#one of them carries null

[queensparklekitten]

TIL ae carries null

NESTOR JUST RNG'D ME A KITTEN NAMED SERAPHIM?!?!

[whitlocklibrary]

Protectors~

🃜 pairing : Poly! Lost Boys × Vamp! Female! Reader

🃜 fandom: the lost boys × reader

🃜 summary: Reader is a newly turned vampire and mated toThe Lost Boys. She was turned a few months before Micheal arrived. And the day that Frog Brothers come with the Emerson’s the Reader decided to sleep with her mates. And in their haste to rid Santa Carla of the Vampires they make a grave mistake. (No use of Y/n)

🃜 Word Count:2.7k

The cave was quiet, the only sound being the waves hitting the rocks outside. All of the inhabitants of the cave peacefully sleeping, well almost all of them. Something instinctual, deep in your gut and the back of your mind is telling you somethings not right. Slipping through the dark fog in the faint chime of hushed whispers. Voices exchanging softly, all dim and low like they were sharing secrets.

It has you pushing your face deeper into David’s neck in an attempt to muffle out the sounds, desperate to escape fully back into the comfort of a deep sleep.

You usually slept in a bed that wasn’t far from where the boys slept, while Star and Laddie slept in the more open part of the cave. Something in your mind told you to sleep with the boys, so you listened to it.

When you arrived back at the cave after feeding, you were brought to where they slept. There was a little arguing over who you slept with,but something was telling you to sleep with David. So you stopped them from arguing,and they all climbed up to the bar they hang from. Dwanye stayed on the ground with you, so you had help getting to David. Once David is settled he opens his arms for you, and with a kiss to your head Dwanye helps you wrap yourself around David. Once you’re settled David wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you tuck yourself into his hold.

It’s still daytime. Something deep in your gut and the back of your mind assures that the sun is still high up in the sky, scorching and hot. An intuition that you still don't quite understand, but it has your limbs turning heavy and lax, muscles relaxing in David’s hold Your exhaustion has you numb to the world, the delicate rhythm of the waves crashing outside the cave muting down into nothing, the sound of the quiet voices vanishing.It must be two of the boys. Awake already. It would strike you as odd on any other circumstance, and to a degree it does, but your sluggish brain is quick to let go of that train of thought.

The insistence that something is wrong fading into an ignorable afterthought. The scuffle of shoes along dust and stone ignites a tremble down the notches of your spine, as though your body is begging for you to wake up and investigate while it simultaneously sinks further into David’s tight hold.

Something isn't right, something isn't right.

It's like a chant. A primal whisper that coils through your bones and sinew. Leftovers from your ancestors, remnants of the instincts that had kept them alive long ago, but it all seems null and void against the fatigue that seems to press you down like a physical weight. Even while hidden away from the sun it seems to sap you of all your strength.

It's impossible to even try to rouse yourself. Its as though you're held under water. The strength of that debilitating exhaustion sweeps back over you, making the sound of the angry, masculine voice that rises up high within the cave, reverberating from the dust covered stone, dim and distant. As though it's miles away.

“I feel a draft. I think there’s something up here.” You hear from far-away, murky and vague.

“Let’s check it out Sam.” Another voice.

“I’ll be right back Mike.” A third voice. Mike. Mike. That sounds familiar from somewhere - someone. A name mentioned in passing. Mike. Michael. A discussion carried on by the boys while they were all encircled around one of the burn barrels one night. So casual while they considered the fate of a complete stranger as though they were discussing dinner and not the destiny of a man's soul. Some sap that had apparently caught the eye of Star. She hadn't wanted it to go far, but then again, it's never supposed to go that far. But David wanted the guy dead. He was meant to be her first, she hadn't been able to do it. 

A wave of muddled scents breaks past the barrier of the rotting wood. Unfamiliar and thick, coated with cologne and shampoo that you don't recognize. All of it twisting with something even more out of place here. Something alive. Heat and life and blood. Iron, warmth, and salt. It's distinctly human. Living. The alarms go off in your head. Raging and flashing red in a way that's violent. And a bright light flashes behind your eyelids.

“JESUS.” One of the voices yells, another one screams before being cut off. Your eyes blink, lashes fluttering as you try to fight the sleep weighing your lids down. Your vision blurs a little, straining through the exhaustion, but then you notice the three figures standing below. They're children. Looking lost, dressed in camo and gear as though they've prepared to fight a war. One has his hand wrapped around the mouth of the blonde child muffling his scream. Wide blue eyes reflecting a visible panic while he stumbles back away from the other two. Another swears, cursing sharply under his breath while he flinches. But it's the one closest to you that moves. His dog tags glinting and chiming from a movement so sharp that it had to be a reflex, but the determination burning in his eyes is purposeful. 

“I thought they were supposed to be in coffins.”

“That’s what this cave is. One giant coffin.” The one with the bandanna says as he moved with the other one dressed in camo. They begin to climb up the wood beside your group.

“They’re at their most vulnerable. Easy pickings.”

“You just have to kill the leader huh.”

“We don’t know which on he is. We’ll kill them all.”

“We’ll start with her. She’s already seen us.” They say as the climb closer to where you’re hanging with David. An animal kind of panic tears through you, lighting up your nerves like lives wires, electricity and adrenaline burning through your veins with the white heat of fire. You try to move and wake up David, but your limbs struggle, sleep thawing in your tired arms and legs.

"Kill her, kill her!" One shouts all while the blonde in the background yells at them to stop, but it falls on deaf ears. The boy wielding the stake lunges forward with a war cry. You manage to wiggle slightly in David’s hold.

“David wake up!” A panicked shout rips from your throat, but David remains sleeping.

"The bitch is trying to wake them, you gotta get her before they wake up," someone shouts in a panicked rush. You continue to squirm in David’s hold trying to get the two of you away from the teenagers. Poised in the air, high above the boy's head in an arch. There's hardly any time to act and fear sinks in your gut, chilled and frozen as he drives it down with all the strength he has in his body; his lips curled in a hateful snarl. He's going to kill you. This is it. This is how you die. Your mind screams it over and over again on a broken loop, but your body acts all on its own. It twists so David’s unconscious body turns away from the stake,and your heart is away from the point.

