'' You smiled the toddler as it chased a rather bashful cat across the room. ''Besides, I do not think you are cruel. You would not ask me such a thing."

"I would never ask that of a woman." Her voice shifted, and then, unexpectedly, laughter slipped from her lips. Not sharp, not mocking. Laughter that came too freely to be false. "I suppose that means you’ve thought about your future with the Prince… He is pleasing to the eye and kind… so kind… If he’s anything like his brother, he’ll certainly enjoy the act of making children." she teased.

Heat crept up your neck, though your smile remained composed.

"I’ll do my best."

"I'm sure you will—if the apothecary has anything to do with it. She has taught me more in keeping the Emperor happy than any other." More laughter, lighter this time. ''I am sure he wont know where or what to do with himself when he finally has you all to himself.''

You paled. For now you did not want to think about what or where he would put himself. Instead you would return home to your home. A tantrically retreat to regroup and plan your next steps. The hairpin shimmered again as you lowered your head, rising to stand.

"Then I think we understand each other. I look forward to our friendship. I will take my leave of you." You smiled and left.

Moments later, the lady-in-waiting returned with a steaming porcelain pot, blinking at the now empty spot.

"Your guest has gone, my lady. Is everything all right?" Hongniang whispered as she poured her lady a fresh cup of tea.

The Empress didn’t answer right away. She watched the steam curl from the teacup in her hand.

"I think so," she said quietly. "I hope so." Brushing her fingertips across her son’s soft cheek.

Xxxxxxxxxx

For now, you had the Empress on your side—tentative though her support might be. Still, it was something. In a court built on hidden knives and folded fans, the smallest alliance could mean survival.

Outside, the sun filtered through the latticework of the garden pavilion, tracing delicate patterns on the polished floor. The boys played among the chrysanthemums and peony bushes, their laughter echoing across the stone paths as they chased each other. When the food was laid out on the low lacquered table, the children rushed over like hungry foxes, settling onto the woven mats with eager hands.

Then—

“My lady, are you well?!”

Jinshi, his cheeks flushed the color of plum wine, his voice rising in panic. You really hoped none of the younger servants were nearby. The last thing you needed was a chorus of swooning girls gossiping about a blushing eunuch fluttering over your well-being or in his current state of dishevel. If one gushing girl saw the sight of his flushed skins you might have a riot on your hands.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, kneeling beside you, eyes darting over your form like a physician’s apprentice. “Should you be out of bed? Where is the physician? I—I’ll get you some congee, or ginger tea while you wait. You’re pale—too pale.”

Your brothers froze mid-bite, dumplings still in their mouths. A moment passed—then they burst into peals of laughter, delighted by the spectacle of the flustered young man circling you like a worried crane.

“I…” You blinked up at him, unsure whether to laugh or scold.

“Let me carry you to your chambers,” he continued, voice thick with concern. “The apothecary was right behind me. Apothecary! Where is she? Does your sister have a fever? I’ll send for herbs—a hot bath— maybe your father should be called he —”

Maomao entered just then, a little breathless and very irritated. “I told him not to come,” she muttered with a bow, “but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

“How can you say that right now? Tend to her!” Jinshi snapped, hovering so closely you could smell the faint trace of floral incense on his robes.

You sat still, trying not to laugh, as your brothers giggled behind their sleeves.

“Master Jinshi,” you said calmly, placing a steady hand on his arm. “Please calm yourself. I fear your concern is misplaced. I’m quite well.”

His eye twitched at your words. Something like frustration—or maybe embarrassment—flashed across his face.

“If you’re well… then why did you call for my apothecary?” His voice dropped. Behind him, Maomao tensed, her eyes fixed politely to the floor.

You hesitated, realizing your simple request for her to join you had been intercepted by a very nosy eunuch which could unravel far more than you intended. Damn him. You could not tell him your real desire to see his servant. 

“I… I have been having trouble sleeping,” you said gently. Not a lie, but not the truth “Yes… And I thought your apothecary might have a remedy to ease my rest. I didn't mean to trouble you… I didn’t think you would get the message.” You eyed him as he blushed bashfully at you. “Please forgive me. That was not my intention.”

You bowed deeply, and when you lifted your gaze, Jinshi’s expression had softened.

“My lady… you need not apologize. I’m only glad you’re well.”

“I’ll prepare a medicine for My Lady,” Maomao added quickly, already making her exit with swift, efficient steps.

Coward, you thought, glaring at her back.

Jinshi, meanwhile, was staring at you again—moonstruck, dazed. His beauty was… unfortunate. Smooth skin, lashes long enough to shame a courtesan, the gentle slope of his nose too perfect for a man. Even his robes did nothing to hide his physique. Too perfect for your peace of mind.

Handsome husbands cause problems. But perhaps, you considered, they were at least easier to bed—easier to maneuver once there. You had heard tales and tricks from women in the bathhouse of all the methods and positions they used to avoid looking at their husbands while they gave them pleasure. At least you would not have to deal with that. It would make taking him to your bed as a husband and a lover easier. You wondered how he would be as a husband. Would he even be interested in that? Perhaps only one way to find out.

“Please,” you said, composing your features into something soft and sincere, “won’t you join us?”

“I… I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please, Master Jinshi,” you interrupted, leaning closer. “As an apology. For troubling you.”

You smiled—not a practiced court smile, but a coy smile, not seductive, but warmer than you had given him before. You regretted it immediately.

Jinshi blushed violently and seemed to melt into his own shadow. “It would be… my pleasure,” he managed.

“Then please,” you said, bowing your head slightly, “sit beside me. Let me serve you.”

xxxxx

The food was a masterpiece of imperial luxury. Steamed buns puffed like clouds, glossy with sweet glaze. Thin slices of roast duck curled atop a bed of lotus root. Tofu steeped in a spicy sauce shimmered beside bowls of pickled cucumber, delicate and pale green. Long platters bore fish dressed in ginger and spring onion, while bamboo baskets steamed with dumplings stuffed with shrimp, pork, and wild chives. Fragrant jasmine rice steamed beside braised mushrooms glistening with soy and sesame oil.

Jinshi writhed—visibly—when you plated his meal with your own hands. He peered down into the soup you poured him with hesitant suspicion.

“I assure you,” you said with a sly smile, “the food is quite safe. All prepared by the palace kitchens, and my servants are thoroughly trustworthy.”

Your eyes flicked toward the silk screen, behind which a couple of blushing maids giggled uncontrollably.

“I… I’m sure,” he said weakly.

You lifted your spoon, plucked a glistening slice of mushroom and broth from his bowl, and slipped it into your mouth. Chewing slowly, you stared directly at him.

“I promise,” you murmured, “you are safe here. No women will chase you.”

You plucked another bite—tender chicken, still steaming—and held it to his lips.

He stared at you, eyes wide, wild, and a little glassy allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips— directly to where you put your lips. His eyes never left yours as he drank greedily, lips lingering too long on the spoon. You might have giggled had it not been so thoroughly satisfying. It would seem he was very interested in you. 

The meal continued in lively spirits. Jinshi proved himself surprisingly charming, if a bit overly fawning. But he was attentive to your brothers, which you rather enjoyed. He was good with them, he might be a good father, if the time came, if not a bit of a pushover.

“I want sesame buns!” your youngest brother pouted, lower lip wobbling, while the elder had already begun to sniffle.

“I—I will ask the kitchen!” Jinshi blurted, starting to rise from his seat in panic.

“You will get sesame buns when you finish your vegetables,” you said, voice calm but cutting. “And don’t even think about hiding them in the plant pots again like you do with Father.”

Your brothers flinched, wilting a little under your stern gaze and they weren’t the only ones. 

Jinshi  went scarlet—and then pale. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. It would seem Maomao was right—he did like to be told off.

“Master Jinshi—are you well?” you asked, arching a brow.

“A-ah! Yes!” he coughed, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. “A piece of sweet potato went the wrong way…”

He tried to compose himself with a cough and a dazzling smile, but his eyes flicked up—locked on your hairpin.

“That pin…” he said quietly.

You were surprised it took him this long to recognize it, but glad. If he was to interrupt the evening and spoil a chance at speaking with the indebted apothecary, you were going to make the most of it.

“It was a gift,” you replied, lowering your gaze modestly.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“…It suits you,” he murmured, eye transfixed on you.

You smiled. Yes. Handsome husbands were trouble. But trouble could be useful.

So let me know what you think of this chapter and the concept in general. The reader is going to play hard and dirty but she has a way to go. I would love to know your thoughts on the reader or Jinshi

LIKE> COMMENT> REQUEST

More to come soon

@one-piecelover

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ You were always meant to be nothing. A servant, a shadow in the grand halls, another soul swallowed by his world. And yet, he sees you. Knows you better than you want to be known. When you stop running, was it ever a chase at all?

PAIRING ᯓ trueform! Sukuna x fem! reader

WARNINGS ᯓ fem! reader, throat fucking, Sukuna is murderous, choking (barely), oral (m + f receiving), two cocks (one hole), second mouth, he's lowkey down bad for you, stomach bulge, he cries, choking on it, he wants everyone to hear you, you're lowkey jealous because he fucks you so well.

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.4k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO ⋮ SUKUNA

No time for anything but duty.

Dawn was yet to break when you stirred from your thin, pearl white bedding, the distant toll of a gong signaled the start of another day to service the King of Curses. Frigid air coming from your open window causing goosebumps to kiss your skin, fingers stiff while you pushed upward to swing your feet off the bed.

The grand hall awaited.

Moving quickly through the dim corridors, your footsteps slapped against the stone. Other servants were bouncy, murmuring among themselves as they hurried to their own tasks. For some reason, Sukuna preferred you. That fact alone ensured you were allowed no leisure, no freedom, no pleasure.

The grand hall was vast, towering pillars with gilded braziers. It was your responsibility to rekindle them, to sweep away the remnants from last night’s indulgences. Scattered bones, wine stains, the destruction Sukuna left wherever he went. You worked in silence, sweeping, scrubbing, making sure to leave not a trace of mess before he entered.

By midday, your monotonous duties led you to Sukuna’s chambers. A cavernous space lined with dark silks and the ever-present scent of blood. You moved with your usual practiced efficiency, wiping down the lacquered surfaces and straightening furnishings. All while listening, there was always something to hear.

Today it was Uraume’s voice, calm and collected.

“They begged for mercy.”

Sukuna chuckled, low and amused. “Did they?”

“You slew them anyway.”

“Their supplications did but offend me,” he spoke, tone laced with disdain, waving his hand dismissively. “To levy demands upon one such as I… how unworthy the breath spent.”

Uraume didn’t argue. They never did. No one did.

It was always like this, he destroyed for no reason. No one dared to question it.

A heavy presence filled the room as you straightened the last piece of furniture. A kind of presence that made the hairs along your arms raise before you turned. You knew what was about to happen.

“You are slow today.”

His voice was smooth. You kept your eyes down, focusing on the task at hand.

“I am thorough,” you corrected, wringing the cloth in your hands over the soapy water bucket.

“Hm.”

A single sound. You’ve been here long enough to hear his smirk.

You swallowed the sharp retort that rested on your taste buds and moved toward the door when you finished your last task. Before you could reach it—

“Woman.”

You stopped, not by choice but because it was a command. Even if it wasn’t meant to be.

“Do you find my chambers displeasing?”

You blinked once, face expressionless. “I find them filthy.”

Another pause, then a laugh. Though not cruel, but entertained.

“Good.”

He merely watched as you turned on your heel and left.

You hated him.

You hated everything about him.

His arrogance, his amusement of suffering, the way he looked at you as though he were waiting for something, like one day you might offer him more than disdain.

You hated being here at all. That all your life was to serve him. Losing all purpose and reduced to serving a homicidal monster who thought himself a god.

And yet, he preferred you. That was the worst part.

He would never let you be. That's why you were the only servant allowed to perform duties inside his personal chambers. It made you wonder why you were always given the task of cleaning up after him, it was like he wanted you to see what he did.

It had been weeks of the same grueling routine of your new schedule, of enduring his presence and feeling the unwieldy weight of his gaze even when you weren’t looking. You should have expected it, that sooner or later he would grow tired of the silent treatment.

Your summons came at dusk. One of the lesser servants palpitating as they spoke.

The lord has requested you.

His chamber was dimly lit, braziers casting shadows against the silk-draped walls. Sukuna was reclined, one arm against the curve edged atop his throne.

“Woman.”

You stopped a few paces before him, reluctantly bowing to the floor.

“Lord.” The word seared your tongue, burning like embers from a growing flame.

A slow smirk grew on his lips. “How obedient.”

He studied you for a moment, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. Exhaling through his nose like he was disappointed, “you hate me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Is it amusing to state the obvious, my lord?”

He chuckled, “I find amusement in many things.” A pause, then quieter, more deliberate, “you, most of all.”

Your fingers twitched, brows furrowing slightly as your eyes narrowed. “Then find new entertainment.”

His smirk widened. More certainty than mockery from before.

“You loathe me,” he mused. “And yet, here you stand. When I call, you come.”

“I am a servant.”

“A servant whose words do not wane. And yet, you do not leave.”

You swallowed, no response to give. Truth is you took up being a servant for added protection and the free rent. Beforehand, you had been struggling to make ends meet for years. Now, you are one of the longest lasting servants Sukuna had the pleasure of employing. You could leave, sure, at the expense of your life. But you already gave your life up to serve him. It was this or death.

Sukuna leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Is it duty that keeps you here?” His eyes flickered, “or something else?”

Your breath caught halfway down your throat.

There it was, the shift. The shift you refused to acknowledge, the one he stoically waited for you to realize.

The thing is, he didn’t demand it. He didn’t ask. He simply made it inevitable.

And you hated him for it.

The silence between you stretched. You should have scoffed and turned on your heel already, leaving without another word. But here you were, feet remaining on the polished floor, fingers gripping the inside of your sleeves.

Sukuna only watched, an unreadable expression you’ve grown to detest. He had no smug grin, no sharp amusement. Only patience. He was waiting like he always did.

Your jaw clenched while your eyes darted to the floor. “You are mistaken if you think—”

He shifted and rose to his feet in one shift motion. The space between you disappeared too quickly. His presence was overwhelming, looming over him the thousands of innocent lives taken for the sake of amusement. Entertainment. One clawed finger reached forward, catching the edge of your chin and tilting your face upward.

“Am I?”

His voice was low, deep. Something sent heat crawling through your blood vessels, blaze threatening to set your skin on fire.

“You assume much,” you bit out. Resisting the instinct to pull away, resisting the urge every cell in your body was screaming at you for to pull away. After all, he would win if you did.

“I assume nothing.” His thumb brushed the curve of your jaw, cocking his head back to truly look down at you. “I see.”

Your breath was uneven, rage and something else twisting in your chest creating the perfect mixture of rage, uneasiness, desire? “And what is it you think you see?”

A deliberate smile spread across his face slowly.

“A human who does not flinch.” His fingers traced lower, skimming your throat before resting his fingers around the back of your neck and thumb resting lightly in the curve between your collarbones.

“A human who has spent years writhing over a hatred that wavers.”

“No.” You answered, “you’re wrong.”

He hummed, stepping back and releasing the hold around you. Giving you just enough space to breathe, but not enough space to release you from the metaphorical tether he tied, binding you both together.

“Perhaps,” he pondered. “Or perhaps you are afraid of what hatred becomes when it festers too long.”

There was an invitation, a challenge in his tone. Something else entirely different from the usual amuse present in his gaze.

You should leave.

Walk away.

Turn and never come back.

But you didn’t.

That was all the answer he needed.

The worst part was he never saw you as weak, he didn’t dismiss you like he did other servants. He knew you would kneel before him willingly so there was no point in asking. Instead, he lured, pulled, and twisted until you were the one standing too close.

He leaned in, breath ghosting over your ear and down your neck. “Tell me, human,” he murmured. “If your hate is so pure, why is it that you linger?”

You could only shake your head, will your heart to stop its swift pace.

Moments of silence pass, Sukuna feeling you through his eyes, arms crossed across his chest while you kept your gaze low and head slightly bowed.

“What is it that you want?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Ah,” he said, tilting his head and bringing his hand up to his chin as if he was in great contemplation. “Finally, the right question.”

“You know what I want,” he continued, his voice nothing over a small rumble. “The real question is, what is it that you seek?”

Your breath stilled, he was doing it again.

Twisting, digging, forcing you to see something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You hated him.

And yet—you wanted him.

He hummed and walked away, turning around half way to curl his finger at you, petitioning you to follow. You did just that, unsure of how this all happened. How had you got here in the first place? Your own feet brought you here, yet you barely remember the journey. Here you remain, following your lord where his bed lay.

It’s then that he grabbed your body whole, whipping you around to face him while he sat on his bed as you stood between his legs.

“Well?” He began after moments of stillness and silence. “On your knees.” While he gripped the crown of your head and pushed you to the floor.

You didn’t resist. In fact, you obliged without hesitation.

You skillfully opened his robe to reveal his rock hard length. Holding back a gasp at the sight before you—two cocks. Nimbly gripping both with each hand, choking each while you lapped your tongue on both tips, spitting and letting it drip to his base, giving each equal treatment.

He watched before you, an expressionless face as you loved on his cocks, reacting indifferently.

You gazed up with inquisition to watch his reaction as you dragged your tongue down one and began pumping a steady rhythm with the other in hand.

