#making your own characters is one thing. i'm not above that

[numberonetacostan]

I know your trophy knowledge might not be too sharp but I do wonder if you have any specific thoughts or even headcanons about him ! ❤️

Hi Mirelly!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in your request!! :] Of course I can cook you up some headcanons for your guy! I like to think I have at least an okay grasp on all of the main ii cast members' characters [Contestants + Mephone4 + Assistants + Cobs] :) I may not know the common headcanons for them, though, so please forgive me if any of these end up being basic!

Ask and you shall receive, Trophy headcanons!

FINALLY I'VE HAD HIS ONE FOR AGES AND NEVER HAD A TIME TO SHARE IT. Are you familiar with the movie Ratatouille? How the little rat fellow sits on the man's head and pilots him around? I like to think that Blueberry does the exact same thing with Trophy. He cozies himself up in Trophy's head (where we have been told during some stream, I don't recall which nor who said it unfortunately, that he fits perfectly inside), and grabs on to his handles, and steers Trophy towards wherever he wants to go. It's not quite as graceful as in the movie, since Trophy is not a willing participant in this, but I'd imagine it being quite difficult for him to get anything out of his head, much less an object who very much does not want to leave.

Hmm, fuck it, Trophy is one of those people who adds a ton of dryer sheets to his laundry. A ton. I'd say a scent like sandalwood specifically, something generally seen as more masculine. So, since his clothing all smells strongly of sandalwood, so does he, all the time. So much so that it can trigger Tissues' allergies, on worse days. This may even start because in the beginning he, like a proper jock with not quite enough self awareness (he would be 0 months old so cant expect much), uses exorbitant amounts of axe body spray, and smells awful all the time. If you'd like, Paper telling him his body spray is a bit too strong could be what starts his shift to many many dryer sheets and 0 body spray. Others have told him before, he just didn't care coming from them.

Let's all hope that Trophy never ever sees nor even hears about the popularity poll that decided on the iii returning cast members, because he would be pissed. Only 250 votes? He got less votes than Box? Less votes than two objects who had intentionally quit the game? He would both complain about the votes being rigged and brag about being above anyone he beat, while internally feeling quite bad about it.

I think Trophy would watch anime. Particularly sports anime, and not because he's a trophy and is athletic, but because that's where his idols are. His influences. He wants to be cool and sporty and masculine, and you can find guys like that in pretty much every sports anime. That's why he pulls things like saying 'pUH' at Knife, he's learned from dubbed anime. This may or may not have been an important factor in the start of his homoerotic tendencies as well, since as far as I know sports animes also have a lot of that.

I'm sure it's a relatively common headcanon for his favourite flavour to be banana, but I would like to raise the idea of him fucking so hard with banana bread. He's a little loaf eating freak /ref. If anyone bakes banana bread it's gone within a half hour. He does not ask to have any or to eat it he just unhinges his jaw and swallows it whole. His favourite food. He'd probably end up learning to bake it on his own (likely in secret) so he can be a little loaf eating freak more frequently, since others would stop making it once they resign themselves to never getting to taste it.

[shallowseeker]

In the Bible, angels are messengers of immense power, molded by Heaven's will. Yet again and again, it is humanity that carries wisdom. Humanity holds empathy.

Empathy is the engine of the soul.

This wisdom is not handed down; it is earned—through struggle, pain, growth, and making choice. Scripture—especially in books like Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes—portrays wisdom as something lived through, not simply bestowed.

So here it is: A son of Heaven has the juice, but the daughter of Earth—Kaia, "Gaea"—has the eyes.

Jack: I left to try to get a grip on my powers. I wanted to prove to you that I'm good, to do one good thing. So I did the thing you wanted the most. I experimented opening doors to other worlds. I could almost do it. I could get right to the edge. But I couldn't see. I could only feel around in the dark. I needed eyes. A seer. 13x09

///

Makes me think a bit of this too:

SAM: Why? CHUCK: I couldn't see you. I needed eyes and ears on the inside. Well, eyes, anyway. EILEEN: Screw you. CHUCK: Yeah. 15x09

Maybe the whole experiment here is that Chuck, in Season 15, is the one eating the apple—knowing both good and evil more fully because he's feeling it now. (After all, gods don’t learn the fullness of wisdom by staying above it all; they fall into it.) When Sam’s soul pierced him, Sam gets Chuck’s drafts, but Chuck gets infected with Sam’s HOPE and heroism. Chuck wasn’t a god or a serpent—he became a metaphorical Eve—but he doesn’t like falling. He doesn't like being essentially blinded. He doesn't like FEELING (would rather "feel" vicariously).

So Chuck works hard to stamp it out, because—much like Lucifer in 13x13 "Devil’s Bargain"—Chuck can’t bear the possibility of real change.

Chuck doesn't want HOPE. Because HOPE means... he can be DISAPPOINTED. And that's SCARY.

True hope and true faith is a naked, vulnerable state. It's putting yourself out there when you can't see the outcome... There's no surefire guarantee that your efforts will lead to success.

That's why "hope is the whole point." But Chuck will stamp out the hope in Sam, and he'll stamp it out in Amara too. He wants BOTH of them to hurt so much that THEY become hopeless and orient in the direction that HE wants instead.

//////////

BONUS #1: Lucifer's brush with humanity is also too much for him to handle. Unlike characters like Castiel or Metatron, Lucifer, like Chuck, doesn't respect or appreciate his humanity.

Lucifer does feel things... but when he feels things, he realizes he really doesn't want to.

(SEE Dean's: "Sometimes I wish I couldn't feel a thing.")

LUCIFER: No. No I always wanted to fit in, please a father I couldn’t please. And now I’m gonna be a father. Probably screw it up like he did. SISTER JO: Lucifer, the great and terrible. LUCIFER: I don’t know why I said that. Stupid. I mean it’s like pretty soon I’m not going to feel anything. I mean the more I do this, the stronger I get, the more “me” I become. Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, King of Lies. I’m back, baby. 13x13

It's the folly of these sometimes-too-backward-looking characters, who might just be afraid of change...

13x13, 15x08, and 15x11 all carry the thread of using, respectively, the (1) Lack of Feeling, (2) God's Missions, and (3) the Hunting Cause to feel big and strong.

"I'm back, baby!"

&

AMARA: And me? I'm done, Chuck. I've changed. I've adapted. I've... I've become the better me. And you? You are still the same... petulant, narcissistic. So... I'm leaving you here. Once, long ago, you sealed me away. Now, in a way... I'm doing the same to you. You're trapped, diminished, abandoned. So I guess you got what you've always wanted. You're on your own. 15x02

BONUS #2: There’s something haunting in Dean’s early season 15 fatalism too—this idea of losing himself in hunting after the crushing losses of Mary and Jack, and ofc the existential crisis surrounding Cas.

Historically, in a bit of an off-key echo of Chuck, Dean doesn’t handle disappointment very well, sometimes defaulting to always-and-never thinking and searching for absolute figures and rules/codes that don’t truly exist.

DEAN: What? I look exactly the same. [SAM glares at DEAN.] DEAN: Like nothing has changed. [SAM looks at DEAN again.] DEAN: Nothing’s changed. 15x04

//

BONUS #3: There’s something creepy, too, that unites Jack, Lucifer, and Chuck—it's in those lines about "being me again."

Despair is what predominantly drives people to the idea of God, after all, and it is this hopelessness and lack of feeling that can feel like a false strength:

JACK (robotically): Michael—He's dead. CAS: Jack, a-are you, uh— JACK: I'm me again. (Jack suddenly had light all around him as his wings spread out as a shadow behind him. then we see his face and eyes glowing) 14x14

///

But I will say that while Lucifer and God want to "feel nothing" to ESCAPE their own discomfort, characters like Jack and the Winchesters mostly aren't doing that.

They're casting off their humanity, as Dumah says, "in acts of goodness," to save other people.

///

Anyway, there’s something about gods needing human eyes here, and the classic angel kill being eyes burning out. Jack NEEDS his humanity and he needs his connections to others' humanity. Without it, his strength is blind.

In a healthy state, angels team up with humans for enhanced wayfinding, for a mutual sharing that allows for better navigation and a deeper understanding of the universe.

But notably, characters like Chuck and Lucifer want to see in order to control, not to see in order to emotionally understand or feel.

(It’s safer for themselves that way.)

///

It’s funny, really... especially contrasted against characters like Dean, who are practically begging to be seen.

At the end of season 12, Dean is pleading with Mary to see him, and in 15x18, it’s being seen by Cas that, as Amara puts it, "puts Dean's fire out." (What Dean needs is to be seen... for his love, but also to be seen honestly, and with love.)

Chuck has no interest in seeing Dean as an individual beyond the facade—he's actively trying to mold Dean into the facade.

Because Chuck wants Dean to fit the idealized image he already has of him. That’s why he keeps manipulating him, believing that if he just solves the puzzle with more skill that Dean will finally become who he’s "meant" to be. Escalating Dean's anger is Chuck's "proof" that Dean is who Chuck thinks he is.

(NOTE: Which, by the way, this mirrors where the audience finds themselves in SPNwin / The Winchesters—trying to see John as the twisted man he’s destined to become. We eat up every scrap of negativity as proof that John is, without fail, only the cruel scapegoat we know from SPN prime.)

MARS NETO: There is centuries of violence and rage in your blood, John. Become what you were born to be!

Worryingly, Jack shows Kaia wondrous things to get her more on their side... calling back Kelly's and Castiel's visions of paradise.

Jack's metaphorical connections to drugs in this episode are not accidental.

He is euphoria-inducing.

And when he does his? His eyes are a bit less gold and a bit more orange-tinged. It's unsettling.

The lighting is interesting, too.

His eyes are a HALO of light around a dark pupil, like a dark body blocking out the light.

But Kaia's pupils are lit, giving the impression of being lit from within.

She's moved by the experience. The tough, prickly girl we've been seeing all episode has thawed completely.

///

From here on, Kaia is solidly Team Jack.

She's keyed into his emotions. Converted by their shared visions. (Like Kelly? Like Cas?) A more charitable view may be that she saw the goodness of him, and she realized they have shared values.

But it's interesting to me how protective she seems. When he despairs, SHE MOVES TO PROTECT HIM:

"No, they won't (take you)."

///

She trusts him to tap into her powers, facing her deepest fears (The Bad Place).

(You can see Jack's fiery wings manifested here—first upright/folded, and then unfolding as the power intensifies.) Jack is a create of flight tapping into a navigation system.