There's no time to rejoice when the stake is already piercing your skin. It sinks in deep, parting flesh and muscle beneath its lethal point. The boy collapses and tips over the side of the ledge that they were standing on. You don't initially realize that you're screaming. You feel it first. The strength of your agonized wail shreds up your throat as though you've swallowed nails, but that pain is secondary to the fire and anguish pulsing through your shoulder. The stake is still wedged inside of your back, burrowing past skin and meat, prying at your shoulder blade like it means to rip it free from the sinew keeping it intact with the other bones. You're bleeding. You can smell it, sharp and distinct in the panicked air. The pain is crippling. Ripping and engulfing, eating up your spine.

The boy with the blue bandana wrapped around his head is stepping forward, already clasping a stake in a white-knuckled hold. The resolve in his eyes is haunting. The desire to kill you fervent and glaring in his stare. That's all it takes to have your voice spilling from you, rising up in another terrified shout.

“BOYS WAKE UP!”

"Say your prayers bloodsucker." He practically spits it out, lips twisting in a grimace as he moves forward preparing to stake you again. And then combined hissing and snarling fills the pit as the boys awaken. They finally awoke to your shouts and the smell of your blood. Four sets of yellow eyes focus in on the three humans in front of them as snarls fill the air.

"Guys, guys, we gotta go." It's the blonde that's repeating it over and over as he sees the vampires awaks, stumbling over his words while he jerks on the other's arms. They give in without any resistance. Fear alive and bright in their eyes, even while the kid with the bandana points his stake in your direction and tosses a quick "This isn't over" at you as the three of them take off in a brisk jumble in the direction that they came from.

The growls from within the cavern raise up higher as the boys realize what happened and it has the kids in a full-blown panic. Tripping over their feet in an ungraceful run as they try and reach the opening of the cave. Your body trembles and your head rolls forward onto the snarling David’s chest.

“YOU’RE DEAD MEAT.”

You can feel your lung snag and pinch as though it's being burned from the inside out, catching on the point of the stake when you inhale. It has you crying, a tear managing to trickle free as your ribcage shudders violently as you gasp. 

You don't want to take your eyes off of them, desperate to track their panicked flee, but your eyes cloud over. Stars dot your vision, spotting and flickering in shifting colors as a vignette blurs around the corners of your sight. You feel the world spin as David jumps down from the bar and lands on his feet. You still cradled against his chest. Three more thumps follow as the rest of the boys land behind. Iron coats your tongue. Thick and wet. Bursting up from the back of your throat while you try to breathe, spitting up with each labored inhale. You can feel your life waning. The strength diminishing, shrinking under your skin. Dying out like a flame that's being smothered. Whimpers spill from your lips as your carefully laid on your bed. You can hear the sound of claws ripping across the earth as two of the vampires tear their way out of the chasm like creatures pouring out of hell.

You hear muffled screams and shouts. The dull thud of hysterical footsteps as they rush to escape before death can seize them. You hear David's bellow roll throughout the cave, crashing over the screams from the horrified children. The loud chaos of it all grows dim - distant as they're no doubt running up the mouth of the cave while Paul's laugh rings out from somewhere far away. 

It makes you jump when a pair of hands smooth over your shoulders, light like a caress, but you can still feel a heavy tremble run through the fingers. A voice hums out, cooing softly to hush you when a strangled sob wrangles out from your body. The way they handle you is delicate, softly turning you over onto your hip and lifting you up to cradle you against their chest as though you might shatter into a million pieces otherwise. Breathing past the wet iron to try and notice the traces of spice and earth and musk. 

It was Dwanye. You try to say his name, but your throat tightens, choking on blood. You can feel his fingers grip your bicep, holding you still and you know that he's looking at the stake punctured deep in your flesh. His hold is nowhere close to the to the wound and yet it flares pain across your nerves, making you twist in his arms while a gutted sob wracks from your body. 

"I know, I know, love. I know,but I have to take it out" he says into your hair. It's difficult to hear his voice past the roaring in your ears, but once the words make it past the hum. It's like you can feel the agony already, simmering and slicing across your fried nerves like the edge of razor blades.

“Marko! I’m gonna need your help. ” He calls and you can hear another person coming. And then a gloved hand is cradling your face. The glove was cold against your skin as the hand tilts your head back from where it was tucked against Dwayne’s shoulder. It makes your lashes flutter, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes open with how heavy they've grown, weighing heavy and threatening to slip closed.

“If we don’t remove it. You’ll die baby.” Marko says. There's a protest lodged somewhere in your mouth, slick from the blood and caught on a broken gasp, but you don't have time try and voice it.

“I’m gonna hold her still you pull it out.” Dwanye says as his grip around you tightens. Marko nods, gripping the stake in his hand and pulls. You want to scream, but there's no air left in your lungs for you to do so, and all that makes it out is a ragged, splintered gasp. 

Scorching hot pain pours in your veins as he rips the wood from your shoulder. It slices ribbons up your spine, feeling bone deep and white-hot, acid lashing up your muscles.You thrash in Dwayne’s lap, the grip around you tightening and pinning you against his chest. Marko continues to pull the stake from your shoulder, and there’s hardly any relief once its out. The damage it's done is still agonizing, coiling through your muscles. It's as though the flesh on your back has been flayed.

You can faintly hear the clatter of the stake hitting the stone walls. As the two fuss over you, David and Paul rush back into the area where your bed is.

“How is she?” There's a rawness to his voice, a breathless edge despite the non-necessity of breathing.

“She needs to feed.” Dwanye says. “She won’t make it to sundown.”

David stalks forward while dragging his nail across his wrist. He kneels beside your bed and presses his wrist against your lips. You clasp your fingers around his arm, digging into the aged leather of his jacket. Your teeth bury themselves into his arm as his blood pours down your throat. You feel a hand stroking your head as you feed on his blood. Life floods back into you with each gulp, syrupy and warm. The hole made in the split meat and torn flesh of your back begins to mend in a sluggish process, stunted. You’re cradled protectively between Dwayne and David as Paul and Marko hover around the two.