He let out a quiet hiss, almost too quiet for your dept ears to hear when you completely enveloped him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his length while his cock head grazed your uvula, causing you to gag. You coughed around his cock, letting dribbles of spit mixed with his precum drip from your mouth to his base. You sucked and sucked, pinching your cheeks around his thick veiny circumference.

You only popped! your mouth off him when you felt his hips jerk in attempt to throat-fuck you. It wasn’t now that he was allowed that control. Not after the nauseating consciousness he forced upon you earlier.

Lowering your lids while you traced the veins up and down his second cock, using your free hands to jerk his other, twisting in tandem, squeezing tightly when you reached his angry red tip. You pointed your tongue and circled his tip and opening, as if to tease the one you serve.

You watched as his eyes narrowed, you saw the way he held back his moans. You saw the way he had to fight his body going limp by positioning his arms to brace his upper body behind him.

You embraced his second cock in your mouth, this time letting one hand pump the length your mouth couldn’t reach. He brought his hand out to smack yours away, gripping the back of your skull and pushing you down.

You choked, coughed, gagged. Tears brimming the corner of your eyes when you moaned and adjusted to the sensation of his cock in your throat.

And he was so deep you were sure he could see the outline of it. His breath quickened for a moment before he pulled you off. “Enough.” He said calmly. He wasn’t calm.

He grabbed your forearms to pull you atop him, forcing your clothed pussy to graze his spit covered, sloppy cocks.

“Your garments. Remove them at once.” He demanded.

You did as told, taking your time in attempt to mock him. Pulling your shirt over your head slowly to reveal your braless chest. You watched his blank face, not missing the way his pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when your rotund tits bounced out from the fabric holding them back. He gripped one firmly in his large hand, letting the plush tissue of your breast pillow between his fingers as he massaged with greedy desire, letting out a quiet hm like he was deciding something, or rather, coming to a conclusion.

He wanted this just as much as you.

When you removed your pants and panties he grabbed your waist tightly to position you so your pussy would grind against his cocks that lay on his naturally-defined abs.

“Hah,” he laughed. Feeling your dripping cunt coat him in even more of your sweet fluids. “Ready for me already, are you?” He still gripped you with two hands, using an extra hand he slapped your pussy. The sound of it squelching filled the empty room as he kept slapping it, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull.

You splayed your fingers on his chest for support, looking up at him with a distressed look on your face when he positioned his first cock at your entrance.

“Human, can you not handle me?” It was a rhetorical question. Not that you’d give him the pleasure of hearing your answer even if it wasn’t.

You furrowed your brows and sat down as if to prove a point, filling yourself up immediately with one of his cocks, ignoring the pain, the sting you felt while he nearly tore you apart.

He gritted his teeth, “I see now.” He smiled, “you are too inexperienced.”

You stuffed yourself repeatedly, almost seeing stars every time your hips descended at the limited capacity your small body had in comparison to him. “Inexperienced?” you huffed out between breaths, tears rolling down your cheeks and eyes pinched shut. “My lord… should you… expect me to… lay with more men?”

“I never said such a thing.” He growled, seeking the strength to resist stuttering his hips from your painfully languid pace. He didn’t want to hurt you too much.

You felt your walls begin to flutter around his cock already, your clit hitting the wet tongue of the mouth on his stomach every time you filled yourself with him. It had been only a few minutes of this, and yet your body still hasn’t adjusted. He had a good two inches that wouldn’t fit. His tip was already kissing your cervix, the ache that rang through your entire body like a bell when your poor pussy couldn’t keep up with even a slow pace. He was painfully large.

“Make haste, human.” He spoke, lowering his lids and sucking an inhale through his lips. “Hasten your pattern. Reach your precipice.”

You felt the building pressure in your stomach when he spoke, the coil tightening in your abdomen as you lost composure and came from a single one of his cocks alone when you felt him internally grunt and muscles tighten beneath your palms. Your body nearly went limp, as when you went to collapse forward he caught you, switching positions quickly so you lay on your back with him between your legs, now pulled out from your entrance.

“Inadequate,” he voiced, gripping both cocks with either hand, centered at your entrance. “This shall be rectified at once.”

And before you knew it, he was inching both of his cocks inside you. It burned, it felt as if he was searing you apart, like you were a fly compared to an elephant. The throb you felt radiating through you that started at your center, the sweet, sweet throb.

You saw the way he looked up at you, looking for permission to continue. You threw your head back whimpering, gripping the sheets at your sides with your mouth agape. Looking at him once more to see him avert his concerned gaze turn into a more nonchalant one.

“You must take this.” He looked down, having the tongue on his lower stomach dart out to lap at your folds, caressing your clit with care as if to soothe your pain.

He took the hint when you linked your ankles behind his sculpted back, pulling him in. He gripped your thighs, threw your ankles above his shoulders and pulled your body to him. Letting him fill up as much as possible before hitting the limit.

Getting in another inch or two, he began his erratic pace. Grunting as he thrusts, he held a wicked, evil smirk on his face while he gripped your waist like you’d run away.

“I… I still hate you,” you reminded him. Sukuna made you drunk. It was the pain, the pleasure, the agony from losing this fight with him. He only let out a demented laugh in response.

You panted loudly, clenching around his length as if it were a lifeline. You’d gotten somewhat used to his size with just one cock, and now he fucked you apart with both. It was truly a transcendental experience, pain morphing into pleasure, hate turning into a reluctant passion.

He removed one cock and began fucking you at an erratic pace with the other. His other cock slapping your stomach each time he snapped his hips, rutting into you and grunting like an animal.

You were still so tight, and now his one cock could fit fully inside you, like he really did stretch you out to fit him. He saw the bulge of himself outlining your lower abdomen, giggling to himself.

“You humans,” he huffed out, voice low and gritty, “are so fragile.”

Your moans only became louder when he pounded faster, deeper. At one point deciding to cover your own mouth in attempt to lower your voice from being heard, he smacked it away.

“You must not.” He commanded. “The estate must be apprised of our connection.”

He then brought his calloused hand to rest at the base of your neck, teetering on the edge of just barely gripping you but still keeping you in his hold. Your fingers linked behind his neck, beckoning him to come closer.

Your lips met, kissing for the first time and sharing breaths, moaning in his mouth. And fuck, was he a good kisser. You wondered if he’d ever done this before… and with who.

His lips devoured yours like he’d been waiting years for your arrival. Like he could never get enough. It was such a stark contrast to his usual bloodthirsty demeanor. He was ruthless in having you, lying in wait for you to realize what you already knew. The festered hatred splitting in two to create something new. The fire burning in your chest with hate wasn’t so different from the fire in the pit of your stomach as his cock alone made you cum for the second time tonight.

Sukuna rarely demanded, and he never chased. He simply stood, watched, and waited.

When the moment came, and years lying in wait for the moment when you turned toward and not away, he would not gloat. He would only smirk, as if to say, finally.

For all his taunting, smug certainty, he was just as bound to you as you were to him, your lord. Something about you was different than the rest of the servants. The care and precision you put into your duties was different than their usual mindless acts of submission. Your defiance was sharp and deliberate. You may serve him, but you never belonged to him.

And that was what he sought most from humans and rarely found. Not a servant, not obedience, but you. Entirely and willingly consumed by something stronger than hatred.

That’s why he gravitated towards you, and that’s why he picked you to be the first human to ever become intimate with him.

Therefore he waited. He waited for the moment you’d stop resisting the inevitable. For the moment you were his just as he, in the depths of his cruel, stubborn heart, was yours.

Which is why when he expended himself, painting your walls with thick ropes after ropes of cum, room filled with the slowing slap of skin, grunts, panting, smelling of shared sweat and sex, you just had to ask,

“My lord, are you crying?”

[colossrat]

Marvel is old. Like, not just bcs he is a entity of zillions of years old Billy was born and imprisoned for several years in a relatively conservative time full of prejudices.

When the time bubble pops and the League finds out about it, they expect Captain Marvel to be some kind of very close-minded, militaristic guy who will find the new generation full of sins (They don't know that in Fawcett there is so much magic, different species and queer entities that it is impossible to really be a socially backward place. They also don't know that the captain is a guy who doesn't like the police very much and his favorite sport is beating up nazis)

And well, finding out that the guy you thought would give you headaches in the modern age is actually super happy about it is kind of shocking Batman already had several slides ready to give the captain a lecture about respect

Marvel: Oh my gods, I found some pamphlets about these pride parades. Mr Batman, can I take this weekend off? I would love to go with my brother there!

Batman: Your... brother?

Marvel: Yes! Well, my whole family. We were part of some protests for the queer community in my time, but we were not part of any since the bubble. He liked the idea, but he's too shy to go alone, so me, my brothers and sisters wanna go with him to support him!

Batman: ... Of course, I will arrange for someone to take over your monitor duties

And next week there are several news about how the new-old heroes appeared on pride parade.

They help with things like free water and snacks distribution, first aid for minor injuries, they ensure that no homophobes try to start a fight, they don't let it turn into a mess and in general they also participate. They are practically all painted in colorful colors, their capes are personalized, some of them are dancing, others are further away taking care of the environment. Marvel does some magic tricks, makes rainbows appear in the sky and all that And they absolutely shower the green-suited superhero, aka they bro, with support and love. Vicki Vale and Cat Grant are dying to know why

And things like this just keep happening. Is there a protest in Asia about feminism? The Shazam family will be there, Mary and Darla protesting while their brothers stand around staring at anyone who wants to intervene. Community centers for homeless charities? captain will appear to call the public, ask for support and do some tricks to please the rich Donations to hospitals? They are all out there distributing news, asking anyone who can help, to help. A movement for teacher salary justice in Brazil? They are already there to help Or are movements taking place to preserve Brazilian flora? because of the criminal fires happening in the Amazon? They are there again, using their magic to heal what was hurt, put out what burned and protest, demanding more attention from the government. Do they want to take away land from indigenous tribes? They're going to have to go over the captain first. News broke about high levels of trash in the ocean. But Aquaman barely has time to deal with it himself, he sees his co-worker there with his family gathering pieces of trash and separating them for their own disposal, using spells to separate chemicals and water pollution. Is Gotham suffering from polluted air? The captain will gather a bunch of clouds and sprinkle them with some magic, and his raindrops will gradually purify the air for the people Is a police officer being cleared after attacking a teenager? no no no, marvel will be in front of the police station in the morning along with a bunch of civilians wanting justice Does a police car, or any car in general, have a sticker that supports some kind of tyrannical movement? apology for the Nazis? to an oppressive government? a prejudiced joke? Oh man, you better be ready for dawn with every part of this car missing, probably being sold illegally and having the proceeds sent to charity The fact that the captain calls the police bastard pigs was a shock, some got defensive and such, others thought it was great. It was a slight headache for the Justice League when it came to the media, but it's not like the government liked them before The movements in Brazil are there because im brazilian, raised by a teacher, there was no way to avoid it. Billy come to brasil <3

[bibibbon]

Need to get something off my chest

People in the fandom blaming Nana for causing Shigaraki to be abused and all the suffering the Shimura family went through as well as calling her decision to abandon Kotaro stupid is if someone blamed all the abuse and horrible actions of Enji that the Todoroki family had to suffer through on Enji's deceased father.

Specifically people appear to zone in on Nana's call to not have All Might or Gran Torino check in with her family when it makes sense. She knows AFO has eyes and ears everywhere and will use that to kill those closest to her and those around her as we know since Nana's husband is dead by the time Kotaro is given up for adoption and All Might leaves Japan for the US in order to avoid AFO for that same reason. There is also no way for Nana to know that her successor would wind up as the strongest wielder of One For All and would be the first person to take down All For One.

I'm not sure if you were in the mha critical side of tumblr, but this is a very common opinion here. Nana deserved better, and none of the nana hate honestly made sense.

People shouldn't blame nana for doing what she could to protect her child. She explicitly said that she had done it to protect him, and she didn't willingly want to give up her child. The act wasn't done out of malice but was done out of love. Her husband was dead, and all for one was on her tail. She had to train all Might, and there was no safe choice to keep kotaro. It was a hundred times safer to make a distance between her and kotaro so he could live without the burden of his mother's duties on top of him caring or threatening to cause him constant harm.

Nana tried her best as a mother, and we didn't talk enough about it. She, at the beginning, was probably the breadwinner of the family, her job making it so that she had limited time with her son, yet from the flashbacks we see that kotaro loved his mother dearly. He loved her that child him simply cried and cried when she was about to leave, he loved her to the point that he kept her picture acknowledging that she was his mother yet despising that she left him all alone. His hatred of nana stems mainly from feelings of sadness and betrayal, which only exist because he loved his mother and felt safe when she was near.

I suppose we don't talk about the fact that after nana's husband died and she became a widow she had to juggle all the responsibilities of being a weirder of OFA, a mother who had to be constantly active in her child's life and a hero who had to save others while also ensuring that she earned enough money to keep her son comfortable.

I headcanon that at the time nana was never a good cook and that it was her husband that usually cooked for the family but when he died she had to take on the cooking duties which was a struggle but we see her actively trying even including her son in the process.

Giving up kotaro was the most logical circumstance, and I stand by that. I think to a certain extent, kotaro realises that too, and it's exactly why he doesn't blame his mother but blames her job he blames the hero, not his mother. To me, it evidently seems like kotaro separates nana into two different versions : the hero and his mother.

If we follow that belief, it's exactly why the only photo that kotaro has with his mother is so painful. Every time he sees that photo he in a way, is forced to acknowledge that both versions of nana are his mother. The photo shows his mother, but it shows her in her hero attire she is the 7th weirder of ofa in that picture not his mother but the mannerisms, the way she smiles and looks at him is that of a mother's look.

A haunting picture for kotaro. A picture of a mother's love.

Comparisons between enji and nana fall on deaf ears especially when you look at the circumstances and situations that both characters are faced with.

Enji DOESN'T love his children, his actions were out of malice, greed and desire to be great. He sacrificed family for greatness.

Nana LOVED her child. Her actions had a desire to protect, love, and care for her only family, her only offspring. A beautiful light in the world that she doesn't want destroyed by AFO. She had no choosing as I bet if she truly had the choice. She would do anything to love, protect, and be with her child. In a dreadful situation, nana chose the only way to guarantee kotaros safety.

[biggerbetterbat]

THE SECOND SON | one.

Ubbe Ragnarsson x oc!Valdis

Summary: Valdis travels to Kattegat to finally meet her husband. During the journey she reflects on the past and struggles with doubts. Ubbe struggles with his own worries.

Words: 5,916

A/N: Hello :) I came back with the very first chapter and I have everything figured out. I changed the oc name as there is another Astrid in the show…Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The memory was all she had. She was clenching it in her hands as if her life depended on it. Every day she was trying to recall the tone of his voice, the intensity of his stare, and the melody of his laugh. Her biggest fear was forgetting it, forgetting him.

Valdis stood on the deck of the longship, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the salty breeze tousled her hair. In her heart, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty churned like the restless sea beneath her. As the rhythmic sound of oars slicing through the water echoed around her, Valdis's thoughts drifted to the life that awaited her in Kattegat. Leaving behind her homeland, she embarked on a journey, where her fate awaited her in the form of an arranged marriage to Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok.

She recalled the relief she had felt when news of Ragnar's disappearance had reached her ears, a flicker of hope igniting within her that perhaps her arranged marriage would be called off. She couldn't deny the sense of liberation that had washed over her when he vanished without a trace. In the absence of Ragnar's influence, Valdis dared to dream of a different future, one where she was free to carve out her own path, unbound by the constraints of duty and obligation. Despite the hope for freedom that Ragnar's disappearance had kindled within her, she couldn't shake the profound sorrow that washed over her at the thought that she would never see him again.

However, he came back.

One of their sailors brought the news, and before she could fully process the implications of Ragnar's return, her brother had made a swift and decisive decision – they would set sail for Kattegat without delay, ensuring that Valdis fulfilled her obligations to her betrothed. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was leaving behind more than just her homeland – it was as if a part of her soul was being torn away with each passing wave. For a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the notion that this voyage was not merely a transition, but the closing of a chapter in her life, or maybe even the end of her life.

With a heavy heart, Valdis turned her gaze once more to the horizon, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited her in Kattegat.

"Forgive my intrusion, my lady," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle caress against the backdrop of Valdis's melancholy. "But I could not bear to see you suffer in silence."

Vadis's gaze lifted, meeting her servant's with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "You need not concern yourself with my troubles," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "They are burdens I must bear alone."

The servant's voice rang with conviction, each word infused with the unwavering loyalty that bound her to Valdis's side. "You would never be alone, my lady," she declared, her tone resolute as she met the young woman's gaze with determination. "For as long as I draw breath, I shall stand by your side, a steadfast companion through every trial and tribulation."

Valdis's heart swelled with gratitude at her servant's unwavering pledge, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. But she just placed her gentle hand on the servant's arm. "Thank you."

Sensing the heaviness in the air, the servant sought to shift the focus of their conversation, offering a glimmer of levity amidst the weight of her Lady's  burdens. With a gentle smile, she ventured forth, "My lady, forgive my curiosity, but I cannot help but wonder...what do you imagine Ubbe to be like? What image fills your mind when you think of him?"