It goes badly for Kaia:

///

In the next scene, Jack's face is then lighted in the same style that Azazel and John's are, perhaps even calling to mind the old movie-monster spotlight:

[hiskillingjar]

guys, don't fucking ask me about bots on chara.ai

[unproduciblesmackdown]

being alive at the time i gleaned some general elements abt encanto but never actually heard we don't talk about bruno beyond awareness it existed popping off & i think i heard like the title recited off key off rhythm but in a way that indicates speak singing nonetheless lol so upon experiencing it it's like oh but it's the Verses? while the last refrain goes harder but prior to that it's comparatively underwhelming to said verses which feels appropriate like verses / pieces of a larger picture & that a "we don't talk about him" as a disappointing Lid on infinitely richer more characterful & dynamic "but: talking about him" instances. like well personally it'd be like um seven foot frame....anyway besides being able to firsthand go like oh damn Real (the kind of thing you know exists if alive at the time) it's like alright hang on lol. one thing when a core theme is yeah like "is it a refuge if 'especial' vulnerability ultimately gets pushed out rather than made safer" subset like the parties whose even observation of truths (problems) & drawing attention to them is seen as Ruining Things, like if you're painted as Making futures that aren't simply what's desired or reassuring rather than a guidance via just observing & sharing the truth. but then it's like whaddaya mean living in fear of bruno stuttering and stumbling you could always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling lmao like now that's just Association between the Truth Perceiving & Telling behavior & behavior that's just apparently distinctive of the same person. & like Not Accidentally when [what if people were magic] specifics are obviously primarily abt a metaphorical meaning & like, indeed it was made clear like oh this situation isn't Just b/c [boo we hate your prophecies] & that [an Ability that isn't directed towards what anyone Wants / is "weird" even by these magic standards] isn't Coincidentally given to someone who just so happens to already be "weird" in other ways & be set up to have a different perspective & be pushed away due to having the supposed "extra" vulnerability of unmet needs / insufficient support, same as someone who doesn't "correctly" have any kind of magic ability....like yeah banger and also like Oh Yeah Kind Of Devastating re: that metaphorical resonance allowing for like [set the metaphor aside] now hang on with this about this disabled family member lol. misinterpretation to The Ruinerrr / The Problemmm / The Maliciousss etc (i.e. the scapegoatinggg) despite their efforts likely entirely to the contrary. then despite like, efforts aside, Just Existing, always kind of muttering & mumbling like & what of it. & then like oh sorry weird pets. weird [auspicious for adaptable tenacious thriving surviving; either way simply creatures, existing] pets.

truly like As Is The Idea I'm Sure quickly becomes like hands behind back standing at the window Uh Oh Sisters musing on all the [disabled person] metaphorical & already literal elements there. blair witching it in contemplation like We've All Been There whether being so resented for the mere disruption of "existing in a group as the 'abnormal' odd one out" or like people talking shit abt anything associated w/you as soon as you've left the room, which is also made relevant like, this wasn't Only directed at this person when seemingly permanently gone, nor were they unaware / unaffected prior....pacing in the Musing parlor like things don't Have to be compared to billions but i only ever even see so many things & it's like billions sure is like "get scapegoated rword" & then said scapegoating is presented as only beneficial & we hate autists & even beyond that it's like, grabbing billions, Imagine If Things Meant To Be About Something Were About Something. quite a contrast when they are & furthermore like, deliberate thought & Care for [who gets scapegoated & why] & the truth of like, people getting pushed aside & out who have a key perspective & are primed / liable to come through for others similarly vulnerable & the supposedly Ruinous, Problems Generating disruptiveness is actually the strongest effort to make essential changes to a group. & come through with like, it'd be undermining thee point if it was "reassuring" us like oh haha people will be supportive b/c bruno will be more normal, so great that it Didn't like no, no Normality Reassurance(tm), presence of abnormalities(tm), Good, & everyone Can Deal b/c if you don't then it's pushing this person away, is exactly what happens, including even if they're still Around but are being mistreated b/c that is entirely part of that pushing away like anyone's victim blaming is ready to pounce at any time but if someone can't stand to stay / leaves b/c they can't see another option like that's not out of nowhere nor Regardless of what full support & flexibility they were getting lol. these Active Measures everyone loves so much, which are everywhere always & would include Staying & Trying To Make It Work & those efforts would be "disruptive" & resented & Bringing It On Oneself & etccc smh

that is to all say like. Woww when clearly basically the core thread was these beats of like, the crucial site of [thee scapegoated], & why that comes down on someone & how that plays out. endless ideas about how someone weird(tm) & disabled (&/or queer. but there's no Or here lol. & again like it's a Context like, to even be the one person without kids? likely not living up to "full" correct sexuality in that way alone; any oppression's logics of "inferiority" being logics of ableism, ready examples being that "inferior" race, gender, sexuality (& their experiences as people classed as inferior) all being pathologized as disordered) are seen & treated as someone Ruining Things & who cannot belong like whew. bracing. winding. which, i also recall like i was watching with headphones & during this one dialogue pause i was like "?? what's this Extra Sound i heard there" & had to go over it like twice before being hit upside the head like well it Was still the dialogue pause but it was also bruno Stuttering in a very quiet whisper for the duration of that pause before continuing like iiiiiiii x_x

[theabstruseone]

I slept in and just woke up, so here's what I've been able to figure out while sipping coffee:

Twitter has officially rebranded to X just a day or two after the move was announced.

The official branding is that a tweet is now called "an X", for which there are too many jokes to make.

The official account is still @twitter because someone else owns @X and they didn't reclaim the username first.

The logo is 𝕏 which is the Unicode character Unicode U+1D54F so the logo cannot be copyrighted and it is highly likely that it cannot be protected as a trademark.

Outside the visual logo, the trademark for the use of the name "X" in social media is held by Meta/Facebook, while the trademark for "X" in finance/commerce is owned by Microsoft.

The rebranding has been stopped in Japan as the term "X Japan" is trademarked by the band X JAPAN.

Elon had workers taking down the "Twitter" name from the side of the building. He did not have any permits to do this. The building owner called the cops who stopped the crew midway through so the sign just says "er".

He still plans to call his streaming and media hosting branch of the company as "Xvideo". Nobody tell him.

This man wants you to give him control over all of your financial information.

Edit to add further developments:

Yes, this is all real. Check the notes and people have pictures. I understand the skepticism because it feels like a joke, but to the best of my knowledge, everything in the above is accurate.

Microsoft also owns the trademark on X for chatting and gaming because, y'know, X-box.

The logo came from a random podcaster who tweeted it at Musk.

The act of sending a tweet is now known as "Xeet". They even added a guide for how to Xeet.

The branding change is inconsistent. Some icons have changed, some have not, and the words "tweet" and "Twitter" are still all over the place on the site.

TweetDeck is currently unaffected and I hope it's because they forgot that it exists again. The complete negligence toward that tool and just leaving it the hell alone is the only thing that makes the site usable (and some of us are stuck on there for work).

This is likely because Musk was forced out of PayPal due to a failed credit line project and because he wanted to rename the site to "X-Paypal" and eventually just to "X".

This became a big deal behind the scenes as Musk paid over $1 million for the domain X.com and wanted to rebrand the company that already had the brand awareness people were using it as a verb to "pay online" (as in "I'll paypal you the money")

X.com is not currently owned by Musk. It is held by a domain registrar (I believe GoDaddy but I'm not entirely sure). Meaning as long as he's hung onto this idea of making X Corp a thing, he couldn't be arsed to pay the $15/year domain renewal.

Bloomberg estimates the rebranding wiped between $4 to $20 billion from the valuation of Twitter due to the loss of brand awareness.

The company was already worth less than half of the $44 billion Musk paid for it in the first place, meaning this may end up a worse deal than when Yahoo bought Tumblr.

One estimation (though this is with a grain of salt) said that Twitter is three months from defaulting on its loans taken out to buy the site. Those loans were secured with Tesla stock. Meaning the bank will seize that stock and, since it won't be enough to pay the debt (since it's worth around 50-75% of what it was at the time of the loan), they can start seizing personal assets of Elon Musk including the Twitter company itself and his interest in SpaceX.

Sesame Street's official accounts mocked the rebranding.

[our-magical-world]

Answering some of the questions myself (based on my script because I've only shifted for one minute, so I can't answer most of them based on experience).

1- First, are you a student or a pro hero / teacher / adult? I'm a student in my main MHA DR (I have another DR where I'm an adult, so I'll answer about that in the last part of the post). I'm in class 1-A at UA.

2- What's your quirk? My quirk is Mirror Skin. It allows me to turn my skin into a mirror-like surface. Some of the things I can do is reflect my enemies' attacks back to them, which makes me a great counter-attack hero. I can also camouflage by reflecting my surroundings like a chameleon, which is great for stealth missions. And I can reflect the light to blind my opponents or send signals, among other things.

3- Are you related to any canon characters? No, no previous relationships, I didn't know anyone before entering UA.

4- Any non-canon characters we haven't seen in the series who are part of your life? I scripted my parents and a grandmother, but that's all. I probably have more family or childhood friends but I haven't scripted anything about them, I just know they exist. I'll remember the details once I'm there.

5- Do you have a crush? Are you in a relationship? I haven't scripted any romantic relationships. I love many characters but I don't really have a specific crush. I want to meet them in person first and see who I get along with, the vibes, the chemistry... If it happens, it happens. But I'm not shifting for love in this DR.

6- Did you make any changes to canon? Not really. I want my experience to be as close to canon as possible. The only change is that I'm the lead singer at the concert in the school festival.

7- Did you script anything or make any changes to canon that didn't turn out as you expected? I can't answer this since I haven't scripted any big changes, and I haven't stayed in my DR long enough to see what happens.

8- Did you meet (or fight) the villains? How was it? Not yet.

9- Is All Might as impressive as they say in person? I haven't met him yet.

For students:

10- Who are your best friends? Same as with relationships, I haven't scripted anything. I want to meet them in person and see who I get close with. To be honest, this is one of the things I'm most excited and curious about: who my closest friends will be, if I'll be part of a friend group or have a best friend... (I don't have many friends in this reality and I really miss it).

11- Did you replace anyone in class 1-A? (or B?) No, I just added myself. I don't want to script anyone out, I want to meet everyone! But if I had to replace someone, it would be Toru (Invisible Girl). First, because she doesn't have a big role in the show and it wouldn't make a big difference, and second, because our quirks are the most similar and can do similar things (stealth, reflect the light...)

12- Did you script Mineta out? I may regret this, but no, I didn't. As I said above, I want my experience to be as close to the original show as possible. If that means I have to deal with people like Mineta or Bakugo, so be it.

13- I've seen way too many shifters say that Momo tends to start drama for no reason in their DRs, was she like that in your DR? I haven't met her yet, but I sure hope not! She's one of my favorite characters and I was hoping to be her friend.

14- What's your daily schedule at UA? Did you script your own schedule/timetable? Any subjects you love or hate? I haven't created my own schedule but I'm using this one as reference, it's the closest to official I could get since it was used at a MHA exhibition in Japan. I can't say I'm not scared, it's intense (too many hours of math, thanks, I hate it), but I'll go with it.

15- Has anyone seen Bakugo's room or Tsuyu's room? Not yet.

For shifters who aren't students anymore:

For this part I'll answer based on my alternate DR where I'm an adult.

16- Are you a pro hero? A teacher? A civilian? A villain? It's complicated. I got a hero license so I could use my healing quirk in emergencies, but I don't work as a pro hero. I have three alternate DRs for this version of me (based on different S/Os), in two of them I work at a hospital and in the third I'm a teacher at UA. I start as Recovery Girl's assistant but I end up teaching First Aid.

17- What's your daily life like? I can't answer that yet.

18- Who do you work with? Do you have your own agency? Sidekicks?Any interesting team-ups with other heroes? I'm not a hero, so I don't have an agency or a team. I just help the local heroes and especially the victims often in emergencies, or after a fight. But in two of my alternate DRs, Ingenium and Hawks end up asking me to join their agencies. I'd mostly do support work and be in charge of healing heroes and victims, plus helping with other random tasks that don't involve fighting (I know martial arts and can defend myself in an emergency, though). In the third alternate DR I'm a teacher at UA, I'm Recovery Girl's assistant but I end up teaming up with Aizawa a lot. Since the kids in class 1-A are so extreme, constantly getting injured and even attacked by villains, I basically end up supervising their training and going with them everywhere (field trips, summer camp, special training sessions etc) while Recovery Girl takes care of the rest of the school.

19- Anything we should know about hero work? I can't answer that yet, but I'll come back after I shift!

20- Any embarrassing moments to confess? Not yet...

21- Free spot I haven't fully shifted yet, but I can share (again) the story of my one-minute mini-shift. I woke up laying on the ground (probably a training field at UA) and saw Iida, in his hero costume, calling my name again and again. I assume I had hurt myself and fallen unconscious during an intense training session. My whole body was numb, I couldn't move, and all I could feel was an intense headache. When Iida noticed I was awake, he said: "Are you alright? Can you move?" I couldn't move AT ALL, I couldn't even shake my head because it hurt terribly. I struggled to speak BUT I finally managed to say: "My head hurts..." "Don't move! Recovery Girl is on her way!" he said. Then I heard another voice calling me (not my name, but a nickname), and Kirishima, also in his hero costume, knelt beside me on my other side. "Are you okay? Don't worry! I'll take you to Recovery Girl!!" "No!" -Iida interrupted him- "Don't move her! If she has some broken bones, it's better not to move her!" "Oh... yeah, you're right. Hang on!" And then I lost consciousness, or more exactly, I felt like my consciousness was pulling me back to my CR (it's hard to explain but it felt exactly like that, like something pulling my brain so strong I couldn't fight back to stay there). I fainted in my DR and woke up in my CR.