Paul leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Did you get them?"  Dwayne asks.

The thick silence that follows gives Marko and Dwayne their answer. And twin snarls rip out of their throats.

“They’re dead.”

“And they will be. They will be.” David says with a snarl.

“Marko when nightfall hits I want you and Dwayne to go hunt. She’ll need an actual feeding and we’ll need our full strength.” David says as he continues to stroke your hair, letting you have your fill of his blood. He wanted to make sure your wound was healed.

“Paul you’ll be staying here with her while we go take care of the little pests.” Paul nods as he sits on the edge of your bed by your head.

“They’ll regret touching our mate.” They all say as your wound completely healed and you pulled away from David’s wrist sagging against Dwayne as exhaustion took over. The boys continued to plan their attack as you fell into a deep sleep.

[roseaesynstylae]

Alpha-17 definitely encountered one of the Nulls while raising the CC batch and he definitely handled it by chucking the cadet he was carrying at them. The Null — who for the sake of clarity we’ll just assume was Ordo —, regardless of any moral deficiencies, caught the cadet on instinct, having not expected 17 to just do that.

Unfortunately for him, the cadet was Fox. Who promptly started attacking his face like a rabid honey badger.

(It took a full forty-five minutes to pry him off Ordo, and it only really worked because 17 got bored and told Fox to get his ass over there so they could rejoin the others.)

(Needless to say, 17’s kids aren’t too impressed with the Nulls.

Cody: Well if it isn’t Flighty McBitchass.

Mereel: Great, you’re one of his.)

[bluemoon-golden]

"pangi is bad at commitment this" "pangi is great at commitment that" it's both! It's both okay!

Pangi sucks at commitment but he is great at committing.

Pangi couldn't tell Mocha he loved him. He couldn't daydream with him about the life they'd have if they ran away. But he showed up. He sat in the potion room day after day, emptying bottles and listening to Mocha despairing about how hard alchemy leveling was, and just enjoying Mocha's company. He knew Clown would kill Mocha but he still went with him all but holding his hand to the arena. He witnessed Mocha's death and he mourned him and he carried his pain and anger until Ace allowed him to release it.

Pangi didn't make big promises to Aimsey or Ros after the Null, though he did say he'd protect them, and now he would drop everything in a second if they needed him. He saw Aimsey's thinking room and dragged them there and asked about it. He is prone to anger and fighting but he would never really attack either of them no matter how upset he gets. He would never really do anything to hurt them deeply and would rather disappear from their lives than face their hatred (as shown in the disagreements they had in the past - he just assumed they wouldn't want to see him again and tried to make his peace with it rather than go for revenge and betrayal)

He joined green as a way to try and balance the forces, almost as a joke. But did you know he was the first to join green? Did you know bad was the first to notice Pangi is a pangolin? Have you heard him the last 500 times he said that?? Do you think he spent literal hours removing water from the cathedral because he isn't committed to his faction???

Pangi won't seriously ask Lukey to marry him (or even just to date him) but he will build statues and underground rooms because lukey asked. He will flirt like his life depends on it at the first occasion just because he can, because lukey will flirt back, because lukey will laugh. he will throw I love yous when he is upset or annoyed, and jokes about tormenting lukey for the rest of his life but won't say those things seriously.

Pangi says he is bad at commitment because he thinks no one would seriously commit to him, and so he doesn't vocalise his commitment, he doesn't do promises of forever that could be broken. because it's easier not saying anything than risk being rejected. and then he turns around and dedicates everything he is to others. this is how he loves and he doesn't even know it because admitting it would be too scary and vulnerable!

[meiguicha]

Report - University student so touch starved that petting passing dog causes tears

Phainon x Reader - Uni AU

If you had a penny for every time you cried while petting a fluffy white dog in a foreign country, you would have two pennies which isn't a lot but is a little sad it happened twice.

Note: cussing

//i wish a dog came up to me and wanted me to pet it. doesnt even have to be phainon i just wanna pet a dog. sorry if this doesnt make sense my brain is all t-tests and null hypotheses now.

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Its only been two weeks since the semester started, and you already want to kill yourself. 

To the people who believe that business units are easy and don’t take much brain power, you would very much like to sit them down in any one of the horrid, horrid units you’ve been forced to take and make them take the ten million tests you seem to have every week. 

Everyone has their struggles! Stop putting down one major to elevate another’s suffering! How would  you like to slave over an excel sheet for six hours wondering why your abatement graph looks like a rat got high on cocaine and was told to walk in a straight line?!

Well, this is just a very convoluted way to say that you didn’t feel like you were doing very well right now. 

Your social life has taken the biggest hit in all honesty, and with more and more assignments piling up, you’re starting to miss the best comfort of them all.

Giving your little shits of dogs back home all the kisses you can give them. 

Yes dear observer, you heard that right. The only cure to this painful existence is to carry a dog in your arms and coo at them until you’re permanently speaking in a baby voice. 

Alas, the woes of international studying only grows ever the heavier and everyday you spend away from them is another day your mental stability wears down. 

And with your morning tutorial done and another two hours to kill before your next, here you sit in a sparse field, with a cold bottle of tea and a brain leaking from your ears. In the distance, you can hear conversations of piles and plenty, from the group sitting on a blanket in the field, from the couple walking past you and the ten million friend groups loudly laughing all around you surround-sound style. 

You want to pet a dog so bad, half your problems could be solved right now if you could just pet a dog and kiss it. 

But for some god knows reason, the only non-academic reason people are here right now is to get their overly energetic children to run around a little bit. Which isn’t an exaggeration, you just saw a father run after his very, very small child across the field. 

Walk your dogs in WU people! It's big! It's kinda nice to look at! It's pretty convenient to get to! 