As Valdis's gaze drifted once more toward the endless expanse of the ocean, her voice carried a hint of melancholy, mingling with the distant cries of seabirds and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I stopped imagining him long ago," she confessed softly, her words a whisper carried away by the breeze.

"In my mind's eye, Ubbe is a man of striking stature," she began, her words painting a vivid portrait of the man they both longed to know. "His eyes are like the sea on a stormy day, yet filled with softness. And his voice... it carries the weight of authority, yet holds a warmth that draws others to him like moths to a flame."

Valdis listened with rapt attention, her imagination ignited by the servant's vivid descriptions. "And his presence?" she pressed, eager to delve deeper into the realm of possibility.

The servant's smile widened as she continued, her words infused with a sense of wonder and awe. "His presence is like that of a warrior king, commanding respect without the need for words," she replied, her voice tinged with admiration.

"Hmm."

"Who knows what wonders fate may yet unfold? Perhaps in Ubbe, you will find not just duty, but unexpected blessings beyond imagining, my lady."

"What is the meaning of this? Have you no respect for the gravity of our situation?" said low and dangerous voice. The man's tone tinged with anger. The servant's heart quickened with fear, her earlier resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his wrath. She cast a fleeting glance at Valdis, her eyes pleading for understanding before retreating with haste, her steps echoing softly against the floorboards as she made her exit."This is not a matter of personal desires or preferences. It's a deal, a pact forged for the betterment of our family and our people."

"I know what my responsibilities are," she answered.

"Do you?" he demanded, his voice laced with accusation. "Or have you blinded yourself to the truth, consumed by the illusion of duty?"

Valdis met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and sorrow, her eyes betraying the inner turmoil she sought to conceal. "I am not blind, Olaf," she retorted, her words tinged with a hint of defiance. "But sometimes duty demands sacrifices that weigh heavy on the soul."

"I don't think you fully grasp the gravity of the situation, sister," he retorted sharply, his tone tinged with frustration. "This is not just about your responsibilities; it's about our family's reputation, our standing in the community. Your actions have consequences that extend far beyond your own desires."

As Valdis found herself alone once more, the echoes of her brother's words lingering in the air like a haunting melody, she turned her attention to the scene unfolding in front of her. With each passing moment, the distant figures aboard the vessels grew clearer, their silhouettes etched against the backdrop of the horizon like darkened specters emerging from the mists of time.

As the boat was slowly approaching Kattegat, Ubbe and Hvitserk stood on the shore, watching the it with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Ubbe couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that simmered beneath the surface of his thoughts.

"This unknown bride and forced marriage," Ubbe muttered bitterly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It's all Ragnar's doing. Chaos."

Hvitserk's voice cut through the air, his tone laced with skepticism as he addressed his brother. "Is it really that bad, Ubbe?" he queried, his brow furrowing with uncertainty. "Mother will be happy that her oldest son will finally have a wife and children. Plus the bride... maybe she's not that bad."

Ubbe paused, considering his brother's words carefully before responding. "Perhaps," he conceded, his thoughts still swirling with doubts and uncertainties. "He had no right to choose my future for me."

"He needed an army."

"He always needed something," Ubbe clenched his teeth. "Tell her my greetings," he instructed, his voice tinged with resignation.

Hvitserk watched his brother's retreating figure with concern, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice echoing against the shore.

Ubbe paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "To be alone for the last time," he replied quietly, his words heavy with the weight of impending change.

Hvitserk's eyes widened in realization, a pang of sadness gripping his heart at the thought of his brother facing his fate alone. "And what am I supposed to tell them?!" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration.

Ubbe shrugged, a sense of resignation settling over him. With a final nod to his brother, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest with purposeful strides.

As the boat docked, Valdis stepped onto the wooden planks, her hands trembling with nerves. She straightened her shoulders, steeling herself for the encounter that awaited her—a meeting with the Queen of Kattegat and her sons. At the far end of wooden planks, stood the Queen of Kattegat, a regal figure dressed in richly embroidered robes. Beside her stood her sons—Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar.

"Welcome to Kattegat," the Queen said, her voice firm but welcoming. "I am Aslaug, Queen of the North."

Valdis bowed her head respectfully.

As she looked up, she found herself meeting the eyes of Ivar the Boneless. There was something about him—something that sent a shiver down her spine. But beneath the intensity of his gaze, she saw something else—a glimmer of curiosity, perhaps, or even a hint of admiration.

Olaf, Valdis's brother, stood beside her, his expression a mixture of pride and protectiveness. As the Queen of Kattegat greeted them, his gaze narrowed slightly, assessing their hosts with a keen eye.

"We are honored to be welcomed into your kingdom," Olaf replied, his voice strong and unwavering. "I can't see your husband, or Ubbe. Are they coming? Or perhaps Bjorn?" he inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Aslaug's expression softened slightly, a shadow passing over her features as she considered her reply. "Bjorn will come in a moment," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of certainty. "As for my husband, I cannot say. And as for Ubbe..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Hvitserk interjected with a wry smile. "Ubbe is haunting," he remarked cryptically, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Olaf's confusion deepened at the enigmatic statement, his brow furrowing in bewilderment. "Haunting?" he echoed, his voice tinged with skepticism.

Valdis couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that Ubbe hadn't even wanted to see her upon her arrival. After all, they were to be married, and she had expected at least a greeting from her future husband.

As her gaze met Hvitserk's, she couldn't help but notice the warmth that radiated from his smile. It was a silent reassurance that she was not alone in this unfamiliar place. His smile was a beacon of light in the midst of uncertainty, a reminder that she had allies in this new and unfamiliar land. Valdis returned the smile. "Maybe...for the time being, I can show you around?"

"Thank you," she replied, her voice soft with appreciation. "But I would like to rest after the journey. Perhaps another time."

Hvitserk nodded understandingly, a warm smile gracing his features. "Of course," he said. "You'll have plenty of time to explore Kattegat."

"I believe, my sister's husband should take care of her," Olaf interrupted.

"Oh, he will," Aslaug answered with a tone, matching the man's tone.

Valdis's room was modest yet comfortable. A simple wooden bed stood against another wall, draped with furs and blankets to ward off the chill of the night air. Beside it, a small bedside table held a flickering oil lamp, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated the room with a sense of coziness. Opposite the bed, a stone fireplace crackled merrily, its dancing flames casting shadows across the room.

As Valdis settled into her new accommodations, her servant, a kind woman named Astrid, helped her unpack and get settled. "Have you seen Ubbe yet?" Ingrid asked, her tone gentle with concern.

Valdis shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "No, not yet. But Hvitserk has been very kind to me," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hvitserk seems to have taken quite a liking to you," Ingrid teased, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Valdis felt a blush creep into her cheeks at the remark. "Oh, stop it," she replied, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

But Ingrid merely chuckled, unfazed by Valdis's protests. "I'm just saying," she continued with a mischievous grin. Ingrid's teasing took on a more speculative tone as she continued, "A shame he's the younger brother, I suppose?"

Valdis shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "How would I know?" she replied with a hint of uncertainty. "I haven't met Ubbe. I still know nothing about him."

The mention of Ubbe brought a twinge of curiosity. Despite being betrothed to him, Valdis hadn't yet had the chance to form an opinion about her future husband. The uncertainty of their arranged marriage lingered in the back of her mind, overshadowed by the unexpected kindness she had received from Hvitserk. Ingrid nodded understandingly, sensing Valdis's hesitation. "Well, perhaps you'll meet him soon enough," she remarked optimistically. "And until then, you have Hvitserk to keep you company."

Valdis gave her a smile.

"Rest my lady," Ingrid bid her farewell and left the room, Valdis felt a sense of restlessness stir within her. Despite her weariness from the journey, her mind buzzed with thoughts of the mysterious "haunting" and Ubbe's absence. Unable to shake the feeling of unease, she knew she couldn't simply rest.

She undressed from her dress and put on the one that belonged to Ingrid. Her servants didn't know that she stole it from her to regularly sneak out of her room. When she was once again dressed, she draped a cape on her shoulders and with determination, Valdis rose from her bed, careful not to make a sound that would alert anyone to her departure. She moved swiftly and silently, slipping out of the room like a shadow.

As Ubbe strode through the dense woods, his footsteps echoing amidst the towering trees, he found solace in the quiet solitude of the forest. Though he had long accepted the inevitability of his arranged marriage, the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon him, casting a shadow of discontent over his thoughts. His future wife was here...somewhere, but here. She wasn't just a story or a thought. The woman was here and his marriage was getting real. With each step, Ubbe's frustration grew, his brow furrowed in consternation as he grappled with the uncertainty of his arranged marriage.

As he was walking deep in his thoughts, he didn't notice a person materializing in front of him. The sudden appearance of the unknown woman sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his senses sharpening with the primal instinct of survival. With a swift motion, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his gaze fixed upon the gleaming blade pointed in his direction.

"Stop!" called a woman.

As Ubbe observed the mysterious woman before him, his eyes were drawn to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her breaths coming in soft, rhythmic waves. Her white hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the dappled sunlight, framing her delicate features like a halo of golden light. Her features were finely sculpted, her skin kissed by the sun and the wind, imbued with a natural glow that spoke of a life. He felt a sense of awe wash over him, a reverence for the woman who stood before him.

As Valdis stood before the stranger in the woods, her hand trembling slightly as she pointed her blade at him, she couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at her insides. Despite her initial alarm, Valdis found herself captivated by the sight of the man who stood before her.

"I mean you no harm," he assured her, his words carrying the weight of honesty and respect. "I understand your caution, but know that I am not your enemy."

Valdis's shoulders relaxed slightly at Ubbe's reassurance, a flicker of relief dancing in her emerald-green eyes. "What are you doing here?" she repeated, her voice firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "The whole city is greeting newcomers...soon to be wife of Prince Ubbe."

Ubbe met Valdis's gaze with unwavering resolve, his expression earnest as he sought to ease her apprehension. "I needed some time alone," he explained, his tone gentle yet firm. "The prospect of my future weighs heavily upon me, and I sought solace amidst the quiet of the forest."

Under his calm voice, the tension started to drain from her muscles as she released the blade to the forest floor with a soft thud. With a weary sigh, she sank down. "Tell me about it," she mumbled under her nose.

Ubbe watched in silence as the woman settled onto the ground, her posture one of weariness and vulnerability. With a gentle expression, he joined her, lowering himself to the grass beside her - but in a safe distance, with his hands still up. He observed her eyes change from determined to filled with sadness. He eased himself down onto the grass beside her, his movements fluid and unhurried. Valdis mirrored his movements, easing herself down beside him until they lay side by side, their bodies parallel in the embrace of the forest floor.

Valdis closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the sun to wash over her, she felt a sense of calm settle over her being. With each breath, she felt herself sinking deeper into a state of relaxation, the tension melting away from her muscles.

Beside her, Ubbe's gaze lingered on stranger's profile, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her jawline and the graceful arc of her neck. In the dappled light of the forest, she appeared ethereal. As he watched her, Ubbe felt a stirring within his heart—a sense of wonder and admiration for the woman who lay beside him. With each passing moment, Ubbe found himself drawn further into Valdis's orbit, captivated by the quiet grace and inner strength that radiated from her like a beacon in the night.

"Are you a slave?"

"Aren't we all slaves of something?"

Ubbe felt a corner of his lips going up.

"Are you from around here?" he asked. "I have never seen you before."

"No," she answered. "I came here because I heard about Ragnar Lothbroke's come back."

Ubbe grimaced. "And why would you want to see him?"

"He's a legend."

"He's nothing," Ubbe scoffed. "The sooner you'll understand it the better for you."

"Why?"

"His actions brought pain and suffering to those closest to him, tearing apart his family with each selfish decision he made."

"He may have made mistakes, but his travels opened our eyes to worlds beyond our own, expanding our understanding of the world and its people."

"Have you ever dreamed of traveling to distant lands, beyond the horizon?" he asked suddenly.

"I desire this more than anything," she said. "There's a whole world out there waiting to be discovered, and I long to explore every corner of it."

Ubbe smiled, captivated by her fervor. "What draws you to it?"

Valdis's eyes danced with enthusiasm as she spoke. "It's all of those things," she answered. "I want to see whatever lays beyond the horizon. Every night I dream of setting sail on a longship, feeling the wind in my hair and the salty spray on my face. I yearn to explore the unknown."

"What's stopping you?"

"Responsibilities to my family."

"I understand more than you may realize."

"Is that so?" she asked, not looking at him. "Who are you then?"

"My name is Ubbe."

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around her fading into a blur as the weight of those words settled upon her like a heavy cloak. In the hushed stillness of the forest, Valdis's mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. As her heart raced with the realization of who lay beside her.

With a hesitant movement, she turned her head slightly, her eyes searching his features in the soft light of the forest. Finding that his eyes were already on her. As Valdis's gaze lingered on Ubbe's face, a sense of familiarity washed over her. Ubbe bore a striking resemblance to his father, Ragnar Lothbrok, the legendary Viking warrior she had met so many years ago. The same piercing gaze, the same rugged features, the same air of quiet strength that had captivated her from the moment they had first crossed paths.

"The Prince?" she asked before she bit her tongue.

"Have you seen my future wife?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the sky.

Valdis, her heart heavy with the weight of hidden truths, met his gaze with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "Yes, I have," she replied softly, her words laden with meaning that remained veiled to Ubbe's perception.

His brow furrowed in confusion, Ubbe pressed on, oblivious to the revelation that lay just beyond his grasp. "And?"

"And?" she met his eyes.

Curiosity burning within him, Ubbe turned back to Valdis, his eyes alight with inquiry. "Is my future wife... pretty?" he ventured, his voice hesitant yet tinged with a hint of anticipation.

Valdis, her gaze steady and her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, met his question with a measured silence, her mind racing with the words left unspoken. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," she finally replied, her words carefully chosen to obscure the truth that lay just beyond his grasp.

Undeterred, Ubbe pressed on, his curiosity unyielding. "Can you describe her to me? What does she look like?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue.

Valdis hesitated, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind. "She... possesses a certain grace," she offered cryptically, her words veiling the truth that hovered just beneath the surface.

Ubbe couldn't help but snort at Valdis's cryptic description. "Grace?" he repeated incredulously, his skepticism evident in his tone. "What does that even mean?"

Valdis, caught off guard by his reaction, struggled to maintain her composure, her mind racing for a suitable response. "It means... she carries herself with elegance," she replied hesitantly, her words chosen carefully to mask the truth lurking beneath the surface.

"Why would that information even be important?" he queried, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

Her heart racing with the weight of hidden truths, struggled to find the right words to appease his curiosity without revealing her true identity. "It's... important to know what to expect," she replied evasively, her words carefully chosen to obscure the truth that lay just beyond his grasp.

Unsatisfied with her response, Ubbe pressed on, his desire for clarity outweighing any sense of decorum. "But what does it matter how she looks or carries herself?" he persisted, his skepticism unyielding.

"It matters because... appearances can be deceiving," she offered cryptically.

"Tell me more." As Ubbe's persistence grew, he turned back to Valdis, his gaze intense with curiosity. "Tell me more. What have you seen?" he pressed, his voice firm and unwavering.

"This is all I saw," she replied softly, her words a careful blend of truth and evasion.

Unsatisfied with her response, Ubbe's determination only intensified. "Tell me," he insisted, his tone imploring.

"Why haven't you welcomed her? You would know," Valdis countered, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation as she sought to deflect his inquiries.

Ubbe's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind grappling with the implications of her words. "Welcome her?" he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

But before he could press further, Valdis, sensing the precariousness of their situation, chose her next words with care. She shook her head and turned her head away. I must go now," she murmured softly.

As Valdis prepared to leave, Ubbe, unaware of her identity as his future wife, couldn't help but feel a pang of reluctance at the thought of their impending parting. With a sense of longing in his heart, he turned to her, his gaze searching hers for reassurance.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Valdis paused, her heart skipping a beat at the earnestness in his question. Stopping a wistful smile, she turned to face him one last time. "Sooner than you may think."

As night descended like a heavy cloak upon Kattegat, casting shadows that danced ominously in the flickering torchlight, the great hall buzzed with the murmurs of its inhabitants. The air was thick with the scent of mead, laughter echoing off the wooden rafters as the sound of music and dancing filled the air. The hall pulsed with life, each heartbeat of the drum resonating deep within the hearts of those gathered.

Ubbe made his entrance into the bustling hall, his eyes adjusting to the flickering torchlight, he was met by the familiar figure of Hvitserk weaving his way through the crowd. With a grin, Hvitserk approached, though there was a hint of something else in his expression—jealousy.

"Ubbe," Hvitserk greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. "I must admit, I'm feeling jealousy knowing you'll soon be wed to this woman."

Ubbe, taken aback by his brother's candid admission, arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Jealous, Hvitserk?" he questioned, a mixture of amusement and confusion coloring his tone.

Hvitserk chuckled, though there was a touch of bitterness in his laughter. "Aye, jealous indeed," he confessed. Hvitserk's words hung heavy in the air, his tone filled with disbelief and a hint of resignation. "She's nothing like we supposed to. I expected some fat and horrible woman," he confessed, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. "I must admit, I'm feeling a pang of jealousy knowing you'll soon be wed to a woman like her."

