#mind blind cog

[lilmeowmeowsagelesath]

can y’all recommend me some text-based interactive fiction/novels to play??? 🙏🙏🙏

[justatypicalwizard]

Virgin Bakugo x reader, suggestive

Imagine Katsuki who’s a total and complete virgin. His brash and aggressive exterior fooled others into deeming him a playboy. Handsome, successful and proud, what else would he need to perfectly abide the stereotype. Except, ever since he started UA, ever since he dreamed about becoming a pro-hero, ever since he laid his eyes on All Might, Bakugo had nothing else in mind except hard work. He bent his neck over homework, he cracked his knuckles before training and he broke his bones during missions, everything for the sake of greatness. Love didn’t exactly fit into his schedule.

It started when he was a kid. Other boys kept weird magazines under their beds and looked at girls wishing they got a lock of silky hair to keep. Katsuki didn’t understand. Girls in his class at school were weird and annoying. They always had to move in a group, went together into toilet stalls and whispered as if they couldn’t talk like normal people - loud and straightforward. What did his friends see in them?

Later, in middle school Katsuki finally discovered a few throughgoing differences between him and a set of new girls in class. His friends’ magazines turned into online videos that Katsuki despised. They felt unnatural and shameful. So he cut the topic short, deeming the girls in class boring and stupid. And honestly, that’s how he felt about them.

When a particular shortie with deep black hair, cut a few inches above her chin, stopped him in the middle of the track field, Katsuki sighed. What now? The girl confessed her crush, digging a small hole in the dirt with the heel of her shoe, and Katsuki felt almost nothing, maybe slightly uncomfortable with a tiny pinch of pity. She teared up but mumbled a sorry, to which he responded with a grunt and a ‘better not talk to me again, this is awkward’. Until the end of middle-school, no other girl built up the guts to confess to him.

UA made Katsuki feel like home. He was a cog, awfully clattering one, nonetheless a well working. When he moved into the dorms he was closer to girls than ever before, and once again it changed nothing. The blonde felt satisfied with himself, able to satisfy himself, with no need for another person turning his perfectly working plan upside down. He listened to his friends stories about kisses and, later, first times without much regret. When he gets to the top women will throw themselves to his feet, like Hawks or Endeavour. No need to stress about it, it’s not like he likes back any of the girls that lay eyes on him when he flexes and bends during workout.

This was the biggest lie Katsuki made himself believe. Time flew by and suddenly his friends were no longer making fun of each others’ stories about awkward first kisses or boob touching. They were no longer excited about relationships, they no longer made a big fuss out of every glance that lasted a second too long. It became events of the every day for them, and Katsuki felt left out.

When asked he turned a blind eye, he built a thick wall around his love life that no one was allowed to cross. Friends and family accepted the distance, deeming it yet another Katsuki thing. Given how handsome and successful he is, the man had to have a girlfriend or two, or three. They were simply kept a secret, nothing new for a pro-hero.

And so it went. Fear crept up Katsuki’s bones every time he imagined a botched relationship, an awkward one-night-stand, an adult-virgin first kiss. Girls were no longer girls, they were women, all grown up and knowing what they want. All expecting experience or mastery even from someone like him. All making him freeze, his body betraying, retreating in a defeated manner masked as brashness. ‘Dream on’ he used to say when an intern or a model from a small company approached during hero-themed parties.

Showing someone how utterly inexperienced Katsuki was, letting someone open up this new and fragile part of himself started to merge with the feeling of defeat. Quickly, the blonde decided that if anyone ever learned about his weakness, it would be the end of him. He saw, with the eye of his imagination, the headlines honking about Virgin Dynamite! Is it possible for the top handsome ranking pro-hero to be a virgin? Who stole Dynamite’s first kiss? And so on.

Out of options, Katsuki decided to let it go, unsure what to do, fed up with trying to find a solution.

That was until he found himself, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, on this painfully tiny couch, with you. There was a party, a fancy tuxedo one. There were people and drinks and perfectly glossed lips. There was music and vodka on rocks. And then suddenly there was none, only you and him, in a room forgotten by the ever-moving crowd.

Did the party end? Were there limousines lined up in front of the gold-dripping hotel, waiting patiently for their pro-heroes? Was there a villain attack and everyone went to the rescue? Was there a natural disaster happening? Where did these damn people go when Katsuki needed them? Where could he vanish when you were so close and so warm?

The blonde wanted to get up and walk away, spitting some bullshit in your face but his body froze. There it was, his secrets in danger. Despite not having much romantic experience himself, Katsuki was not stupid, he knew when lust filled his veins, he knew when someone wanted him. Right now you both felt the same way and while in fear of losing his pride, Katsuki couldn’t move away.

He couldn’t budge when you laid your palm on his thigh, he kept still as stone when you turned to face him fully, he stopped breathing when you moved close enough to let him feel your breath on his cheek. All the while he dug his fingernails into your knee.

Was it the uneven breathing that gave him away? Was it his hand that felt so lost on your skin? Or maybe it were his eyes that fought a battle between looking away and straight into your bust. The blonde wasn’t sure but when you glanced at him, with this frisky look in your eyes, he knew he was doomed. Katsuki nearly started waiting for a laugh when you tugged at his tie letting him fall over and cage you on the couch that was still painfully tiny.

“First time?” You breathed into the skin of his neck, climbing higher, pawing at his back and chest for support. Before he could answer your lips were on his in a hasteful and eager kiss. It was messy and all over your lips and cheeks and necks, all over the place. It was over in a blink of an eye.

Is this how a first kiss feels like? His friends told him stories about long, sweet and innocent pecks. This was nothing like the blackening memories at the back of his head. This felt like him, felt like his first kiss. Angry, bursting and forceful. Katsuki loved it.

“So it is.” Your voice, so close to his ear, tore him out of his head. You were still awaiting a response, one that would make him crumble, one that would destroy this perfectly unbalanced moment of lustful chaos.

Later Katsuki will wonder whether experience meant knowing what to say and do in the right moment, because you certainly knew how to do just that.

Gripping the collar of his shirt you tore the highest button, letting it fall down between your breasts for the blonde to find later. It were hands and knees everywhere for Katsuki, hotness and short breaths.

“You know what.” You asked, making him hum deeply into your skin. “If this is your first time then I cannot wait to see what you’ve got. After all an animal is the most aggressive, the most carnal when it’s starving.”

The little giggle that followed your smart remark made Katsuki grin widely. Fuck cliche stories about awkward frist times, fuck shy kissess and fuck confessions spoken with trembling lips. Katsuki will have to live with the fact that someone, that you, took away his virginity and you knew damn well about it. He will have to get over the loss of his mysteriousness (if you two are to date officially). Katsuki will gladly accept that. How could he not when once again he came out of a battle victoriously.Maybe it was his first time but it was his first time, his rules, his game and his girl.

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Hello, Can I resquest, Transformers One, Yandere Sentinel Prime with a cybertronian reader conjux HCS

Oooh Sentinel Prime - lowkey, I believed I was gonna hate his guts until my very last breath. But I forgot I like fucked up characters that also have babygirl tratis (I mean - I am obsessed with Starscream, I understimated myself).（〃｀ 3′〃）

Yandere!Sentinel Prime (TFO) w/ Conjux Cybertronian!Reader (HCs)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, possessive and obsessive elements, manipulation, psychological and emotional abuse, forced relationship.

Sentinel Prime is definitely a manipulative, possessive yandere that is not afraid to punish his Conjux with psychological or emotional punishment types.

You were older than both Orion Pax and D-16, a miner too - a hard working one who was always kind and tried to remain positive to everything, even when the guards were kind of jerks and your teammates got hurt while working.

Sentinel met you one day he went down to the mines to just say empty words and promises that fooled enough his blind admirers to keep up working hard. The moment his optics met yours among the other miners... he felt like his spark vibrated.

Uh, how strange - he was sure he was definitely disgusted by any bot, no matter if they were femme, mechs or none, that were a miner.

But here he is, thinking about you and talking Airachnid's audials off about you.

Maybe now he understood what Megatronus said about feeling his spark sing whenever Solus Prime was by his side.

Sentinel Prime started to look after you, visiting you down in the mines and trying to woo you. And while you were quite flattered... something in your spark knew something was wrong. You didn't knew exactly what it was wrong - but everything pointed at Sentinel, one way or another.

You tried to be polite and paint an imaginary limit line between you and the false Prime - but Sentinel knew what you were doing. And he wasn't gonna have it.

"Hehe... oh, sweetspark - it's so funny how you think you can just reject my advances! You should be grateful I have my optics on you, dear! But... Oh, well, I wished we had an organic 'fall-in-love' story to later tell our sparklings! But you left me with no options."

You were... confused. And scared. But before you could even step back, you felt a painful kick in the back of your helm, soon everything going dark.

When your optics onlined, you were met with a... new faceplate.

"Oh, thanks Primus! My love, are you okay?" The unknown mech asks as he gently craddles your faceplate with his servos.

"Where... where am I? What...?" You start to ask, blinking a few times before tilting your helm, staring with curiosity at the mech. "Who are you?"

The mech seems to smile a little bit more to then change his expression one to sadness. "Oh, my sweetspark - you don't remember me?"

The mech - Sentinel Prime - gently held your servo as both of you walked among the big, luxurious hallways of his home, explaining to you how you both were soon to be Conjuxes, him being a Prime and you were part of the guards. While on a mission against the Quintessons, you got hurt and your T-cog got taken, you nearly died! But your beloved soon to be Conjux saved you!

You just... accept it. I mean, you didn't remember anything (but something felt like missing inside of your system). But you didn't mind, you felt safe and loved in Sentinel's hold.

If Sentine Prime was not around because of needing to attend important Prime business, Airachnid is always with you - and she became a sort of... guardian. One who always followed you and kept Sentinel updated about you.

Sentinel blatantly manipulates you whenever you show any type of doubt or consideration on what he says or does. "My sweetspark, please... I nearly lost you one time. And I felt like my spark was going to die. I cannot lose you again, please. I love you so much."

It always works - after all, you don't know exactly who you were once are. Sentinel Prime is everything you have.

"Without me - you are nothing."

A few days after having woken up from your forced induced stasis mode, both of you became the Conjux Endura of each other, everyone on Iacon saw the event and celebrated. Sentinel Prime held you closely, snuzzling his helm softly against the top of yours, keeping one arm wrapped your behind and his free servo holding yours.

And you smile, preciously painted and adorned. But... something still, deep inside of your spark, knows something is wrong. But whenever you see at Sentinel's smile, you can't help but smile back and ignore that uncertain sensation.

After all - You've always been meant to be Sentinel Prime's conjux.

Everything is okay.

(ﾉ*ФωФ)ﾉ Vhaos out!

[lessi-lover]

don't break me when i let you in II barcelona femení x teen!reader

warnings: mention of suicide, implied self harm, self hate, spanish federation.

this is the longest i've ever written and i'm so proud thank you all for sending ideas to help me keep this draft alive x

don't break me when i let you in II barcelona femení x teen!reader

"you don't have to be strong all the time, you know?" it was an ignorant affair to believe, something only somebody with a slight sliver of saved up hope might trust. not you. not the broken shell of a person that can only believe you are the only thing keeping yourself together.

the glue to a cracked vase. in which the vase was you and you were slowly breaking under pressure that had been following you for years. if you hadn't hit rock bottom a couple months ago, you were certainly scraping the edge with your bare teeth now.

you had been one of their strongest forwards available to select from. a top forward in your league, it would be silly for them not to call you up with the titles next to your name at such a young age. it was inevitable that you would be called up for the world cup squad selection and there was nothing you could have done about it even if you tried.

you were just so helpless weren't you?

there was nobody to tell that you didn't want to travel to australia to play for a team that had ripped you inside out before you were even first national tournament debut, nobody that would understand how badly you wanted to represent your country and how willing you were to put your body on the line for it even for a single minute in spanish colours.

is that why you stayed quiet?

you stared towards yourself in the mirror, wondering if maybe your eyes had ever truly been as light as they used to tell you. that the light in your eyes you had been promised was always there had just seemingly disappeared. the eyes that they still talk about that seem so foreign to you now as you look back at yourself through shattered glass. wondering if maybe it was all just a lie.

maybe it was all just a lie.

a black and white faceless lie that everything you would go through for a ruthless tournament was for the better of you. or worse. a binary promise that everything would be okay, that all the suffering would end in good for you. or not.

but you look back through the same eyes that you were meant to be able to trust, the eyes that let everything just happen without looking back, and you still don't understand how you could be so easily deceived, taken apart from top to bottom like a neglected toy.

a useless, discardable toy. was it all a lie?

maybe the people who were meant to protect you and care for you were actually abusing you to wits' ends. maybe it wasn't that you needed the further training they made you endure after your previous training, but that you were so young and fresh and all too easy to manipulate.

maybe it was those you trusted and who sent you away with the assurance that you would be the next spanish legacy that isolated you from the world and treated you as a vessel to secure gold for spain.

but you were to blind and powerless to seek help.

you had been the silent one. the one too shattered to even bear the trial that came with the aftermath of the events following your world cup win. you knew the federation would come after you. you were the one who wanted so badly to sign the document that your teammates had but you couldn't bring yourself to look at the people who had broken you from the inside out for even just a second to speak your mind.

you were just a shell of a once strong force now weren't you?

you knew they would try and rip away each and every title you had ever worked for and your playing rights along with it. you were a world cup, champions league, copa de la reina, nations league and liga f winner. but maybe you were just a vulnerable, small cog in a relentless system that wouldn't stop until you broke down and they would throw you away like the others.

the fear of losing everything you had worked for since you were a small child paralyzed you for months. the mere thought of speaking out, of seeking help, seemed as impossible as how you got into the situation in the first place.

the federation had an iron grip on your life, they could control you whether you were defenseless to it or not and any caught wind of saying something felt like signing your own demise.

it would end you surely? don't you think that maybe speaking out for help would become the end of your career? one that had barely started as you were only freshly twenty years old? staying quiet was the better option. you had thought you could escape unscathed, but your reality was far from it.

nobody had your best interest and those who did didn't make it clear enough until you finally broke down from the denied pressure. it felt like a void sometimes. as if you were screaming and nobody could hear you, or maybe nobody cared?

no they care. didn't they?

did they care when you were forced out of bed early in the morning to complete extra practice before the day even started? did they care when you were just a young teenager illegally moving up into the senior divisions of international football to cover for seniors who had denied their call up's and was made to exhaust your body more than you ever should? did they care when the private meetings you were obligated to attend turned into time to yell at you, to break you down as if you hadn't given your entire life to the federation.

but then again, if not football what else did you have to live for?

you asked yourself these questions over and over again. each time just hoping that the harsh reminder of your situation would lessen. it never did. it never would. it would be stuck with you no matter how hard you tried to block it out, no matter how hard you tried to ignore who and what made you shrink a million times over.

the fear, the abuse, the meal plans, the body exhaustion, the denied freedom, the stolen happiness, a cruel reminder of the bottomless hole you had found yourself falling deeper and deeper and there was nothing you could do to get out.

you were truly and utterly stuck.