Taking a swig of your tea as if it can magically turn into alcohol upon will, you remove your glasses and squeeze your eyes shut, desperately praying the pain in your eyeballs is from staring at a screen for too long and not anything else. 

Your hands reach for your bag, digging through its contents to look for your earbuds, and when you feel a soft surface, you pull it out to remove them from the handmade case. All your playlists in your music app are too depressing for this, absentmindedly, all you can do is tap on a familiar golden icon as an upbeat piano fills your ears. 

Seriously, your life can’t be this sad right? Your feed is just filled with people going out partying or hanging out in some bougie ass cafe, and you’re here on a Saturday night doing notes for your next lecture. Even now, you’re just kind of… existing. 

As you shift between glancing at the people passing you by and your phone, trying to look a little less sad with your lack of social life, your eyes spot a certain something you hadn’t been expecting, much less on such a sunny weekday. 

In the distance, meandering in the soft grass and rays of sun, is a large, fluffy dog. Maybe you’re going blind, or maybe it really just has that much fur, but you can’t quite see any collar on its neck, nor do you see a panicking owner chasing after it. Well, it does take the occasional glance at some bench with some guy so you guess that he’s letting his dog run around for a little bit. 

It's really fluffy, just looking at it makes you want to pick it up and run off, you can already imagine what it would be like to stick your face into it. 

A samoyed, you think, you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

As you’re mentally beaming ‘pst pst pst’ towards it in an attempt to get it to come closer, it looks up to meet your gaze with those beady dark eyes and starts to bound over. The sheer and sudden sense of fear that fills you is indescribable, once more snapping your focus back to who you’re praying is the owner only to find zero goddamn reaction! Buddy! Your dog is fucking running away! 

And yet all you can do is watch in abject horror as this living cloud runs all the way up to your feet, obediently sitting in front of you as it pants and cocks its head. Ahh, but when it looks at you like that, so smiley and happy and innocent…

Well, you can’t say you didn’t try. If this is heaven's response for your horrid hand, then you’ll take it, happily if you may add. 

Bringing a hand to its head, you tentatively give it a rub. It's so soft, oh it's so soft you can’t even believe it's possible for a dog to be so soft. 

“Hiii, did you smell something?” Your voice pitches higher instinctively, almost cartoonishly so. 

The dog leans into your touch, pressing its nose into your wrist and sniffing along the length of your arm. As it does so, you notice how hard its tail is wagging, like it's about to take off from sheer excitement. Still no collar, maybe its owner are those people who don’t believe in collars?

“Little boy– are you a boy?” Your eyes crinkle as you coo, hand migrating to its soft body to stroke along a patch.

For a moment, it—he— stops his greeting to cock his head once more, then nods. It's a quick motion but you’ll take it for an answer, especially since you don’t think it’d be very polite to check the other way. 

A hum of surprise leaves your lips, “So smart!”

His tail wags harder, and that smiley expression greets you back ten times brighter than before. Too bright! Too bright! 

He lifts a paw onto your lap, as if asking for permission to climb up, and though the rational part of your brain says that letting a stranger’s dog climb all over you isn’t a good idea, that part shrinks in the face of such a good boy. So you let him, watching as this living cloud climbs up onto the bench to lay on your lap. Cautiously, he rests his head on your thigh and stares at you, body going entirely limp. 

Bad idea sure, the weather is like living in the ass crack of hell but dog. There’s a dog on your lap and he is looking at you with those kind, innocent eyes and you swear to yourself that you could have a heat stroke right this very moment and you would still let him lay on top of you. 

You place your hand on his head again, thumb finding the dip between his brows to stroke, “You’re so smart you know?” His tail is wagging again, lightly tapping against your bag as he closes his eyes. To call once more, the thought doesn’t even have the time to register before it falls from your lips once more, “Little boy.”

As your music plays in your ears and the soft breathing of your new companion hums in the background, something in your chest tightens. It's an odd feeling, one that you’re certain predates something but you just can’t place your finger on it. Nevertheless, you ignore it and continue petting him, he’s such a good boy, it’d be a shame to stop.

Something drips into the mass of snow white fur, then another. Instinctually, you look up to check for a passing bird but find nothing, and no rain falls onto your skin. Warmth streams down your face and when you reach for, embarrassingly, all you find is your own tears. 

Crying? Seriously? Crying just because a dog came up to you and wanted to be with you? 

Removing your glasses once more, you futilely wipe away your salty grief with your free hand, and when that doesn’t work (of course it doesn’t, you’ve never been a particularly clean crier), you settle for both of your hands. 

He notices, perhaps far earlier than you realised because you now find said fluffy cloud removing himself from your lap, sitting upright to nose at your hands and face with a curiosity only animals can really pull off. 

“Sorry,” Your voice cracks, sniffling your snot as you let him push past your hands, a smile already pulling at your lips upon his insistence. Absolutely helpless in the face of such urging, you put your hands down only for him to start licking at your jaw, that familiar dog smell filling your senses. Another stray tear squeezes past, trailing down your cheeks to exactly where he’s licking, inadvertently lapping it up. Moving your head away, you laugh when he only whines at your moving away, “It’s dirty!” 

With that, you take the chance to glance at your watch, noting the long hand dangerously close to 1’o o'clock. You were born to pet dogs and be silly, not stare at data sheets and nonsense equations. And yet, the allure of money is far too tempting to resist so you must. 

Softly, you place a hand on his head once more, giving him one last pet before sighing, “I need to go to my class.”

The saying puppy-dog eyes never really made sense to you, despite owning two dogs, but the look this one gives you, the sheer urging and aggrieved pleading, it’s too much. He even whines a little bit, makes that sad ‘woo’ noise and presses against you in all its fluffy glory. 

“I know, I know but I have to go.”

Loosely wrapping an arm around him, you press a chaste kiss to his forehead, an act that seems to appease him as the heart-tugging mewling stops almost instantly, wide eyes staring at you as his tail starts to wag rapidly again. Your dad would say he’s ready to take off with how fast he’s wagging it. 