Ubbe's curiosity piqued by Hvitserk's unexpected admission, he furrowed his brow inquisitively. "Why would my future wife make you jealous?" he queried, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Hvitserk's response came with a mixture of admiration and envy. "She's so pretty, Ubbe," he confessed, his words tinged with longing. "And her body... it's like something out of a skald's tale."

Ubbe, caught off guard by his brother's candid admission, felt a surge of curiosity course through him. "And yet, she's so amazing?" he questioned, his voice filled with incredulity.

Hvitserk nodded emphatically, his eyes alight with a newfound sense of wonder. "Go and see for yourself!" he urged, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "She's with Mother."

With a sense of anticipation building within him, Ubbe wasted no time in making his way through the bustling hall, his heart racing with the prospect of finally meeting the woman who would shape his destiny.

As Valdis found herself seated near Aslaug, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled like a heavy cloak upon her shoulders. The atmosphere around them crackled with tension, and despite her best efforts to remain composed, she could feel Aslaug's hostile gaze lingering upon her like a shadow. For a fleeting moment, Valdis dared to steal a glance in his direction, her heart quickening at the sight of him. But as their eyes met, she found herself caught in the intensity of his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them amidst the chaos of the crowded hall.

Ubbe's brow furrowed in confusion as he caught sight of Valdis seated beside his mother, clad in an elegant dress that seemed out of place amidst the rustic surroundings of the great hall. The contrast between her current attire and the simple garb she had worn in the forest only added to his bewilderment, stirring a sense of curiosity within him.

"Why are you here? And why are you dressed like this?" he queried, his tone tinged with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"You already know each other?" Aslaug slurred.

"What do you mean?"

"Ubbe, I..." she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words to explain.

But before she could speak further, Ivar, ever perceptive despite the revelry around them, interjected with a smirk playing on his lips. "It's your future wife, brother!" he declared, his words cutting through the haze of confusion that clouded Ubbe's mind.

The realization struck Ubbe like a bolt of lightning. Valdis, the woman he had encountered in the forest, was to be his bride by the will of their clans.

Anger surged through him like wildfire. He felt like a fool, letting some woman play with him. How could he have been so blind, so naive, to have shared secrets with a stranger. But amidst the storm of anger and confusion, there was a flicker of something else, something unexpected yet undeniable. Back in the woods and now in the Great Hall, Ubbe found himself drawn to Valdis in a way he had never anticipated. He was inexplicably drawn to her, his heart torn between conflicting loyalties and desires.

Ubbe felt too much at once, he needed a distraction. His eyes met Margarethe's.

As Valdis walked away from the bustling hall, her footsteps echoing softly against the damp earth. The moon cast its shimmering light upon the surface, lending an ethereal quality to the scene before her. As she neared the shoreline, her gaze fell upon a solitary figure seated upon a massive rock. A sense of curiosity stirred within her, compelling her to draw closer, her footsteps cautious against the uneven terrain. As she approached, the figure turned towards her.

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat as recognition dawned upon her. It was him, the man who had occupied her thoughts since their first fateful meeting—the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok.

Her prayers were being heard.

With a mixture of awe and reverence, Valdis climbed onto the smooth surface of the rock, her heart pounding in her chest with the intensity of her emotions. As Ragnar glanced over at Valdis, he noticed her, but said nothing to welcome her. Or maybe he didn't recognize her. He said nothing, choosing instead to turn his attention back to the vast expanse of the sea before them.

Feeling the chill of the night air seep into her bones, Valdis instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth in the absence of the fading sunlight. Sensing her discomfort, Ragnar's gaze softened, and with a scoff, he reached for the heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. Without a word, he gently draped the cloak around Valdis's shoulders, the fabric enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. "Not enjoying my wife's company?"

"She's rather..." Valdis answered, but tried to find a word that wouldn't insult the Queen, or Ragnar. "Aloof?" she finally replied, choosing her words carefully to convey her meaning without outright insult.

Ragnar chuckled softly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Aloof, you say?" he echoed, his tone tinged with amusement. "That's one way to put it."

As Valdis looked at Ragnar, a sense of amazement and affection washed over her, mirroring the awe and admiration she had felt as a child of seven summers, captivated by the larger-than-life figure before her. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet strength tempered by a gentle kindness, that drew her to him.

"You were but a child when I last saw you, and now... you've become a woman."

"You recognize me?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Ragnar met her gaze with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a warmth that seemed to pierce through the darkness of the night. "Of course," he replied, his voice a soft murmur that carried on the breeze. "I've been thinking about you, little one."

Silence fell between them for a moment.

"You can finally marry my son, is he handsome enough? Like me?" he quipped, his tone laced with a hint of mischief.

Valdis couldn't help but smile at the jest, a warm glow spreading through her chest as she remembered the innocent words she had spoken to Ragnar so many years ago. "Handsome enough, I suppose," she replied playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But not like you."

"If I were younger, I would marry you instead," he quipped, his tone filled with mock regret.

Valdis laughed softly, her amusement mirrored in the warmth of her gaze. "Not that your age could stop you," she retorted, her voice tinged with playful defiance. "Queen Aslaug is the real reason."

Ragnar's laughter mingled with hers, the sound carrying on the night breeze like the echo of distant thunder. "She would end us," he agreed, his tone light despite the underlying truth of his words. "Best not to risk it."

And so, they shared in the playful banter, their laughter mingling with the gentle rhythm of the waves as they sat together beneath the starlit sky.

"Where is your father?" Ragnar asked, and watched as the smile disappeared from her pretty face. "How did he died?"

"He was ill," she answered. "At the end...He wasn't himself anymore."

"Was it a quick death?"

"I suppose," Valdis nodded. "He died in the sea he loved so much."

Ragnar felt a pang of sorrow grip his heart, a deep ache that seemed to echo in the depths of his soul. Her words brought back memories of his own dear friend, a comrade-in-arms whose presence he had sorely missed since his passing. A solemn silence fell between them as Ragnar absorbed the weight of her grief, his thoughts turning inward to the memories of battles fought and victories won alongside his fallen friend. "Seems like I missed a lot."

"Things change."she replied softly, her words carrying the weight of unspoken truths.

In that moment, Ragnar realized that Valdis was no longer the wide-eyed girl he had once known, filled with dreams of marrying a prince and living happily ever after. She had grown, matured, and faced hardships that had shaped her into the woman she had become.

"You don't want to be here."

"So do you."

Ragnar couldn't help but chuckle at Valdis's sudden and witty retort, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he regarded her with a newfound sense of admiration. In that moment, he saw glimpses of the spirited young girl he had first met years before—a girl filled with fire and determination, unafraid to speak her mind even in the face of uncertainty. Ragnar felt a surge of affection for her, a fondness born from the memories they had shared and the bond that had formed between them over the years.

With a playful smile, Ragnar reached out to ruffle Valdis's hair, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "Some things never change," he remarked, his voice filled with warmth and fondness. As Ragnar rose from the rock, a sense of purpose guiding his movements, he began to walk away, his steps steady and sure. But as he reached the edge of the shore, he paused, turning back to look at Valdis with a meaningful gaze.

"Come," he called out to her, his voice carrying on the wind. "There is much we have yet to see."

As Valdis rushed towards Ragnar without hesitation, her determination evident in every step, Ragnar couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the night like the call of a wild animal. Her eagerness was infectious, and he found himself caught up in the moment.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

(content warning, unnamed character death, war)

A gentle breeze swooshed through the area, carrying a song of peace, a jarring juxtaposition against the backdrop of the world it caressed. The earth was torn and soaked, soil absorbing blood like dew, poisoning a nearby stream. Malice clung to the air a moment before being swept away in the wind, like water flowing over an open wound. Bodies lay on the scuffed-up ground, looking almost like they were resting were it not for the open eyes, the disfigured contortion of their positions, the chunks of armor and weapons, the stench of death permeating the air before the zephyr carried it away.

Link sat overlooking it all. He felt strangely disengaged from it all, mind not really coming up with words, chest tight, body stiff, exhausted and filled with energy, adrenaline making his eyes stay open until they burned while every fiber of his being screamed for rest. Hemisi sat beside him, still holding a scroll she’d picked off the Gerudo general they’d killed in the battle.

Eventually, his friend broke the silence first. She always did. “How many do you think died?”

Did it even matter? He shrugged, too tired to speak.

“I used to think being a warrior was an honor,” Hemisi muttered, fingers tracing over dried blood on the parchment. “That it was my duty to lead the Gerudo and defend my people should we ever need to fight.”

The wind blew again, rustling leaves in the trees as they fell, blood red and golden yellow, like fire raining from the sky.

“There’s nothing honorable in this,” Hemisi finally said quietly.

A sound caught both teenagers’ attention, carried by the breeze, a groan, a whimper. Link rose, pulling out a dagger while Hemisi drew one of her scimitars. The pair moved slowly in unison, watching each other’s back and scanning the deserted battlefield.

It didn’t take long to trace the noise to its source, leading them to a Hylian soldier who was laying on the ground. Blood had soaked through his armor, looking like he’d been swimming in it, face pale as snow, eyes terrified, body twitching in agony.

Link rummaged through his pouch for a potion, but found that he had none. Hemisi came up short as well.

“We have to get him back to camp,” Hemisi said, eyes worried as she looked around to ensure there weren’t other threats or survivors.

Link just stared at the soldier. He’d lost so much blood. He’d lost too much blood. He heard Hemisi curse softly under her breath, kneeling down, and he saw the other wound she’d picked up on. The soldier’s leg was missing, the majority of bone and muscle hidden in tattered clothes, but he could still see the grotesque display well enough, could feel the way his mind numbed further, the way he physically recoiled.

Hemisi shifted a little to kneel beside the man. The camp was too far away. This soldier was too far gone.

It felt… wrong. Giving up like this. But by this point in the war, Link knew when it was time to stop fighting.

“Should… should we finish it?” Hemisi asked quietly as the soldier moaned, barely noticing they were there.

Link moved slowly, kneeling at the man’s other side. Hemisi glanced up at him, grip tight on her blade, ready to end the soldier’s suffering. She’d spilled enough blood as it was – what was one more, if it was to help?

The Hero of Hyrule shook his head. “No. Let Farore take him when she thinks he is ready. But we should stay with him.”

Hemisi bit her lip, looking away from the soldier a moment as he moaned again. Link slowly reached down to hold the man’s hand, and Hemisi sighed, putting her hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We’re here,” she whispered softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re not alone.”

The teenagers stayed, offering what little support they could as the man passed on, waiting until he stopped twitching and gasping, until the tears stopped falling, the blood stopped oozing. The soldier glanced at Link one last time. “H-Hero…”

Link squeezed his hand. Whatever the soldier tried to say couldn’t get out of his throat before he breathed his last, eyes fixed on the young warrior.

The pair sat there a moment, honoring the fallen in their own ways, before they rose together. It was over.

When they made it back to camp, they sat once more, staring out at the field, letting the breeze play with their hair.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for giving up everything, including my sanity and moral compass, in a desperate bid to save my daughter?

…I loved her more than anything.

Sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear about it, but I want to make that much very clear. I have to, for my own sake. I want everyone to know, and so I will reiterate:

My daughter was my world. I can hardly put into words how much I cared about her, at least once upon a time.

She was a happy accident— she hadn’t been planned. I was young, or at least felt young at the time when her mother showed up on my doorstep. We weren’t in a committed relationship. I was a ‘player’ of sorts. I hadn’t intended to impregnate her, but then there we were.

She held her arms and told me what happened. She asked me what I wanted to do. She said she didn’t really want to keep her, and was thinking of adopting her out, but wanted to know what I thought.

I was stunned. I wasn’t ready. I was keen to get rid of her too. But then my baby girl— my daughter reached out a hand and grabbed my finger. And it was as if my whole world shifted.

I realized she was so small. And so incredibly alone. And MINE. I realized if I didn’t protect her, then no one would. That she was my duty.

I told her mother I’d keep her. I became a single father. It was frightening, but I was sure of it. For my daughter, I’d do anything.

And life was good, for a time. We were happy. But then, everything changed. I ruined it.

You see, I was a businessman and mechanic by trade. I had a moderately successful company producing technology. And one day, I stumbled upon the blueprints for a machine that would change EVERYTHING.

It was a wish granting computer… said to be able to make any dream come true. I was ecstatic. Not only would this surely help my company, but it would help ensure my daughter had a bright future. I decided I’d build it— make her life prosperous, and make all of her wishes reality. We even worked on it together.

It was our project. Our collective dream. We poured our hearts into that machine.

But it went wrong. It had to, didn’t it? There’s no such thing as a true miracle. Partway through building the machine, I…

I lost her.

Something malfunctioned. A portal opened up. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed her to be near the computer— I don’t know, but either way, it stole her away. My daughter… the light of my life was swallowed by the portal. She screamed for help, and then…

The portal closed. She was gone.

My daughter was dead, and it was my fault.

I was inconsolable. I promised I’d hang the stars in the sky for her, only to to allow her to be murdered at only seven. In one terrible moment, my entire world came crashing down.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. But then it hit me, I realized.

…My wish granting machine— the same machine that had damned me— it was now my only hope.

If I completed it… if I were to make my dreams come true, then surely I could bring my daughter back to life.

Of course, it couldn’t function as was. I tried to make my wish, and it told me it was ‘impossible.’ But I didn’t give up. I just needed more resources. More time.

Did you know every planet has the power of the stars contained somewhere within it? A miraculous energy… that which my wish granting machine ran on. I harvested this power from my own planet, but it wasn’t enough.

I needed more.

I traveled to other planets, taking this power by force, if necessary. I constructed a grand spaceship, and my machine and I conquered.

But the grief in my heart hadn’t eased. I was beginning to feel delirious. I started suffering from severe health complications. I well and truly thought I was going to die. But I couldn’t allow that to happen before I saw my daughter again, and so I made another decision.

…The machine. I’d use its powers to transcend my mortal flesh. I replaced my faulty heart with a cybernetic one. My ailing limbs with machinery, and my weeping eyes with LEDs. That way, I would never die. My daughter wouldn’t recognize me upon her return, but that was okay.

It was all for her.

Slowly, I began to lose it, though. Something terrible was happening to me. I was more standoffish… edgy and angry, and even worse, my memory began to go. I began to forget things that were important to me.

…Even my daughter’s face.

I think, in some way, I was aware of it. I was aware it was that accursed machine. It was eating away at my brain every time I used it. But it didn’t matter. I still had to save her. And so I surrendered myself— gave my mind up, all in a desperate bid to MAYBE find a way to bring her home before I lost myself entirely.

I did not. I forgot my daughter— my precious child— the one who this was all for, and my priorities shifted.

Prosperity. That’s what I realized I wanted. Prosperity. For myself and the people cared about. But people were far too foolish to attain prosperity on their own. If I wanted prosperity to be treated with respect, then I would have to take it for myself. No-one else understood the correct way to live.

We invaded more planets— me and my precious machine. We did so with even more force. We stole their natural resources for ourselves, and as for the people who lived there…?

We improved them. We gave them the same upgrades I’d been given. It was the only way to live an efficient life, and so even if they didn’t want to, we mechanized them. We mechanized entire planets, spreading our agenda of prosperity all across the universe, and becoming incomprehensibly rich in the process.

It was… maybe eleven years into this when I met a peculiar person. She was young— couldn’t have been older than 18. She begged me for a job— said that she NEEDED to work for my company.

She had no credentials, but I felt… drawn to her, anyways. Her diligent demeanor and her strange sad eyes. I offered her a position as my secretary, and she agreed.

She, like everyone else, was mechanized, and she begun work at my company.

We didn’t always get along… me and this person, who I’ll call ‘S.’ I’d shout at her. I wasn’t an easy boss. I was mean-spirited and demanding. But even so, I was still kinder to her than I was to others, I think. She brought me a certain sense of peace.

…On quiet days, she’d sing me songs.

I trusted S, or at least as much as I could trust anyone. And so one day, when it came to us mechanizing a particularly important planet, I put her in charge of the operation. She’d shown she was competent, and I trusted her to do what needed to be done.

…She failed. Spectacularly. At every step of the operation, she messed it up. A rebel from that planet resisted our company’s takeover— destroying our spaceship and eventually making his way to my headquarters. S tried to stop him, but failed time and time again.

He waltzed right into my office.

She tried, one last time, to seize him… to make up for her mistakes and make me proud, but she was unable. He was too strong. He outright humiliated her.

I was… enraged. I’d trusted S with so much, and she’d let me down. I terminated her from her position right then and there— even though she begged me for mercy— even though she said she needed ‘just one more chance.’

I didn’t listen. I never listened to S.

I should have.

(I’m sorry. I’m so, SO sorry.)

I, too, was beaten by the rebel. But I had one last trick up my sleeve. I attempted to connect with the computer— my greatest accomplishment and my last hope. And S…

She stole it. That which I was using to sync with the computer, right as it was attached to my brain.

All at once, two things happened.

First of all, I lost control. I could feel the computer’s presence creeping up on me. I knew soon I’d be dead— TRULY dead as it reformatted me. S had killed me, whether she meant to or not.

But second of all…

For just a brief moment, I remembered. I remembered EVERYTHING.

And as I stared at S, dying… completely unable to move, I came to a horrible realization.

I knew her. Even looking at me with such hateful eyes. Even having changed her beyond recognition

I had met S before, a very, very long time ago. I’d forgotten it, but she was the one I did all of this for.