~

the office is cold, its white walls a stark contrast to the warmth in the hallway you had been waiting in for the past half hour. the thick carpet muffles your footsteps as you walk toward the large desk in the center of the room, the air you're walking into a harsh wind of tension that couldn't be cut with a blade if you tried.

you swallow hard, your throat dry despite the countless bottles of water you’ve consumed throughout the day. but your hydration doesn't matter now, whatever it said to you in the next twenty minutes does.

the glare of the desk lamp catches your eye, reflecting the same harsh light that seems to spotlight you everywhere, waiting for you to make your next mistake. you glance at the stern faces of the officials seated behind the desk, their expressions unreadable as they read through what looks like your performance reports.

“please, take a seat,” the head of the federation says, his voice clipped as he places his hand predatorily on your lower back and guides you to sit down. you lower yourself into the chair, the thin material of your club shorts rubbing uncomfortably against the velvet furniture.

the head official adjusts his collar, peering over them at you with a sharp look almost as though you had done something to personally offend him. but those aren't anything close to his next words.

“you’ve been doing exceptionally well, tesoro.” he begins, but his tone is far from genuine and you feel that something else is coming. “your performance has been impressive, especially considering your age and the closeness of the tournament.”

you nod, though his praise feels hollow, almost as if you're falling into a set trap made just for you. your heart races and you grip your hands on the chair. you want to speak up, to voice your concerns about the overwhelming training schedules and the strain it’s putting on your body, but the words get lost in your throat.

“we’ve decided to integrate you into the senior squad for the upcoming world cup. it’s a great opportunity, but it also means you’ll need to do far more than what you're currently putting in.”

your chest tightens. you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, but when he finally tells you it feels overwhelming and you don't understand why a moment you have been prepping for years of your life makes you feel uneasy. you push it off as nerves.

the world cup is a chance to showcase your skills on a global stage, this is your moment, don't stare it in the face and back down.

another official at the side of the room glances at you with a fleeting look of concern before turning back to his notes. he seems to recognize the strain you’re currently feeling, but his words are lost just like yours as the head continues to talk to you.

“your development is crucial to our success,” the head official says, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “we expect you to handle this responsibility with the utmost professionalism. this is an opportunity for you to prove yourself and secure your place on the national team.”

"and who knows, i have spots emptied by débiles that need filling. this is your shot don't blow it. tesoro." there is something about the way he talks to you and speaks about you over your head that makes you shiver right down to your core.

you nod again, feeling the weight of their words drop into the palm of your hand and the room seems to close in on you as they continue discussing your role to each other and the intense training you will need to undergo in the upcoming months.

the meeting ends with a firm handshake and a curt nod from yourself and as you leave the office, the clear expectations settle heavily on your shoulders, the fear of failing and the pressure to succeed feeling almost insurmountable. yourself unaware of the danger you have just put yourself in.

~

you're not even sure when it all started. you can't pinpoint when the abuse started, if you could even call it that, or if it was there the whole time and you normalised it for yourself because that was the better option instead of speaking out in your mind.

it was enough of the lack of players available that caused them to attempt to burn you out as much as they could. it was enough for the federation to take one look at you and decide that the weight of the world relied on your shoulder whether you liked it or not.

that was your purpose. it was your job to lead the team to victory without a second mistake. without a setback, through injury, responsible for the good and the bad, amidst an internal battle with yourself that was dragging you down, and most importantly with a smile on your face even if you were shattered from the inside.

a smile on your face. nobody would notice would they?

~

“siéntate, tesoro,” he commands, his tone carrying an edge of impatience and you feel yourself move quickly into his office at his voice. you sink into the chair, its firm surface a harsh contrast to how had felt in the chair only mere months ago.

“you’re here because you’ve been selected for the world cup squad,” he begins, his voice cold and he digs his hand into the desk as he leans close to you. “but let’s be clear, tesoro. being selected was only the first challenge. we expect more from you.”

you nod, but the weight of his words feel heavy and you can't help but notice that the official who had given you the sorry look was missing from his spot behind the desk.

“we’ve noticed that you’re not quite fitting the ideal player we had in mind,” he continues, and you shake off any thoughts of the past official when your eyes meet his. “you’re not fast enough, not agile enough. you’re not meeting the physical standards we expect from you.”

his words sting, each critique like a hard blow to your self-esteem that wasn't really there in the first place. “your performance has been adequate,” he says, “but adequate isn’t enough. we need you to be exceptional and above all competition. and right now, you’re neither of those.”

he leans forward, his breath fanning over you as you look down at the floor in fear. “your weight is one concern of our team, but it’s not just about being heavier or lighter. it’s about how you present yourself. we need you to be leaner, faster and even more dynamic. you’re not the perfect image we want for the team right now.”

the room seems to close in around you as he continues. “we’ve seen some players who didn’t meet our expectations and they were dropped. you need to understand that if you don’t shape up, you will be next to not enter through doors again. comprendido?"

he gestures to a pile of strawn documents on his desk and you look up from the concrete fall at the harsh snap of his fingers in your face.

“we have reports here, tesoro, that detail everything we need from you. and it’s not just about physical performance. it’s about how you look, how you’re perceived by the public. you need to be more endearing, more marketable. if you can’t fulfill that role, then we'll find another.”

his gaze is relentless and he talks to you like you're a faceless object that he can discard at his will, throw away when he feels you're not complying with his demands. he can take you off this squad the moment you defend yourself.

“you’re not here just to play; you’re here to be the face of the team. the face of spain. and right now, you’re not cutting it for us. we need you to be a star, not just another player in this tournament. and if you’re not willing to meet those expectations, then you’re in the wrong place i'm afraid.”

“now, we’re going to do something,” he continued, his voice carrying a coldness that made your stomach curl inwards as you sat fearfully in your chair. “i need you to repeat after me. ‘i am not good enough. i need to be better."

you hesitate, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak as you blinked harshly to try and to stop the tears that threatened to fall. “i am not good enough. i need to be better,” you say quietly, looking down shamefully at the floor like a small child being scolded by their parent.

“louder.” he demands, his voice cutting through the room like a whip and you try not to flinch at the volume of his words. “i need to hear you say it with conviction. you are lying through your teeth pequeña. don't lie to me, i hate liars."

“again,” he insists. “and this time, say it as if you truly believe it. i am not good enough. i need to be better." you force yourself to repeat the phrase, the words make you feel as if you're stripping away everything you ever built yourself to believe. every title, every trophy, every medal, every goal. erased.

“i am not good enough. i need to be better,” you say louder, the humiliation of his cruel exercise making your stomach lurch and you struggled to keep yourself together.

“very good,” the official says, his tone carrying a note of being pleased and you hated that you loved the feeling of his approval. “you should understand that just because you’re going to australia doesn’t mean you get to enjoy it. you’re there for work, not to have fun.”

his manipulation is chilling to the bone, designed to strip away any sense of accomplishment you had ever felt. “you’re not meant to enjoy australia, it’s not a vacation. you’re there to prove yourself, not to sightsee. you need to focus solely on the tournament, on meeting the expectations we’ve set for you. or we won't hesitate to send you home.”

“this is a serious commitment. if you let yourself get distracted, you’re failing in your duty. you’re expected to perform at your peak, and that means putting aside any thoughts of leisure or enjoyment. this isn’t about you enjoying yourself; it’s about you meeting the standards we've set for you.”

“if you allow yourself to get comfortable or take things lightly,” he warns, “you’re showing weakness. and weakness is unacceptable. you need to stay sharp, stay focused, and remember why you’re here.”

his manipulation is subtle yet even then you could tell that he knew you wouldn't fight back, he had designed it to make you feel guilty for even considering enjoying the tournament.

“this is a test of your worth,” he says. “if you can’t handle the pressure and keep your focus, you’re not fit for the team. we need you performing to the highest standards that we expect from everybody else. including you. if you can’t handle the pressure, then you’re not worthy of the position. we expect you to rise to the challenge without complaint.”

~

you were far too gone to allow somebody else to take your spot. guilty and far too gone to let yourself slip through the cracks you had been told others had fallen through. somebody wouldn't be able to deal with the kind of pain you had been trained to believe as normal.

somebody else definitely wasn't as strong as the fake front you had built up to deal with it all, or at least that's what you told yourself, it made you feel better even if you didn't believe it.

you felt like nothing.

was it the pressure? was it the memories? was it the unhealable bruises that littered you from head to toe? or was it the feeling that you gave your whole existence to people who threw you away like you were just dirt on the bottom of a shoe?

you were numb.

you couldn't even remember the last time you had felt truly happy, truly yourself. the facade of a charming female footballer you put on for the world was crumbling and you were scared that people would finally see the pain that lied underneath.

the mirror showed a person trapped between who they once were and the brokenness of who they had become, drowning in a sea of your own helplessness.

you wondered if there was any way back to the person you used to be, or if that person was gone forever, if she had fallen through but ignored by who you had been built to be. this is what rock bottom feels like. rock bottom is not knowing who you are anymore, not recognising any of the memories of the person you were before.

it's the lostness of knowing that you can't find yourself again, seeing your old self in the distance but not knowing how to reach it with the strength you so clearly do not have.

it's the painful acknowledgement that the once vibrant and full of life person who was here before has been replaced by a shadow and you're struggling to fight the dark.

had the darkness swallowed you yet?

your phone rings loudly in your ear. it's more harsh this time than the previous sounds that had escaped the device. you know who's calling you because there wasn't exactly anybody in your life that would reach out to you so religiously and determindly.

you bit down on your lip. a similar memory of you lying on the floor answering the man who had made you the emotionless person that couldn't bear to even think about the game you used to live for.

you miss the person you were. that man gutted her from the inside.

the sound pierces into the thick silence of the room, demanding you to answer as it broke through the barrier of quiet you had built up. the screen of your phone lights up and you let your eyes flicker down towards it, your phone displaying the name of the person you dreaded to see you how you are now.

a feeling you couldn't quite place as dread or relief washed over you as your phone vibrated against the cold floor. dark purple bruises forming on your legs and arms from the time you had spent laying on the bathroom floor.

you slowly reach for your phone, drops of blood dripping off your skin and onto the glass as tears make their way down your face from the dark circles that countless nights of lost sleep had created for you.

your fingers tremble as you swipe to answer the call as if they are carrying the burden you've been feeling for months, and the screen lights up with the caller's name again. you can't turn back now, you've answered the one person you would hate to see you like this.

you contemplate hanging up the phone, staying silent on your end of the call as if magically the situation would disappear and you could leave like you so badly wanted to.

you sound nothing like the person you were a year ago.

"hola amorcito. are you there?" the voice on the other end of the line breaks through your thoughts, the term of endearment so familiar yet painful almost making you burst into another set of tears but you stay strong for her because that's what he would have wanted.

"ale?" you reply, your voice steady but still shaking as you lift your phone to your ear to hear better. "i'm here." there's a soft sigh on alexia's side of the phone and you can almost picture her sitting with her girlfriend on the couch, the older woman had tried to call you throughout the week but you hadn't answered and she'd been waiting for you to call her back.

"you don't have to be strong all the time, you know?"

[eastend-if]

👥DEMO 👥 PLAYLIST 👥 PINTEREST 👥 COG FORUM

You keep having the same dreams over and over. It happened, years ago, before you left. You thought you had left Eastend behind for good.

It seems you can never truly escape your past. The Priest had warned you.