More about my UA student DR More about my adult/hero/teacher DRs

Questions for MHA shifters

My Hero Academia is one of my main DRs and I always enjoy reading / listening to MHA shifters talk about their experiences there, it gives me so much motivation and it's usually super interesting.

So I thought about some questions I'd like to ask experienced shifters about their MHA DRs. Just random things I'm curious about. If you've shifted there and would like to answer (just for fun, feel free to skip any questions you're not comfortable with!) please reblog with your answers, or make a new post and tag me so I can read it. (You can also answer if you haven't shifted, based on your script and ideas, just let us know at the beginning).

1- First, are you a student or a pro hero / teacher / adult?

2- Mandatory question: What's your quirk?? Do you have any special moves?

3- Are you related to any canon characters? (as family or previous relationships like childhood friends, rivals...)

4- Any non-canon characters we haven't seen in the series who are part of your life? (like siblings, scripting your CR friends in there, or having children in your DR)

5- Do you have a crush? Are you in a relationship? or even better, love triangles? relationship drama? I want the tea (only if you're comfortable with sharing, of course!)

6- Did you make any changes to canon? (if you changed too many things, you can just mention a few interesting ones that made your experience very different from canon)

7- Did you script anything or make any changes to canon that didn't turn out as you expected? (as in what seemed like a small change turned out to change the story drastically)

8- Did you meet (or fight) the villains? How was it?

9- Is All Might as impressive as they say in person? (if you met him in muscle form)

For students:

10- Who are your best friends?

11- Did you replace anyone in class 1-A? (or B?) I've seen many people do this so the number of students stays even. Who did you script out?

12- Did you script Mineta out? Or change his personality? If you didn't, did you have any problems with him (especially if you're a girl)? Anyone (else) you scripted out or changed drastically?

13- I've seen way too many shifters say that Momo tends to start drama for no reason in their DRs and I'm a little concerned... was she like that in your DR?

14- What's your daily schedule at UA? Did you script your own schedule/timetable? Any subjects you love or hate?

15- Has anyone seen Bakugo's room or Tsuyu's room? They're the only ones that weren't shown in the series (Mineta's was described in the light novel), I'm curious to know how they decorated them!

For shifters who aren't students anymore:

16- Are you a pro hero? A teacher? A civilian? A villain?

17- What's your daily life like?

18- Who do you work with? Do you have your own agency? Sidekicks?Any interesting team-ups with other heroes?

19- Anything we should know about hero work?

Bonus: 20- Any embarrassing moments to confess? (you can do it anonymously if you want!)

21- Free spot: That's all I can think of right now, but feel free to include anything you want to share! You can also submit your own questions for other shifters and I'll add them to the post or create a new one.

THANKS!!

[iraprince]

gonna show u guys a little opalescent highlight hack i threw together today

rainbow gradient above your main figure (i usually have all my main figure folders/layers in one big folder, so i can clip gradient maps + adjustments to it!). liquify tool to push the colors around a bit. STAY WITH ME I KNOW IT LOOKS STUPID RN I'M GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS

THEN: set it to add/glow (or the equivalent in ur drawing program), lower the opacity a bit, and apply a layer mask. then u can edit the mask with whatever tools you like to create rainbow highlights!!

in this case i'm mostly using the lasso fill tool to chip out little facets, but i've also done some soft airbrushing to bring in larger rainbow swirls in some areas. it's pretty subtle here, but you can see it better when i remove the gradient map that's above everything, since below i'm working in greyscale:

more granular rambling beneath the cut!

u could also just do this with a brush that has color jitter, but what i like about using layer masks for highlight/shading layers is how simple and reversible it makes everything. i can use whatever brushes i want, and erasing/redoing things is super low stakes, which is great when i often approach this stuff with a super trial-and-error approach.

example: have u ever thrown a gradient w multiple colors over an entire piece, set it to multiply etc, and then tried to erase it away to carve out shadows/highlights? it's super frustrating, bc it looks really good, but if u erase something and then change ur mind later, u basically would have to like. recreate the gradient in the area u want to cover up again. that's how i used to do things before figuring out layer masks!! but masking basically creates a version of this with INFINITE undo bc u can erase/re-place the base layer whenever u want.

anyway, back to rambling about this specific method:

i actually have TWO of these layers on this piece (one with the liquified swirls shown above, and another that's just a normal concentric circle gradient with much broader stripes) so i can vary the highlights easily as needed.

since i've basically hidden the rainbow pattern from myself, the colors in each brushstroke i make will kind of be a surprise, which isn't always great -- but easily fixable! for example, if i carve out a highlight and it turns out the rainbow pattern in that area is way too stripey, i can just switch from editing the mask to editing the main layer and blur that spot a bit.

also, this isn't a full explanation of the overall transparency effect in these screencaps! there's other layer stuff happening below the rainbow highlights, but the short version is i have all this character's body parts in different folders, each with their own lineart and background fill, and then the fill opacity is lowered and there's multiply layers clipped to that -- blah blah it's a whole thing. maybe i'll have a whole rundown on this on patreon later. uhhh i think that's it tho! i hope u get something useful out of this extremely specific thing i did lmao

[weneeya]

Hello!! I don't know if you like that idea, but would you make haikyuu boys with the tiktok trend “a boy who's jacked and kind”? I thought this would fit so many of them (iwa, ushijima, bokuto… SO MANY 😭)

jacked and kind pt.1 / pt.2 m.list | rules

pairing. haikyuu x reader

characters. iwaizumi, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo

note. OMG YOUR BRAIN?? you're a genius i love this idea sm ofc i'm gonna do it!! hope you'll enjoy it, don't hesitate to do requests guys <3

Iwaizumi

You were laying on the couch of your living room, scrolling on your phone through the different trends on TikTok right now. You were a bit bored, until you noticed your boyfriend, Iwaizumi, entering the room. He sat next to you, completely silent, and you decided that it was time to have some fun.  You began to scroll through the videos of the “jacked and kind” trend where guys put their girls on a shoulder. Yes, you secretly hoped that Iwaizumi would do this with you, but you also knew he would never say yes if you asked him to do the video with you. You needed to be more tricky. 

After a few videos with the same sound, your boyfriend glanced at your phone. When he noticed the video playing on your screen, a light frown appeared on his face, putting his own phone to the side. He was interested ; good for you. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked, leaning closer to you to have a better look at the screen. You looked at him, and explained the trend to him. He shrugged his shoulders, not convinced even a little.  “Doesn’t seem so hard, why is he struggling so much?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. Great, it was exactly what you wanted.  “You think you wouldn’t struggle?” you asked him, and you noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He stood up from the couch and motioned you to do the same. He was never saying no to a challenge.  “Let me just…” You put your phone in a good position so it would be able to capture the scene perfectly. You walked back to him, turning around to face the camera. He put his hands on your waist, and in a silent agreement, he picked you up like you weighed nothing. He put you on his shoulder, and you stayed there for a moment before he put you back on the floor.  You cut the video, putting it in your drafts. No one other than you needed to see how strong your boyfriend was. His flexed arms were only for you. You turned around to look at him, andIwaizumi had his arms crossed and a grin playing on his lips.  “See? Wasn’t so hard.” He really was a proud idiot, and it made you roll your eyes with an amused smile. You could not deny it though ; it really seemed to be a piece of cake for him. 

Ushijima

Ushijima was a dense man, the type who does not understand simple things because it simply did not make sense to him. And those trends? They were far from anything he could understand easily. You tried a few times, but your boyfriend did not seem to get it. But this time, it had to be different, because you really wanted him to do this one. Jacked and kind? It was perfect for him, he could not escape it.  He was busy with a book, laying on the bed, when he heard you enter the room. He almost immediately looked up from his book to meet your eyes. He slowly raised an eyebrow when he noticed how excited you seemed to be. Ushijima put his book to the side, sitting back up on the bed and waiting for you to begin your explanations.  “Can you just follow me, please? I want to try something!” You told him, and as he was not the type to complain, he just stood up and walked behind you as you led him to the living room.  Your phone was already in its place, ready to keep in memory the moment forever. You stood up in front of your boyfriend, back facing him, and led his hands to your waist. You glanced at him from above your shoulder, and you saw the loss on his face.  “I need you to pick me up, and put me on your shoulder. You think you can do that?” You asked, and his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he still did not understand what you were trying to do. Yet, it disappeared quickly and he nodded at your words.  In no time, you were sitting on Ushijima’s shoulder who was holding you there like you were nothing more than a feather to him. He looked at you, almost like it did not ask him for any effort.  “You can put me down now,” you told him, and he did as you say, your feet gently meeting the ground again. You cut the video, looking at it for a moment. He was so adorable with his lost face, but his arms were sending mixed feelings in your stomach.  You walked back to him, leaving a soft kiss against his cheek. You thanked him with a smile, and Ushijima did not need more than this. He did not understand a single thing but if you were satisfied and happy, he could not ask for better.

Bokuto

“I want to do this!” said Bokuto when he saw the video playing on your phone, looking at it from above your shoulder. He had his arms wrapped around you, keeping your back pressed against his chest. He even held you a bit tighter before of how excited he was at the idea of showing off how he could pick you up so easily.  You could not deny anything to this boy when he was so happy. Well, you could never deny him, but especially not when he was like this. You put your phone on record mode, placing it a bit far so it could capture your two figures better.  Bokuto stood up behind you, putting his hands on your waist, already ready to pick you up. He glanced at you to ask if you were too, and your small nod was everything he needed. He pulled you in the air, and the second after you were sitting on his shoulder while he held you there. He was so proud of himself, you could tell by the large smile on his lips.  He laughed a bit, before he began to do small spins with you on his shoulder, showing off how strong he was. It made you chuckle seeing how excited he was, before he put you back down on the floor. You moved away from him to turn off the camera, and he was impatiently waiting behind you to see the video.  “Was I good? I was, right?” He asked, and you swore he looked like a cute puppy who wanted to hear how much of a good boy he was. You looked back at him with a smile, nodding softly.  “The best.” You replied, and you could not say anything else because he picked you up once again to carry you around the room, all happy and overexcited. Bokuto really loved to have you in his arms, there was no doubt about this.

Kuroo

“I am jacked and kind!” Kuroo was walking right behind you as you shook your head. You glanced at him from above your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. You eyed him from head to toe, before you shrugged your shoulders.  “Maybe jacked, but not so kind,” you teased, and he took an offended face, resting a hand against his chest. You both knew it was nothing serious, only a playful banter as always.  “Rude.” He told you, before he shifted to be in front of you, stopping you in your steps to the kitchen. There was no way he would let you run away from this so easily. He was going to show how jacked and kind he could be if he wanted to.  “Take the video, let the world see how great your boyfriend is.” Kuroo flexed his arms while you were putting your phone in place to capture the moment. You rolled your eyes at his words before you walked back to him.  “Talk less, show more.” You told him with a grin, before a light gasp left your lips. He had suddenly picked you up to put on his shoulder without a warning. A smirk appeared on his lips, and he looked up at you with an eyebrow raised suggestively. Your only answer was a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.  He chuckled a bit before he slowly put you down, but not to the floor. He carried you in bridal style, so you would be forced to look at him this time. “Not kind, uh?” This bastard, you loved him so much. You pushed his shoulder slightly before he put you down, all giggling because of how proud he was of himself.  You turned off the video, keeping it to yourself. There was no way you would let anyone else see how he made you react when he was like this. He would be too happy to see the reactions of the people on the Internet.

thank you sm <3

[shiny-jr]

from SCARABIA

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: Hey! Hey... How y'all doing...? I know it's been nearly two years since I updated this.