As you heft your bag back onto your shoulders, you smile, “Be good, okay? Your owner must be so worried with you gone so long.”

As if he could understand you, he nods, another quick act you’ll take as an answer. There’s an expectant glimmer in his eyes, the way he cocks his head and blinks those beady dark eyes. You can tell what he wants, you already knew the moment he sat himself upright on the bench.

Helplessly, all you can do is laugh, feel the corner of your eyes crinkle as you coo, “Good boy.”

At that, this bundle of energetic joy smiles. Head-empty and blissfully living in the present, he smiles with such joy that you can’t help the one that stays on your lips. 

Yeah, you were right. Half your problems really can be solved by petting a dog. 

[fruitiesss]

|| SWALLOW YOU WHOLE ||

PART 1

There is a darkness that surrounds your new team. It is something you have never seen before.

tags: reader gets a wound, ew blood, the thunderbolts are found family, nightmares, the void word count: 2k

pairing: eventual bob x gn reader

a/n: wowowowowow this took time to plan out and i actually proofread this time. Pls enjoy. Lmk if you want another part to it.

Every sound around you was muffled, your ears ringing as Bucky and John took each arm and pulled you away from the middle of combat, Yelena crouching in front of you to snap her fingers in your face and ask a question that fell deaf on your ringing ears. She held up 3 fingers and started talking, her lips moving but nothing reaching you. The battle around you slowed as the two super soldiers sat you against the outer wall of the watchtower, John pressing his hands firmly against your stomach and crouching beside you so the other two could finish the fight off. Your head fell forward and shoulders sagged while he held you up with his sturdy arm.

With time, the sound seemed to return to you, intensifying with each passing moment. John had left you and someone else had come to your aid. Bob's hand splayed across your font as he kept you from getting up that you returned with a grunt of exhaustion and protest. He shook his head and slid his arm underneath your knees and supported your back and he lifted you up and carried you inside to safety. With your senses shot, you succumbed to sleep.

Darkness. Pain. Void. Your eyes shot open to nothing, an empty yet endless null. Your heart pounded against your ribs rhythmically as you got to your feet, turning around again and again in an attempt to find something, anything.

The third time you turned, bright amber crowded your vision despite the darkness around you. Two people, man and woman, stood beside each other on a grassy hill deep within the spot of colour. Their faces were hidden and their hands were joined but they looked… uncanny. Wrong.

Dread filled the pit of your stomach as you took an uneasy step back, gaze scanning them up and down as they just stood there, motionless. Their forms twisted, spun and dissipated into the amber alongside the grass of the hill, leaving behind a barren and rotten ground. Perplexed, you took measured steps forward until your canvas shoes hit soft ground. Moving further, you looked over the contour of the hill down onto more barren ground.

Snap.

You whipped around, seeing that the void had vanished, the amber and strange surroundings fully encapsulating what had just been endless black and you shut your eyes for a brief moment, only to open them to the familiar ceiling of the infirmary.

Sitting up with a start, you frightened Bob and Yelena, who had both been sitting beside you since you'd passed out. Bob tilted his head with a quizzical expression and Yelena sat forward, hands out as if she had been ready to catch you.

"What happened?"

According to the rest of the Thunderbolts, you had taken a blow from some enemy they had been stopping, though you strangely don't remember any of it, only the searing pain in your side which had been a blow from their blade evident by the mass of bandages around your midsection. Bob had been the one to carry you inside as he had refrained from using Sentry in battle since the New Avengers were established.

Bob. He sure had been a pivotal relationship in your recent life. You connected with him, his past resonated heavily with yours and you found him genuinely pleasant to be around. He had his dark moments, as did you, so you both helped each other out when you were having trouble. There would be times he was experiencing hardship that you held his hand through, making sure he ate and wasn't alone at all. And there would be times you'd be struggling where he would do the exact same for you. You two had grown to be inseparable and the rest of the team knew it.

That's why you found yourself sneaking into his room late at night when you couldn't sleep or were having nightmares about horrible things, just to feel human touch and comfort. Alexei would make jokes about you two exiting his room together in the morning, which always earned a smack to the back of the head from his daughter. You both grew flustered when it was brought up, stuttering and stammering to brush it off casually but there truly was nothing going on between you in those moments, just shared comfort and warmth.

This was one of those nights. That void you'd woken up in, or dreamt, you really have no idea, had been haunting your thoughts like a ghost. It had you twisting and turning on your plush bed, eyes screwed shut one moment and the next wide open and looking around. Eventually, you sat up and looked around, that dread settling in the pit of your stomach once more as the shadows danced across the walls, taunting and leering at you. Your breath became shallow as you picked up your phone and left your room, pacing the halls for a few minutes before shaking your head and coming to a stop outside the familiar door of his room. Inhaling deeply, you knocked quietly on the hardwood.

Bob answered the door in a matter of seconds, his soft brown hair tousled from sleep and his eyes half lidded from sleep. Your knock had woken him.

"I'm sorry--" You began, interjected by Bob's soft sigh and voice.

"It's fine, come inside. Tell me what's up." He stepped aside, allowing you to slip past him. You sunk onto his teal beanbag that he'd begged to move from the main room to his bedroom, sinking into the beads.

"I can't sleep. There was this dream I had, in this.. void.. you know, not that void, but a different void. There was just nothingness. And it was so vivid." He listened to you ramble and recall the events of that dream, nodding his head along as he woke up properly. His hands came to rest on top of yours as your voice trailed off in the middle of a sentence, eyes meeting his. "Bob..?"

He squeezed once, twice, three times and sighed again, holding your hands firmly between his. "It was just a nightmare." He reassured. "I haven't been using my powers, so there's no way that I-- that he can do anything like this." His eyes were weary, exhausted. "Come and sleep, okay?"

Searching his eyes, you nodded and stood alongside him, slipping into bed beside him and wrapping your arms around him. His hand found its place on your back, making sure it was alright to place it there before doing it. His soft breathing lulled you to sleep.