There's a girl you've never seen in your dreams. Yet, she seems so familiar - as a forgotten teddy bear you left in the attic of your home. She feels right, she looks wrong, she's wrong. Because she's not you, she says. And the two of you stand on the road...a bright light blinds you but the smell of iron reaches you. You do not need your eyes to deduce the ending of the nightmares.

Metaphorical dreams have never been your forte...except this is real. On the day you arrive, she's still alive. And smiling...laughing...walking with her friends. She looks like a normal girl of your age.

You black out - from the shock you think. The familiar iron smell being all too close, it makes you nauseous. At least, the earthen scent that lingers on your clothes counters it a little.

Why are you in the woods again?

....Why is there blood on your hands?

Welcome home, whispers the wind.

• Customize the vessel whether be it in looks, personality or identity.

• You are free to romance four of the cast. Maybe more, there are many eyes on you.

• Your choices will shape you as they shape the town. They will have consequences on the people around you and those who aren't anymore. Be careful you never know what effect the ripples may have.

• Explore your past to shape your future.

• Fight your nightmares should you be so inclined - or welcome them, there might be surprises in the deep dark part of your mind?

• Choose whether or not you'll doom your childhood town - although, that might not be left to you. Leaving is an option too, after all, you've already left once.

• Survive - or don't. You didn't think you were the only one who could save them, did you?

Eastend is rated 18+ for sexual themes, substance use, explicit language, explicit violence, death and more.

Beverly Arevalo [F,23], your childhood friend. At least, one of you perceived it that way. She has always been difficult to read and understand, you were one of the few who could years back. Maybe you can rekindle your friendship - maybe it will grow into more. The only thing you know for certain is that there are many unknowns surrounding Beverly.

Aina Valen [F,26] is that stereotypical preppy girl, at least what you know of her. You were never quite close when you still lived in town, but things have changed and so have both of you. Surprisingly enough, she works at the library now, having taken over her brother. You're not aware of what happened between them, only that she seems overly bored whenever you pass by the vitrine. At least she insists on telling you you are the 'spice' of her days, whatever that may mean.

Benjamin Li [M,26] his preferred nickname, Benji has always shown kindness to you and this didn't change with your unexpected return. He somehow always has a nice word for you or others in his vicinity, it's refreshing quite frankly. There are always critters following him around but they say animals are good judges of characters so that's a good sign, right?

Hezekiah Lyncroft [M, 24] was always a pain in your ass, even younger. Always arguing with you over anything and nothing, he was the reason for many headaches. Back then, there were rumours about his home life, ones you remember well. At least, he seems to be in a better place nowadays, even though he's still a pain to be around. But not all pains are bad.

+ familiar faces and strangers you've yet to meet

Demo stands currently at 5.8k words. It is meant as short introduction to the setting and story. Hope you enjoy despite the length :)

[comfortscripts]

The Way I Love You ¬ Coriolanus Snow

Plot - All you want is one night with Corio, the real him. Pairing - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Best Friend!Female!Reader Notes/Warnings - Corio is ooc in this, but the idea is that he is slightly hinged for her and he is aware of his redflags. Possessive? Mentions of deaths. Reader is lowkey just blind to Corio's darkness. First fic back so let's see how it goes! Word Count - 1,443

9pm

“You promised!”

“And when exactly did I promise this?”

He watched as her fists clenched the corners of her skirt, breath dripping with exasperation. Calmly watching from the comfort of his leather chair, nursing a glass of amber whilst his eyes followed the milky fabric adorning his best-friend’s figure. Almost 30 minutes of her attempting to convince him to leave his opaque penthouse.

“Last year, when you were too busy on my birthday, you promised me that I could choose whatever I wanted to do for one da-” Stilling her movements, frozen as realisation washed over her. “You sneaky fucker! Not once have you forgotten a promise between us.”

Corio wanted to laugh as her face scrunched with faux anger, but all he did was cock his eyebrow as a gentle smirk settled on his lips. “Of course, I didn’t forget. However, this little song and dance has been quite amusing.”

Resting his drink to the side, he rose to full height and reached his delicate hand out towards the girl. “I will agree, purely on the premise that nothing we do could harm either of our reputations.”

A smile brighter than freshly fallen snow crept onto her face.

“You have my word.”

1am

Corio may have noticed the ache in his legs if he didn’t have such a captivating distraction hanging from his bicep. After aimlessly strolling through the Capitol, the myriad of hues illuminating their faces as they spoke of the most mundane aspects of their adult lives to giggling at memories of their youth. Having known one another since the tender age of 10, there is little left unsaid between the pair. Perhaps only one thing.

“I’ve missed you Corio”

Shifting his head to where her figure was pressed against his side, their tandem steps slowed. Only those who understood the inner works of Coriolanus Snow could see the cogs turning behind those azure eyes. Flickering across her face, attempting to decode her words.

“Don’t be silly. We see each other constantly; your office is barely 20 steps from mine.”

 The young woman bit back a sigh. In all the years she had known Snow, he excelled in many things but struggled with matters of the heart. “No, I see Coriolanus Snow constantly. Future President of Panem, prodigy Gamemaker. I can barely remember the last time I had a conversation with the real you, Corio, before tonight.”

Stilling completely, allowing her arm to slip from the loop of his. It was a rare occurrence for the young man to be devoid of words, only having ever been rendered speechless by the very same woman only a touch away. In all truthfulness, he yearned for her presence. He longed for the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with delight when indulging in dessert, her uncanny ability to understand his thoughts, and most importantly, the way she allowed him to be himself.

He missed her too.

Perhaps it was his silence, or perhaps it was the cool air that unsettled her. Bubbles of anxiety began to rise in her stomach, fearing that she had overstepped or somehow offended the blond. “I only mean that you have sides to you. Whilst I like all of them, the one I care about most is the real you. I’m sorry, but I miss my best friend.”

“I barely know the real me anymore.”

It was truth. Being betrayed by Lucy Gray, the blood on his hands, the character he has had to play since; it was exhausting. The darkness swirling inside of him corrupting his daily thoughts, paranoia and greed clouding his mind. It was all too much to expose to her.

She embodied life, a breath of fresh air in a world torn apart by capitalism and violence. Coriolanus could never understand why she cared for him, why she befriended him. But he could never jeopardise losing her. The darker side of him wishes to lock her up in the Penthouse, so her sun only shines for him. Keep away the prying eyes of men who wish to glimpse the sweetness of her smile. But alas, he cannot. An innocent fragment of his soul forbids his darkness from tainting her, even if he must create distance to do so.

“After all that has happened, the Corio you know barely exists anymore.” Those stormy eyes refusing to meet her gaze by fixating on the gleaming silver ring adoring his finger. “If only you knew, you wouldn’t look at me the same.”

The warmth of her hand sliding into his captures his focus. “If only I knew about what happened during the games? If only I knew about Lucy Gray, and those people you killed? If only I knew how dark your soul feels? I know Corio.”

Snapping to meet her gaze, he feels as if she had knocked the air out of his lungs. How could she possibly know? Why would she be standing here with him? Was she going to hold this over him? A flurry of thoughts stormed behind his eyes, as she only tightened her hold on his large hand.

“Did you really think you could lie to me? I know you better than I know myself. When you came back from District 12, I could see behind those lies you were spewing. I saw the hurt she caused, the trauma you had witnessed, and how it broke the light inside of you.”

For the second time tonight, Coriolanus was speechless. Perhaps she didn’t know whose blood coats his hands, or the exact details of what happened those years ago, but she knew enough. And she was still standing there in front of him.

“And you still care about me?”

“I will always care about you Corio.  Now come on, I want to take you somewhere!”

And with that, she pulled him further into the night.

2:45am

Neither of them had uttered a word since their conversation.

Laid side by side on the refreshing emerald blades of grass as they look towards the stars above, only their subtle breathing filling the air. Despite the silence, the interlocked fingers expressed a thousand words.

A hitched breath broke the still atmosphere of the hilltop.

“Do you love me?”

Her words stopped his heart mid-beat.

“What? Of course, I love you. You are my best friend.” His words flow smoothly, as his thoughts run erratically to concoct the perfect lie.

The grass shuffles as she turns her head to face him. “No, do you love me like I love you?”

Corio continues staring straight towards the constellations, knowing that her alluring eyes could weaken his resolve in mere seconds.

“Because the way I love you is more than someone who loves a best friend. Almost as if you are the only person who makes my heart dizzy with joy. If you don’t love me the same way, it’s okay. Just needed to finally tell you.”

The breeze acts as a ticking clock, emphasising the lack of response from the young man and amplifying the anxiety building in the woman as she faces the stars once more.

Its almost too quiet to be heard, a whisper in the wind, but she hears it clearly. “I do love you the way you love me.”

Turning in unison to face one another, his free hand reaching to caress the toasty skin of her cheek.  Gentle strokes of his chilled fingers, drawing without destination on her skin as the blond builds the courage to speak once more.

“The way I love you terrifies me. You are the only one who brings me happiness, the only one who knows my sorrows, the only one I would sacrifice for. I obsess over you. I want to hold you and protect you. I wish to possess you. All because I love you the way you love me.”

Searching his irises for any fragment of dishonesty, her smile grows as she finds none. Inching closer to the man who has held her heart for a decade, his minty breath invading her senses.

With lips mere millimetres apart, a light whisper leaves her mouth “I’ll be yours Corio, for as long as you are mine. We can possess one another.”

As if those were the only words he ever craved, he intertwined his lips with hers. Soaking in the feeling of ecstasy as his hold on her tightens. She embraced the overwhelming sensation of complete bliss, revelling in every single second as her fingers interlock with his porcelain-locks.

Her lips fit with his so perfectly, it was clear that they were made to possess each other. And now that Panem’s king had his Queen, nothing could break him.

[withlove-xixi]

— ANIMAL INSTINCT: laios x monster!reader

ᥫ cw: monster reader (thats it) ᥫ wc: 2874 ★ the idea came into my head like a prophecy from god lol + take this w a small grain of salt bc i havent actually read dunmeshi yet so idk if there's a monster like this in the story + idk what this type of monster is called? there's a term i know for it, but it's too specific and i kind of want you guys to have the liberty of imagining things (it will make sense in the fic + i explain things in the replies lol) cross posted on ao3

— LAIOS ACCIDENTALLY MAKES A NEW FRIEND

[♡]: laios knows that when he finds the rest of his party, he'll be scolded for getting separated in the first place (undoubtedly by Chilchuck). laios also knows that when he finds the rest of his party, he'll be scolded for dislocating his shoulder (undoubtedly by Marcille). laios also also knows that when he finds the rest of his party, he'll get scolded for bringing back a monster (possibly by everyone).

BEING ALONE IN THE DUNGEON WAS DANGEROUS; it was the thought ringing at the back of Laios' mind as he stumbles around, one arm limp from injuring during his fall and the other clutching onto it lightly, prepared to draw his sword at any given moment. He's not scared though, quite the opposite actually, Laios is excited. It's very rare he gets to explore the dungeon on his own, now he has the freedom to do as he pleases, to study different plant life and architecture, and of course, his favorite, monsters.

His heartbeat accelerates at the thought of running into one as his mind begins to wonder what it might be. Perhaps a new type of slime he hadn't encountered yet, or a rare type of mushroom found only in certain levels, or—

There's a chill that runs down his spine, the echoing voice of Chilchuck in his head telling him to get himself together first before he dies and gets eaten.

With a sigh, Laios listens to the disembodied voice of Chilchuck, dragging him and his belongings away from the rubble to assess the situation first. He took quite the fall, managing only to survive because he was quick enough to use his sword, wedging the blade between the crevices of the dungeon walls and it to slide down a bit, minimizing the intensity of his fall. Though he still dislocated his shoulder, it's nothing a bit of healing magic couldn't fix. And things definitely could’ve gotten worse, he could’ve died when he fell and his party could’ve never found him and he might’ve never been resurrected. Besides, Laios was always one to focus on the silver-lining; for one, he’s finally alone after traveling with his party for nearly weeks. He feels free, finally able to think and do as he pleases, something that’s become a privilege when he travels with his friends (though even now, the chiding voice of Chilchuck echoes in his head again, Laios could almost feel the half-foot’s presence.)

In any case, imaginary Chilchuck is right. If Laios stayed out in the open like this, he’d surely die. So he decides to explore a bit more to find a more secluded area to rest in. His feet take him deeper into the dungeon, into a dark corridor he normally would’ve had no problem going in had he had Marcille’s light, but this time he’s going in blind. Quite literally too. A chill runs through his spine and Laios’ good hand stays on the hilt of his sword, drumming his fingers against it as he continues to walk.

Now more than ever, Laios thinks about the importance of his party, the roles each member plays like cogs in a clock to keep each other safe and move forward in the dungeon. Laios, as happy as he is to have time to himself, misses his party — his friends. He longs for their company, he realizes how cold the confines of the dungeon’s stone walls are now that the warmth of his friends doesn’t surround him. As dejected as he might be about suddenly missing his companions, Laios focuses that energy into finding his way back to them, a newfound determination to make it back safe and go on as little detours as possible.

With perfect timing too because there’s a sudden sharp sound behind him, like the snap of a twig, that makes him instantly draw his sword and turn in the direction. It renders useless however with the way his eyes aren’t able to catch even a speck of light. With an accelerating heartbeat, Laios cautiously moves forward, sensing he's not alone in the dark and something is definitely watching him. He feels the unseen eyes follow his movements. But Laios can tell whatever it is has no intent to harm him, not yet at least, so he continues forward.