Pomefiore   |   Scarabia   |   Octavinelle

Jasmine. The scent of freshly ground jasmine tea leaves permeated the air, an attempt to cast a relaxing affect. However, it only had the opposite affect, as you knew enough to determine where the letter might've originated from. A vertical envelope sealed, with no wax seal or string to hold it shut. A perfectly normal envelope but labeled urgent.

Each word seemed so carefully planned, the ink creating coils and lines like woven fabric as if printed. It nearly felt too unnatural, from the formalness that spiraled into quick and rushed writing. After this many letters, you've picked up by now that the neatest ones likely have something to hide, but they likely got tired of hiding it. Pretty penned words and apologies in ink were used to conceal what the writer truly felt.

To the player,

Do not leave Ramshackle dorm tonight.

Mondays you visit Mr. S's Mystery Shop for the essentials. Tuesdays you sneak into the botanical garden. Wednesdays you spend time with Professor Crewel as he stays late to grade exams in the Alchemy Workshop. Thursdays you hide in the Coliseum as Coach Vargas rearranges equipment. Fridays you slip into the back of the library where Professor Trein is reading. Weekends you're either with Headmaster Crowley in the Hall of Mirrors or guarded in Ramshackle.

They know you leave Ramshackle at midnight. I just want to warn you. No one is supposed to be around at midnight. It should have remained a short moment away from the confines of Ramshackle, but, the same people you've been avoiding have heard about your nightly escapades.

I know I'm one of those people you're avoiding. Know that I'm not upset at you. I don't fault you for it. You've known my true nature for a while now, but you could realize that even I'm not twisted enough to stalk you and get your schedule all on my own. All that above? Information I heard. I don't approve of tracking you, not when you deserve to have peace and quiet if you want it. But I don't mind influencing a classmate or two with magic to hear what's going on inside each dorm when they're threatening your brief moments of peace. There's the obvious happenings, and the not so obvious ones.

That being said, you do know that I am willing to do what it takes to protect your space and to advance my standing above the rest. That's something I don't bother to hide around you. So, I'll tell you the happenings. The obvious that others have probably yapped about already... Malleus and his cohorts have taken up the task of guarding Ramshackle, so they know about your trips. Ignihyde is mostly quiet, but Ortho has been talking to Kalim a lot about "fun" plans to involve you in. Pomefiore maintaining their refined image to impress you when I doubt that it's all real.

The Leech twins have been particularly prone to violence recently, and Azul lacks his usual confidence although he tries to hide it. In Savanaclaw there's been multiple brawls because of the tension but Leona seems to be sleeping in more than before. Heartslabyul is as chaotic as ever, but it seems like they feel the most responsible for what happened. I've seen those two first years, Ace and Deuce, try to visit Ramshackle all the time but never get past the gate.

That's not all, but that's all I'll say about that for now.

I'm not trying to bother you, I can promise you that. I managed to put a stop to about ten plans Kalim was ready to set in motion just this week to grab your attention.

You realize what this is by now. I know you do. A warning from me, an attempt to redeem myself. Although "redeem" doesn't seem like a suitable word, because I don't really believe true redemption is possible. Not with what I allowed to happen to you. But I only care about myself, and you. No one else. So I don't care if their plans fail. In fact, I'm glad to tell you this, just so they won't see you.

Don't let them see you. They don't deserve it. None of us do. My advice to you: avoid your usual destinations for about a week or two. After a while, they'll start looking elsewhere. Give me a few more days, I'll start planting false rumors soon to throw them off. Like how you were spotted in the woods behind campus or the sports field. That will get them off your back for a while. If you plan to go to the cafeteria eventually for a meal, take the long way through the back. Hardly anyone goes that way. If you want a home cooked meal, let me know. I'll send something your way if you just ask.

One last warning. You're going to get a letter around the same time you'll get this one you're currently reading. It's an invitation from Kalim. Don't go. He's planning a surprise party with the exact people you're avoiding.

Anything you tell Kalim will eventually be told to others, you should know that. Anything you say to me will be kept a secret I will closely guard. If you want more information or greater details, something to be delivered since I imagine you'll be in Ramshackle for a while, or just desire new company for once... I'm here. Even if you don't want me, I'm here. With just one response from you, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Tell me whatever you wish, and I'll see to it just to be back in your grace.

Awaiting your response.

Best wishes,

Jamil Viper

A chill traveled up your spine as you processed the message you just read. The window was right beside you, so you reached up to pull the string of the blinds, blocking out the sights in fear of someone watching through those very windows.

"Grim, we're going to have to take a rain check on our trip to the cafeteria tonight." Once you dropped the letter, you went window to window, closing and locking each one, pulling down the blinds and readjusting the curtains.

"Aww..." The feline watched in confusion as you moved around to check the locked front and back doors. Normally he would've immediately whined and complained about the canceled trip to the place with food, but he sensed your reemerging paranoia. Following you, his tail swished behind him as he walked on all fours. "What's with you? Was it something in that letter?"

Pulling on the door handle, you were only satisfied when it didn't budge. "Yes."

When you handed him the letter to read, his little paws grasped onto it and he handed you a second open letter that was unfamiliar. Sniffing the jasmine scented letter, Grim pulled away and plopped down with it. "I was reading that other one while you were distracted. It sounds fun and it would be worth going if they weren't crazy obsessed, you know."

Fun?

When you took a closer look at the letter Grim handed you, it was evidence that Jamil had told the truth in this instance.

Even from where you stood, you could make out the shimmer of the torn envelope forgotten in the living room floor feet away from where you stood. Grim has throughly torn through it, the exterior was white with a corner accidentally stained by black ink. The interior of the envelope shined like gold. Was it real gold? Probably not, but at this rate, anything was possible.

The letter was clearly perfumed, and each word was written far more casually than in other letters you had already read. Each word was written in clear black ink, and there seemed to be a doodle marking the end of every paragraph. There was a heart, a smiley face, and a star, just to name a few. Just by a glance, it didn't carry the same heavy content like the others did. There was only one person you could think of who would have written this.

Hi, Player!

You are invited to a celebration in your honor!

That's right. Tomorrow, at the Scarabia dorm, I'll be hosting a party just for you! There's gonna be every type of food you can think of, the best songs to dance to, and invitations have already been sent out. It's gonna be the biggest party this place has ever seen! I even imported some gifts from off campus to give you later. I'm sure you're probably wondering why throw a party after everything that happened, huh?

Well, I had two reasons. One, I wanted to use it as an apology. I'm sorry. I really really mean it. I know I keep saying it with every gift and letter I've sent you. I don't even have a clue if you've read the ones I sent before. I hope you've seen them. Did you at least like the bracelet I sent last time? It's real gold from my homeland!

The second reason was because I just really want to see you. Even if you just come by for a minute, just one dance or have one plate of food, that would be enough. It would make me happy. And maybe it might make you happy too? Jamil said it isn't a good idea, but its worth a shot! And really, we're all miserable without you. I figured that it would be a way to cheer everyone up, not just you and me. Right now, I think everyone could use a bit of festivity to lift their spirits. Especially you, and honestly, me too. Ever since you shut yourself in Ramshackle, everyone's been worried sick.

I hope you're doing better now! Admittedly, I still feel guilty about what happened. Whenever I think too much about it, I get scared when I imagine what you went through and what could've happened. I wish I could turn back time to when you walked into Scarabia and pretended to be someone else. My heart recognized you before my brain did, and I was too happy with you to even realize that the joy I felt in that moment was so familiar. It was familiar because I was with you, and I'm only that happy when I'm hanging out with you! I think about that day a lot, you know. But you didn't tell me it was you for a reason.

You were scared, weren't you? That's why you kept looking around so much back then. At first, I thought it was because you were curious of the dorm, but I was wrong. You weren't scared of me, were you? I hope not. You know I would never ever hurt you, right? Even when you were known as the "imposter," I didn't want to cause you any pain at all. I just wanted to ask: why? Why was this happening? Why had they caused Yuu to break down? Why were they doing it and causing us so much pain?

Because without you, we were hurting. Badly.

I was hurting, and I don't ever remembering feeling a pain like this. It feels worse than any sort of bitter poison or heartbreaking betrayal. I'm so, so, sorry.

I don't want to dwell on the past too much. It hurts to think about. I hope you'll be willing to at least consider forgiving me? It seems like a lot to ask, and I have no idea what you're thinking. I really want to see you, and hanging out again, and forget all this ever happened. But I can't do that, because I have to consider you, your thoughts, your opinion on everything.

Sorry, sorry, I don't want this letter to sound depressing. It's supposed to be an invitation! Everything's gonna be okay, it has to be. Soon, maybe, I'll get to see you again and everything will be right. I won't feel this pain in my chest anymore, once I'm with you. Right now, let me take this chance to just try and explain how much you mean to me... Uh, I never thought I would actually get this opportunity. It doesn't feel real. I don't even know if the right words exist that capture my emotions. Let's see... When I wake up in the mornings, you're the first thing on my mind as the sun comes up. When I fall asleep at night, you're all that's in my dreams as the sun goes down.

People think I'm too hopeful, too naive, when it comes to you. But I'm not! One day, I know we'll be together again, and we'll be happy! I'll get to just live beside you, the real you! That's been my wish ever since I've met you through your vessel, Yuu.

We're already halfway there! You're here, in our world, I've met you, I've spoken to you, I've been so close I literally touched your hand! Yeah, we messed up along the way, but we'll make up for it! All that's left is to earn your forgiveness, and my wish will have come true once you allow me to be next to you again! I'm so so close, and yet you seem so far away. Just out of reach, but I'll get there, don't worry. I'll make up for everything. All you gotta do is guide me. Tell me what you want. Please.

I'll check up on you soon, okay?

See you tomorrow,

Kalim Al-Asim

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi!!!! I'm currently indulging in your adorable fluff fics about our beloved COD men!! They are FREAKING ADORABLE.

Could you write one imagine with just pure cute, domesticated fluff? Like married life/life w kids or smth with TF141. I'm up for anything haha. It's okay if u don't want to ! 😄<33

I did have someone request domestic fluff not too long ago, but I couldn't help myself. I had to jump on your ask, anon, and write some more domestic fluff!! You can read that other domestic fluff imagines fic here. I incorporated some dad!141 here with Ghost and Price. The whole thing is just softness and sweetness. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: domestic fluff, dad!Price, dad!Simon

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

This isn’t John’s thing, but he’ll do it for his daughters.

John sits at one end of the table while you sit on the other, your two daughters seated on either side. His three favorite girls are all dressed up. You’re decked out in a witch’s outfit, something you found stowed away in a storage bin. His two daughters with you are dressed up like their Dungeons & Dragons characters. One, a wood elf ranger. The other, a half-elf cleric.

John isn’t dressed up, but from the character sheet you’ve put in front of him, his name is Gurlak, a half-orc barbarian. Rip and tear. Punch and smash. Easy. He can do that.

Family board game night has become Dungeons & Dragons night. The girls’ school started a club, and now they’ve brought it home, completely obsessed with it.

“From the dark,” you begin, lowering your voice. The girls lean in, eyes wide. “Yellow eyes peer back at you.”

The girls giggle, the youngest bouncing in her chair.

John smiles, and sighs with contentment. He wishes every night could be like this.

Your hands raise high above you, and then smack against the table. The girls jump, startled.

“Roll initiative!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s early, and Johnny is determined. Upstairs, your alarm is off, silenced on purpose.

Before him on the kitchen counter is everything he needs to prepare breakfast. Eggs, bacon, batter for pancake and waffles, fresh fruit, shredded potatoes—an endless list of items that covers the granite countertop in a sea of colorful boxes and containers.

With the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, Johnny begins warming pans and popping slices of bread into the toaster. He melts into the work, slicing fruit, placing bacon in the pan to sizzle. Johnny’s minds drifts, and with his back turned to the stove, he doesn’t notice the bacon fat as it urges toward flame.

It’s the whiff of something burning that distracts him from turning a strawberry into a flower. Then the shriek of the smoke detector.