The next week was a blur. You were forced to take a step back and focus on healing while the others got missions, all except from Bob, who had been staying beside you and helping you with every step. He had been your rock during all of this, without him you wouldn't have healed as fast as you had. Now it was Saturday, the whole team got together every Saturday for what you referred to as 'Family Game Night' to Bucky's dismay (he secretly loves it).

You, Bob, Alexei and Ava were sat on the couch while Bucky, John and Yelena were on chairs around the coffee table, each of you holding a set of uno cards with the discard and deck on the coffee table. You had changed into your pyjamas after you had all eaten dinner together, the comfiest pair you owned. It was a cream set, oversized fit, with small grooves in the fabric like corduroy.

"I am greatest at this game!" Alexei announced, setting down a wild draw four and making John pick up four new cards. He sighed and threw a blue one on the pile with a grumble and rolled eyes. Yelena put another blue one on the pile while Bob set down his blue one on top of theirs with a triumphant smile.

"Uno." He grinned, holding his single card close and shielding it from Ava, who was trying to peer over his hand.

You sighed and drew a card while Ava, still trying to see Bob's card, lazily placed her next card onto the pile. Alexei laughed again, the sound booming around the living room, and placed his next card. It was a draw 2. Walker smirked and set down another draw two, shooting a victorious glance at Alexei as Bucky sighed exasperatedly, drawing the four cards and tipping his head back so he was looking at the ceiling.

Bucky would win, Bob would end up with eight cards and a grudge, and you would retire to bed moments after they began to argue. You'd had your fun for tonight, so now it was time to rest. Your wound had been pulsing with aches and pains all day but you had persisted and now it was time to suffer the consequences.

Sleep would come but not easily which was a recurring factor of yours nights recently. Dreamless, boring nights without interrupting Bob. It was torture.

Alas, you closed your eyes and started counting sheep. But then you opened your eyes to a sharp noise.

You were in a laboratory. Clinical white intruded on your gaze as you dazed around, squinting at the harsh light around you. A dark figure sat atop a medical bed in an alcove of the lab, head sagged forward and stance defeated. Two humanoid shadows standing either side of it, their borders bleeding into the surroundings and posed as if they had been in excruciating pain for whatever had come before.

Your eyes widened as you eased forward again, still dressed in your cream pyjamas. Your heart pounded in your ears, the light becoming too much, too harsh, burning your retinas.

The figure stood slowly, lead by it's head, and faced you. It was all black, as if what was standing there was devoid of light. A void. The void.

Your heart leaped into your throat as the dots began to connect. "You--"

It cocked it's head with a sickening crack, and you woke up with a sharp gasp, sitting up and accidentally tearing a stitch or two. Your face contorted into a wince as you held your side, gasping your air. your throat constricted around your gasps, eyes watering as red seeped into your clean bandages. Calming down, you peeled your duvet off of you and glanced down at your bandage. You'll have to change it.

You stood from your bed and left the safe confines of the room, the tall walls feeling like they were caving in on you as your limped, clutching your side as if it was a fresh wound. Uneven steps echoed throughout the hallway while you made your way to the medical bay, your eyes bloodshot from the strain and stress of what you had woken up from. Your heart still pounded in your ears like you had just been ripped from the dream and placed back into reality, never changing.

The digital clock on the tray in the infirmary bleeped in and out, red digits reading 5:28AM as you sat on the first bed in the row, unwrapping your bandages from your middle. Blinking through bleary eyes, you took the supplies you had gathered and soaked a cloth in antiseptic, pulling the skin taut to clean it when you noticed something. The edges of the gash were seeping droplets of blood here and there but where you had the skin stretched, your eyes caught something that had that unease settling in your gut again. Where the skin parted in a smooth line across your midsection, a dusty pool of black seemed to ebb onto the surface from inside. It was surreal, something you have never seen before in anyone. It began to grow, the veins around the wound turning black and stretching around your middle like lightning. It was slow, and then it stopped.

What was going on with you?

[hwajin]

☆°. — ᴛɪʀᴇʟᴇss

genre: fluff, smut

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

warnings: disgustingly cute sex, piv/ unprotected sex/ coming inside, explicit mentions of insecurities (though mentioned in the past and not relevant for the fics' present)

author's note: very self indulgent but i hope it resonates with some ppl, feedback is highly appreciated 🫶

Linen sheets around your body, the warmth they provided a saviour against the cold turmoiling outside. The sky had been gray twenty minutes prior, red and orange leaves having struggled to stay latched onto their trees, having lost the battle eventually to cover the asphalts in autumn colours. There was little rain drizzling from above still, though the sun had now found its way past the clouds drowning the neighbourhood golden. The faint scent of vanilla reminding you of the candle on your nightstand, the turning of pages and a sharpened pencil against them the only sound filling the room — it was peaceful.

"You're so pretty."

Hyunjin’s voice sounded barely as a whisper — anything but would have disturbed the atmosphere; quiet, warm, a sense of carelessness. And yet you jumped in your place, been far too engrossed in the book laying before you not to scare at his sudden voice cutting through the silence. You'd never feel pretty before Hyunjin. Before he's emerged in your life — you weren't sure still, how exactly, all too suddenly and without warning, as though he was a dream altogether — your appearance was something you'd obsessively worry over for the first half of your life, and tried to disregard entirely in the second one — despite blaming your loneliness on the very fact of lacking attractiveness you've come to simply live with the fact, had grown too tired to care, essentially.

You shifted in your shared bed, only a little to direct your focus from the book to Hyunjin, sitting by his desk — the surface as messy as his appearance. Pencils, papers and colors scattered all over, his hands proof of the artistry he's produced for the past hours; hair disheveled, shirt and shorts on his body ruffled up — he looked endearing, like lazy mornings personified, like coziness bundled up within a body.

He'd come into your life unexpectedly, and you wouldn't have believed anyone if they told you about it. About the sudden happiness the relationship with Hyunjin brought, the sudden feeling of securances, of home; of love. You wouldn't have believed someone to be ready to treat you the way Hyunjin did — any other person grew null to him if you only called, prioritizing you over passions and work. You wouldn't have believed to have found a love like this, a lover like him.