Perhaps it’s a small monster, he thinks, though he’s trying to be careful not to let his mind wander too much. Maybe it thinks I’m a predator.

The thought makes his stomach flutter in the slightest, allowing a small smile to grow on his face. It’s the same thought that comforts him as he ventures a bit further for what felt like hours, walking forward and carefully going over rubble before eventually tiring himself out. His limbs feel limp, sluggish even as if he had begun to drag his body to push forward. Lady Luck must’ve been on Laios’ side however — or was it that she took pity on him? — because he found himself in a clearing. The hallway had led to a small residential looking area, dimly lit with just one torch lighting the whole room, a small broken dining table and what seemed to be the remnants of a living space scattered around the vicinity.

Relieved, Laios sets his backpack down, hissing when its weight is shifted onto his bad shoulder. Quickly, Laios digs through his belongings, searching for some spare cloth to create a makeshift sling for his arm, though a small frown grows on his face, his eyebrows furrow and he’s met with disappointment as he realizes he’s not carrying his backpack. A black long sleeved shirt, a pair of socks, lock picking tools … Laios could hear Chilchuck’s angry voice ringing in his head again, scolding him for making the mistake. 

But Laios isn’t one to let these things bring him down. He mutters an unheard apology to Chilchuck as he takes the half-foots shirt, wrapping it over his shoulder and under his forearm, tying it tight enough it’s able to support the weight of his limp arm. It’s a bit too short but it would have to do for now. He winces, but only at the thought of the long sermon Chilchuck would have for him once he reunites with the rest of his party.

For now, Laios pushes the terrible thought of his impending doom away as exhaustion begins to lull him to sleep. He unfurls his (Chilchuck’s) bedroll and sets it near the torch, then he drags his (Chilchuck’s) backpack next to it. His stomach grumbles, a sudden piercing pain that feels like a punch in his gut; it’s his body telling him he’s hungry.

Not to worry! He thinks and mutters a second unheard apology as he begins rummaging through Chilchuck’s belongings for something to eat.

Though the more he digs through various changes of clothes and pouches of things he dare not know what of, Laios grows a bit more frustrated each time he pulls out something inedible. The closest thing he found to food was a small tin flask hidden in a pocket inside the bag; knowing Chilchuck, it was probably alcohol, and knowing Chilchuck, Laios was certain he’d be killed if he drank it. Not that it was tempting though, Laios was hungry after all. And he wasn’t too big of a fan of drinking anyway.

With a sigh, Laios decides the best choice would be to sleep through it and find something to eat in the morning. He grumbles to himself, something about his tummy hurting and how he hated waking up hungry. Regardless, he lays on the bedroll, shutting his eyes tight, ignoring the sounds his stomach is making, and allowing exhaustion to take over his body.

He smells something, it’s what causes his brows to twitch. Laios can’t tell if he’s even slept yet (he assumes he has since he feels less tired), but the smell causes him to stir. It’s something… strange. In a way, it feels familiar, something homey and comforting like the old books he used to love reading or the earthy scent of dewy grass. At the same time, something about it was new, something unique that Laios hadn't encountered before. His curiosity was piqued, though he was half-certain he was still dreaming.

That was until he felt something prod against his lips. Half-asleep and against his better judgment, Laios parts his lips slightly, coaxed by whatever was against them, and feels a warm liquid pour into his mouth. The taste matches whatever smell came before it, something a bit earthy or grassy and there was something else he wouldn't quite decipher. When he swallows and feels its warmth go down his throat, he realizes he is very much not dreaming and sits up, a bit too quickly since his vision immediately blurs. There was a small noise from somewhere in front of him, something he can't quite make out yet because his eyes haven't focused.

He sees something move, a haze of color reaching out towards him. Laios' hand instinctively reaches for where he left his sword before falling asleep, only to find it wasn't there anymore. Before he could do anything else the colors reached his forehead, something warm pressing against his skin gently. Finally his eyes adjust, focusing on the once blurry figure in front of him to see a person.

Laios opens his mouth to speak, but they're pulling their hand off him and reaching for something next to them. Dots begin to connect as Laios realizes they're holding a spoon, a bowl of what he's guessing is soup next to them. The person brings another spoonful of soup to Laios, who, having woken up hungry, cautiously opens his mouth for them to feed.

They smile gently at Laios when he eats it, seemingly admiring the way his face contorts to try and get a feel of the soup's flavor.

"It's good," Laios says when he realizes you're waiting for a response.

To which you smile a bit brighter and reach to grab another spoonful. While you do, Laios ponders on the taste of the soup, which leads to him wondering where you got the soup, which leads to him thinking about you. Who exactly were you?

Curious golden eyes begin to watch you to try and figure out who you were or where you came from — well, tried to begin because he quickly realizes you're naked. Flustered Laios jolts upright, which startles you. A hand reaches out for Laios' forehead again but he averts his gaze and raises a hand at you.

Confused, you tilt your head and Laios, sensing your confusion, vaguely points at your torso. Which only confuses you more; don't humans normally look like this?

With a frown, you crawl towards Laios, hands clasping around his hands to bring them down, coaxing him to slowly turn back towards you, careful not to look anywhere below your neck. You blink at him, waiting for him to say something.

"Are you not cold?" He asks, slowly like he's worried he'd offend you.

You shake your head and Laios fights the urge to look away again. He looks around the room for a bit before he grabs the blanket from the bedroll and flings it up and around your shoulders.

"At least have this on…" Laios says in a tender manner.

There are lots of questions and thoughts going through Laios' head right now. Who were you? You seemed nice, you didn't try to kill Laios yet, plus you fed him questionable but otherwise tasty soup, but who were you? Were you lost too? Also why were you naked, where were your clothes? If you were lost like him, it doesn't explain the lack of clothes. And where did you get the soup? The room looked like it had a kitchen so maybe it was from there. Oh, did you live here? It would make a bit of sense then, kind of. Also why weren't you talking?

There was the faintest alarm blaring in Laios' head (perhaps his voice of reason, Chilchuck, very furiously reminding him that stranger danger) but curiosity got the best of him, as it usually did. So he asks for your name.

He watches intently as you make gestures with your hands and sound out vowels first before answering. A bit strange, but maybe you just weren't used to talking. If you lived on a floor this deep in the dungeon in a secluded room, it'd make sense.

Laios offers an easy smile. "Do you live here?" He asks, his voice is soft and gentle like he's afraid to scare you.

You pause before nodding. "Some… times." You reply the same way you did with your name, pausing and sounding out the words a bit strange. Maybe you were foreign. He thinks with a curt nod. 

You blink at him before returning back to the soup, carefully feeding Laios another spoonful. He continues to think about the situation, about you, really. It's quite easy to pique Laios' interest, but never something that makes him this curious. You'd have to be a monster to do that.

As he thinks, you continue to feed him, wiping away some of the liquid that spills from his lips. He hums as he thinks, and is only pulled from his thoughts when he realizes you're mimicking the noise.

"Oh, uh, thanks for the soup, by the way. How'd you know I was hungry?" He asks, turning his attention back towards you.

In turn, you tilt your head. "So… Sou…?"

"Soup." Laios finishes for you, pointing at the now empty bowl then at his mouth. "Thanks for that."

He senses your understanding with the way you smile at him. Curious.

"Are you from around here?"

You shake your head. Your mouth opens but swiftly closes like you can't really find the words to use.

Laios flashes you a look of sympathy. "It's okay, take your time."

You hum as you think. "Run… here." You reply after a pause.

"Run…? You escaped? From where?"

You hum again, though your face quickly contorts to frustration as you really can't find any way to verbally explain things to Laios. There's a sound that comes from you, something animal.

Laios opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "Name?" You ask, pointing at him.

"Oh, it's Laios."

"Here?"

"Here…?"

"Why…? Here why?"

"Oh, uh… I got lost."

The conversation goes on like this, slow and patient. You ask questions to Laios the best you could, learning more about him while he learns more about you.

You're shocked when he suddenly points at a pile across the room. "Yours?" He asks.

He could tell from your face his hunch was right. Your eyes widen, mouth slightly ajar. He notices the slight tremble in your hands, the way you look like you're about to run.

"You aren't human, are you?"

Your lip quivers, panic slowly seeping into your veins as fear begins to settle. You had no idea what would happen next.

"Me— I…" You start, voice faltering. "Human!"

Laios looks at you and you can't tell what face he's making but his eyes are intense, golden and piercing. You swallow and shut your eyes tight. Were you going to die?

There's a shuffle, you sense it's Laios getting up, you fear it's to get his sword. Instead you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Here." Laios says, pressing something warm against you. "Must be weird being out of your skin."

Slowly you open your eyes. In his hand is this big fabric like sheet, it's thick and there's a strong musk that comes from it; it’s an animal’s hide. Specifically, your hide.

Shakily you take it in both hands. You look up at the tallman cautiously.

"No —" you hum, thinking "— No… hunt?"

Laios shakes his head. "No hunt." He parrots, voice firm yet gentle, it was reassuring in a way. "Is that why you escaped? You were being hunted?"

You nodded. That made sense; after all, monsters of your rarity have become somewhat of a trophy back up on the surface. You must’ve been hunted down before, probably by other adventurers looking to make some more money. 

“I won’t hurt you.” He says so easily it could only be the truth. “I’m… actually really happy to have met you. I’ve heard stories from sailors back then about these seals that could shed their skins and turn into humans. I suppose you’re something like that huh?”

You nod a bit. Then you point at Laios, then back at yourself. “Friend?”

It takes a while for Laios to register what you’re trying to tell him and when he realizes and nearly jumps up, the jolt startles you. “Friends?” He asks, his voice loud and beaming with excitement. “You think we’re friends? You want to be friends?”

You stare at him with furrowed brows before you nod slowly. “Laios friends.”

His hands fly to your shoulders, grabbing you. Confused and a bit frightened, you look back and forth between him and his hands, Laios remains unaware, smiling really brightly at you, his cheeks flushing from sheer excitement.

“I’ve never had a monster friend before!” He tells you, his joy evident in his tone. “You’re my first! Have you had a human friend? Am I your first too? I can’t wait to tell the rest of the party! I’m sure they’ll like you?”

You open your mouth to speak but you’re quickly cut off. “Tell us what, dumbass?”

Oh. Suddenly Laios remembers all the things Chilchuck would scold him for, and he realizes he’s about to add one more thing to that list.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

09 — I'M HIGHER THAN THE HOPES THAT YOU BROUGHT DOWN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

When you had taken down the organisation by Shepherd’s side, it was the beginning of everything.

The first time you had drawn someone else’s blood was with a rifle in your hand and a vengeance burning in your veins. A single order from your General – your only support – to kill anyone with the organisation’s uniform. Anyone who raised a scope to you.

It’s difficult, usually, to remember what had happened. 

Sometimes, in your deepest of sleeps, the nightmares of your past came to haunt you. Flashes of blood on your skin, corpses underneath your feet, the crackle of a radio sounding in an empty room.

A congratulations from your General.

Congratulations for seeking revenge, and executing it like a soldier well-trained. Another cog in the military’s rusting machine. A weapon for them, more than a human with free will and determination.

You’d thrown up, after it all.

Heaving, sweating, crying, the endless guilt of what you’d just done. Were you no better than them? Sure, they’d killed your mother, but you had just carried out the same in turn. Tenfold. They had families that they’d never report back to. Families that they’d never get to say goodbye to. Dinner left untouched.

Shepherd had pat your back – then, he’d been in service, active duty. You hadn’t known it, but taking down the organisation was his last mission.

You never even learnt the name of the organisation. Shepherd had said that it was better that way, to detach yourself, not get yourself muddled with the logistics of it all. You weren’t meant for that. You were meant for weaponry and death and destruction.

That night, when you laid awake in the small camp set-up just a few klicks out from the organisation's site, you determined that you wouldn’t take another’s life without certainty. Unless it was for defence.

That night, you’d known that you would ask to be trained for field medicine.

Oh, how naive you had been. Young, aching for a chance to get revenge, to get what you felt you deserved.

Ten days later, you met one Phillip Graves.

A day after that, he offered you a place within the beginning of his mercenary company.

Half an hour after you signed the contract, General Shepherd announced that he was no longer suitable for active duty.

How naive indeed.

*

You think, in the very back of your mind, with the smallest grip you have on thought, that you’ve been carried to safety by men more than you have in your life, these past few days.

In and out, your mind wavers, senses completely gone, consciousness an impossible thing.

Minutes, hours, days. You’re not sure. How does time even work? What is time? Are you alive? Is this death? Another third, universally unknown state, an in between?

These past few days, the utter mess your life has become, has it finally worn you out? Destroyed you from the inside, shrapnel embedded into your flesh? A direct hit, a ticking time bomb gone wrong? A suicide mission with no preparation, no warning, no hope?

If you could, you’d cry.

Let tears fall down your cheeks, crystalline and pure against your dirtied and sinful skin. A mocking of all things good and right and beautiful.

Oh to be beautiful. To be right. To be good.

Heaven would taste like fairy floss melting against your tongue, you think. Sweet and pink and soft. It would furl around your tongue, season your mouth with the feeling of cotton and freedom.

White.