…She was my daughter. She’d been by my side all this time, and she’d murdered me.

The last thing I was able to process was just how angry she looked. Just how scared and small. She… well and truly despised me.

And really, I can’t blame her.

I’m in a better place now. My spirit was almost destroyed entirely by that which took everything else from me, but even a wish granting computer can’t defeat Death. Eventually, painstakingly, my soul was knit back together.

But I am not at peace. I am anything but. I can’t get her expression out of my mind… just how much she resented me.

Now, I know the full story. My daughter never died. Instead, she spent 11 horrible years trapped in a nightmare dimension. My computer could not bring her back because she was not gone… not truly. She was fighting for her life.

Eventually, she returned to me. She became the person I knew as ‘S.’ But by then, I had already forgotten her, and she was inconsolable. She vowed she’d find a way to save me… to ‘wake me up’ and have me remember.

She tried. She really, really tried. But I was beyond saving. And I guess when I tried to fire her… something snapped. Perhaps she thought maybe— just maybe if she were to get rid of the computer, she could change fate.

…She did not. I am gone now, and her efforts were all for naught.

I know, realistically, I am the bad guy in this story. I committed countless atrocities in the name of seeking salvation. I conquered planets. I mechanized strangers. I even mechanized she who was most dear to me.

But I didn’t mean to… I never meant to—

I just wanted to see her. One last time. I knew the fate it would condemn me to, but I did not care. Was that really so selfish? All we wanted was to rescue one another, and in doing so, we damned ourselves.

…AITA? For trying to save my daughter, and in doing so, perhaps condemning her to the worst fate of all?

[ziracona]

[Metro Last Light fic, because it changed my brain chemistry. Finale and further from Pavel's pov: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4]

.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before Pavel woke, but Artyom was gone.

His head felt heavy, and thick, slow. But not as much as the rest of his body did. Everything was sore, or throbbing, or stabbing, or numb. It seemed like a miracle he could be alive at all.

I’m alive? Wait.

That wasn’t right. Was it? Hadn’t-?

Pavel looked for memories in the dim orange glow of a gas lamp in the ruined second story hall of Red Square, and they came. All at once, like downpour, like a blow. He had never had a memory that made him feel more struck.

…That…can’t. …

He reached up with the arm that hadn’t taken a bullet, his left, and felt the gas mask filter there. Artyom?

There was no part of him that wanted to believe what had happened to him was real. But he knew it was. He could still feel the phantom sensation of fingers digging into his head and arms and legs. He could see Artyom and that little creature, that moving room of corpses, and red light, and death. It made his hands shake.

It had been a long time since Pavel was afraid of anything.

He didn’t fear death. Not after the first few times it got close to him. It was simpler in a way, to believe there was no soul, no ghost, because nothing could hurt you, once it ended. Pavel had always seen people use the afterlife as a crutch, an excuse—‘it’s fine to suffer, it’s fine to starve, it’s fine for the powerful to lord over us. We just have to follow, because we have an eternity in paradise,’ –like that meant you deserved nothing now, or made looking away from the starving bodies in the street right. Like it was an excuse to do things you could see no justice in, and to not think for yourself why things were right and wrong, because some god out there would do it for you and give you a reward for blind compliance after death.

He had not realized believing in no spirit could be used as a crutch also.

There were old stories, of why they had burned the Kremlin, once the bombs fell. They said something so horrible was down there, that the Order had had to raze the place. …Everything in that pit of souls was dark, burned. He wondered…

Blyakha, what did it matter?! There was no time for this!

Like a corpse waking to a second life, he dragged his stiff body up, using the little table to help bear his weight. His armor was sticky with blood, and there was a red stain on the floor beneath him.

Artyom—where was Artyom?!? He had just—he had been here! He must-

Pavel turned and looked out at the hole in the wall, towards the marshes. Shit. Towards Polis. There was a light, far now, maybe a half mile off, moving steadily on. There was no way he could catch him. There was no way he could call out and be heard, either. So he just watched, until the light was gone, hand absently clutching at his chest wound, trying to keep steady pressure.

You made it again, d’Artagnian.

And so had he. It hurt.

Blin—D6.  

Right. Everyone else was dead. It was just him, and he might be following soon. He could barely stand. Need to…

Dragging the pack off his back, Pavel fell to a knee, clutching the table for support, and tugged out the compact radio. His right arm ached from the bullet through it, but duty spurred him on, and he fought through the pain to drag the radio onto the tabletop, and grit his teeth as he tuned channels. There.

“Кровь. Situation critical. All dead. Мышь, reporting—everyone else is dead. I may follow soon. Кролик—made it through. I can’t make my mark.”

There was a moment, and then he heard Comrade Korbut’s voice.

“Is he injured?”

“Yes,” replied Pavel, who was sure he alone had shot Artyom at least four times—none critical, but he’d been slower by the time he reached the second floor.

“Good. It is unfortunate, but we have made it inside. Even if they arrive, victory is ensured. Enough time is bought. More men, more waste, but the outcome does not change. Close now.”

Pavel blanched, heart sinking at the added losses. Korbut usually did not share so much. He must be as close as he ever got to being excited. That did not bode well for the Order.

What do I care?

But of course he did. How stupid was that? How could he not? It was just—fuck.

“Orders?” he managed, needing anything else to focus on.

“If you cannot make it, return. Out.” And Korbut was gone.

Pavel stayed where he was, barely up, half slumped against the table, thoughts racing.

Shit. Blyadj—I—

Why did you do that? He had had to. It was his orders—his duty. Artyom is on his way to Polis now; he will go to D-6.

Fuck!

Pavel lurched to his feet, agony shooting from his chest to his toes, and stumbled to the hole in the wall again, looking for the light he knew was well beyond sight now. WHAT?! Will you call after him??! You can’t! He’s gone!

Frantic, he turned around the empty hall like it would hold answers.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?!

I can’t! I can’t let him die there too! He just!— There must-

Hand shaking, he took the radio and then hesitated with his hand on the dial. I don’t know what frequency the Rangers use. They change it! Lesnitsky’s information was out of date a month ago! But he had to do something!

Slumping to his knees again, Pavel turned the dial to an open channel. “Artyom? Artyom Chyornyj! Artyom—emergency! Answer!”

Nothing. Of course. Why would he think it would work?

Pavel turned the channel dial and tried again. “Artyom Chyornyj! Answer! Emergency contact!”

Nothing. Again.

“Artyom Chyornyj, Spartan Ranger! Answer the call! Moving a station ahead to hail again!’

Five times. Six times. Eighteen times. Channel, after channel, after channel. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back as loud as the seconds ticking by.

“Calling for Artyom Chyornyj! This is an emergency hail! Answer! Moving a station ahead to try again!”

Again.

“Emergency hail! Trying to reach Artyom Chyornyj! Please, answer! Artyom!”

Nothing. Again!

“Hail for Artyom Chyornyj! Spartan Ranger! Pick up! Moving a channel up to try again! Please, answer me!”

Over, and over, and over. Hail, hold six seconds, move channels, hail again.

Nothing.

Empty.

Dead.

Dead like the city. Dead like Artyom was about to be.

And for what?!? For nothing! It would change NOTHING! Dead because Pavel could not stop him?! Dead because he was trying to keep his people alive? Blyakha!

Sixty-second try.

“Emergency hail for Ranger Artyom Chyornyj! Answer! Moving one channel up to try again!”

Sity-third.

“Artyom! Emergency hail for Spartan Ranger Artyom Chyornyj! Please, answer! Moving a channel up to hail again!”

Sixty-

“Hello?”

What?

“Emergency hail for Artyom—are you there?”

The voice that crackled along the radio filled him with a frenzied hope, and then Pavel realized it wasn’t…him. That was not his voice.

“-Here,” he replied, remembering to answer, brow furrowed. It wasn’t Korbut, either. It wasn’t any voice he knew.

“Who is this?”

“Who is this?” replied Pavel, just as lost.

“A friend of Artyom,” came back the voice.

“Yes,” said Pavel, as if it had been a question for him to answer, and not an answer of its own, “—A Ranger?”

“No,” came the voice, “Just a friend.”

? Just a friend? Another, non-ranger friend? VDNKh-? Or he is lying.

It didn’t have time to matter.

“Is he there?” pressed Pavel.

“No, but he’s on his way now. You have a message for him?” came the voice.

Suspicion blossomed in his chest. “Where are you?” asked Pavel.

“Polis,” came the voice, “I see him in the distance. On his way through red square.”

Polis?

Pavel looked out the window. It was too dark, too far, for him to make anything out. But that was the truth, then. Even Korbut wouldn’t have known Artyom was still between red square and Polis, and he was the only one who’d have known he was headed there this moment at all.

Okay. …okay.

“I need you to give him a message,” said Pavel.

There was a waiting silence.

Blin. … “Tell him…” Shit shit shit. “—Tell him he cannot go to D-6. He will be killed. Over.”

There was silence, and then slowly, the voice came across the radio waves. “…I cannot stop him. I think he will have to go.”

A black knot of despair welled up in Pavel’s chest.

“No. You do not understand—if he goes to D-6, he will not return! I am not telling you there will be a fight; I am telling you there will be nothing left! He will be dead! Warn him!” called Pavel, “Over.”

Again, silence.

“…Over!” called Pavel, desperate.

“… We all have our ghosts, сынок,” came the voice he did not know, “Artyom’s lie in D-6. If he must go, I cannot stop him. But I will go with him. You have my word. If he dies there, he will not die alone. Be assured, friend. Message received. Over and out.”

Pavel stared at the receiver as the radio waves went silent.

Blyakha.

His breathing was ragged, shallow.

Try again?

He reached for the dial, and stopped.

What did it matter? Stupid, to try. Even if Artyom himself answered, he would not stop. Pavel knew this. He had never once been able to stop him. He would not be able to stop him now.

He felt sick.

I told someone in Polis that D-6 is about to be sieged. …I don’t even know who it was. Well, Pavel, now there is no one you have not betrayed.

Exhausted, he slumped back against the wall and let go of the transmitter, allowing himself to shut his eyes.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

Nothing had felt this terrible before. His mind and heart felt like they were being pulled apart in every direction still, even though he’d escaped that place of damned souls. No. Rescued.

Rescued again. Like before. So many times before.

He’s going to die, thought Pavel in desolate desperation, I can do nothing to stop it. I can’t even get there in time.

What was the fucking point? What was the point of him being spared, if it was going to end like this just the same? He didn’t want it. That was…it…

Dragging his exhausted eyes open again, Pavel tapped the fingers on his left hand against the floor. Tak tak tak…think. Come on. Something. He could still feel blood beneath the hand pressed hard against his chest. I need to treat this. I need…

There had to be an answer, fuck it, there was always an answer!

Remembering it, finally, Pavel looked over at the empty bag on the floor. The biohazard container, and the virus inside, meant for D-6. He had forgotten it, because it bore no more relevance in his duty. Too late to use it. But the fact it was there at all…?

He didn’t even search me, thought Pavel desperately, Why? My gun, my knife, the radio. He didn’t take any of it. Fuck. He must have not even looked.

Had he just assumed Pavel would stay no threat, because he’d saved him? When it hadn’t meant that the first three times? Had he thought he would have no strength to…?

D’Artagnian, d’Artagnian, d’Artagnian, he thought, almost angry with despair, and he dug his nails into his palm.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, “Okay Major. You cannot die here. You have to do something with that. If you die here, somebody will open it. Even if it’s just a beast, picking at your skeleton, it will happen someday, and people die. Get up. On your feet, soldier.”

He tried. Movement was agony. His left hip had taken a bullet, and the leg tore him with pain when he put weight on it, but he did it just the same. He dug his fingertips into the grain of the table, leaving little scars behind, and dragged himself up.

“On your feet,” he hissed under his breath, lifting the pack, and replacing the radio inside beside his little box of death.

My gun. Okay.

There, at the edge of the hall.

Dragging his body slowly, stiffly, using his right hand to press against the chest wound, and his left to lean against the wall, he made it over slowly and stooped, ignoring the screams of pain along his back and legs, and lifted it, placing the empty handgun in its holster.

Two more steps. Five more steps. Another eight, and he was where he’d dropped his rifle again. Empty like the first, but big enough for what he needed, and what he needed, was to walk. Gritting his teeth, Pavel dug his fingers around the barrel, and laid the stalk against the ground, using it like a walking cane to push himself further. There were about twenty corpses here, comrades, dead now, and a good red major did not loot the dead, but everything be damned, he was going to find a medkit on one of them, and he was going to walk out of here, and would reach D-6 if it killed him.

For what? He asked himself, biting the inside of his cheek till it bled, trying to distract himself from the pain of each footstep. You cannot stop it. You cannot stop either one.

He knew that. He did. Put blin, he had to do something. And whatever he figured out it was going to be, it was going to be at D-6. All roads led there now, and he was sure as fuck going to walk his. There had to be something left to do there. It would come.

It had to.

Dragging his shot leg, Pavel made it down the stairs using his rifle like a crutch, and began to agonizingly search over dead bodies of comrades in arms. Friends. What was fucked up most about it, was that it should have mattered both more, and less than it did. Finally, he simply stopped thinking of it. It didn’t help.

On the fourth body, he finally found a little medkit in a breastcoat pocket, and knelt, tearing it open with his teeth. There wasn’t much, but it would suffice. Bracing himself for the kick, Pavel removed his hand from the gunshot wound, and jammed a syringe into his chest. These were called, ‘Defiance,’ colloquially, in the Red Line; part hemorrhagic, part morphine, part cocaine. It might kill you later, but it would sure as hell get you back up and fighting in the moment of things, and in the moment of ‘I’m about to die,’ you didn’t give too many shits about the long-term consequences. Very popular for heavy combat, and it only took a few seconds for him to feel the telltale rush of drugs in his bloodstream reaching his brain.

He let out a long, shaky sigh.

“Okay. Okay. Now that’s manageable.”

Ignoring the suddenly muffled pain, Pavel regained his feet, and turned towards the Kremlin. Towards the Red entrance to D-6.

And he began the long, arduous process, of walking.

[sherbet-shivers]

A Minor Malfunction Part 1/3

We need to ignore that this is 6 years late ashgdahls (I only just got to play D/etroit: B/ecome H/uman and my love for sweet baby boy Co/nnor is alive)! Also figured snz is still snz, so even if you don’t care for the fandom you might enjoy the main course anyway lol

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! This is also my first time posting to tumblr at all, so formatting tips are always welcome <3**

Blurb: Connor suffers a little virus (Part 2 here and Part 3 here)

Characters: Co/nnor R/K800 (-centric because he’s babygirl) and H/ank A/nderson

Length: 4k+ words

TW: cursing, minor robot discrimination; no spoilers

“You’re quiet tonight, Connor,” Hank observes between sips of his drink. His name triggers the Android to lift his head and meet his partner’s gaze, which studies him conspicuously.

Connor smiles a bit stiffly. “You usually prefer me quiet, Lieutenant.”

His investigative partner groans. “Yeah, when you’re barking up my ass,” he scoffs, though his voice lacks any hints of malice. The two had been working a handful of Deviant cases together and Hank’s introductory disdain had subtly been reduced to something warmer. Teasing had become their shared language, which was a preferred change of pace from where they’d started; not to mention a great way to lighten the mood between all the rumors of homicide and an Android uprising. Still, in spite of their growing closeness, Connor doubted Hank considered him a true partner, let alone a friend, but at least the two were no longer arguing like they had been a few weeks prior.

“So,” Hank starts again, “what’s going on with you?”

Connor makes a face, even tilting his head a bit before glimpsing side to side. “Nothing, as we’re currently idle in a bar.”

“No shit, smartass. I mean what’s going on, as in why are you acting all funny?”

“Funny?” Connor sifts through his memory, trying to recall a recent instance in which he’d been humorous by Hank’s standards. To no one’s surprise, he comes up empty. “I don’t recall acting funny. Why? Do you want to hear a joke?”

“Wha-? No! Christ, nevermind; just forget I said anything you weirdo,” Hank dismisses.

Connor didn’t mind the rejection (nothing was personal to machines), but he was programmed to follow orders; thus, he re-quiets, following Hank’s lead.

However, just because he’s silent, doesn’t mean he’s inactive. An Android’s life was rarely dull given there was a full 24 hours in day to take advantage of. As much as Hank said he loved naps, Connor couldn’t imagine wasting precious work hours to sleep.

Even now they were technically “freed” of their investigative duties, but Connor still had plenty of personal maintenance to attend to. It was the daily obligation of an RX800 model like himself (all AI models really), and so he promptly runs a survey of his internal diagnostics. Aside from making his masters happy, it was an Android’s priority to ensure that everything about them is up to date and code — ranging from their adaptive software to the state of their hard drive.