You wouldn't have believed to have found beauty within yourself, through him. And it had come naturally. You had never not believed him, never doubted his words — because they've always been spoken so matter-of-factly, so purely. Unexpectedly, too — much like now, while mundanenity lay over your features. Hyunjin carried a gift to search for beauty where other people would mind looking, and finding it effortlessly. More often than not you wished to be gifted with this vision, curious to see the world through his eyes — curious to see yourself the way he did.

Hyunjin chuckled at the way you blushed. You might be believing his every compliment, his every confession of love, though you long didn't grow used to it, or cold. Every tender word, every touch he planted onto your body as though you were fragile porcelain, most price treasure yet never stopped to send shivers down your spine. Wouldn't ever, you thought.

And you still never knew an answer. Flustered now, awkward as he kept looking at you, teasing simply, to test — Hyunjin had always taking amusement and certain pride in making you shy for him, because only he was able to. A shameful caugh left your throat, to fill the silence, to camouflage the speechlessness he'd brought upon you with as little as a compliment — you detangled from the linen sheets, letting the cold engulf you in order to make your way over to your lover, the man who was watching your every step with a knowing smirk as he inspected the blush covering not only your cheeks but the tips of your ears, your neck — it was a little as a mundane compliment, but it was far from meaningless to you, held as much importance as if Hyunjin had proposed right then there.

His hand found home on your bottom, the small of your back when you've stood next to him eventually. His eyes didn't lose your figure, glued onto you as if a look elsewhere would take you away.

"What are you drawing? Flowers?"

Hyunjin enjoyed painting nature; oceans, skies, flowers. Many grazed the walls of your very room, each a different meaning – he’d paint you baby’s breaths on your one-year anniversary, in everlasting love; he’d paint you pink camellias when he missed you, in longing; he’d paint you calla lilies if your insecurities got the best of you, in beauty. Though when you looked at his drawing it weren’t flowers; it was a sketch of you.

“Well, almost.”

Hyunjin's eyes turned to where you were looking, the drawing he's worked on for the past minutes, shy grin adorning his features at his cheesy comment. Your body was grazing the white paper, pencil strokes of your curves, you in the nude, another paper showing your face, a portrait, another one an abstract, more of only your eyes, only your mouth and nose, of your hands, some in colour, some in simple grey, small ones, bigger, doodles, proper paintings. You were scattered on his desk, your body was. Hyunjin's love lay open before you — maybe you didn't need access to his vision after all. His art was entirely enough. 

Hyunjin waited for a reaction, squeezing at your hip when there was none, looking up at you, curious eyes beneath the silver strands of messy hair.

"I've been running out of ideas lately, and... it's always nice to draw you... most of these aren't finished and rough-"

"They're beautiful. I... can't believe you'd wanna draw me this often."

"You're the only thing I wanna draw. Ever."

Hyunjin's gaze lay upon you, deep, waiting for you to look at him. You did eventually, turning from away from his art and blushing momentarily at his piercing eyes on your own. A soft smile from both of you — not as much as an upturn of one corner of the lips, both for too flustered to muster up and actually smile, too aware of the tension laying heavily now on your shoulders — and no further words were needed. Would be void if spoken aloud; so you bent down to meet him to meet his lips, hopeful and wanting, inviting when they fell upon your own. Hyunjin sighed into the kiss, relieved, longing. His left hand joined his right on your body, holding you by your waist, caressing you at your hips, tight, secure touches, absent of hesitation. He granted you the same love capsulated in his notebooks with a touch, a grace, a squeeze against your flesh, your whole.

Never breaking the kiss, and you sighed when he pulled you closer to his body, into the space he presented between his half-bare legs. You understood — wouldn't have believed anyone upon hearing to be finding comfort on another’s' lap, without as much as a second thought, though it was so natural with Hyunjin. You let him guide you, large hand by the small of your back, another by your hip; and you straddled him, broke the kiss only to settle down, to get comfortable — and you wished you hadn't, for the side of your lover beneath your weight was almost too much to bear. Love behind his glassy eyes, adoration he only knew in connection to you, only ever felt if you were the matter. Gaze a longing one, jumping from your lips to your eyes and back down to your lips — but a puppy waiting for his treat, staring you down as if there was no other, nothing else existing beside you and your body, your face inches from his own.

You closed the distance again, unable to hold out on it — Hyunjin's lips reddened already, always so prone to sensitivity, to visible reaction to loving antics. His teeth clashed against your own, almost painful but not quite; you weren't careful, deemed to not have the time to — you needed him, and you needed him now.

"Baby... slow down."

It was Hyunjin to pull you back to reality, though not to clear-mindedness – you obeyed his words, not as much a command as a simple reminder; you loosened your grip on his hair, pulled away an inch, only enough to breathe, to sigh into his mouth that didn’t cease leaving open mouthed kisses against your own. Though your thoughts were but a fog, still, holding no clear picture beneath your lids except him, everything about him – pleasure-contorted face, though you merely sat on him, barely even moved atop his body; brows a furrowed line, creasing deeply in the middle, eyes soften and tender to paint contrast; cheeks coloured, in fluster and anticipation, dooming excitement; guiding hands on your figure, reminding of his presence, his attentiveness, his care – he didn’t loosen his grip on you a moment, held you close and tight as his lips moved leisurely against your own. He took his time with you – not too tease, not because he was well aware of your desperation, but because you deserved nothing else. Hyunjin knew you’d whine upon his patience, though it was the very proof of his devotion; his patience held love, his patience held the entirety of your world.

So, you continued slowly, though not any less unable of lucidity, because Hyunjin never allowed it. If his touch wasn’t driving you insane it was his voice, a whimper rolling off his tongue and onto yours, or a sigh leaving his throat for you to swallow. Your lover always receptive, never shy in volume. Or it was his gaze on you – Hyunjin pulled away, occasionally, leaving you empty to catch a look at you before pulling right back, nearer than he was before. He left you no time for coherence, fed you only enough care and affection so you wouldn’t hunger, yet not enough for eventual satisfaction, by any means. Driving you further to insanity, hands groping rougher at your body, easing with soft rubs right after, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to heal momentarily with a lick, a following kiss – Hyunjin pulled on your every weakness, and not accidently.