White blinds every inch of your body, the darkness of your eyelids lit with the shade. Chemicals fill the air, a stagnant, all too damning smell. Beeping, too, a constant background noise as you slowly come to.

Hospital – or, at the very least, a Med Bay. It’s something quite familiar, but the feeling of being a patient in one is a very rare instance for you.

That feeling of blood, sticky against your face and arm, has gone. Instead, the itch of fabric and bandage replaces it, an IV drip attached to your inner arm an annoying sting. Your hair feels as if it’s been carefully spread over the pillow underneath your head, a blanket wrapped over your form.

If your spatial awareness is at all correct, you think you can sense a few other people in the room, too. Soft murmuring chimes in over the beeping, now, as you return to full consciousness.

“Can’t believe all three of ‘em are down.”

Gaz – that honey-esque, smooth voice instantly has you recognising the Sergeant. From where his voice is coming from, he seems to be sat beside your bed. 

“It’s not your fault, Kyle.”

Price. Captain. He sounds… softer than you’ve ever heard him. Lost, maybe, upset. Disappointed? It’s hard to place, his tone, but it seems almost forlorn.

“Had a whole fuckin’ team of Marines and we couldn’t make it to ‘im in time. If it wasn’t for her–”

“I know, Sergeant,” Price snaps, shutting down the younger man’s nervous, distressed rambling. A scrape of a chair sounds, the sound of pacing footfalls a moment later. “There wasn’t anything we could do – and it’s not like any of ‘em are dying, now are they?”

“Don’t act like this didn’t affect you either, Captain,” Gaz bites back in return, his chair, too, scraping against the linoleum floor. “I heard your yell clear as day.”

“I can and will write you up for insubordination, Garrick,” Price warns, stern and cold.

Gaz’s responding laugh is biting, grating. “No, you won’t, Price. Because if you do that, you’ll have to report the others too. You really wanna risk losing us all?”

“Don’t test me.”

“Thought you liked that about me, Cap.”

“Kyle –”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Both men turn, then, to look at you with wide eyes. With a small groan, you move to sit up, eyes burning with the sudden overhead lights. Your shoulder aches, your cheek, too, but not as badly as they had before.

“Be careful, don’t –” Gaz goes to say, moving towards you, before you show him your palm.

“I’m fine. I know my limits, Gaz,” you say, a small reprimand as you shift into a comfortable position. “I’ll be out of this bed within the hour if I can help it.”

“You dislocated your shoulder,” Price says, insistent, brows furrowed as he looks down at you, arms folded over his chest. “It’s in a wrap. You’re lucky, Colonel, that they could perform the surgery here.”

Your brows raise.

“Surgery? How long was I out?” You frantically ask, sitting up straighter, wincing when you bump your shoulder. Your mind races with theories, fear trickling down your spine like a cold vice. There was so much you had to do – had to investigate, now.

“Only about a day. You were under anaesthesia – and your body near shut down,” Gaz leans forward as he sits, elbows on his knees. “You were awake, under high-intensity stress, for nearly four days.”

Four days? Had it really been that long? What had only felt like a day – it had been four?

You must show your inner panic on your face, because Price takes a step closer, hand moving to rest comfortably on your shoulder. He has a calming, understanding tilt to his lips that you appreciate. His eyes examine your body, before his blue eyes meet yours.

“Graves is already planning his next movement,” he says, gruff and true. His hand squeezes. “We were playing checkers, seems like he wants to play chess.”

The beep of the machines sat beside your bed and the overall feeling of hospital and gauze and injury has you realising something. A flash in the back of your mind, a bell ringing for you like a dog on a leash.

“Where’s Soap and Ghost?”

Price and Gaz share a look, before Gaz flits a nervous grimace to you. “Ghost… refused to be treated unless he was put in the same room as Soap. Soap, is, well…”

“Get yer bloody hands off me, aye am fine, let me see ‘er–”

Soap’s voice carries down the hallway, the standard-issues curtains surrounding your small area doing nothing to block the sound. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, Gaz buries his face in his hands, and Price heaves a long-suffering sigh, muttering something under his breath about decorum.

“Sergeant, the doctor’s –”

“Tell Sarah tha’ aye can bloody well handle maself!”

A crashing noise follows the last statement, along with the sound of confused yelling, before the curtain surrounding you gets ripped open by none other than Soap MacTavish.

His grown-out faux-mohawk is messy, obviously having been laid on for a fair bit, his eyes wide and chest pounding in sweeping movements. Fist clenched in the scratchy fabric of the curtain, his frantic eyes focus on Price and Gaz, respectively, before landing on you. His shoulders loosen, and he lets go of the curtain as he trails down your form, analysing for any injuries or a single hair out of place.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding all too like that single nickname is a lifeline, “Yer alright.”

You softly shake your head, disbelieving and confused and shocked and. 

And maybe slightly grateful. Lucky, even, to have someone care for you enough to act like your very presence is their saviour. Like your blood is as worthy as their own, your lungs virtually theirs, too.

“I’m not the one that nearly fell to my death,” you exasperate, voice as soft and vulnerable as you’ve heard it. At the very least, the most open you’ve sounded since your mother was around. “Did you just kill one of the nurses to get here?”

Soap’s creeping smile turns into a full, toothy grin as he shakes his head. “Nah. That’d be Lt.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price mutters from beside you, along with Gaz’s choked off laugh. You can’t help your own private smirk.

“And here I was, thinking you were the dog, Soap,” you tease, except for the first time, it isn’t with the intention of goading. Of poking the beast. You’re… teasing just for fun. Because it feels natural and right and.

Oh.

Oh.

Soap scoffs. “Aye, ye did say that, didn’t ya? Ye haven’t seen a guard dog like Mr. Lt, lass,” He taunts, freckles dusting his nose, the hospital lights doing nothing to wash his tan skin out.

He says, as if your world hasn’t been flipped over, shaken about, and sat down on your shoulders like a snowglobe.

He says, as if everything is fine and normal and not cataclysmic.

“The nurse is fine.” 

Everyone, including Price, jolts where they are situated, eyes darting to where Ghost leans against the wall opposite your bed, picking at his nails.

He’s.

Unlike the balaclava, of which is all you’ve known of the bulky man, the only thing covering his features is a standard black medical mask, covering his mouth and nose. No ink stains the upper half of his face, either, and for the first time – you see his hair.

Dirty blond.

It oddly suits him, the shortly cut mess, the strands hanging over his forehead and ears. What strikes you is the lack of scars from the skin you can see, the unmarred skin, the softness of it. 

He’s pretty, in a rugged, unabashed way, and what a realisation that is.

With just a black compression shirt, sleeves cut to the mid-section of his upper arms, sleeves of talented ink cover his pale skin. A snake, intricately designed, covers his left, curving around the muscle. On his right, what looks to be a Greek god, its depth shadowed with blacks and greys.

“Good to see you in one piece, too, Lieutenant,” you say, and if it was at all possible, you’d swear that sparks shoot up your spine when his deep brown eyes catch onto yours. 

He raises an uncovered brow – pale and soft. “I meant what I said,” he threatens, a glint in his eye.

So, you suppose, not all has been forgiven. Your memories are shaky at best, but a few words stand out from your confrontation – kill, belonging, rank. A promise of death, but a vow of protection, too.

“What’re you talking about?” Gaz asks, looking between the two of you with a confused expression.

Neither you, nor Ghost, break eye contact as you simultaneously say; “Nothing, Gaz.”

Both Sergeants share a look, a cheeky one, the type that no one else in the room can decipher. You had seen the way that the two shared comments, winks, hits up the back of their heads. Joking and full of life, but with an unbreakable bond between them.

Yearning was becoming too familiar of a concept for you, you were finding.

“Laswell found a hit on some intel,” Price breaks the tension of the room, hands bracing on his knees as he looks to the four of you. A grim expression settles on his face when he looks to you. “It’s in the home of one of your Lieutenants.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you swallow around a dry mouth. “What kind of intel?”

Everyone seems to collectively move in closer – Ghost’s hand rests at his belt, Soap’s at his back pocket, Gaz’s on the chain adorning his neck, a guitar pick attached to the gold.

“Intel on an ‘organisation’,” Price says. “A group of people wanting to overtake the military, one with a rising number of members.”

It’s as if you can feel nothing but the beat of your heart, the sensation of your fingers, the pain in your chest. The organisation. They were. You and Shepherd, you hadn’t eradicated them. Maybe stumped their growth, for a while, but you hadn’t.

You hadn’t realised they were still around. Growing, even, thriving.

The urge to just cry, pour out your emotions and weep is the strongest it’s been since your mother’s funeral. To just pull up the covers over your head and let tears fall down your cheeks, mourn in your misery, scream and claw at your skin and feel.

If only you could be that woman. Just for a day.

Instead, you reply.

“When are we going?”

Soap is, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, the first one to speak up. His hands land on his hips as he studies you with a narrowed gaze. “Ye need to rest, lass. Yer broken.”

You throw your unwrapped hand in the air, waving in their general direction. “Have you guys seen yourselves? How the fuck you’re out of your gowns is almost crazier than you storming into here gunsablazing!”

“We didn’t get a concussion, a wound on our cheek, a dislocated bloody shoulder,” Ghost challenges, and your hackles rise in turn. When he gives, you return. The moon and the sun – the two of you, always taunting the other with a bone just to see if the other will bite.

“I saved your ass,” you seethe back, and with only a small wince, you pull the IV drip from your arm. If Price or Gaz debate that move, you ignore it. “And his. I don’t seem to recall hearing a single thank you, either.” You rise on shaky legs, pushing through the ache, pushing through the thunderstorm in your chest. You turn to Soap, “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” you turn to Ghost, “And you don’t tell me what injuries deem me weaker! I’ve survived this long without the lot of you, and you don’t need to start babying me now.”

The silence in the room should dispel your nerves, but it only serves to increase them tenfold.

“We’ll scope out the area and decide what to do after. Five days ‘til we perform an undercover mission, I suspect.”

With a small tilt of your head, you look to Price, who rubs at his jaw, scratching at the hair lining it. He looks deep in thought – ever the calculating leader.

You sigh, quiet enough to not be heard. “Thank you, Captain.”

The wrapping around your set shoulder seems recently done, and when you move the ligament in small circles, the pain is nothing more than a dull ache. Your cheek, too, has been bandaged, but the sting is nothing if not prevalent.

Someone had spent the time putting socks on your feet, so you’re grateful for the small mercy as you move to the side table and swallow down mouthfuls of water from the plastic bottle placed there.

A thought comes to mind then.

“Where do I sleep? Or should I, um…” You trail off, because the idea of finding a shoddy motel in the middle of nowhere is definitely not a pleasant one.

Silence.

Slowly turning around, bottle in hand, your brows furrow when you see that none of them are meeting your eyes. Even Ghost, which is most definitely a first.

“Are you banishing me? Worried I have cooties?” You tease, bouncing on the soles of your feet. When no one responds again, you truly start to worry. “That was a joke,” you confirm, as if they didn’t know that.

“There’s no spare rooms,” Gaz blurts out, and your eyes go wide.

Of all the things that had briefly crossed your mind, a lack of space was most certainly not one of them. The consequences of that fact is the next thing to be brought to the forefront of your muddled ideas.

“Right,” Soap nods, as if this is a newly found concept. He gestures to Gaz, a smile creeping onto his face. “Thanks for offering to let ‘er crash with ya, lad.”

“I didn’t say that –” Gaz starts, expression slowly creeping into one of exasperation as Price interrupts with a slap to the Sergeant’s shoulder.

“Real generous, Garrick,” Price commends, moving to stand from his chair and leave the room. Ghost follows closely behind him, shooting a look between you and Kyle, simply saying, “Thanks, Sergeant.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Gaz groans, head falling against the chair backing as he slides down the wood. Soap is quick to bound away from the room, too, with a cheerful, ‘See you tomorrow!’.

Gaz, eyes squeezed shut, seeming to try and melt into the floor, flutters one eye open to look at you where you stand. He grimaces, before slowly getting to his feet, too.

“Sorry for,” you bite at your lip, looking everywhere but at the man who seems to want to die more than host you, “Being a nuisance. Really, I’m fine sleeping at a motel, or whatever. Seriously.”

His hand grasps your chin, moving it so you’re forced to look up at him, his analysing gaze searching your own. The brown of his eyes glisten in the bright light, his features shining with it, and you’re hit with an overwhelming want to be cherished by this man. 

How bad had your concussion really been, to be making you think this way? You should really talk to Sarah about it, ask what kind of side effects came with one.

Oddly enough, you don’t think that this realisation is as sudden as you’re forcing yourself to believe.

“I didn’t,” Gaz begins, quickly looking away and setting his jaw before meeting your eyes once more, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just. Embarrassing, y’know?”

“How? Got a secret collection of pornos you don’t want me finding?” You quip back, a soft tilt to your lips.

He chuckles, a soft, girthy thing, shaking his head. “Nah. Nothin’ like that. Just… havin’ a girl in my room on such short notice is a bit scary. Gonna kill them all when I see ‘em tomorrow,” he mutters the last few words under his breath.

“I really am sorry,” you promise, “I didn’t realise that I’d have to impose on you like this.”

“You’re not imposing,” Gaz says, stern, thumb brushing along your jawline. “My bed should be big enough, anyways.”