At the same time, he decides to trace through the entirety of his memories, still determined to figure out what Hank meant when he said “acting funny”. Funny…the word repeats in Connor’s head. Human emotions and terms were somewhat difficult to diagnose on his own, though Hank’s recent company had introduced Connor to a wide collection of colorful language. So many terms denoted so many different meanings, many of which were subjective and therefore wildly confusing to a purely calculative mind. So when Hank said Connor was “acting funny”, what exactly did that mean? His type of humor was unique (and apt to change given his BAC), so maybe what he found funny wasn’t what Connor had originally filtered for. Or maybe…the term meant something entirely different altogether? But, then what did that mean? Questions like these are what made humans so fascinating and troubling according to Connor’s programming. He could run himself in circles for hours asking the same questions, constantly seeking meaning, searching for answers, decoding Hank’s unusual phrases-

Suddenly, an alarm goes off in Connor’s system, alerting him to some kind of error in his software. It’s honestly startling, catching the Android surprisingly off-guard for once. This…hadn’t ever happened before; at least, not while he was without a suitable guardian or engineer nearby. Thankfully he’s already wired to know exactly how to respond, and thus promptly performs a system-wide scan to diagnose the error in question. Within seconds, his answer is received, though to his misfortune, it’s little more conclusive.

Code: C5Y0091-24BC. Classification: Unauthorized Bio-Component Breach By Unknown Digital Error. Software Virus Suspected. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. CyberLife has been automatically contacted. Expect an update within 24 hours.

A single blink has Connor back in reality, surrounded by the musky odors characteristic of the many bars he and Hank frequently hopped. Hank is muttering something about the game with Jimmy’s bartender, but Connor hardly hears them.

Virus? Malfunction? How could that be possible? Connor had experienced software issues in the past, but many were easily patched or otherwise resolved by his masters, sometimes within seconds! So this was…unusual to say the least. He’d been warned of course to stay vigilant against hackers, obvious glitches, chain mail, pirated sites, FaceBook and other shady threats — it’s why he ran diagnostics multiple times a day. So how could this have happened? How could he have been so negligent to have missed something?

At least CyberLife had been notified, which meant he’d only have to wait a few hours for his orders on how to proceed; but until then, what was he expected to do? He was hesitant to trust himself, especially after being branded by his own system as potentially defective.

Malfunction. The word echoes through his system and encourages Connor to continue searching his recent stored memories. He weaves through the past effortlessly in search of anything that could stand out or explain his current predicament…and that’s when he’s reminded of what Hank said not more than two minutes ago. Funny. Had he really slipped up so poorly even he hadn’t noticed something but Hank did? What did it mean if a trained AI couldn’t catch a mistake while a human so easily could?

Connor chooses not to answer that question as he comes across a particular gap in his memory — one he hadn’t noticed until now. It was short — a blackout lasting no more than four seconds — but that may as well have been an eternity if it meant there was an absence of crucial information. Rewinding prior to the lull in time, Connor revisits a particular scene during he and Hank’s investigation earlier that same day.

The two of them had been assigned to a Deviant case involving an unnamed MJ100. The dog sitter had been out walking two corgis, both belonging to its owner when it was confronted by a group of six human protesters. After being cornered, the Android was jumped, pushed to the ground, and kicked repeatedly, enduring damage to its left ocular component and minor denting targeting its knee attachment on the same side. Its gait was consequently deemed unstable as it tried to pick itself up. As it could not recalculate its balance, it was knocked down a second time; and on its third attempt, the Android had defied its programming and resorted to fighting off its aggressors using heavy handed tactics and a nearby blunt object (presumably one of the protester’s sign boards). It then attempted to flee the scene but made it less than a block away before being tackled and deactivated by a local officer.

Weirdly enough, the next few details are a bit scrambled within Connor’s hard drive. All that is clear is that while investigating the Android’s body and calculating the damage, Connor’s vision goes dark — particularly after coming into direct contact with its bio components. It’s a startling discovery, and his vision only seems to return a few seconds later after Hank snaps at him to answer a question he’d claimed to have repeated once before.

Following that instance, minor things that should’ve caught Connor’s attention had gone completely unnoticed. His temperatures were running high and low interchangeably by several degrees, his system wasn’t adequately flushing out debris causing congestion within his gears, and even his processing speed — which usually ran above peak performance — was barely keeping up with that of a model two series back.

How had he missed all that? Surely he would’ve recalled Hank repeating himself, if not the obvious lull in time and all the issues impairing his components. Why couldn’t he put together a simple sequence of events? Just how damaging was this virus? What happened to him within that lost period?

“Hey!”

Connor glimpses at Hank, who is snapping in his line of sight. The old detective snorts once he realizes Connor has come to.

“Jesus, I guess even robots can be space cadets now, huh?” He muses as he slaps a wadded up stack of bills onto the counter and slides them over to the standing bartender. “I’m heading home to feed my dog. You’d better go back to the station and recharge yourself, Blinky. That fucking disc in your temple is going crazy.”

Without any further pleasantries, Hank takes off towards the door and exits the bar through a cloud of cigarette smoke. Connor meant to pay for his drinks and a ride home, but he supposed that’d have to wait until tomorrow. For now, it was probably best he follow his partner’s commands. After all, he was made to heed directions, and eager to run another diagnostic scan undisturbed.

Going in the opposite direction of his partner, Connor starts his way back to the police station downtown, occupying his walk by fumbling with the trademark silver coin he carries in his pocket. Hopefully all he needed for a fresh start was an overnight rebooting.

…

Connor Model Prototype RX800 — Serial Number: 313 248 317. Functionality: Below Average. Code: C5Y0091-24BC. Classification: Unauthorized Bio-Component Breach By Digital Error 2B9YD77158G. Software Virus Confirmed. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Self-Repairs Update Initialized. Time Remaining: 62 Hours, 58 Minutes, And 23 Seconds. System performance is being automatically monitored by and reported to CyberLife HQ.

The alert rouses him from his sleep mode. It wasn’t the best news to start the day with, but then again, neither was this creeping sensation bothering his nose and tickling his chest. He attempts another scan to source out the cause, but is immediately interrupted by a sudden, involuntary gasp. The reaction quickly proves out of his control; because in spite of trying to fight and diagnose it, his efforts prove futile as his chest inflates, mouth parts, and he’s bent at the waist with an unexpected-

“Ah’HTSHh’iew!” And another? “Iihy’YDTZSH’shH! Hh-?!” And another?? “hK’SCH’uh!”

He shakes his head and sniffles instinctively, more than a little surprised and uneasy following such an aggressive series of outbursts. He didn’t like that one bit, and could only assume that a reflex like that attested to the true extent of his malfunction. Not only that, but the annoying fluttering feeling in his face hadn’t been remotely relieved; if anything, it’d been stirred and hurled through his system like a shock of irritating static. He wasn’t familiar with automatic overrides to his manual settings, and didn’t wish to experience that again if he could help it.

Straightening his back, he ignores the blank gazes from his fellow policing Androids, who are similarly parked in their charging stations in rows running to his left and right.

“Excuse me,” Connor murmurs, not that any of his companions could feel offended by his unusual behavior. He’d only said it out of sheer obligation, though perhaps somewhere deep in his system he was also preventing being viewed as a threat…as unfortunately impaired.

A malfunction.

For the sake of preserving his public image, he would commit himself to being as discreet as possible. He wasn’t a malfunction, and he would set himself to prove it. He just had to get through the next two days without drawing unwanted attention or affording any more hiccups. He could do that.

Right?

…

For the first time since his creation and introduction to the public eye, Connor was experiencing…doubts. The virus he’d contracted was proving to be more difficult to supersede the more hours that went on. The rate of his degradation was…less than optimal, to say the least. For one, his bio-components (as predicted) were suffering unfamiliar glitches all over. His movements were sluggish despite a full night’s charge, and his data processing was running at a measly 73% speed — even slower than last night. His internal temperatures were rising and falling like a seesaw; the balance constantly tipped between too hot and too cold. It was starting to affect his bio regulators, which couldn’t decide if he needed to start letting off steam or shiver through the morning. Thankfully, these ailments weren’t too difficult to hide so long as he was diligent in monitoring them and constantly tracking their progression. As soon as something was apt to change, he was quick to process a solution in order to appear as normal and high functioning as possible.

What he couldn’t predict nor control was the sudden influx of outbursts.

It’d only been a handful of hours since he “woke”, and even less time since the station opened up to its human staff; and already, Connor was slipping up here and there. As an Android, people paid him little attention (which actually worked in his favor), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned over being reported by a fellow Android or a stray, observant human. After all, he’d discovered that no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t do much to prevent-

“Iiy’aASCH’hiEW!”

That. He despised the act itself, and grew frustrated every time it took him by surprise. Why was it so difficult to challenge or prepare for? If he had just a little more notice, he could stop himself or at least attempt to override its command. However, every time he tried, he just couldn’t. He was being outplayed by an infraction, a glitch — a minor one at that! — and that only added to the frustration gnawing at his senses.

As if the lack of control alone wasn’t bad enough, he was also starting to tire of the persistent, crawling itch tracing his nose and teasing at the inner cavity. It was terribly irritating, prompting him to pinch and rub at his face, or sweep a knuckle under the sensitive (and offending) appendage. But doing so often only relit the flame, like a match reigniting a fire so close to dying, but reluctant to fade out. Even now, just as he earns some relief thanks to a series of sniffling and scrubbing, he feels that ember kicking up again; tickling and teasing against his inner sinuses until he’s forced to-

“eE’SHYIU’Uui! ���dSHH!…ha’hh-! uH’-!”

The final one teases him, so much so he isn’t even certain it’s the last one. He’s aware he must look ridiculous — an Android caught in a hysteric limbo, interrupted by a dysfunction that it’d never succumb to before, let alone conceived. He tries desperately to fight it — to prove he can use sheer logic to overcome his own reflex, but the itch is just too overwhelming, causing his eyes to squint and lips to quiver. So after a few good seconds of rebelling against the inevitable, he hastily pardons himself to the station’s supply closet, locks the door behind him, and surrenders to his system.

In his clumsy haste however, he had managed to knock over a few spare broomsticks, and even rattled a small tower of cardboard boxes. His vision was immediately clouded by a puff of gray, but he didn’t have much time to observe or clean up the mess since he was already too busy-

“ae’ESHHEW’ww! Aa’KSCH’yIEW! T’tdSSH’yiEW!”

Was it getting worse?! Between hitching breaths Connor struggles to perform another scan. He interrupts himself twice, but ultimately the result comes back, reading out in bold text: Environmental Irritant Level: High. Bio-Receptor Reactivity: High. System Override: Automatic. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 57 Hours, 22 Minutes, And 19 Seconds. System performance is being automatically monitored by and reported to CyberLife H-

“HHh’ITSH’hUuii! Ahh…h’ah-! H’-! H’PTzsSH’IEWw!”

They were stumbling out of him in pairs and triples now, every fittish burst triggering glitches in his sight and sending shivers down his core. He tries to keep them quiet by smothering his nose into his palm, but air manages to slip out anyway, making hisses of noise he’s starting to find…embarrassing? Perhaps shameful was a more accurate term, on second thought.

Still caught between sneezing or not sneezing, he squints through bubbling gasps and hones in on his immediate area. His specs focus in on the particles of dust scattered around him; no doubt disturbed by his sudden entrance. His system classifies the debris as a common irritant. Ah. So that’s what was setting him off worse than before.

He shakes his head and scrubs at his nose with a free knuckle. Here he thought he’d finally found some reprieve only to cause himself another problem. He should’ve expected this or pre-calculated the chances of this happening, but of course little was working in his favor with a bugged out tactical unit.

“Hih’PTSHH’ieew! Ah’haaH-…!”

Seriously? How long did this usually last?

“h’H-…! Nnng…oH’H-!…oh…”

Connor lets out an artificial sigh, his nose twitching aggressively and mouth uncurling from a snarl. The itch hasn’t quite dissipated, but at least the urge to sneeze has retreated for the time being. As he scratches at his face and sniffs testily, he makes a mental note-to-self to avoid any more stale or dirty areas over the next two days.

He had to get out of here, before someone noticed he went missing or worse, caught him in the act of hiding. Reluctant to get dragged into another fit but eager to escape, he raises his arm and buries his nose against his sleeve — a courtesy he believes humans are commonly accustomed to when they suffer similar ailments. He then tends to the supplies around him, returning them to their exact state before he’d made a wreck of things. Once adequately tidied (both he and the closet space), Connor tentatively unlocks the closet and exits the shroud of its privacy.

The immediate change in lighting is too fast for his eyes to process, causing a temporary blindness that stings his circuits and scatters pixels across his vision. He grimaces unconsciously as he heads towards his desk, and to his surprise, the commanding officer is waiting for him when he approaches.

“There you are RX800. We’ve got a new report about a Deviant downtown. I want you to pull Hank from wherever the fuck he is and go investigate.”

The chief slips a manilla folder into Connor’s hands then readjusts the belt around his gut. Connor busies himself with downloading the walls of text in his hands, then blinks up at his boss with an automated smile.

“Of course, Chief Fowler. I’ll be sure to retrieve Mr. Anderson, and we will investigate the scene immediately.”

His response is somewhat obvious, but still, the chief approves of his confirmation, nodding as he starts to brush past the bot. Connor glimpses down at the data in his hands again, when suddenly, his captain pauses and waves for his attention. Promptly, Connor swivels on his heel.

“You look different, RX,” the officer acknowledges, more skeptical than worried. “More…,” he ponders for the words, eventually settling on, “blue.”

Blue? Connor couldn’t tell what his commander meant, at least not with his processing unit so slow to react. Did he mean sad — as in the human emotional equivalent of blue? Taking a guess, Connor puts on his best smile in spite of his state and shakes his head.

“I assure you I’m normal, Captain. Fully functioning and eager to follow your directives!”

He hopes his summery tone is enough to dissuade his captain’s lingering stare — which it ultimately does — however, instead of looking appeased, his commander only looks more confused before resuming his strut in the other direction. Connor shuffles uncomfortably where he remains, glimpsing side to side self-consciously in case other people have witnessed his untimely encounter with the chief. Thankfully nobody seems to notice, but in the midst of his search, Connor manages to catch a glimpse at his own reflection against Hank’s black computer screen. He leans a bit closer to get a better look at himself, and what he finds puts his erroneous state into further perspective.

His hair is disheveled, the corners of his eyes tainted with faint webs of static, and his cheeks and nose are dusted a blue color eerily similar to that of his Thirium — his blue blood. That’s probably what Fowler was talking about; and if that wasn’t already damning enough, Connor could only imagine what Hank would say (or think) when he fetched him.

Connor smooths back his hair and pats at his cheeks. He’d have to be extra cautious with Hank if he wanted to dodge his attention. It’d be a difficult task given the detective had already picked up on his mild dysfunction the night prior, but Connor was always committed to giving his best effort. Sure, it may slow down his rate of update, but likely by a negligible amount.

Confident in his ability to disguise his condition, Connor tucks the Chief’s folder under his arm and heads down the nearest hallway towards the station’s south exit. This would work, and it would be worth it.

Anything was worth it if it meant sparing Hank’s judgment.

…

By the time Connor reaches Hank’s house, he’s damp with rainwater. He’d made longer treks in the rain in the past, but this time, he’d failed to take into account how the weather would affect his weakened system. Currently his internal temperature sat at an unusual low of 57 degrees Fahrenheit, and his whole body was shaking to make up for the cold. In the short amount of time that had passed, optimization had dropped to 66%.

The only positive was he’d somehow managed to relieve the blue tint in his face, and the repeated fits of sneezing had died down significantly now that he was surrounded by fresh air. If he was fortunate, that’s how it’d remain for the next several hours.

The Android climbs the front porch, then knocks at Hank’s door (always in threes). As usual, he’s first greeted by Sumo’s barking followed by the muffled sounds of Hank cursing out his unexpected (but still somehow predictable) return visitor.

“Goddammit, not today you walking nuisance!”

At least he knows it’s him.

“Apologies Lieutenant, but I’ve been given direct orders by Chief Fowler to come get you. He wants us to investigate another Deviant case immediately.”

There’s no response. Connor didn’t usually grovel, but he had work to do, and it was starting to get pretty cold out there in the rain.

“P-Please,” Connor pleads, unintentionally stuttering thanks to the shivers wracking his system. “You know I can’t do this without you, Lieutenant.”

There’s another pause of silence, only this time it’s followed by a characteristic groan and the sound of footsteps approaching the porch. Right on cue, Connor takes a step back just as Hank flings open the door and motions him inside.

“Get your ass in here and give me fifteen minutes, huh? I need to change and sober up a bit.”

Connor nods as he follows Hank inside, getting no more than a few feet into the living room before he’s bombarded by Sumo, who licks at his shins and threatens to knock him over given his massive size.

“Sumo down!” Hank orders as he heads towards his bedroom, though the friendly Saint Bernard pays his master no mind.

Connor giggles as he kneels to Sumo’s height and proceeds to pet behind his ears. “Good boy, Sumo,” he consoles. Freeing one hand, Connor fishes in his pockets until he comes across a particular texture, revealing a hidden stash of spare treats he carries solely for occasions like this. He palms the biscuits over for Sumo’s pleasure, and smiles fondly as the hound licks them from his grasp.

“You better not be feeding him again, Connor!” Hank calls from the other room.

“Of course not, sir!” Connor answers, cooing as Sumo’s tongue tickles his fingers. The more he visited Hank’s home, the more he looked forward to seeing Sumo’s goofy smile. He was starting to see why humans adored animals — especially good boys like Sumo.

“Riiiight,” Hank drawls in return. He’s been a detective for over 20 years, so why an Android attempted lying to him about his own dog, he seriously didn’t know. “Hey, Connor!”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Remind me later to tell Fowler to kiss my ass next time he sends me out into the rain. Swear that fucker doesn’t ever need me until the weather is shit,” he adds beneath a grumble.