“Hells,” he mutters, snagging the smoking pan and dumping it into the sink. He opens the window.

“What’s happening?” You rub at your eyes, sleep lacing your tone.

Johnny shrugs sheepishly. “Making you breakfast? Burning the house down?”

You blink, and then laugh, rushing to turn the vent fan on, the two of you laughing as you clear the house of smoke.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle awakens in the dark. Immediately, without even having to turn over, he knows you’re not in bed. That familiar weight is missing.

With a slight twist, Kyle reaches out, finding only coldness. Stretching, Kyle sits up, glancing around the silent bedroom. All is still and dark. The bathroom door is cracked, but the light isn’t on. Slowly, with sleep still clinging to his muscles, Kyle guides himself from bed, heading for the door. Out in the hall, he walks toward the living room, knowing that you might be curled up on the sofa, completely absorbed in a book.

But you are not on the sofa with your book and blanket.

Kyle finds you in the kitchen, the double doors of the refrigerator standing open, the harsh light bathing you in its glow.

“Midnight snack?” asks Kyle.

You pop your head out from around the door, chewing on something. Kyle snorts and saunters over, coming up behind you. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he places his chin on your shoulder.

“Willing to share?” he murmurs.

“Not if it’s ice cream,” you reply.

Kyle smiles, and places a kiss your neck. You lean into him, and Kyle pulls you closer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Dinner is always chaotic, but everyone sits at the table.

Simon forks up some of his lasagna, popping it into his mouth as he grabs the plate of his youngest. Using the child-size plastic knife and fork, he starts hacking away at her portion of lasagna, cutting it into smaller pieces. She watches, pointing and directing while chewing on her garlic bread when she thinks Simon isn’t cutting the pieces small enough for her liking.

The two middle children fuss and argue at each other from across the table. They both want the bottle of salad dressing, but only one manages to snag it before the other. She shakes the bottle, pops the tab, and a massive wad of ranch splatters across her plate. Her sister laughs in her face, and then complains loudly when half of the smeared ranch ends up on her plate.

Simon glances up, finds you in conversation with the oldest as she shows off her report card. His heart flips, surges, becomes so full that it’s prone to bursting. Most of his life, a family seemed a distant, unobtainable dream. But surrounding him is all he cares about in this world.

He couldn’t be happier.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

[bumblingbabooshka]

AU where the Alter Ego storyline takes place over a longer period of time (The Harry-Tuvok portions stay the same in content but maybe we delve a little deeper into both of them and their burgeoning friendship when given more time...but this post isn't about that!) and Tuvok comes out as trans (not in those words) to Marayna while thinking she's just a hologram. Marayna is not trans but she resonates deeply with the loneliness she senses from Tuvok (just as she did originally) and the feeling Tuvok expresses of being 'stuck' the way you are for a multitude of reasons despite it slowly making you more and more miserable. In the alpha quadrant being a man made Tuvok a 'Husband' and 'Father' for decades - roles that have brought fulfilment. Now, alone, what does it bring? Tuvok asserts that Marayna can change, she can return to her people. She doesn't have to just bear it. "What about you, Tuvok?" she asks. The Lieutenant has no answer....things will surely remain as they've always been. Tuvok doesn't know how to change them now. Is it even worth it to change them? Tuvok's not as bad off as the emotional Marayna. There's no need to change. Why rock the boat unnecessarily, because of a (decades long deep-seated) whim? Marayna is later able to sporadically contact Tuvok somehow (she's traveling instead of being among her own people) which leads to them finally meeting up in some alien virtual space. Marayna uses the 'Marayna' (not her real name) model so Tuvok can quickly identify her and Tuvok uses a Default Vulcan Model...the fact that the model is female was sheer coincidence. It was just the first one that popped up and Tuvok doesn't care either way. Obviously. The two of them have a wonderful time observing the alien program - standing apart from the crowd but also being together. Tuvok begins spending more and more free time in the program even when Marayna isn't there. Eventually, on the last day the program can be activated (Voyager's moving out of range) after saying goodbye to Marayna Tuvok's noticed by an alien and spends the rest of the night talking with them. The alien doesn't know Tuvok and acts as if they're speaking to any other woman. When asked for a name, Tuvok says "T'Vok." Immediately afterward, Voyager goes out of range. Tuvok stares at the ceiling. Meditates. It was the same as going undercover. Nothing has changed. Nothing. That night the Vulcan dreams of someone: That fuzzy childhood-static-filled image of herself as an adult...as a woman. Waking up, Tuvok meditates again - this time not seeking to accept and overcome (as a Vulcan normally would) but to repress, erase. 'It is unnecessary' Tuvok repeats, erasing her yet again.

What if Tuvok was a closeted trans woman and the episode 'Alter Ego' got a whole lot sadder

[artsy-hobbitses]

Some people got the real problems Some people out of luck Some people think I can solve them Lord heavens above I'm only human after all I'm only human after all Don't put the blame on me Don't put the blame on me

This ended up exactly as I hoped and I'm super happy with it as a back-to-basics piece with only lineart and shading to carry the strength of the message of wanting to be seen as human, feat. the Cold Constructs of TTB (Megatron, Prowl, Ravage, Starscream, Blaster and Laserbeak in that order).

There is quite a bit of symbolism going on here, so if you're interested in an indepth discussion of it, it's all under the cut.

Only the eyes were colored for each character, because in TTB, Cold Constructs are often regarded as ‘soulless’ so it’s more or less highlighting that they ‘have a soul’ in that aspect (eyes being the window to the soul and all).

Bleeding from their barcodes, to show that they are still very much human underneath the thing which makes them ‘less than human’ in the eyes of many,

Most of them looking directly at the audience to challenge their perception of shame in being government-assigned second-class citizens. (CCs learn to keep their gaze low when talking to higher ranked individuals early on)

The poses also speak to the character and how they handle their status as a Cold Construct:

Megatron is readying himself to slug anyone who speaks ill about what he is.

Prowl is stoic about what he is but also learning to be open/trusting about it (this is the most vulnerable position for the code after all, letting anyone see this has to be deliberate act on his end).

Ravage is the one most close up to the audience since he’s the one who’s most in-your-face and unapologetic about what he is.

Starscream is reluctant but defiant about it, and more interestingly, it looks like he’s been stabbed in the back, to show that he was betrayed by the system long before he learned to lie and scheme.

Blaster is the only one who seems to invite the audience, and it’s because unlike the others, his status as a CC was only was outed by himself in adulthood after he’d been accepted as an ordinary man following years of Rewind doing the best to make sure he grew up ‘normal’. He chose to take a stand and used his influence to spread awareness about the issue via his own success as a news reporter, and him reaching out to the audience aims to bridge the divide, and also ask them in a way, to see for themselves just how different his blood is from theirs. at the end of the day. (He is based off IDW Blaster, and has red eyes! As the red-eyes-evil blue-eyes-good divide doesn’t exist in TTB and he’s one of a handful of Autobots that have red ones)

Laserbeak is the only one with her eyes hidden, but that she’s weeping and it looks like her heart is bleeding speaks to how what she is still hurts her even if she tries to put up a blase front.

[i-starcreamed]

Can you write something with D16 and a human reader please? Maybe like seeing a human for the first time and befriending eachother, then the reader develops feelings because I mean....D16 XD (There is literally nothing of transformers one 😭) PS. I don't know why but I feel like transformers one character at least the miners are closer to human height for some reason 🤣 (sorry for yapping I'm obsessed)

D-16 X READER

Ok so…very unrealistic because yknow, no humans on cybertron. However I made up my own scenario :3 in my mind humans reach about to the knees of mine bots. You’ll make it work..

Human! Reader

Dumb fluff, no sad stuff

Reader is a space explorer who SOMEHOW MAGICALLY managed to successfully land on Cybertron with some of their survival kit intact (food, water, etc). What they didn’t expect was to encounter a train looking vehicle, hopping in it out of curiosity. What they also never expected was the train to start moving at full speed, charging inside of the planet as the crust literally opened up.

Your throat almost went sore because of your screaming.

You shifted, groaning as you sat up from your laying position. God, your head was pounding, what even happened? The ground beneath you was cold and rough, like the texture of popcorn wall if it were made of metal. Around you, you could hear the sound of wheels screeching, metal banging. Whatever you were on was not a smooth ride.

You opened your eyes, your breath hitched as you saw a figure above you. They were looking straight forward, both their hands placed on the edge of the cart. And they were not human. No human is that big.

You swiveled your head around you, seeing a pile of large rocks surrounding you. They were glowing a bright blue, looking quite radioactive. Okay, maybe you and your team expected a tiny bit of life here—but not a whole…whatever this was. You slowly stood up, carefully making your way towards the rock nearest to you. You struggled to move, all the rocks were basically covering your body. The rocks rolled over softly as you lifted an arm.

“Hey there,”

You froze, hearing a deep voice above you. You turned around, eyeing the figure still looking away from you. They looked to their side, mimicking the human expression of curtly smiling and nodding to someone to their right. You sighed in relief.

Placing both your palms on the edge of the cart, you pulled yourself up, letting the rocks fall away from your legs. You peeled your head over the cart, your eyes widening at the life around you. Sooo many robot beings walking around and pushing minecarts, all in different colors and similar size. You let out a small gasp.

D-16 raised a brow, hearing a noise just below him. He did a double take as he saw..something poking out of his cart. He froze. You froze. You both frozed.

“AHH!” You both yelled at the same time, backing away from eachother.

You fall back in between the rocks, probably scraping your back against one. Simotaniously, he bumped into someone’s cart in back of him, he muttered an awkward apology as he hurried along with his cart—he couldn’t let anyone else see this…thing.

He rushed over, taking a sharp turn and away from everyone doing their jobs.

When he stopped, he leaned over his cart to take a good look at you.

“Okay…what! What are you?” He whispered yelled, honestly feeling a bit defensive. You couldn’t blame him, he’s never seen a species like you. Sure, you were smaller. You were about the size of his leg..definitely shorter.

“I uh..I could ask the same thing…” you nervously said.

When you two first met you were very cautious of eachother. You were both scared. I think it took him a while to realize you were from a wholeee different planet. You were a space explorer? That’s cool! He’s definitely going to ask you about cybertrons surface, even though you insist you only saw it for a couple minutes before being kidnapped by a train.

He becomes so interested in you. Eventually, you OF COURSE get introduced to Orion. He had the same reaction, but was equally as intrigued. We all know how much he loves history and learning, they’re both gonna ask so many questions. They do everything to keep you hidden away from other bots, ESPECIALLY DarkWing. Orion has never seen D-16 as enthusiastic about someone as he is about you. (Maybe except for Megatronious)

The three of you are almost always together, but you definitely spend more time with D. Instead of getting rest after a long day in the mines, he takes you around with you sitting atop his shoulder—just talking. Whenever he hears a bot approaching, he quickly snatches you off and holds you behind his back. Definitely not obvious.

Rest in piece to privacy, because you both have NONE! We saw how none of the miners have individual sleeping areas. You have to constantly sneak away—usually it’s places where Orion has taken him. Imagine being taken to their special places :((

You spend longer than you thought on Cybertron, it’s not like you had a choice. Your pod was left on the surface and most definitely scrapped for materials. No one knows who or what and where the mysterious person from the pod is. Lucky you

It’s only logical you begin to fall for D-16. He’s oddly charming, funny, dedicated, and caring. You spend all your time together. He introduced you to his best friend. He tells you about all his plans. Plus, it’s always exciting to go on little trips together, potentially risking getting caught. These trips eventually turn into dates btw

He has definitely called you cute and pet your head with one digit. Yeah that kinda did it, even though he meant it as a tease

You know that scene where the two went racing? They were in first place, they’re exhausted and D got hit. Despite this he grins, looking back at the cameras which he knows are streaming the race. He knows you’re watching all the way from that green light.