Your cheeks heat at the implication, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “Your – Your bed? I can just sleep on the floor –”

“No,” he interrupts, shaking your head side to side softly. “If anything, I’ll crash on the floor if you’re uncomfortable. I won’t let you sleep on anything but my bed.”

“Such a gentleman,” you lean in, whispering the words over his lips, a smirk forming on your face as you pull back. Heading for the door, you miss the way his fingers raise to hover over his mouth, gaze flitting to you before he follows behind.

“Do I need to see Sarah? The only reason I was really in there was ‘cause I was passed out, right?” You ask, turning around as Gaz meets you, opening the door for you to walk through. His hand falls to the small of your back as he directs you down the hallways.

He shakes his head. “Nah, Price messaged ‘er. If your pain starts up again, just take some pain meds or see her.”

“I like the way you run things here,” you hum, looking around at the concrete walls and linoleum floors, barren of personality. “No wasting time or resources.”

A draft carries down the hall, and you find yourself rubbing your arm, biting at your lower lip from the cold. Gaz’s hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his body heat subtly, and you’re silently grateful. “I’ll give you some of my spare clothes to sleep in,” he says, thumb rubbing against where his hand sits in tight circles.

Your stomach growls, then, and you can hardly find the energy to be embarrassed when you haven’t eaten in four days. Yikes.

“Sorry –”

“I made you. Um.” Gaz looks away, bringing up his other hand to rub at the nape of his neck nervously. “I made you some wraps to eat, because the guys love ‘em, and Price kept getting pulled into meetings. So.”

The smile that pulls at your cheeks burns as you softly say, “Thank you.”

His grip around your waist tightens, the smallest amount.

You don’t comment.

“While you change, I’ll go get them from the fridge,” he says, as the two of you pause outside a standard door. The barracks look the same as every other corridor in this base, you’ve found, three other doors sitting close to this one. The 141’s rooms.

Unlocking the door, he switches on the light, and as you step in, you look around at the small room.

A double bed, narrow but long, sits in the corner next to a small window. Next to it, a wooden bedside table, with photos atop it, and a few random medals and gum wrappers. A single poster is stuck to the wall – and as soon as you see it, a laugh bubbles up in your chest.

“What?” Gaz asks, looking through his chest of drawers, looking to you with flushed cheeks. “It isn’t that bad.”

Your laughs continue, racking your body with each inhale as you point to the poster, eyes watery as you look at the man. “Didn’t realise you were into the Spice Girls, Garrick.”

He shoves his clothes into your face, only making you double over with laughter. 

“It was from my mum,” he grumbles, and you grab for his cheeks, squeezing them as your eyes near-shut with the manic laughter bubbling from you.

“Mama’s boy,” you tease, pulling at his cheeks until he’s face level. He huffs, pushing you away with a hand to your jaw, making more giggles erupt from your chest. “It’s cute, Gaz, I’m not being mean, pinky promise.”

“I’m getting the wraps, you twat,” he tries to sound accusatory, but his dimples deepen in his cheeks, his mouth pulling into a stubborn smile as he shoves you onto the bed, slamming the door shut behind him as he goes.

The fondness in your chest aches, and as you pull on his clothes, taking off the medical robe, you realise something. A niggling, in the back of your mind, one you can’t seem to shake as you tie off the oversized grey sweatpants around your waist.

A singular realisation, but a damning one, nonetheless.

Your smile doesn’t fade.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19

[pinksugarscrub]

O Sweet Juliet

Tom Holland! Peter Parker x fem! reader

Inspired by @heihei.edits on tik tok! Thank you again for your permission to make a story of my own. Thank you to @froggheadd for allowing me to use their art 💕 (i'll upload the banner asap!)

Word count: 946

~

“Pete?”

Your voice so soft it's barely above a whisper. Peter immediately perks up and drops his pencil. Like he's been waiting to hear your voice. His eyes search yours as he smiles.

“Yeah?”

“What’s this?”

Scooting your stool closer you ignore the loud squeak it makes across the lab's tile. Peter meanwhile slides his study guide away to the edge of the desk to make room for your textbook, English.

The pages contrast the formulas and theories Peter has been studying for over the past hour.

Normally the two of you would use a timer to keep from overloading your brains. But with finals coming up and an important mission soon after, you had to cram as much information as you could. Ned would also have joined but declined under the excuse his Lola needed him.

He really was your wingman when it came to Peter. You did however, owe him a cartilage of web fluid to mess around with for missing today's study session.

You trace your finger along stanzas before finally reaching line fifty-two. Reciting it before referring back to the essay prompt for your last paper.

“I understand Shakespeare was using pathos but how exactly does that connect to this?”

Peter leaned over you and despite the close proximity he felt so far away. His chin almost resting on your shoulder as he scanned the text. Romeo and Juliet, a “classic”. What? You can't help it if MJ degrades the play every chance she gets.

“Well…” He licked his lips before pulling away. Flipping through the pages as he continued. “The story is about love being blind, right?”

You nod as you look at him quizzically but still with enough patience that you don't interrupt.

“Young love specifically.” Peter finally stops on the prologue. Sticky notes littered in the margins much like the rest of your textbook. Definitions and context mostly.

“Shakespeare sets up this narrative from the beginning.”

The rest of his words fall on deaf ears as you admire him. Peter hasn't noticed that when concentrated, he taps his foot incessantly. Biting his nails as he articulates his next thought. His lashes fluttering remind you of how jealous you are over them.

“So…” you clear your throat as you look back to the textbook. What little words you did catch clicking together like cogs. “By setting up how completely infatuated they are-”

“-their deaths become the payoff,” he completes. Smiling even brighter as he notices that look of understanding flashing in your eyes. One he's seen all too often when you work on Stark tech.

He thinks you're just as bad as his mentor when it comes to your inability to take breaks. The restlessness you get from not being able to solve a miscalculation that leads to midnight coffee runs to the seven-eleven around the corner. Not that he's complaining. If anything, he hopes you'll get the craving for something sweet so he can whisk you away. Have you all to himself without the prying eyes of the other avengers.

Peter's quite aware Tony is hovering through the surveillance cameras. He wouldn't even be surprised if the rest of the team was watching them like their own personal home movie. Frankly he's tired of getting teased, especially by Thor.

“Ok…Ok so-” You shift closer and Peter feels his heart lurch in his chest. It's like you affect him so much his own body can't take being near you.

Would you mind if he peppered kisses along your cheeks when it gets too cold? Hold your hands as he stares at you like you're the most precious thing in his life.

He sometimes wonders if you feel the same way but with how easy you seem to make these interactions he thinks not. Maybe you know enough that these teasing touches are a way to torture him.

“-the scene where they first meet. That's the main foundation for how the reader sees them as a couple.”

Peter nods as he tries not to lean in and kiss you. His eyes dancing between your lips and the pencil you keep chewing on.

“Being star crossed lovers heightens the effect and makes us root for them,” you mumble,“and again is why their deaths are so effective at evoking pathos.”

“Right,” he chuckles.

You lean back but not to far. Stretching your arms over your head as you look down at the mess of notes and candy wrappers you made on Tony's desk. If anything it's to hide how hot your cheeks feel.

“Cool, thanks Pete.” You sneak a glance at him with a quick smile before quickly doting down the major points of your conversation. Ignoring how your heart races once he finally looks away.

“Of course,” he hums. Mind lost on the homework he was doing previously. All these numbers mean squat when you're sitting next to him. His grades would absolutely suffer if he had to share more than one period with you.

Peter must have reread ‘what is the missing angle?’ a dozen times between looking over at you while you admire his reflection through the lab doors.

Somewhere Thor is handing over a wad of cash while Natasha grins over her newfound prize. She gives it until prom season when Peter will have no choice but to ask you out on a date while Tony says it'll be less than a week because that's when the mission is. Adrenaline does something to you y'know? And Bruce…well Bruce just smiles against his coffee mug as he sees your hand reach out for Peter's under the desk. He hopes you like the anniversary gift he helped Peter pick out.

[ikindamaybewanthertositonmyface]

So over time we've been shown various versions of Megatron who's reasons for starting the civil war range anywhere from him being just crazy to having logical reasons behind his bad actions.

But I gotta say, despite how good the movie was, Transformers One Megatron kinda falls right into the just being crazy lane.

I mean when you look at the things running through his reasonings it's just all nonsense.

I mean you have his adoration of Megatronus, someone he admired so much so that he took his name, his cog and made his face the symbol of his movement.

Then you have his blind hatred of Sentinel which is perfectly reasonable hatred, but when you go and realize he's expanding his hatred of Sentinel onto Primes as a whole is where it all falls apart.

I mean Sentinel was never even an actual Prime, he just called himself one. Meanwhile Megatronus, who he still idolizes, was an actual Prime. Yet Optimus, who is also an actual Prime, he despises with the same hatred now as he had for Sentinel.

Which again makes no sense, as Sentinel was never actually a Prime.

I mean how can he rationalize this in his mind that he still idolizes Megatronus, who was a Prime, while hating the idea of Prime's now because of Sentinel who was never a Prime. It's all such nonsense.

[jinnie-ret]

silent cry

seo changbin x female!reader

genre: descriptive angst that turns into sickeningly sweet fluff at the end

content warnings: depressive tendencies implied, dependency

word count: 1.2k

summary: she hid her thoughts and struggles to not burden her boyfriend, but he catches her in tears

requested: 🕷️anon

this may have veered off slightly off of what the original request was but I hope you still enjoy! I loved writing this one, feel rly proud of it :)

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It was a hard thing to navigate sometimes, emotions. Often she felt as if something was wrong with her. Why couldn't she embrace and confront those sadder, darker feelings, when the love of her life was someone who championed every little thing she did?

Changbin was smart, intuitive, and incredibly aware of how those around him felt. His empathy, pureness and generosity was something many couldn't comprehend, so it was no surprise he had many idol friends. The level of extraordinary observation he carried only increased tenfold when he was with her.

But being without him, it was a different story. To be without him, cast a darkness over the sun that was coming out of hiding, and bringing warmth to her days. To be without him, was to snuggle up into bed, alone, and wrap herself tightly in crumpled blankets to try and imagine his arms encompassing her safely as she entered a dreamlike state. To be without him, was a nightmare that rattled her bones as cries wracked through her body in the early hours of the morning.

To be without him, was to live a life where she couldn't be.

Some may say it's dramatic. How could someone solely depend on another so much that they felt as if they had lost a part of them when they were not together? The answer wasn't simple. Anyone could have their own interpretation of the situation, but what really mattered was the way that their souls had intertwined and formed a love so strong and unbreakable.

That love would stretch a lot of the time. The distance that existed when she was apart from Changbin taunted her, tugging her heart towards where it belonged. Yes, maybe her heart didn't belong in a Stray Kids fanmeeting, or a tour around the world, but it was meant to be with him. Changbin knew it too. He just didn't know the extent of how bad things were getting because his partner had mastered the skill of presenting a facade through texts, video calls... you name it.

There were other things going on in her life, there always were, and he had helped her understand what was happening and how she could healthily support herself. She was struggling to wrap her brain around everything however, when she didn't have her lifeline next to her. Instead, she was holed up in their shared bedroom, aimlessly scrolling through her phone in attempt to divert and distract her mind. So much so, that when Changbin had arrived home early to surprise her, she didn't really believe it.

Perhaps it was a fever dream?

"Hey honey," Changbin cooed gently as he entered the dark room, weakly lit by the brightness of her phone and the dying bulb of the salt lamp they had. Damn, he needed to replace that soon. There were other things he needed to worry over first though.

She didn't respond. Her spiraling that had occured with his absence was clear to see. Curtains and blinds shut. Dirty dishes. Clothes strewn across the floor where, hey, at least she had been able to change into something different.

"Jagi?" Changbin whispered lightly, now crouched down next to her by the bed as he knelt on the floor, not quite touching her yet as he didn't want to overwhelm her. He was good like that, knowing exactly how she worked.

Again, no response. In truth, she felt that tug on her heart and knew he was there, but something within her, like a subconscious turning of cogs, fueled a robotic motion of continuing to fixate onto her phone.

"I'm here now," Changbin whispered, thick fingers delicately smoothing across her knee as he waited patiently for her to be ready.

And just like that, her phone was now beside her as she gazed ahead of her, no eye contact made yet but the twitches of her thumbs without nothing to hold, and the way her lips pursed together to stop anything from escaping her gave away some telltale signs to Changbin that she really had been going through it.

"That's it, I'm here," Changbin's deep, husky voice unleashed the floodgates as tears streamed down her face, chest stuttering with it's normal rhythm as she refused to let any sobs echo between the walls. His hands connected with hers, squeezing gently.

"I hate how much I miss you," she attempted to whisper, but with the lump in her throat rising the turmoil she had been facing revealed itself.

"Oh honey," Changbin felt himself tearing up but he calmed himself in order to remain stable for her. That's just what he was. A reliable pillar for her weight to rest against as he pulled her against him, joining her in bed and cradling her tenderly.

"I don't know why-" she cried, hands resting at his lower back and she desperately clutched onto him, squeezing the soft fabric of his black hoodie to tell herself he was here. She was safe. She was ok. And with him, all of the stress would alleviate and float away. With him, the fogginess that clouded her judgement would leave. With him, her silent cries that were cruelly locked away, could be unleashed and heard.