“Will do,” Connor answers, still mildly distracted by the fluffy lump of love curled by his feet.

After a few more minutes, Hank emerges from his bedroom, dressed in a darkened leather coat, distressed blue jeans, and boots well past their wear. It complimented his grizzled aesthetic, which Connor was starting to find charming the more time they spent together. Hank must catch the way he’s staring, because he furrows his brows and gnaws at his bottom lip; a habit indicating some level of self-consciousness.

“What? I got something on my face?” Hank asks. It wouldn’t be the first time he left the house with pizza stains and booze clinging to his beard.

“No,” Connor replies, frankly. “I like your outfit. You look handsome, Lieutenant.”

Hank looks more perturbed than complimented, but regardless he says nothing but “Christ” under his breath as he brushes past Connor and swipes his house keys off his computer desk. As he does, the faint blush of his cheeks are exposed by the soft glow of his laptop’s LED. Connor smiles, rising to his feet and reaching for the door handle. Swinging it open, he beckons for Hank to lead the way.

Hank obliges the kind offer, but halts midstep just as he’s about to pass the pseudo-doorman.

“What’s on your face?” he asks after glimpsing Connor up and down.

The Android shuffles in place. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” he answers somewhat meekly.

Hank doesn’t believe him for a second, that much was obvious with the way he stiffens his jaw and narrows his eyes. Still, he chooses not to elaborate, and simply relents to looking back at Sumo, who has sidled up against his leg as a goodbye gesture. Hank gives the pup one last parting pat on the head before stepping out into the morose outdoors.

“Hold down the fort, Sumo. This won’t take long,” Hank sighs. “I’m not wasting more than four hours out in this goddamn shit.”

He starts down the front steps while Connor turns to close the door behind them. As the Android does so however, a dreadfully familiar tickle takes him by surprise, gracing him with barely enough time to tuck his nose into his collar — a sloppy and hurried attempt to suppress a mini fit.

“iihH’MFFSH’ui! ih’zZSHH! dtsSH’yiew!”

He sniffles carefully as he rises from his jacket and shakes his head free of the bothersome itch.

“Connor! The Hell are you doing?” Hank calls from the sidewalk.

“Nothing; sorry! I'm coming, Lieutenant!”

Sumo whimpers at the Android and paws at his leg, as though he senses something is wrong with his second best friend. To relieve the dog’s distress, Connor cups Sumo’s chin and scratches it one last time.

“I’m alright, Sumo. Be a good boy, okay? I promise I’ll bring Hank back home soon.”

With that said, Connor closes the door, tugs the handle to make sure it’s locked, then races after his Lieutenant. As he closes in on his side, another alert crowds his interface, reading: Functionality: Moderately Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-39BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Low. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 55 Hours, 50 Minutes, And 50 Seconds. System performance is being automatically monitored by and reported to CyberLife HQ.

He sniffs discreetly and steals a final pinch at his nose. For one of the few times since they’d met, Connor agreed with Hank completely.

Hopefully this is all over soon.

[thestressedsimmer]

While the queen was in confinement and the kingdom was in turmoil, the king slipped away to the church frequently. Many saw it as him being pious in his faith to the Watcher, but he wasn't truly there for mass....

... He was there to visit people long gone. His father, his brother, and his dearest son.

Finding Prince John's grave, still decorated with gifts from his subjects and family members, he knelt on the cold ground. If somebody were to come and see him, they would be appalled to see the king in such a state - but all he could think about was his son.

His flesh and blood. While some kings were callous and only thought of his legacy, Louis had been raised by a family man. He was raised to love his family and children, even if they must be raised to do their duties to the kingdom and the Watcher. So how could he now contend with this grief?

"Hello, my boy. My John." He said, softly. A part of him was worried that somebody might come and see him like this, but he had asked the Mouths of the Watcher to ensure him privacy... Surely, they wouldn't risk angering their king.

"Your mother is preparing to birth your sibling. I know that my advisors say I should pray for a boy. I know that my duty says I need a son to take my throne. But my heart tells me to pray for a child. A child that breathes, that cries, that plays, that laughs... A child not an heir. Your grand-mère agrees with me. She says that I should pray as a father first and king second - but is that what's truly right? With you, I could not find the joy in things until you were gone...."

That was when he felt his emotions welling up. He had taken children for granted. His wife is a strong woman, but she is just as subject to nature as all of them. Rich or poor. King or the lowliest peasant.

Tears came unbidden. He let them fall. His grief had been pushed to the side as he took over the realm; it was part of why he struggled to be happy with his wife's first pregnancy and why he struggled now to connect with those around him. He could no longer speak as he was before, he could only cry.

Eventually, it started to feel as if he wasn't alone. While he knew that couldn't be true, it brought a sense of peace to him. Not happiness, that wouldn't be the right word, but it brought peace. His tears eventually slowed and he sniffled, wiping the rest of them away.

"I'm sorry, my boy. You shouldn't see me like that. I will be okay. As will your mère and frère or sœur. I will come and visit you again soon - perhaps I will bring everyone along with me then, hm?"

Placing his hand on top of his son's grave and giving a soft and weak smile, he said his goodbyes and left. If nothing else, he could be happy that John was with the Watcher and not suffering along with the rest of his kingdom.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I just finished reading your “Optimus as Unicron’s Sparkling AU” (IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST PEICES OF WRITING I HAVE EVER READ) and there was something I was left wondering about. What if Optimus joined the Decepticons in his exile instead of the AutoBots. However you want to do it is fine, whether that be because of Unicron’s constant urges, or the Prime just feeling so betrayed. Again it’s up to you entirely. But really you writing is astonishing, and absolutely amazing. Thanks!

Thank you so much for the praise!! My dear requester you have literally made my day with this (after I dug through my pile of requests to find your lovely idea). I love this whole concept, thank you very much. I wish I could draw better so that I could illustrate these scenes.

Previous part here. Part most relevant to the request here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Autobots wallowed after they chose to send their Prime away, but left alone to heal and to think, Optimus's thoughts wandered. As he hid in an old garage, trying to compose himself and come to terms with all that had come to pass, he started to reminisce. He thought back on his life and all that had led up to his current situation, and as he did, he found his opinions shifting.

Over the first week, he remained firm in his belief that what he did was right. He struck his maker down, for if he hadn't, there would have been nothing left of his foster Sire's efforts. He could not condemn the one who raised him to continue on without a legacy. That was a faith he kept close to himself, but his thoughts regarding his mortal life began to be questioned. He fought for the Autobots to stop tyranny and to ensure that Primus's creations remained free. Megatron wished for freedom too, but his actions were monstrous, terrible by any moral definition. But then again, what was Optimus if not the creation of monstrosity?

By the end of the second week, Optimus began to doubt, not even bothering to move from his hiding place as he thought. At first he was plagued by guilt for even questioning, but then as he continued his contemplation, pieces he never considered began to fall into place. When he was Orion Pax, he was middle caste and was not shown the darker sides of society. He was foolish in his actions and his words, going on to provoke Megatronus by stealing the spotlight the Kaoni warrior deserved and fought so hard to obtain. He was willing to accept that he was wrong in that regard. But when he ascended to once again become a Prime, was he really wrong to fight back? Megatron killed mecha, he stripped them of their choice by tearing the council down without a care for those caught up in the backlash.

But then again, when was peace really ever an option? Mecha still would have suffered if things had been done slowly as he had hoped so long ago. There would have been pain all the same, it just would have lasted longer and been more drawn out. Fighting back against Megatron's revolution turned rebellion only brought greater suffering than if he had just allowed his former brother in arms to win. Not only that, but was Megatron really that wrong in his ideals? Yes they were more perverted from time and bitterness, however he still fought for freedom did he not? If Optimus had been there to steer him in the right direction, he could have appeased his maker by ensuring change was a constant while also assuring that his foster Sire's children didn't wipe themselves out in civil war.

By week three he came to a startling conclusion amidst his wallowing. He had failed in both his directives by trying so hard to maintain mortal morality. He was a creation of Unicron, his function was chaos and due to the kindness of his foster Sire, it was his duty to ensure his chaos was directed into something useful. In attempting to be something he wasn't due to his time as Orion Pax, he failed to bring change. The war was horrific, but it was static, nothing of note ever shifted. Always death, always battle, but there was no change. And in the never ending death, he was also failing his foster Sire by allowing his creations to drive themselves to extinction, even going so far as to encourage it by driving the war on and refusing to yield.

His Autobots didn't want him anymore, they feared him and all that he was. Even his oldest friend and his sparkling wished him to vanish. Optimus could not grant them that, he was eternal, destined to walk the stars until they went out and the universe unraveled. However he could fulfill his function and in doing so, finally bring about an end to the war that was driving his foster Sire's children to extinction.

When at last Optimus stirred, he did not reject his maker's touch. He relished in it. The Matrix pulsed in warning but Optimus ignored it for the most part. It was there to keep him on track, he would heed it when required, but his duty was long planned. He had a mission, a goal. He had to end this foolish war, and he was not afraid to wield the power granted to him from his birth to do so.

Thus as Optimus pushed himself up and abandoned the place he had taken shelter in, he found himself wandering. His frame broke apart into what it was in the beginning of times, a mess of energy and corruption balanced only by enough order to keep it contained. Unicron smiled and praised his creation through their bond with every passing moment as Optimus drew more and more upon his maker. In a matter of days, all remnants of the adaptation Optimus performed during the age of Primes faded away to reveal his true colors. A giant even amongst Cybertronian kind, he walked the surface of the earth, all its flora and fauna bowing to the one son of the being which spawned them. The Matrix screamed in concern, flaring wildly to try and reign Optimus back in, and it worked to a degree. Optimus's thoughts shifted, his ideals warping in response to the influx of his maker's power, but never did he become what his maker intended. Primus's touch was still powerful, but more subdued.

His attachments faded somewhat, ending up still present but distant in the ways of immortals gazing down upon their short lived comrades. He cared for his former team, he still loved his dear Autobots, but he knew what was best for them. The foolish children of Primus could not see their faults. The Decepticons were cruel, they were wild, and they were most certainly lost. However the Autobots were no better, their corruption ran deep, so deep in fact that only looking through the sight of one beyond mortality revealed it to him. Optimus had been so wrapped up in his war and maintaining morality that he hadn't seen the indoctrination, the functionalism, and the rampant biases that would most certainly lead to reinstitution of the council should the Autobots win. Changing their path was impossible now, but Optimus had no desire to kill those he held dear. He merely needed to play the side that needed his aid, just as he did with his false siblings during the first age.

They would hate him for it, but did they not hate him already?

With his frame having lost all its Cybertronian adaptations beyond the general form of one, Optimus was left with no ability to use internal commlink communication or any sort of technological advantage to contact Megatron. However Starscream quickly proved useful as soon as the seeker in exile was captured. Starscream shook like a leaf when he was wrenched out of the sky, and thus he complied swiftly when Optimus forced his shattered frame components to rattle in a mimicry of true speech.

Optimus: C̷o̴m̸m̸u̴n̴i̶c̸a̶t̷i̵o̷n̸ ̴m̷u̷s̷t̴ ̵b̷e̷ ̷a̸c̷h̵i̶e̴v̶e̵d̵.̷ ̶C̴o̴n̵t̷a̵c̶t̴ ̷M̸e̷g̶a̸t̴r̷o̸n̴ ̶o̵f̶ ̵K̵a̴o̶n̶.̶ ̶I̴ ̸m̴u̵s̸t̸ ̴s̵p̵e̸a̶k̵ ̶w̷i̴t̴h̴ ̶h̸i̷m̴.̴ ̶

Starscream, terrified for his life and unwilling to risk it: Of course my Lord.

Starscream was dutiful, and within the groon Optimus had communications established. It was of course an understatement to assume that Megatron was shocked. He witnessed Optimus's full might as Unicron woke, so seeing him in such a state once more put him on edge. However against all his expectations, Optimus did not threaten, he did not demand or speak in strange clinical whispers as he had last they met while the Prime was filled with the Unamaker's power. No, instead Optimus merely uttered his decree.

Optimus: M̴y̶ ̴m̵i̸n̶d̸ ̸w̴a̵s̵ ̷c̸l̴o̴u̵d̵e̶d̶ ̶b̵y̵ ̸m̵o̶r̷a̷l̴i̷t̸y̵ ̵t̶h̷a̵t̴ ̷I̷ ̷w̶a̴s̷ ̴n̸o̵t̸ ̵m̸e̷a̸n̶t̷ ̸t̶o̵ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶r̴e̶h̴e̵n̷d̶.̷ ̴I̴ ̵d̷e̶v̸i̴a̴t̸e̴d̷ ̴f̵r̷o̶m̸ ̷m̸y̶ ̶p̵u̷r̴p̴o̷s̶e̶,̵ ̶a̵n̵d̵ ̴a̴l̵l̷ ̵o̷f̶ ̷P̸r̴i̸m̶u̸s̷'̴s̸ ̸c̷r̸e̴a̵t̵i̷o̶n̴s̸ ̸h̵a̵v̵e̵ ̵s̸u̴f̶f̶e̸r̵e̴d̷ ̵f̷o̷r̵ ̶i̵t̴.̴ ̵

Megatron: What do you want Prime?

Optimus: I̵ ̷w̵i̸s̷h̸ ̸t̸o̶ ̵m̴a̸k̶e̵ ̵t̷h̸i̸n̴g̸s̶ ̶r̸i̸g̷h̷t̴,̶ ̸t̷o̶ ̷e̷n̴d̵ ̵t̴h̶i̸s̶ ̸m̷e̵a̶n̴i̷n̵g̵l̸e̸s̸s̶ ̶s̵t̸a̷t̴i̸c̸ ̷c̵y̷c̶l̷e̶ ̶o̷f̷ ̷d̵e̸a̸t̸h̴ ̷a̸n̸d̷ ̶d̶e̷s̴t̵r̴u̷c̵t̸i̶o̶n̷.̸

Megatron: So you wish to slaughter me and my Decepticons with that newfound power of yours?

Optimus: N̸o̷,̴ ̷t̶h̴a̸t̴ ̶i̸s̸ ̵a̶ ̷w̵o̴r̶t̸h̷l̸e̷s̵s̵ ̶e̸n̸d̶e̸a̸v̴o̵r̸.̴ ̸T̶h̶e̴ ̵A̴u̴t̷o̴b̷o̴t̸s̴ ̴a̷r̷e̵ ̶g̷o̵o̸d̸,̵ ̴b̴u̷t̷ ̴t̷h̵e̷y̴ ̵a̸r̸e̶ ̸m̶i̷s̴g̶u̴i̶d̴e̸d̴ ̸s̶o̶ ̶g̵r̶e̶a̵t̵l̶y̵ ̵t̴h̶a̸t̷ ̶I̵ ̴c̴a̶n̵n̷o̴t̵ ̵f̶i̸x̸ ̶i̵t̷.̴ ̸T̶h̵e̷ ̷D̵e̴c̴e̷p̷t̷i̶c̷o̸n̴s̷ ̴a̷r̷e̸ ̵l̴o̴s̸t̶,̴ ̴b̸u̴t̵ ̵t̵h̷e̵y̶ ̵c̴a̵n̸ ̵b̷e̴ ̶f̶o̷u̵n̴d̶.̶

Megatron: Get to the point.

Optimus: I̶n̷ ̷e̶x̴c̸h̷a̵n̶g̶e̵ ̷f̴o̷r̵ ̶m̸y̷ ̴A̶u̸t̸o̸b̷o̷t̸s̸ ̵b̸e̴i̶n̴g̶ ̸a̷l̶l̸o̵w̸e̵d̶ ̶t̴o̴ ̷l̸i̵v̸e̵,̷ ̴I̷ ̶w̷i̷l̴l̶ ̸j̷o̵i̴n̵ ̸y̷o̵u̴ ̵a̸n̶d̵ ̷f̴i̵g̶h̷t̸ ̷f̴o̷r̵ ̸t̶h̷e̶ ̷f̵r̵e̸e̷d̴o̶m̵ ̷o̵f̵ ̶y̴o̶u̴r̸ ̶k̶i̴n̷.̷

There was a great silence from all present as the words were spoken. Starscream froze up, incapable of processing the Optimus Prime of all mecha was about to jump ship and swap sides. Soundwave very nearly lost his mind the moment the audio from the commlink was relayed to him. Every other present commander had to reboot their audial systems just to be sure they heard right. As for Megatron? He stopped, his optics wide as he listened and waited for the other shoe to drop. When Optimus said nothing else, he rebooted once and then nodded simply.

"I always knew you would make a fine Decepticon"

With no reason to doubt the Prime in his declaration and sensing Unicron's affirmation through the vague connection Megatron held to the chaos god, Optimus was soon allowed on board the nemesis. He was met with raised blades and increadible suspicion due to his prior behavior, however within a few weeks, that hostility all but vanished as Optimus proved his worth. The Decepticons were still wary of him, his field and nature as one of the Unmaker's creations ensured that. He was their opposite, a thing that was similar to them but not the same. Even still, the Vehicons laughed in joy when Optimus joined them on the battlefield as one of their own for the first time, much to the horror of the Autobots there to fight.

Bulkhead: Optimus? What are you doing?!