“This is for Y/—!!“ he begins, only to be interrupted when a jet zooms past them, knocking them both over and sending them flying. Idiots <3

[unproduciblesmackdown]

barely alternate version of that billions 4x12 scene

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #13 死

† the wound that always bleeds †

"Like a mathematical equation, turns out sleeping next to a warm body has always been the solution, which to Jungkook is ironic. Just how ironic it is to Taehyung, that Jeon keeps pretending he's above everything and everyone."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6,5k

rating: mature

content: walk of shame (not), sharing secrets, best friend gossip, 8 hours of sleep for jeon (yay), v's sadistic streak shining through, v being a psychotic lil' shit, takama stepping in to save the day, v ruining lives for the fun of it and jimin being too soft for his own good (why do i always do this shit to jimin bro)

☠ author's note ☠

First of all, Kiki Nation on Tumblr is FUCKING UNHINGED. The goal was 200 notes and it took y'all less than 24 hours. I'm flabbergasted. But also it was smut so... understandable. I see you, horny little gremlins. I respect your dedication.

So here's chapter 13! (I had to proofread this while revising tax law so if something doesn't make sense, it's your fault somehow. Don't question my logic.)

AHHHHH I finally got to show off V's more psychotic nature! His little sadistic side coming out to play! He's such a little shit I love him. Writing characters with mental instability is my emotional support activity.

Well well well, things are slowly unveiling, huh? So what the fuck happened?! Who is Sylvia?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!

That's for me to know and you to lose sleep over for now (◕‿◕✿)

You know, sometimes I genuinely forget you don't have access to the absolute chaos that is my brain. Like it's genuinely hard for me to understand this from an outside perspective because I have the whole plot mapped out in excruciating detail, but you're still in the dark and it's like—is it too obvious? Is it too vague? AM I BEING COHERENT?

The eternal struggle of writing mysteries when you already know the answer. It's like trying to play poker while everyone can see your cards except you think they can't but maybe they can a little bit?? This is why I don't sleep.

Anyway, that's it for now! Love you all, you enablers of my questionable coping mechanisms! (ง •̀_•́)ง

EDIT: If you haven’t read the prologue… you must. Otherwise this is going to be hard to understand bahahaha.

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The alarm rips through your dreams like a knife, and god—you've never hated a sound more in your life.

Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead, your body heavy with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from... well. Last night's activities.

The blankets are so warm, and you smell like pine and sex and masculine. Just five more minutes...

Then reality bitch-slaps you awake. You're in Jeon's tent. At dawn. Which is exactly where you're not supposed to be.

His leg is thrown over yours, arm draped across your waist like he's trying to keep you there. It's almost... cute?

No, not cute. Definitely not cute. Just annoying. And inconvenient.

You nudge him with your elbow, trying to wiggle free without fully waking him. The grunt he makes is surprisingly soft.

"Stay still..." His voice is rough with sleep, half-muffled against your shoulder. "Just five more minutes. Let me doze off again before you go."

You huff but stop moving. It's just five minutes, right? Not like anyone's awake yet anyway. And he's so warm, his breath steady against your skin.

It's... nice. In a way that's probably dangerous.

His breathing evens out quickly, dropping back into sleep. The mighty Chief Jeon, passed out and cuddling. If you weren't so tired, you'd probably laugh.

When you finally ease out from under him, his body twitches slightly—this tiny, unconscious movement that's so unexpectedly human.

It's so weird seeing him like this, soft and sleep-warm skin. Almost makes you forget he's the gang's deadliest assassin.

Or one of them, if you consider V.

Better not tell Jeon you thought that, anyway.

You wiggle back into your clothes as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him—leggings, panties, bra, that stupid crewneck that started all this. No need to give the rest of the camp a morning show.

You crawl out of his tent like the trained seductress you are—silent and graceful. Well, as graceful as anyone can be at ass o'clock in the morning.

The camp is dead quiet except for the occasional snore from distant tents.

Your heart doesn't stop hammering until you're safely away from his tent. The morning air hits your skin, fresh and sharp, washing away the lingering scent of pine and sex.

With each step, you build up that sense of normalcy that someone who didn't fuck a chief last night should wear. No walk of shame here—just a perfectly normal morning stroll. Nothing to see.

The portable table catches your eye as you pass—someone's left out water bottles and snacks like offerings to the gods of late-night hookups. You grab a bottle, the plastic cool against your palm. The water helps, but it doesn't quite wash away the taste of him.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.

You take another sip of water, trying to convince yourself you're totally fine with how things went down.

(You're not.)

Because seriously—what kind of assassin doesn't carry protection? The absolute audacity of Jeon, walking around looking like that, with those hands and that mouth and those fucking bedroom eyes, and not being prepared?

Criminal. Actually criminal.

Not that you're thinking about his hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd worked you up so perfectly, taking you apart piece by piece until you were shaking.

You drain half the water bottle in one go, but it doesn't help. Your body's still humming with leftover want, still craving more than just grinding and kisses.

Because fuck—it was good, but you know it could've been better. Could've had him filling you up, stretching you open, making you see stars...

If only he had brought condoms with him.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, slightly crushing bottle. The plastic crackles satisfyingly in your grip.

You can't even properly be mad at him. Not when he'd made sure you came first, not when he'd been so attentive to every little sound and movement.

But still.

The fact that you'd been this close to getting properly railed by Chief Jeon, only to be cockblocked by his own lack of preparation?

Infuriating.

Your core throbs at the memory of his cock pressed against you, at how big he'd felt even through layers of fabric. God, the things he could've done to you if he'd just—

Fucking stupid sniper. The audacity of leaving you wanting more.

And oh, there will be a next time. You're getting that dick properly, even if you have to staple condoms to his fucking forehead.

Because someone who looks like that and kisses like that and uses his hands like that? Yeah. You're not done with him yet.

"Good morning."

JM's soft voice yanks you out of your definitely-not-horny thoughts. He looks adorably rumpled, all oversized sweater and messy salmon hair. His cheeks are pink from the cold morning air, making him look even softer than usual.

"Morning," you manage, grateful that your voice sounds normal.

He takes a sip from his own water bottle and you mirror him, mostly to have something to do with your hands.

"Sleep well?" You ask because it's polite, and also because talking about sleep is way better than thinking about what you were doing instead of sleeping last night.

His smile is warm and genuine. "Yeah, I did. And you?"

"Yeah." You nod, aiming for casual.

Like you didn't spend half the night grinding against Chief fucking Jeon. Like you're not still feeling the ghost of his hands on your skin.

Just a normal morning chat. Nothing to see here.

You give JM a quick wave and head back to your tent, trying not to look suspicious. Like you didn't just spend the night getting railed—well, almost railed by his coworker.

God, that's weird to think about.

When you peek inside, Yunjin's already stirring, one eye cracked open in the dim light.

"Y/N?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Yeah, it's me." You whisper back, watching her untangle herself from Eunchae, who's apparently decided Yunjin makes an excellent teddy bear.

It's kind of adorable, actually.

She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. When she looks at you again, her brow furrows.

"You didn't sleep here?"

You open your mouth, ready to spill everything—about Jeon's hands and his mouth and how fucking good he'd been—but snap it shut. Not exactly tent-appropriate conversation.

"No."

Her eyes go wide, and she leans in close. "Did you sleep outside? In the freezing cold?"

"No, no, I didn't sleep—" You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware of all the sleeping bodies around you.

The tent walls might as well be tissue paper when it comes to privacy. A quick check outside confirms you're clear.

You duck back in, keeping your voice low. "We can't talk about this here."

You can see the exact moment sleep leaves Yunjin's eye, replaced by that familiar spark of gossip-hungry curiosity. Her lips curl into a grin that says she knows something juicy is coming.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 5." She's already reaching for her clothes, suddenly very awake.

You duck out of the tent to give her privacy, leaning against a nearby pine tree. The bark digs into your back through your clothes, but you welcome the discomfort. Keeps you from getting lost in memories of other things that were digging into you last night...

Nope. Not thinking about Jeon's hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd—

Fuck.

When Yunjin finally emerges, her pink hair is a mess and she's practically vibrating with curiosity. You tilt your head toward the edge of camp, where the trees grow thicker. Perfect for spilling secrets that definitely shouldn't reach certain ears.

You find a fallen log away from the other tents, tucked between snow-dusted pines. The wood is freezing through your pants, but whatever. Some things are worth a cold ass.

Yunjin plops down next to you, already leaning in close. She smells like campfire smoke and cotton candy.

"So, what's going on? You look like you've been through hell and back."

More like heaven and back, but you're not about to say that out loud.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything makes your pulse skip.

"Jeon happened."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her forehead. "As in, Mr. I'll-Kill-You-With-My-Thumb Jeon? That Jeon? What the hell did he do now?"

There's teasing in her voice but you catch the flash of concern in her eye.

Sweet, but unnecessary.

"He didn't do anything... wrong." God, your face is burning. "We were alone and things got... intense."

"Intense how?" She draws out the words, scoffing. "Did you two fight each other to death—?"

"It's not like that." You cut her off before she can get carried away. "I mean, we did fight at first but then—well—"

You gesture vaguely, like that explains everything.

"We didn't plan it. It just... happened."

"What happened?"

She crosses her arms, looking supremely unconvinced. Then, presses her lips together, biting back a smile.

"So what, you got stuck and stepbro came to your rescue—"

"Yunjin!" You slap a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Your skin's still tingling with phantom touches and she's out here making porn references? You drop your hand with a scowl that's only half-serious.

Looking anywhere but at her knowing grin, you mutter, "it was mutual."

The words come out barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might summon him. Or worse—his ego.

Yunjin's smirk turns absolutely feral. "Oh my god, I knew there was something brewing between you two since the croissant thing. Come on, spill the dirty details."

You laugh, but your neck's getting hot just thinking about it. Leaning closer, you drop your voice even lower.

"Well, one minute we were fighting, and the next..."

You tell her about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd taken you apart piece by piece. How every touch had felt like lightning under your skin.

"He's like a fucking storm," you try to explain, but words feel inadequate.

How do you describe the tempest that is Jeon?

"And?" She's practically bouncing now, pink hair falling in her face as she leans in.

"And it was... intense. Like our bodies just clicked, you know? The way he touched me, the way he moved..."

"Holy shit." Yunjin lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like Chief Murder-Eyes knows how to fuck. I'm almost jealous."

You can't help but laugh, relief flooding through you at finally being able to talk about it. "I mean, we didn't actually—you know. No condoms. But still, with everything going on... with the gang and the rules..."

"Well, it's just fucking, right?" She cuts in, voice matter-of-fact. "You didn't break any rules."

Her words hit different, reassuring—exactly what you'd said to Jeon last night.

Right. No strings attached. Just two people scratching an itch.

"Yeah." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Just some good ol' fucking."

Yunjin's laugh is warm, understanding. "Well then, there's nothing to worry about. Just be careful. Jeon's not just any guy. From what I've heard, he's got layers, and not all of them are pretty."

You snort, rolling your eyes.

"Pffft, I know." You lean back. "I only have eyes for the pretty. And his dick."

That sets you both off cackling like teenagers sharing secrets behind the bleachers. It feels good to laugh about it, to make light of something that could've been way more complicated.

Yunjin stands, brushing pine needles off her pants. "Well, I gotta head back before they start sending out search parties for us. But we'll talk more about this later, yeah?"

"Yeah, later."

You're grateful she's not making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Just two adults having some mind-blowing- well, almost mind-blowing sex. No feelings, no drama.

She punches your shoulder playfully before heading back to camp, leaving you alone with memories of callouses on your skin and that fucking lip ring against your mouth.

Not that you're thinking about round two.

The early morning light bleeds through the tent, and for the first time—his eyes are not open to perceive it.

Jungkook stirs slowly, consciousness creeping in like the dawn. His hand reaches out, seeking the familiar cold touch of his phone screen.

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Eight fucking hours without a single nightmare clawing at his mind. No cold sweats, no jolting awake with a scream lodged in his throat.

Just... peace.

His eyes drift to the empty space beside him, still holding a ghost of warmth where you had been. The indent in his pillow, the lingering scent of chai tea mixed with his pine—evidence that last night wasn't just a fevered dream.