"I've got you, it's ok, I'm with you, and I'm here now, ok?" Changbin's lips pressed a kiss into her hairline, as he relished this moment of having her with him too.

"I wish I wasn't like this. I just... I need you. Always. Some days it's just harder," she sniffled, bravely shifting into his arms to climb over the walls she had built around her and finally stare into his eyes. The very ones that made her putty.

"Those days will get better. When you let go, when you can let everything out, it feels better, right?" Changbin rested his head against her, searching, scanning for anything she'd try to hide. He found comfort that there were no signs of caged thoughts being left unsaid.

"It does. You're right. You always are," she nodded ever so slightly, as not to break this close intimacy she was receiving, what she had craved for these past two weeks.

"Mm, aren't you lucky?" Changbin smirked but without any trace of joking or performative arrogance.

"I am, I'm so lucky. Sometimes it doesn't feel real that you're here with me, because I can't even comprehend that, like... That I'm with you," she said with utmost sincerity lacing her words.

"Aigoo, this is why I like to hear what's on your mind. My honey is so good with her words," Changbin chuckled, nuzzling his nose against hers, smiling brightly when he heard a giggle that came straight after his.

"I'm not," she protested, looking down.

"No, don't do that, I need your pretty eyes in my sights," he tilted her head up.

"Gonna cost you," she joked. There it was, the warmth was back. The light was back, despite the cave like lighting in the room. He could so easily bring out that side of her, and help her to forget about her struggles and simply exist around him, being her true authentic self. He helped her to be.

"Yah! I shouldn't have to pay!"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Eldritch!König's Ever-Watchful Eyes

I'm writing this as I'm about to get an IUD inserted, so please pray for me here. Last time the pain was so bad I had to go to the hospital. Either way, I'm channeling my fear of pain into my fear of Summoned!König, so that's what's keeping me stable. Most likely half way through I'll be in an Uber home (or if I'm feeling extra, the bus).

Edit: I took the bus.

Story below the cut.

Tw for disturbing imagery, mental torture, insects

Under His Watch

König watched your scurrying out of the corner of one ice cold eye. He found it amusing, how you seemed so desperate to please a party that saw no worth in so much as the air that passed through your lungs. Really, Summoner, you're just another cog in a machine. You could relax a bit, if you'd like. You didn't need to spend hours assembling finger sandwiches and preparing jugs of cucumber water. If you wanted to have high tea, he could have a full table set for you in a snap of his fingers, but you always refused his help. It was starting to irritate him, actually.

"Watch the skins," he drawled as he watched the winds blow through fields of canola flowers, "Srgt. Blackstone is picky about his apples."

You didn't bother asking how he knew this, instead taking out a peeler without a word.

König raised one bushy eyebrow at your diligent obedience. You were such a good pet, weren't you? You hung on every command he gave you, but he knew this blind obedience would soon be your downfall. You needed some semblance of a spine if you wanted to climb from your current rank. Or rather, he'd need to plant one in you, whether you liked it or not.

"Don't add so much cress," König closed his weathered eyes, "it will throw off the balance."

"Will it?" you questioned, but put the sandwich aside regardless.

"It will," König confirmed.

He watched you hurry back and forth, a mindless ant playing house for a faux queen. He could squash you all with the twinge of a thumb.

In truth, König considered the entire display mindlessly absurd. You were laughably pathetic in your attempts to charm your superiors. You could spit on their boots and they'd clamber for so much as an acknowledgement from you. Didn't you realise how much power you held over them? You had him, didn't you?

You seemed so desperate to please these vermin above you. You had the most powerful summon in the entire continent, maybe even hemisphere, and yet you seemed desperate to try and gain the respect of ticks that were determined to burrow into your side. If only you knew how much power you commanded.

König snorted when you scrambled towards the knock on the door. You squeaked as you broke a glass statue in your hurry. Once you'd turned the corner, König twirled a finger and the statue was set to rights on the table.

You didn't mention the statue when you led your commanders back to the kitchen, instead focussing on keeping your eyes down to avoid angering the old ones. When they turned to look at König, they quickly averted their gaze. At the very least, they knew their place before him. They'd just need to learn that you were just as much a force as he was.

However, he could sense how fearful his mate seemed. You were so nervous, and his presence o ly seemed to amplify your anxieties. He mercifully faded into the shadows, and like all humans, out of sight out of mind. It saddened him how your shoulders relaxed when he had left your sight.

The great old ones sat at the table you set for them. You served each of them as the mindless drone you were, but they paid no attention to your desperate attempts to pacify the forces above you. Instead, they focussed on the avatar in their midst.

You sat at one end of the table, opposite from the space you'd so thoughtfully given to your commander. Now that your summon was out of sight, they focussed on honing their strength and focussing on your pitiful presence.

"You made great efforts to prepare yourself for us," the Admiral mused as his own summon sniffed the sandwich you'd prepared. Once the summon nodded, he took a tentative bite.

"You used no help from your summon to prepare for us," a commander observed.

"I didn't want to offend," you admitted weakly.

This got the attention of the old ones. You didn't want to offend them? König could smack you for being so oblivious.

"Well you have done well," the Admiral observed before narrowing his equiline eyes, "so far."

"I hope I will only continue to please," you mindlessly agreed, a fateful amen to the powers that reigned above you.

König could hear the whisperings in your commander's minds. It sickened him. If it were up to him, he'd have you pressed over this table beneath him, claiming you to prove who you were truly loyal to. The fact that they dared to picture you between their legs made him want to castrate each and every one of them. He'd teach them later, once their heads hit their pillows. Until then, he'd watch over you silently.

"A summoner as powerful as you could advance quickly,' the admiral's eyes glinted, "we certainly think you have potential, based on the results here."

"Really?" you blinked owlishly.

"There is no doubt in your abilities," the Admiral took another sandwich, cream cheese and lox, "as long as you can prove your dedication, you could easily be sitting among the people you see here within a year."

A year? The thought was so alien to you that it took you an entire minute to process it. You, an old master, in just a year? It was unheard of.

"But that's impossible..." you heard the words come forth, but your face was numb.

"Not so, summoner," the admiral's teeth gleaned in the afternoon glow, "I think we could find good use for you. How would you like to join us?"

König saw you nod your head, a good little pup. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"All we need are a few favours," the old master spun his web, "nothing egregious, just some things to ensure your abilities."

You perched on the edge of your seat, an alert retriever waiting for your masters command.

"We only ask one simple request," the Admiral leaned forward, "and that would be your summon."

"My summon?" you frowned. They wanted you to hand over König? Your heart clenched, and everything within you screamed in protest.

"Your first attempt to summon brought you an avatar of chaos," a general pitched in, "with more training and guidance, imagine what you could summon next?'

"You could have an army of angels at your fingertips," another added.

You could always get another summon, but give up König? Something churned within you.

"I'd have to think-"

"No."

The sunlight was snuffed out around you, leaving you in complete darkness. Tendrils crawled around your throat, loving chains binding you close.

"I am not some pet to be passed," a voice echoed by each old one present, "not a single one of you, not with your armies of summons or all the arcane knowledge in every library of earth can bind me to your command."

The Admiral screamed as a cloud of gnats bloomed from his throat.

"You are all toddlers playing with matchbooks."

A general was bound to his chair with thick, slimy tentacles as centipedes crawled from his ears and into his mouth, stifling his pleads for mercy.

"This summoner is my mate."

The other general went slack-jawed as images of maddening carnage flashed through his eyes.

"Now bow to me."

All ten old masters immediately dropped to their stomachs. Their hands were stretched up above them, small antenna reaching up to a higher power that held nothing but disdain for them. It was a wretched sight, too horrid for your little brain to comprehend.

As soon as it came, the sunlight slowly filtered in with carefree abundance. The fields grew brighter than before, the clouds outside particularly billowy in their columnus mirth.

The remnants of lunch had turned to rotten mulch on rusted trays. Insects crawled through the piles with gleeful delight. As the old masters slowly climbed up the table legs to their feet, they shook and shivered like mice in cats of oil.

The admiral's eyes met yours, then a pair of eyes behind you."

"You may leave."

They were gone in an instant.

AU Masterlist

[mawvax]

I’m kind of baffled by the amount of people saying Megatron was right. I totally get being sympathetic to him and his anger but right?

Brother was literally doing the exact same thing as Sentinel by the end of the film. Tearing down the previous government forcefully through violence with justice for the self and only using their own judgement of morality. Hell, he even ripped out Megatronus’s cog like Sentinel - dude is probably rolling in the allspark from this desecration of his cog.

Not to mention? Trying to kill OP again to make it stick??? Cause the first time didn’t?? I get being angry and done staying the “follower” like you have been your whole life, but oh my days. The crashout is galaxy threatening - above all, he needs a therapist. Get Rung in this universe.

How in the span of a few hours he villainizes Orion in his mind from being his best friend to another lying leader just like Sentinel is mind boggling. Never seen a person get more blinded by rage.

By all means, Orion could and should have been a better friend and listener - but he did NOTTT deserve all that aftermath.

Sentinel SHOULD die imo - there’s no argument against that. But it should be done fairly through the people and not decided by one mech. Maybe they even decide on something more fitting than a fast death. A new peaceful age really shouldn’t begin with an execution.

Optimus was more worried about exposing the truth to the people, while Megatron was more worried about tearing out the lie for his revenge.

Also, the “why did he banish Megatron?”. Like, what ELSE could he do??

1. he's absolutely dangerous. This mech was just about to singlehandedly take Cybertron's future into his own hands with the support of the old high guard behind him.

2. Optimus can't kill him - one, he still cares too much despite one murder and another attempted murder on himself by Megatron. Two, that would be massively hypocritical of him.

3. He sure as hell can't arrest Megatron - can you imagine the fallout? Optimus arresting another new faction leader as one himself immediately; it's asking for the High Guard to a fight without anyone to even arrest them in the first place.

So can’t kill him, can’t arrest him, sure as hell cannot hug and makeup - 1. You just tried to kill me again?? 2. You’re probably going to try again??? I don’t trust you anymore too after you literally killed me. The last words you said and I heard as I DIED was “I’m done saving you.” - so really, banish him and hope for the best when they meet again. (It goes the worst possible way)

[hugthesquids]

Steven is a hybrid, NOT a fusion

So this is just an essay to this topic I really wanted to make:

Steven is a hybrid, not a fusion. I think this is very important to Steven's identity and the message of the show as a whole.

Not only that, this is actually confirmed by the Crew, that Gem Steven and Human Steven aren’t full beings of their own, but just two halves of a whole.

Identity

One of the core themes of SU is identity. Every character has something in their arc to do with their own identity, either finding it, or accepting it, or fighting to have it be accepted after being denied it.

Identity is so ingrained into SU that its main antagonists, Homeworld, the Diamonds and especially White Diamond, their ideology and society are literally the anti-thesis to identity and individuality. The whole reason Peridot defected is that she was just another number to them, but to Steven she was a person. Every gem is just a cog in the machine, and even the Diamonds themselves are not exempt from this as White treats every one of them in the roles she sees them fit to be.

Blue laughs at Garnet calling herself a Garnet, Amethyst is reduced to just being a defective gem and a mockery of a Quartz, and Pearl is just a Pearl, an objectified servant who is only as important as the owner she belongs to, bereft of her own identity.

And no one has been denied their identity as much as Steven has.

Not only on the Homeworld side but also among friends and family.

There is obviously the whole Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond thing, either being treated as her or having to live up to her or just being an extension of her.

There are also his family and friends who deny Steven's gem or human side, only seeing him as one of them and not the hybrid he is. His dad treats him like a gem, which neglects him in the human department. And his mom only considers his human side, which makes her blind to all the gem stuff he has to deal with that she inadvertently leaves him with.

The Crystal Gems veered into only seeing him as the human, making him feel left out of their group to the point of crying about the idea the gems would abandon him of he didn’t prove his useful worth as a gem, to then veering into seeing him only as the gem he was later on, making them blind to the human neglect that caught up to him later on as we see in SUF.

And in CYM, White treated him just like a gem embedded onto a human child, as two separate people.

Ironically, it’s White Diamond in SUF that actually has Steven the most spot on. When the Diamonds changed their ways, White actually sees Steven as the hybrid he is, “Half a Diamond, half a creature of earth, in all the universe there's no one else that could know what you’re going through”. He is one of a kind hybrid.

This only further highlights the importance of that scene in Change Your Mind (CYM).

CYM

With identity being so central to SU and White Diamond and the entirety of Homeworld’s ideology being the anti-thesis of identity, it’s no wonder that the most crucial scene and theme in CYM has to do with the identity of the protagonist himself, the one who’s been struggling with identity the most.

The whole point of CYM is that Steven's identity has been denied for so long, which is why Gem Steven screams at White who's trying to deny him being anything other than Steven. Steven literally says "I'm me, I've always been me" after becoming whole again.

Steven is Steven. Him being anything else, a fusion, having a brother, having this separate Pink Diamond gem attached to him is so wrong and goes against everything the scene stands for, and by extension what Steven Universe stands for.

Gem Steven and Human Steven are two halves of a whole hybrid, not a fusion or anything else. They’re not meant to exist separately, they’re not two individual beings.

Split Steven is a shattered Steven.

This is why that scene in CYM is so important, because Steven was forcefully split apart—essentially shattered because White denied his identity. Shattering has been shown to be essentially the worst offence one could do.