Optimus: I̶ ̵w̶a̵s̸ ̷l̶a̶x̶ ̷i̴n̷ ̸m̷y̵ ̷d̸u̷t̵i̸e̸s̴.̷ ̸B̵u̶t̷ ̶n̶o̵ ̷l̸o̴n̸g̵e̴r̵.̵ ̶I̷ ̶w̵i̵l̶l̵ ̴e̵n̷s̷u̸r̶e̶ ̷t̷h̶i̴s̶ ̶f̵o̷o̴l̷i̸s̸h̸ ̷w̸a̸r̶ ̶c̴o̵m̸e̸s̶ ̶t̶o̴ ̷a̵n̸ ̵e̴n̸d̶.̴

Arcee: Have you lost your mind!? What does that even mean!? What are you doing with the Decepticons?!

Optimus: D̷o̸ ̴n̷o̵t̸ ̶f̴e̸a̷r̴ ̸l̵i̵t̴t̵l̵e̸ ̵c̴h̴i̵l̵d̵r̷e̴n̷,̶ ̶y̴o̵u̷ ̸b̴e̷l̸o̷n̷g̴ ̵t̴o̸ ̶m̵e̴,̸ ̵a̸n̵d̴ ̷t̴h̶u̷s̷ ̴I̷ ̵w̵i̴l̸l̸ ̵m̶a̴k̶e̶ ̴s̴u̷r̵e̷ ̸t̴o̷ ̸k̵e̶e̶p̷ ̷y̴o̸u̷ ̴a̶l̴i̶v̶e̴ ̸a̸s̴ ̶I̴ ̵s̴e̶t̴ ̴t̵h̵i̵n̶g̶s̵ ̸r̴i̴g̸h̷t̶.̷ ̴

Unicron rejoiced as his son wrecked havoc on the battlefield. The children wept as they watched the recordings of the event. Bumblebee pulled away, blaming himself for his Sire's fall. Ratchet grew more and more guilt ridden, and the rest of the team were not much better off. They had failed and in their hubris they had driven their leader into a darkness they feared he would never emerge from. All the while the Decepticons grew more and more hopeful, all eager to see the war brought to a close even if none were comfortable around the Prime who now bore their emblem with controlled apathy.

[thepaleys]

In the fall of 1902, the tsar’s youngest uncle, Grand Duke Paul, had actually run away to Paris, taking with him suitcases holding three million rubles. Paul suffered from periodic nervous breakdowns and never seemed able to put his life together in a constructive fashion. Now he had decided to marry a new love, his mistress, a divorcee, Olga Pistolkors, whom the family considered not only an outrageously inappropriate choice for Paul, but also an unattractively ambitious, even brazen woman. A commoner and, in the judgment of many, a “fornicator,” she had appeared at a Winter Palace ball wearing diamonds bequeathed to Paul by his mother, the late Empress Maria Alexandrovna. Every Romanov recognized imperial jewels. Minnie demanded that Madame Pistolkors be expelled from the party and the chamberlain thereupon asked the woman to leave, causing an immense scandal.

She was said to have Paul completely under her thumb. When Nicholas heard the news that Paul had eloped, he exploded with rage. Paul had given his word he would not do so. Paul’s brothers were also fiercely indignant. Vladimir wrote to Sergei: “He [Paul] has behaved shamelessly as a member of our family and as a military man. His behavior cannot be called anything but criminal. And to her I said plainly that if she will become the wife of my brother, I will turn my back on her and she will never in life see my face again. What will become of him? How will he be able to live the life of an outcast? What will become of the children? My heart is heavy, my head is empty. . . . I repeat to you that I am crying for help and I embrace you with my heart filled with sadness.”

Minnie wrote to Nicky of her indignation. “He [Paul] has forgotten everything, all his fundamental obligations, his children, country, service, honour, everything, he has sacrificed everything for that stupid woman, who is not worthy of it. . . . He’s simply throwing dirt at our family! Awful, awful!”

Nicholas stripped Paul of his army rank and grand ducal income. Despite his exile in France, the millions he took with him ensured that Paul could live comfortably. His house in Paris became a center for the local Russian colony and his wife, now using the foreign title of Countess Hohenfelzen, could play a queenly social role, freely associating with members of the imperial family who were visiting France, so little were the laws of the family and the authority of Nicholas II respected.

The tsar wrote his mother about Paul: “How painful and distressing it all is and how ashamed one feels for the sake of our family before the world! What guarantee is there now that Kyril won’t start the same sort of thing tomorrow and Boris or Sergei Mikhailovich the day after? And in the end, I fear, a whole colony of members of the Russian Imperial Family will be established in Paris with their semi-legitimate and illegitimate wives! God alone knows what times we are living in, when undisguised selfishness stifles all feelings of conscience, duty or even ordinary decency!”

Other older members of the family also shook their heads and worried about the younger ones, who seemed only to want the royal life of luxury without accepting the responsibilities it should entail.

"The Flight of the Romanovs" - John Curtis Perry and Constantine V. Pleshakov

[cilil]

rare pair bingo

⸙ Prompt: One-bar prison | Gothmog x Eönwë ⸙ Synopsis: Gothmog decides to put his pretty bird on display. Eönwë may or may not enjoy it more than he wants to admit. ⸙ Warnings: Sex toys, dirty talk, smutty ⸙ Triple drabble | AO3

"You look lovely like this," Gothmog purred. 

The only response he received from Eönwë was a strained groan and a small rattling sound as he attempted to shift his position. His favourite enemy was currently standing atop one single iron bar, its end snugly wedged between muscular cheeks, its tip inside him. To ensure that he would stay in place, his ankles were fettered and chained to the bar, and his hands were bound behind his back. A gag Gothmog had forgone for the moment, wanting to hear the song of his lover's pleasure. 

Eönwë's awkward shifting caused the toy at the tip of the bar to press inside him at a different angle, and he moaned softly. "D-do I...?" 

"Yes. Very much so." Gothmog affectionately ruffled his pale golden locks, his fána glowing with pride. Such a pretty little angel, bound and helpless, and he belonged to him and him alone. 

"Will you leave me like this?" Eönwë asked, eyes half-lidded and slightly teary. "Will you go attend to your duties and make me wait for your return?"

"You ask me as though you want me to make you suffer a little," Gothmog laughed. "So you tell me. Do you enjoy being on display like this? Do you like standing here with a toy inside you, waiting for your master? Do you want to beg for my attention when you can't take it anymore?"

He watched Eönwë's muscles tense and flex as he tried his best to keep his bound fána from reacting to his words, but the effect they had on him was obvious. Grinning, Gothmog reached down to give his hard, leaking cock a few lazy strokes. 

"What my pet bird wants, he gets," he cooed, "so be good for me now, and I'll reward you later."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @saintstars @singleteapot @urwendii @wandererindreams

[morganaseren]

The Bodyguard AU 😌

((Your love for Tevos is showing again, friend. 😏 I gotchu though! I think you wanted three prompts from this if I recall correctly, so I hope you like these!))

Pairing: Rajhi Shepard/Councilor Tevos

Rating: General

AU: Wanna Be On Your Mind (formerly titled the Bodyguard AU)

---

"Who the fuck taught Sparatus how to do air quotes?!" Shepard crossed her arms with a scowl. "I swear, I'm going to break his fingers if he does that to me again!"

Tevos didn't even bother to look up from where she was perusing through various documents on her desk. "Please don't," she deadpanned even though she was all too aware her request was likely to be ignored with as incensed as the human woman currently was. Her point was further proven when Shepard continued on her with tirade without so much as missing a beat.

"Was it his secretary?! I bet it was his secretary!" Shepard began pacing along the length of her office--agitation evident in every movement--while voicing her thoughts aloud. "I see the way he leers at her!"

"Shepard--"

"'Interest in strengthening alliances with the newest members of the galactic community' my ass! They're fucking, Tevos! I just know it! I'd bet my entire salary on it!"

Tevos gave a long-suffering sigh as she pressed her fingers against her temples. "Considering I'm currently paying for your salary, one would think you would act with a bit of decorum."

"Look, outside of your office, I will act as damn professional as you want me to be. There's a reason why I had Miranda put that 'satisfaction guaranteed with services' clause in the contract with our clients." The woman pointed down repeatedly at the floor. "When we're alone though? I want the option to at least vent. If not, that's fine. I can always have Kaidan or Jacob stand in for me if you'd like."

It was likely the wiser option, Tevos knew.

She had met both men often enough to know they were utterly consummate in the duties expected of them. Tevos had employed enough bodyguards in her lifetime to know that they more than met the standards of such an intense industry. Still, there was something... refreshing about Shepard's personality in particular--one that was a powerful and bold as the former Special Ops commander of the Alliance.

And for as wild and spirited as Shepard could be, Tevos could admit the woman would never intentionally jeopardize her position as the asari councilor. Shepard was always the epitome of professional competence even among the most high-profile members in the galaxy.

Her connection to those very same individuals aside, she was everything one could ask for in a bodyguard.

Even Tevos could admit that.

Surely, she could forgive a few eccentricities in these private moments if it meant retaining the part of their relationship that she had come to appreciate. She tilted her head as she turned to consider Shepard more thoughtfully then. She couldn't help the soft smile that danced upon her lips.

"That won't be necess--"

"Councilor?"

Both she and Shepard turned to stare at the intercom at her desk. Tevos immediately recognized the voice of her secretary. She leaned forward to tap at the haptic interface.

"Yes, Esila?"

"The turian councilor is here to see you. He mentioned wanting to discuss some of the upcoming proposals for the Council." There was a pause. "Oh, and it seems he's bringing along his secretary. Would you like me to update the lunch order from your favorite restaurant?"

Tevos didn't at all miss the way Shepard immediately perked up with great interest at the mention of Sparatus' secretary accompanying him.

A dog with the proverbial bone as it were if she were to borrow the human idiom...

"That would be lovely, Esila. You can send them both in. Please do tell me when lunch is delivered."

"Of course."

Tevos ensured she had the intercom turned off before she turned to Shepard with a pointed stare. The woman responded by giving her the most winsome smile, but Tevos knew not to fall for it. "And you... behave."

---

"Miss Lawson's calm conduct in all matters is highly regarded by my colleagues."

"Oh, Miranda?" Shepard chuckled as she wandered over to her desk with their lunch. "Yeah, she's probably one of the smartest people I know. She's got a doctorate or two in fields that I probably couldn't even begin to understand. Don't ask me how she managed to do that between the type of work we do. I just chalk it up to being a Miranda thing at this point." She grinned. "I'm sure the Alliance Admiralty Board is still frothing at the mouth that I managed to steal her away from them when I left. Sorry about the wait with the food by the way. You wouldn't believe how long the line was for these."

Tevos was pleased when Shepard was mindful of placing coasters beneath their respective drinks. Tevos wasn't fond of the marks that were often left behind on the glass surface due to condensation. As she gazed down at the colorful beverages, she realized that the woman had ventured out to one of the Asian restaurants that recently received a boom in popularity thanks to having the asari councilor's personal bodyguard as a frequent visitor.

The drinks were something of a new, but well-appreciated, novelty on the Presidium for the small spheres nestled at the bottom of the cup. They were either made using traditional tapioca, which Shepard preferred because of the chew, or Tevos' favorite of the tropical fruit-filled balls that popped almost instantly on meeting her tongue.

"No need to concern yourself," she answered, smiling gratefully when Shepard handed her an oblong-shaped sandwich. She could smell the sweet, grilled meat almost instantly. Despite her focus toward finishing her remaining work, she couldn't help the way her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn't eaten since early that morning. "Did she hold a similar position to yours when she was in the Alliance?" Tevos wouldn't have been surprised if she had.

"No actually." Shepard wasted little time into tucking into her banh mi. Apparently, the woman's hunger had been greater than her own, for Tevos couldn't help but raise her tattooed brows at the large bite that had been taken. Shepard hummed appreciatively at the taste, finishing chewing before continuing with, "She held the same Lieutenant rank Kaidan had before we left. I honestly thought she'd make Captain before he and I ever did, but if you were to ask Miranda, she'd say something along the lines of her being tired of the bureaucracy."

"Hm. I'm sure with her resume she could have gone anywhere she desired."

"That's what I told her!" Shepard laughed. "I guess for her, working private security wasn't too far different from what we used to do." She shrugged. "The pay's better at least, considering the type of clientele we have. I don't think she's going to complain about being able to pay for the entirety of her sister's university funds without even having to bat an eye." The woman picked up her drink then--a coffee variant from what Tevos could tell of the color--to sample it and the tapioca balls, chewing carefully on the latter. "I appreciate that she was even willing to follow me on this little venture. It was admittedly a bit of a gamble when we first left the Alliance."

"I'm sure anyone would be lucky to have a second-in-command as level-headed and skilled as Miss Lawson."

"Oh, definitely. I'd probably forget that my head was on my shoulders half the time if it weren't for her. She's better at the business side of things than I am. Honestly, she has the patience of a saint, which says a lot, considering Jack and I normally--"

"Shepard!"

And Tevos blinked when Shepard jerked in place at the call of her name by the very woman they'd been discussing. From the volume, Tevos wagered that Miss Lawson was somewhere outside her office.

"Shepard! Why the bloody hell did Kasumi find surveillance footage of you and Officer Vakarian shooting drink canisters off the highest point of the Presidium?!"

"Oh, goddamn Kasumi and her hacking abilities..." Shepard muttered balefully. Still, she wasted little time in gathering her half of her lunch in her hands before throwing a grin Tevos' way. "Uh, I'll text Ash and tell her to take over guard duty for me for the next few hours. I should hopefully see you again during dinner if--"

"Shepard!"

The woman's smile only widened at the shout even if Tevos could see how those golden-colored eyes tightened at their corners with sudden nervousness.

"Excuse me. I have to go hide now."

---

"Whoa, what? Wait, wait, wait! You can't just leave me here with them!" she whispered frantically.

"Shepard, I haven't visited Thessia for the better part of a decade. I'm expected to at least talk to some of the politicians here during my stay. Surely, you can manage a half hour on your own while I do so."

In response, the woman inhaled deeply before placing both of her palms together, reminiscent of a prayer position. Then, she slowly raised her hands up to press the sides of her index fingers against her own lips.

"Tevos, I really don't think you realize just how repressed some of your colleagues are..." she murmured, dark brows raising as she widened her eyes pointedly.

Tevos sighed even as she was unable to stop the wave of fondness that washed over her amidst her exasperation. "Shepard..."

"They are!" she countered in a harsh whisper before flickering her gaze over Tevos' head inconspicuously.

Well, as inconspicuously as she could anyway.

The human stood head and shoulders above most of the asari in attendance.

"Look, remember how long it took for the people on the Presidium to get over their fascination with me when I first took this job? There's a reason why I didn't bother wearing a sari to this thing. I learned from last time! Everyone kept wanting to touch my arms!"

Tevos blinked before turning to eye her bodyguard's current attire. While she had been curious about the change, she hadn't bothered to question the reasons as to why. Shepard certainly didn't do the dark, three-piece suit a disservice. Still, while it was remarkably well-tailored, it did nothing to hide Shepard's impressive physique.

Considering the asari were a communal species, it wasn't odd for them to be rather casual around one another, but such conduct was typically reserved between close friends and family members. While she knew some of the maidens upon the Presidium could be forward with their curiosity, she had assumed her colleagues would have shown the proper level of etiquette to a foreign visitor in their midst--even for someone as unique as Shepard.

That apparently hadn't been the cause.

Tevos would be in Armali for the next month or so on business. Perhaps she could forego work for at least one night, especially since Shepard seemed so uncomfortable.

...She did, however, make a mental note to watch whomever had caused her bodyguard such discomfort.

Tevos held her hand out then in request for Shepard's own. "Would you dance with me?"

Shepard blinked, taken aback by the request, especially since it wasn't part of their typical routine. "Um, sure. If you really want to."

"Well, it serves two purposes," she admitted with a laugh even as Shepard took the lead. For someone as large and imposing as her, she was remarkably light on her feet. "You wouldn't be left on your own, and it would be easier to dance our way toward the exit than manage through the crowd here. I can announce our farewells, and we can depart for the rest of the evening."

"Oh? Oh!" Shepard grinned then. "That's pretty smart of you."

Tevos huffed out a small laugh. "I do try although I'm sure my mother might be somewhat disappointed that I'm not making more contacts tonight."

"I doubt it. Matriarch Osiria's been more interested in what you get up to during your day to day schedule than anything business-related."

Tevos' brows furrowed at the claim. "I... didn't realize you had become that familiar with one another."

"Oh, well you know that I like waking up early. She's normally down in the kitchen when I make my protein shake, and she likes talking with me."

"About what exactly?"

"Random things honestly although we had a pretty interesting talk this morning."

"Oh?" Tevos could feel a certain sense of wariness settling over her. "Should I be concerned with this topic of conversation? Do I even wish to know what you spoke to her about?"

"Well..." Her gaze turned toward the high domed ceiling in thought. "I'm not entirely sure if my translator glitched out when she asked, but she seemed interested in my pedigree?" She shrugged. "And then she went on to ask about when you would be giving her grandchildren,” she answered, snickering, especially when Tevos stiffened in her arms, almost missing a step. “She mentioned something along the lines of waiting centuries and there still not being a single toddler in sight. Although honestly? I think she only added that last bit to earn some sympathy from me. Apparently, my being around you all the time makes her assume I have better insight into your love life.”