Interesting.

The tactician in him can't help but analyze this development.

Eight hours of proper sleep, achieved simply by having another body next to his. The data suggests a correlation worth exploring. It's purely scientific interest, of course —nothing to do with how your quiet breathing had somehow matched his own, creating a rhythm that had lulled him into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile.

Who would have thought that the solution to his insomnia would be so... straightforward?

Just add another warm body to the equation.

Simple.

Efficient.

The gang's best sniper, finally getting proper rest because of a quick hookup.

There's probably irony in there somewhere.

Jungkook stretches, feeling unusually light. His muscles are loose, relaxed in a way that has nothing to do with the previous night's activities.

Well, not entirely due to them.

Eight hours.

He could get used to this.

Jungkook sits up, letting the cool morning air hit his skin. Eight hours of actual sleep has him feeling... different. Not better, exactly. Just less like death warmed over.

He takes his time straightening his tent—a habit drilled into him and not voluntarily.

When he makes it outside, the camp is quiet except for the occasional bird call. His hands find his pockets as he heads toward the mess area, following the siren call of caffeine. The neat row of coffee cans almost makes up for sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

But then he sees V.

And just like that, his rare good mood evaporates.

Evaporates fast.

Jungkook's tongue clicks—automatic. His body already tightens before his mind even catches up. For a second, he considers turning back, caffeine be damned. But no. That'd hand the bastard a win, and Jeon doesn't hand out victories before breakfast.

V's lounging like he owns the clearing. Hair a tousled mess, skin flushed from either a fight or a fuck—Jeon doesn't care which. He just notes the details, stores them. It's habit. Just another target to assess.

The bastard tracks his approach with lazy, half-lidded eyes and that signature smirk—like he already knows he's about to ruin something.

Jungkook grabs a can off the table. Doesn't even look at V yet.

"Had fun last night?" The words come out dry, flat. No bite. Just noise.

V lifts his chin, amused. "Some of us don't need to buy intimacy with imported espresso machines."

Jungkook opens the can with a sharp hiss. Keeps his eyes on the label. "Didn't realize desperation was charming now."

"I call it efficiency." V stretches his arms overhead, exposing fresh marks on his throat. "In and out. Simple. No cleanup. You should try it—might loosen that iron rod you've got jammed up your spine."

Jungkook takes a slow sip of bitter coffee and finally looks at him. "You're bleeding self-worth all over the ground. Try wiping it up before someone slips."

V laughs, delighted. "There he is. I was starting to worry you'd gone full ghost. Thought maybe you finally snapped and joined the meditation club upstairs."

Jungkook doesn't answer. He's already turning away, walking slowly toward the edge of camp—toward the trees. Not far. Just enough distance to mute V's noise.

Of course, V follows. He always does.

"You know what your real problem is?" V's voice floats lazily behind him. "You think control's the same thing as peace."

Jungkook says nothing. Another sip. The coffee's still shit. V's steps crunch through the grass behind him. Closer now.

"But it's not. You're not calm, Jeon. You're just buried."

Jungkook stops. Just briefly. Looks up at the sky like it might offer patience.

V grins, eyes glittering. "Bet it gets lonely. All that quiet. All that nobility. Ever wonder why no one's lining up to warm your bed these days?"

Jungkook doesn't flinch. Just watches a bird take off from the trees. "Didn't realize we were counting bodies now. Thought you preferred keeping score in blood."

"Oh, I do," V murmurs, stepping beside him, too close. "But you—God, you used to have heat, you know that? Used to burn. Now it's all smoke and mirrors. All that rage shoved behind protocol and detachment."

Jungkook doesn't look at him, but his hand tightens around the can.

V keeps pushing, voice sweet as poison. "You used to laugh. Fuck, remember that? You'd stay up past curfew, cheat on drills, get into knife fights for fun. Now look at you—clockwork killer with a loyalty complex."

"You done?" Jungkook's voice is sharp now. Controlled, but edged.

"Not even close." V steps in front of him, cuts off the path. "See, I get it now. You stopped fucking because you can't do casual anymore. Too dangerous, right? Someone breathes near you and you start imagining futures."

Jungkook's jaw tightens.

V leans forward. "What was it RM said? 'Attachment makes you weak'? Or did you have to learn that one the hard way?"

"Careful," Jungkook says, low.

V just smiles. "I'm not touching your secrets, Jeon. Just pointing out the obvious. You're terrified of getting close again. You think if you fuck anyone, they'll catch feelings. Or worse—you will."

Jungkook doesn't blink. Doesn't speak. But the can in his hand dents slightly under his grip.

V notices. Of course he does.

"I mean, maybe that's why no one touches you anymore." He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. "Not because you're intimidating. Not because you're better. But because they all see it—the grief in your bones. The guilt. Like it might rub off."

"You talk a lot for someone with nothing to say."

V grins, stepping aside, letting him pass. "And you say nothing hoping it makes you mysterious. But guess what, Jeon? I see right through that bullshit."

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose. The air is cool, the trees just ahead. He keeps walking. He doesn't rise. Not yet.

But V's still behind him.

And he's not done.

Jungkook moves, calm steps through dew-soaked grass. The can in his hand hisses with pressure, dented from his grip, but he doesn't look back.

"You know what your problem is, Jeon?" V's voice cuts through the morning air, sing-song soft. "You're so far up your own ass you can't see what a joke you've become."

Jungkook doesn't bother with a glance. Just takes another sip of his shitty coffee. Tries to drown out the taste of chai from his tongue.

"The perfect soldier," V continues, pacing a few feet behind, voice louder now. "Marching in lockstep behind Commander like a good little ghost. You think if you bleed enough for RM, he'll forgive you for what you let slip through your fingers?"

Still no answer. Just another sip of that bitter, mass-produced garbage. Jungkook focuses on the taste—the chemical bitterness coating his tongue, sharp and synthetic. Easier to focus on that than the ache V's voice digs up.

"Nothing to say?" V's tone lifts, faux-curious. "Come on, where's that famous discipline now? Or did you leave it behind in your tent last night?"

The can pauses mid-sip. Barely a hitch. Just one second too long.

Jungkook lowers it slowly. "Your obsession with where I sleep is weird. Maybe try journaling."

V grins wide behind him, practically skipping to keep up now. "You're right. I should write this all down—'Jeon, once fierce and unfiltered, now drinks piss-coffee and pretends not to feel anything.' Bestseller."

"You done with the poetry?"

"Almost," V chirps. "Just wanted to make sure you knew everyone sees it. The way you're chasing scraps of forgiveness like a dog with its tail between its legs. You used to lead the escapades. Now you just brood and play pretend."

Jungkook stops walking.

V nearly collides with him, amused.

"Touch a nerve?" he murmurs.

Jungkook's head tilts slightly, eyes still forward. "You should work on new material. The old lines are starting to bore me."

V steps around him, circling like a vulture. "That's the thing about ghosts, Jeon. They're repetitive. They just haunt the same places. Same faces."

Jungkook's eyes shift. Cold. Level.

"You sound jealous."

V barks a laugh. It's short, sharp, too loud for the quiet trees.

"Of what? Your sad, monk-ass existence? Nah. I just miss the guy who could take a punch and throw three back."

"He grew up," Jungkook replies coolly. "Maybe you should try it."

"Nah," V says, too quickly. "That guy didn't grow up. He crawled into a cage and slammed the door shut."

Jungkook takes a step forward, chest brushing V's shoulder as he passes. "Or maybe he realized some things aren't worth fighting for anymore."

"Oh?" V pivots, stalking behind again. "Like loyalty? Brotherhood? Control?"

Jungkook doesn't turn. "Like noise."

V's smirk sharpens. "Funny you mention that. Because the silence after you let her die? That was deafening."

That stops him.

One step shy of the treeline.

Jungkook doesn't move, but something in the air shifts. Not loud. Not visible.

Just cold.

Real cold.

He sets the coffee can down on a mossy rock, slow and steady. Wipes his hand once on his thigh.

"You sure you want to go there?" he says, soft as snowfall.

V's smile flickers. Not with fear—he doesn't do fear—but with pleasure.

This is what he came for.

"I'm just saying," V hums, circling again, low and lazy. "You've been pretending for so long. Pretending she didn't matter. Pretending you're fine. Pretending you're not still clawing your way out of that night like it didn't gut you."

Jungkook says nothing.

But his silence means something now.

"I was there, Jeon," V says, inching closer. "You looked at me like I'd ripped out your heart and eaten it."

"You did," Jungkook murmurs. Still not looking at him.

"And yet," V's voice softens to a whisper, "you still didn't pull the trigger."

"Because you weren't worth it."

V snickers. "That's not what your eyes said."

Jungkook turns his head slowly. "No. That's what restraint looks like. Something you wouldn't recognize if it slit your throat."

V's lips curve, crooked and violent. "But you wanted to. You still want to."

Another long pause. Jungkook's jaw flexes once.

"Not as much as I want to forget you ever mattered."

And that—that hits.

V's grin falters. Just for a split second. The moment is small, but Jungkook catches it. He always catches everything.

Then, it changes again. V watches him like a cat watches a cornered bird. Head tilted. Smiling like he knows what's coming, and he's going to savor every second of it.

"You know what's funny," V says, voice maddeningly casual, "I always wondered if that was the problem."

Jungkook doesn't bite. Doesn't blink.

V goes on. "Not the rule-breaking. Not the secrecy. But who you broke the rule for."

Jungkook's gaze sharpens. Just a sliver. Just enough.

V catches it, of course. "Maybe if it had been someone else. Someone... less delicate. Maybe then, I'd have understood."

Jungkook's jaw shifts—tightens, releases.

"You picked soft," V continues. "You always hated soft. But that's what you chose. That's who you let in."

"Don't," Jungkook says quietly.

But V's already grinning, teeth and cruelty.

"God, what was her name again? It's been so long." He taps his chin mockingly. "Right there. Tip of my tongue."

Jungkook turns away. Starts walking.

He needs to get away from that sicko before he does something stupid.

"Don't go yet," V calls behind him, voice lilting like this is a game. "Help me out, will you? Dark hair? Big eyes? Always looked like she was about to break?"

Each step Jungkook takes feels heavier now. Like the gravity around him's been recalibrated.

"Jeon," V sings. "C'mon. Starts with an 'S,' right? S... Ssssss—shit, it's gonna bug me all day if you don't help."

Jungkook stops walking. Doesn't turn.

"V."

One word. Dead calm. A warning that sounds like the moment before a trigger snaps.

But V doesn't stop. He never does.

"Wait—don't tell me—Sarah? No. Sophie?" He's grinning now, wide and unhinged. "No no no, it was something sweeter than that, wasn't it? Something fragile."

Jungkook's whole body goes still. His shoulders square. Not aggressive. Not defensive.

Bracing.

"I won't tell you again."

"Oh, don't be like that." V's voice drops to a near-whisper. "We're just reminiscing."

"You say it," Jungkook murmurs, quiet enough that the wind almost eats it. "And this conversation takes a very different turn."

"Isn't that the fun part?" He replies.

Jungkook turns back to walk away. But before he can do just that, V opens his mouth again.

"No, wait, wait, wait! I remember it now."

V tilts his head, feigning thought, acting like he just got enlightened by the powers above.

Then—

"Sylvia."

The name detonates behind Jungkook's eyes.

He moves before he even registers it—before thought can catch up to instinct. One hand fisting V's collar, the other slamming him into the nearest tree with bone-rattling force.

His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

"I told you," he breathes, "to shut the fuck up."

V chokes out a laugh, even as Jeon's forearm presses against his throat. His smile is bloody, triumphant.

This is exactly what he wanted.

"There he is," V wheezes. "Knew you still remembered."

Jungkook tightens his grip.

"You don't get to tarnish her name with your mouth."

"Oh come on," V gasps, grin never faltering. "You're the one who made her matter."

Another inch and V's feet almost leave the ground. Jungkook's pulse is thunder in his ears. Vision tunneled, voice low.