Which also fuels why Steven has such a visceral reaction to WD in SUF compared to anyone else, even Spinel who almost killed his entire planet and reset the gems he didn't have that visceral reaction to. Treating him like a fusion would take away the sheer violation of being a whole being shattered in two that he experienced in CYM.

As we see when split, the two halves act like they’re shattered where the pieces are still conscious but can only focus on becoming whole again, as we’ve seen is the case for shattered gems. And the way Steven’s parts “fused” back together, works just like how the shattered gem parts “fused” back together after Yellow Diamond put them back together.

This is actually confirmed by the Crew, specifically Joe Johnston, the one who wrote and storyboarded this very scene in CYM and is a director on the Crew:

Question: "If gems can’t fuse with humans how did Steven’s gem fuse back with him?"

Answer: “Think of the split Stevens like they’re two halves of a whole. The two Stevens are each only half of a being, they can’t not fuse back into a full Steven. If you kept them apart they would only ever be focused on becoming whole again, seeking their other half. A little like two magnets that get close to one another and then snap together.“ - Joe Johnston

We see this in action during CYM.

A heart without body, a body without heart

Both Human and Gem Steven are lacking what a full human and gem is, and both their body and mind seem to not be fully there. They’re obviously not fully functional beings of their own, but are missing what the other has, because they’re one full being split apart, like bones without muscle, heart without body.

The show makes it especially clear with how the PoV was literally cut in half in that scene.

Another way they make it clear is showing how both halves are lacking vital parts on their own.

Gem Steven struggles to be animated like a normal gem with his face mostly blank, unblinking and has very mechanical movements. He also almost looks like a hologram instead of a proper light form as the gems have. Meanwhile Human Steven obviously can't even walk and is very pale and weak.

Gem Steven is pragmatic in his thinking, while the human side is very empathetic. Human Steven gets concerned when Gem Steven pushes White back along with his controlled friends and shouts “don’t hurt them”, but Gem Steven isn’t hurting them or shows any interest in engaging with them but sees pragmatic side of stunning them so White doesn’t keep attacking which delays Gem Steven’s movement to reach Human Steven.

Both have emotions still, as we see Gem Steven’s anger at White denying his identity, which is an anger that has been building up for so long as nearly all of Steven’s trauma comes to this, and him being denied being Steven ended up with Steven essentially being shattered.

Gem Steven seems to be fast to act on his defensive reflexes when attacked by WD but struggles with his mind on the finer details. Human Steven is the opposite. We see how Human Steven is the first to reach out and crawl to his gem, and it’s only when Human Steven falls that Gem Steven seems to realise what’s going on, since he’s not used to operating on half a brain.

When Gem Steven screamed, he didn’t realise it also hurt his human side and it’s only when he sees him crying that the camera pans to the gem’s face like an “oh” realisation.

It’s only when they’re united again, Human and Gem Steven in physical contact that they gain what they’re missing. Gem Steven becomes more animated, able to smile and blink, and Human Steven gains more energy and is livelier, able to keep up with the dance.

They're literally missing pieces of themselves which is why each half doesn't function properly.

Shattered like a heart ripped from the body, or like a brain cut in half with a right brain and left brain. There is no separate gem and human consciousness when they are whole, there is only Steven.

If you try to separate him, it’s creating an artificial divide. It’s like when you cut a brain in half irl (yes that’s a medical practice that existed); so yeah the two brain halves will act differently when split, but they’re not meant to be split in the first place. And when whole the brain will not even consider there being two separate parts.

This is why it’s wrong to treat Steven as two separate individuals.

What fusion are and what Steven is not

The show has also made a very clear distinction what a fusion is.

A fusion is a relationship between two or more individuals, separate beings with identities of their own. And as we've seen with Garnet's arc, it's important that fusions aren't co-dependent, something Rebecca Sugar herself talks about and the components are still allowed to be individuals of their own outside that relationship. Garnet makes it very clear that Ruby and Sapphire are their own people.

That's why it's very wrong to treat Steven as two separate people as that would basically nullify the meaning of Steven saying "I'm me, I've always been me", in response to seeing his gem side being actually Steven and no one else or external entity, it's just him.

It would also go against what fusions stands for, because even a “permafusion” like Garnet had to go through an arc of recognising the components as their own individuals who should be allowed to explore themselves who they’re outside of their fusion.

Another thing that we see about fusions is that they are a conversation between two people. Steven doesn't have that, he doesn't have a mental plane with a human and gem Steven because he's just Steven. He can't "unfuse" from mental disagreements since there are no two people arguing, he's just one person.

And he can't "unfuse" by taking damage either. He can only be forcefully pulled apart like ripping a heart out of a body or cutting a brain in half, not meant to exist without the other.

Unlike fusions, he can’t exist being split apart; he is only half a human and half a gem when split, not two whole functional human and gem. Again, stated as canon by the Crew.

Identity and the neglected hybrid

SU is inherently a very queer show with queer themes interwoven into it (heck, it was the whole reason the show got cancelled, since the wedding happened and Rebecca didn't want Ruby and Sapphire's relationship denied).

And the same goes for identity.

The core message of the show is identity and Homeworld its anti-thesis.

Pink and Rose got to choose her identity outside of the Diamond she was expected to be, Pearl chose hers to be more than a servant, Ruby and Sapphire became Garnet, Amethyst is not defined by her "defectiveness", and lastly we have Steven, someone who has been denied his identity the whole franchise, which is why it's so powerful to say Steven is Steven.

And we know the show is called Steven Universe and we see things from his PoV. Which makes sense why his identity is central to the show.

SU was about Steven being denied even being Steven, while SUF is him knowing he is Steven Universe but struggles to figure out what Steven Universe even is, as most of this identity has been built in the shadow of constant conflict and the neglect he inadvertently encountered.

I don’t think I can write this section without also writing a whole essay and analysis on Steven’s perspective in SUF to really understand what he’s going through.

But I’ll at least say this.

Steven being a hybrid is so central to Steven’s character. He’s one whole being, one person going through all of this chaos, trauma and neglect. And this trauma and neglect stems from his hybrid nature and how no one really knows how to accommodate him.

This is why it’s so important that Steven is a hybrid, not a fusion or anything else. Because acting like his gem is a separate entity to him really takes away the pain and identity struggles that Steven goes through.

Steven in SUF never treats his gem as a separate being to himself (neither his human side either). His frustration with his family, as we saw with the argument in the van, is that they only see one side of him.

And it’s ironic that being blind to his human and hybrid side is exactly what causes his gem powers to act up. The feeling of being brushed aside, unheard, blind to his pain and needs. Meanwhile in contrast we saw that someone like Priyanka, who actually treats him as a human and gem is the one who manages to help him. Acknowledging that the very human experience of his trauma and stress response is what causes his gem powers to act on that stress response.

This is why it's important that Steven is Steven, not two people in a trench coat.

[partycatty]

anon dm requested: "The request would be: Relationship hcs with Liu Kang? Can be just fluff, but if you wanna add nsfw *wink wink*. I think after so many years of celibacy his rizz would be lower than sea level, but I'd love to read your take on it!"

liu kang > love again

what it's like dating the god of thunder and fire - and the keeper of time

warnings: pretty angsty ngl, can't write for this lover boy without profound sadness, mentions of sex

masterlist

• promising your love to an immortal god was a huge responsibility - you were uncertain if you promised your forever, or his forever. two vastly different connotations to the word.

• it took a lot of time and effort to get him to see you like that. liu kang made a vow to his existence to never fall in love again, after losing everything. no mortal would be able to stand by his side for as long as he'd like, for one life was merely a grain of sand in his beach of a lifetime.

• but once he's in, he's in all the way - or so, he tries to be. as silly as it may sound, the man is charming but rusty. he has that natural tendency to draw people in with his words and spirit, but when it comes to real flirting you've got him with rusty cogs in his head.

• he warms up to you little by little, his casual praises lacing with compliments to your physique or mental strength, something he admires in a mortal. but then, you'd cloud his mind with your enchanting form while he is tucked away in his personal quarters, meditating. like a frosted screen blocking his vision, your presence started to eat away at him.

• liu kang tried hard to push it away - he can't do it again. love. he can't love again, when he knows just how quickly it can be taken away. he recalls the life being sucked from him by his revenant counterpart, being by thunder god raiden's side after his mortal death, clinging hopelessly onto a backwards moving kitana.

• and yet, when he'd watch you beam with pride after learning a new combo, or hold eye contact for just a moment longer than the other chosen ones, liu kang would force himself to break his usually solid eye contact. you just broke something in him - the side that he thought died when he lost everything he knew.

• even after fighting the urge to confess any sort of attraction, liu kang feels viscerally angry seeing anyone else show interest in you. his fists clench and his tattoos flicker a frustratingly blinding shade as he silently cooks himself in the distance. he partially hates himself for being so jealous, and partially because he know he could just stop being jealous by having you all to himself, something he couldn't bring himself to do.

• so much gentle encouragement gives him the strength to say you're his, and it rolls off of his tongue far too easily. why hadn't he tried it sooner? you were so perfect, and he felt like he couldn't pat himself on the back for it. he created you, but never expected your true colors to shine so vividly.

• most nights are spent comforting your new godly boyfriend. your hands tangle themselves in his hair as you massage his scalp thoroughly. he's very still as he absorbs every touch you give him. he may not need to sleep, but he'd lay there for hours if it meant he was your pillow.

• just as you savor calling him your lord, he savors calling you his. "my love, my dear, my beloved, my flower," any romantic nickname is game if it opens with a "my." once he starts getting comfortable enough to use them, it's never ending.

• sex with him is always tender and passionate, where he is entirely focused on your pleasure rather than his own. he has no need for such release anymore, but he can't deny your warmth encapsulating him as a sign of your devotion to him. you also make a great stress relief toy!

• liu kang remains professional in front of the others, but his glowing eyes are so strikingly obvious, especially when they're transfixed on you. when he is speaking of behalf of earthrealm to the outworld royalty, his hand falls on the small of your back as he speaks, as if to say "i am a god, but she is my equal."

• demands respect for you. isn't usually the type to cause a scene but will actively call anyone out that disrespects your feelings. will call you his lady in public, just as he is your lord. in his effortlessly neutral tone, he'll squeeze his fingers into your side as he suppresses his godly anger.

• you don't carry the burden of the knowledge he possesses with every waking moment, he can't even begin to explain it to you. he withholds plenty of information, calling it a "spoiler" or "surprise." the timeline is his to know, and yours to find out. he doesn't want to give you the same burden of truth.

• the only truth liu kang wants you to hold onto is that he chose you in this timeline. did he choose you in others? no, but what matters is that he sees you this time around.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Another Time

Half Life Fanfic from this blog? It's more or less likely than you think, it just takes 1-4 business years.

-

When she was young and the oceans were still full, Alyx Vance dreamed of bright lights and a dark tower that touched the sky.

Her mother didn't know why she woke crying in the middle of the night. Azian fretted and fussed. She pet Alyx's hair and whispered comforts as Alyx's shining eyes locked onto her mother's smiling face and the dancing flash of her silver necklace. Her child's mind full of a grief not yet come to pass and the drowning sensation of loss. The minds that sang to hers silenced for a bit longer. Tears shed for those still alive. The absence of a chorus in a once echoing cathedral. The concrete walls of Black Mesa swallowing voices and silencing the halls of its labyrinth.

Outside their apartment, the New Mexico sun breached the horizon and painted the sky anew. Night's blues and blacks gave way to an ominous red. Workers awoke and the complex buzzed with the rising day shift. The hive fell into motion once more. Scientists and Security, and all the little people who kept the wheels turning, all the ones who got caught in the machinations and ground up in the cogs, awake and alive for the moment.

Somewhere a man in a suit adjusted his tie.

-

When she was young and the oceans were drained and left only with leeches that stripped meat from bone in seconds, Alyx Vance dreamed of two prisons. One full of light, floating in the sky, and the other on the ground, full of loud noises, the ringing of bullets and the shrieks of something she both remembered and had not yet heard.

She was older now, wearing her mother's necklace, as she raced around the halls of Black Mesa East and asking questions as quickly as her mind thought of them. D0g nipped at her heels, small and sleek with his metal paws clacking against the concrete. The passage to Ravenholm was open and she waved at the couriers making runs and delivering news.

Alyx rarely cried nowadays. It was something she prided herself on. Babies cried, or so she'd been told, and she was a big girl now. She found herself frustrated by being one of youngest, being coddled and hovered over, so she threw herself into her studies. Uncle Izzy would give her books and she would give him drawings. She was hungry for knowledge, for understanding, to speak and be listened to, to have some real power to help.

Somewhere in a lab late at night, her father rests his leg and allows him the moment to think of what could have been.

-

When she was young and brave and trusted with making the trips between safehouses, Alyx Vance dreamed of brilliant blinding pain in her body and the suffocating gulf of grief. She awoke to what she thought was the sound of helicopter blades, but silenced greeted her and her tear-stained face. Uncle Kleiner's notes on the Borealis lay on the desk in front of her and a blanket covered her back.

She moved a hand to her torso and did not pull it away with the sticky warm feeling of blood through cloth as she imagined she would.

Somewhen or where, another reality overlapping with hers, a man in a suit stands and picks up a crowbar.