"You don't touch her memory."

V's eyes shine with something unholy. "Why not? You left it out in the open."

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He just breathes—through his nose, slow, controlled—because if he doesn't, he'll crush the bastard's windpipe right here and now.

"You never even cried for her," V says, voice straining now. "Not once. I watched you. All that grief, and nothing came out but silence."

"Shut up."

"She begged for you, Jeon." V's voice slips into a mocking lilt. "Right before I pulled the trigger."

His hands go up, mimicking the movement of guns. Two fingers, cocked and pointed.

"Bang. Bang." V grins. "Guess some lessons need to be learned twice."

Jungkook's fist curls tight, shakes from the effort of not slamming it into V's face.

"She looked at you," V whispers, "and said thank you."

That's it.

Jungkook lets go of his throat—and punches him hard enough to split skin across V's jaw.

Bone cracks under knuckles. Blood spatters across bark. V staggers, but he's laughing—fucking laughing—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fucking finally" he slurs through red teeth. "Welcome back, Kooks."

Jungkook doesn't hesitate.

The second punch lands even harder than the first—knuckles slamming into cheekbone with enough force to whip V's head sideways.

Blood sprays from his mouth this time, a thick crimson arc that spatters across tree bark, across Jeon's hand, across the ground between them.

Still, V laughs.

It's breathless, giddy, delighted.

"Fuck, I missed this," he rasps, tongue darting out to taste the blood slicking his bottom lip. "So you're still human, huh?"

He licks it slow, like he's savoring it.

Like it's dessert.

Jungkook steps back just enough not to kill him.

"You don't get to call me that," he says, voice low and splintered. "Not anymore."

V blinks once, mock-innocent. Then that crooked smile curls back up, jagged and satisfied.

"Oh, right." He taps two fingers against his temple. "Because I'm not Taehyung to you anymore, huh? I'm V." His voice twists around the name like it's something sacred. "Your words, not mine. Or was it mine first? I forget."

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He can't.

Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, his vision swimming at the edges with a red haze he hasn't let himself feel in months.

V steps closer, shoulders relaxed, body loose with that particular high only someone like him can ride. His lip's still bleeding, and he doesn't wipe it off this time—just lets it drip, red on his teeth, staining the corner of his mouth.

"God, you hit harder than I remember," he says, eyes gleaming. "Must be all that repressed emotion. You're like a soda can in the sun—shaking, sealed tight. One little crack and boom."

Jungkook doesn't say anything back. He's not looking at him anymore. He's looking through him. Past the trees. Somewhere far and unreachable.

But V keeps talking. Of course he does. Because once he has momentum, he's unstoppable.

"I always knew it was still in there," V's finger digs in his chest. "That spark. That fire. You've been playing dead so long I almost believed you were gone. Almost."

Jungkook's hands are fists again.

"You've been sleepwalking, Jeon," V continues, grinning like he's high on the taste of violence. "Dead-eyed. Robotic. Miserable. Just waiting for someone to fucking jolt you back awake."

He leans in close again. Too close.

"I'm just giving you a favor."

"You don't do favors."

V cackles, loud and wild. "Sure I do. You just don't like the way they taste."

Another pause. Jungkook's breathing is steady now, but it's forced. Every inhale pulled through clenched teeth.

"You think this brings me peace?"

"No," V says, licking blood off his thumb now. "I think it brings you clarity."

There's something predatory in the way he steps back, finally, giving Jungkook space—but not out of mercy, no.

It's rather just to admire the way he's held together by muscle memory and sheer willpower.

"You pretend you buried it," V says softly, quirking an eyebrow. "But it's still there. Under the skin. Under the guilt. Under all that self-hatred."

"You're wasting your breath," Jungkook replies.

But V just keeps smiling, lips slick, eyes blown wide with delight.

"You can't kill the part of you that liked it. The rage. The power. The need. You just locked it away in a box and lost the key."

V's voice drops now, low and rich and terrifyingly gentle.

"And I'm the only one who still knows where it's buried."

That's when Takama steps in.

No warning. No sound. Just a hand locking around Jeon's bicep before the next blow can fly.

"Enough," Takama says, firm and calm.

Not a command.

A lifeline.

Jungkook doesn't resist. Not yet. But his chest heaves, and the knuckles on his right hand are starting to swell. V leans lazily against the tree now, licking the blood of his lower lip that won't stop gushing out.

"Aw, don't stop now," he drawls, voice hoarse from the chokehold and the punches. "We were finally getting somewhere."

Takama doesn't even look at him.

His grip stays tight. Not painful. Just steady. Anchoring.

"Let it go," his second in command says under his breath.

Jungkook's eyes stay locked on V's face. Not with hatred. With control.

The kind that takes every ounce of strength to maintain.

"You should've stayed buried," he murmurs.

But V just laughs. Loud, unhinged, manic.

"And miss this reunion?" He wipes blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. "Never."

He steps back, licking the burgundy remnants from his fingers as he turns to walk away.

His voice floats over his shoulder like a final cut.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He just watches him disappear into the trees, that thorned scent of roses lingering behind like a stain you can't scrub off.

Some poisons don't kill you right away.

They stay in your blood.

Rot you from the inside out.

Blood tastes like copper and victory.

It slicks across his tongue, drips warm from the split in his lip. He doesn't wipe it off. Why would he? It's a mark of success—Jeon's control fractured, broken open just enough for the truth to spill out.

The scream he didn't let out. The grief he still pretends doesn't exist.

Taehyung practically skips through the camp, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass. His knuckles sting from where Jeon deflected that second hit, but the ache feels earned. Like something sacred.

He exhales, slow and sweet, watching the vapor curl into the cold morning air.

That was better than sex.

No, scratch that.

That was sex.

Pushing Jeon to that edge—watching the cold, calculated sniper fucking explode in real time? That's the closest Taehyung ever gets to euphoria.

The high is still rushing through him as his tent comes into view. The buzz behind his teeth. The heat in his skull. He's not even pretending to slow down.

He lifts the flap with a flourish, practically singing, "Honey, I'm home," as he sweeps inside.

Jimin's already there. Cross-legged on the floor like some kind of aesthetic devotional painting. His salmon hair falls messily across his forehead, catching light like spun sugar. He doesn't startle—he never does—but his head tilts just slightly in that way Taehyung always notices.

"You're late," Jimin says, not looking up from whatever he's scribbling into that little black journal. "Let me guess. You pissed off Jeon again."

"Mmhmm," Taehyung hums, swaying into the room. "It was glorious."

He doesn't wait for an invitation. He never does. Two steps and he's folding himself into Jimin's lap like a lithe, bloody jungle cat.

Jimin grunts at the impact, but he doesn't move. Doesn't push him off.

He never does that either.

"You're bleeding," Jimin says quietly, brushing hair back from Taehyung's temple before his eyes drift down. "Lip's split."

"Little love tap," Taehyung breathes against the curve of Jimin's neck.

He nuzzles there a moment, deep inhale. Jimin smells like warmth. Like brown sugar and caramel and fabric softener.

Soft things. Domestic things.

He doesn't know why it makes his teeth itch, want to take a bite.

Jimin finally meets his gaze—and there it is.

That flash of worry in his eyes. That's the part Taehyung likes. Not the sympathy. The fact that it costs Jimin something every time he pretends this isn't poison.

"What did you say to him this time?"

Taehyung grins slow, letting his tongue drag over the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Just reminded him of something he didn't want to remember."

"Don't play stupid. This is getting out of hand." Jimin's hand brushes lightly against his jaw, tilting his face to examine the cut.

The pads of his fingers are warm. Careful. It makes something behind Taehyung's ribs twitch.

"Jeon's going to snap one of these days," Jimin adds, voice low.

"He already did," Taehyung whispers.

And he can't help it—he giggles. It bubbles out of him like champagne and gunfire, bright and wrong. He presses closer to Jimin, legs tangling, arms looping around his waist. The tension bleeds out of him slowly, replaced by that delicious hum of control reclaimed. He can still feel Jeon's rage in the fibers of his hoodie. It clings like perfume.

Jimin doesn't move. But his breathing changes. Shallow now.

"You're high on it again," Jimin murmurs.

Taehyung pretends to consider it. "Maybe."

"It's not healthy."

He shrugs, lashes fluttering as he leans in. "Neither are we."

Jimin sighs through his nose. Doesn't argue.

For a moment, they sit like that. Quiet.

Taehyung lets himself rest his head on Jimin's shoulder, lets the silence expand between them. This kind of stillness is rare. He doesn't know how to hold it without squeezing too tight.

Jimin's voice finally cuts through. "Let J-Hope look at it. That lip's going to get infected."

"For you?" Taehyung draws his thumb along the line of Jimin's jaw, soft and mocking. "Anything, love."

The way Jimin flinches is small. Almost imperceptible. But Taehyung feels it.

That's the thing about Jimin. He's not like the others. He doesn't play back. Doesn't bite or snarl or shoot. He just absorbs it all, like a sponge in a slow leak.

And Taehyung knows it's cruel—knows he's twisting something tender into something sharp—but he does it anyway.

Because this is what's left. This is what he has.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Jimin says, eyes on the floor now. "With him."

"Sure I do," Taehyung murmurs, already curling into his lap again, like a cat that doesn't want to answer. "The show must go on."

Jimin shakes his head once, slow. "You're always like this."

"Good things don't change."

There's no bite in it. No anger.

Just truth.

And then, before Jimin can speak again, Taehyung presses a finger to his lips. It's light. Thoughtless. Charged.

"No more lectures," he says. "Tell me something sweeter."

"Like what?"

Taehyung smiles, eyes gleaming. He leans in, close enough for Jimin to taste the blood on his breath.

"Tell me a secret."

Jimin's lips are warm beneath his finger. Too warm.

Taehyung holds it there a beat longer than necessary, just to feel the resistance—such a pretty little line of defiance, always broken down the same way.

Gently.

Repeatedly.

"Tell me a secret," he whispers again.

Jimin doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because his eyes do. The way they drop. The way his breath skips. The way his hands twitch against the floor like they're unsure whether to push away or pull Taehyung closer.

It's always like this. Hesitation that tastes like anticipation.

Taehyung leans in. Presses his mouth to Jimin's cheek, just shy of his lips, and breathes him in—caramel warmth, a little bit of sweat, and something almost shy beneath it.

He imagines for a second biting down. Hard. Leaving a mark. Branding softness with something it doesn't deserve.

Instead, he draws back and tugs Jimin forward.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Right into his lap.

Jimin doesn't resist. He never does. Just settles into the space Taehyung makes for him like he's made of silk and apology.

God, it's addicting.

"So obedient," Taehyung murmurs, mouth ghosting along the curve of Jimin's jaw. "You always melt so easily, Jiminie."

He feels Jimin's pulse jump under his hands.

Feels it in the way his thighs tighten just slightly, in the way his spine curves—not in retreat, no.

In submission.

Taehyung smiles. The kind that never touches his eyes.

This is the part that matters.

Not the tenderness. Not the connection. This.

The aftershock. The reward.

The thing that lets him bleed out the rest of Jeon's name from his teeth.

His hands roam lazily—up the curve of Jimin's back, slipping under the hem of his shirt just to feel the skin heat beneath his palms. He doesn't rush. He doesn't need to.

Jimin's already folding.

Taehyung tilts his head and brushes their lips together—barely. Just enough to taste breath.

Then he whispers, soft and cruel against Jimin's mouth, "Let me ruin you for a bit."

Jimin exhales shakily. Doesn't nod. Doesn't speak. Just presses closer.

Perfect.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung finally feels calm.

Not better.

But calm.

The high burns slower this way.

Controlled.

Directed.

And by the time Jimin's head tips back and Taehyung's fingers slide lower, he's already thinking of the next morning—when he'll do it all over again.

Because Jeon's fists can bruise skin.

But Jimin's silence?

It lets him feel powerful.

goal: 400 notes lmao I'm not doing this shit again in 24 HOURS.

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