A chuckle left the man’s lips when your hips – hot and painfully ignored by any type of his attention, leave for his raging erection right against your core – dragged against his own, in any hope of relieving pressure, of searching for friction. Your lack of clothes wasn’t making it a hard task; you were merely in your underwear, the thin material of Hyunjin’s shorts and boxers barely layers to complain about, yet it was far too much separating him from you.

Hyunjin chuckled at your desperateness, though his proclamation of amusement turned into one of pleasure – you grinded with such force, such wanting vigour he didn’t expect, and his own futilely cool act crumbled in his palm, shattered to pieces for you never not had the greatest impact on him, his pleasure, his love. When it came down to it, he wasn’t any stronger than you, not even more patient – his heart was as much slave to you as yours was to him.

Any composure was long forgotten. You’d argue, even, that Hyunjin by now was needier than you’d been to begin with – he didn’t waste time getting rid of either of your lazy attire, a long, slender finger simply pushing your panties to the side before dipping into your wetness, experimentally at first, with new-found enthusiasm then upon your reaction – you hummed out, fingers fisting his lose-fitting shirt, body rolling into his, in search for more. A second finger after a minute or two, a third one moments later and you were grinding against him, needy, loud, head thrown back or hidden in the crook of his neck. Your hot breath against his skin egged Hyunjin on, his digits curling within you, lips turning into a hazy smirk when you whined out, when your teeth sunk into the part between his shoulder and his neck, in helplessness, not in embarrassment over your sounds – you would never deny Hyunjin your voice in pleasure. The stinging feeling on his skin made him twitch in his confines; you felt it, if only subtly, and your eyes found his from beneath, fogged with bliss.

“Want you…”

It needn’t much more – Hyunjin both understood and was ready to comply for he wasn’t much stronger in resisting than you; it wasn’t a minute until his erection lay exposed between your figures, red and leaking already – he could act as coy as he wanted to, though his body would always serve as living proof of your effects on him.

You lined up, still fully dressed, white panties pushed to the side; hovering above him was hard given current position, legs growing tired quickly though Hyunjin supported enough with his hands by your hips, guiding you above him until you felt his tip by your entrance, until you – finally, eventually – sunk down on him, taking him fully momentarily. You moaned out in unison, almost pathetic, definitely frantic – it needed only the feeling of his cock inside you, of your walls around him for the both of you to fall victim to utter senselessness. You had the comfort of each other, though, aware of the similarity in lust and longing, so less embarrassed by it.

Hyunjin had given you a moment to adjust, had used the minute to clear his mind himself; to little avail, though he’d like to believe he gained back a fraction of the composure he had lost along the way. Yet, and it drove him entirely insane, the view of you was powerful enough to make him lose every battle he was fighting with himself – he watched your seemingly struggling face, eyes shut, mouth agape, lost in the pleasure Hyunjin granted. He prided himself on your expression, on your thoughtlessness; and then you opened your eyes again, locking them directly with his own. You both blushed, you both sucked in a breath, at the sudden realization of intimacy, of closeness, or maybe at nothing in particular, at the view of the other, the sight of your lover; your hips started moving, mewls rolling off tongues, eyes closing again in granted relief. Hands on bodies, groping hopelessly, feverishly. Eyes fighting to stay open to watch, to inspect, to remember. Mouths longing for the other, tongues dancing waltzes, sounds of pleasure being swallowed to make each their own. Two lovers on a late noon, two lovers so very engrossed in each other anyone looking upon them would struggle not to believe in souls, the connection of such.

Every flutter of your sensitive walls, every roll of chasing hips, every clench Hyunjin reciprocated with sounds so endearing they got you light-headed, got your urge growing to grant him more, better, greater. None of you were in control, in particular, and yet both of you were fighting for it — though not in selfishness, but for gratification for the other. Despite your cramping legs, positioned uncomfortable on the chair beneath Hyunjin, despite your inability to even move much you did nevertheless, as best as you could, pulling on all of your lovers' buttons — you nibbled at his neck, breathed out against it, swore confessions against his damp skin; everything you knew would drive him needier, more insane. Though he was the same — he throbbed within you, guided your hips along his erection for you to feel entirely, to drag out the feeling of his every vein grazing your walls, of every of his rigid fitting your own like pieces of a puzzle. His hands, though sweaty and strained, held position at your hips, to stabilize, to ease off the pain in your legs. Your own were homeless, playing with Hyunjin's hair right by his nape or pulling at his scalp when he granted a mindless thrust against you, or exploring his body entirely, grasping fingers on his chest, against his torso, on the steadiness of broad shoulders.

You grew impatient. Had never been in the first place and lost some more of it yet, wanted to hold onto the feeling of Hyunjin prodding at your cervix yet urging release. Hyunjin was no different – he had let you move solely on your own before though now snapped his hips into yours, mouth agape or biting at his deep red lips, sucking in breaths and sighs of your name in anticipation. His grip on you would leave marks on your skin, that you were sure of – though you weren’t one to complain. The telltale signs of his high doomed on you; furrowed brows, twitching erection within you, frantic, passionate, messy, wet kisses against your mouth or your neck; the act of pulling you closer to him – and then the words, finally; “Fuck, baby, I’m– …I’m cumming. I’m gonna cum.”, before he did, spilling within you. He hadn’t waited on your release, only because he knew you’d reach it after his own – he had felt you being close, had noticed the fluttering of your walls around him, your calls of his name increasing in pitch and volume, had seen the expression on your face he’d never misread – and he knew his orgasm inside you would bring you to your own, would be the last push down the cliff.

Your muscles spasmed, your legs contracted and Hyunjin held you close, eased the pain off your legs with a tired grip on you. Despite it you didn’t dare get off, though – basking in your closeness, relishing the warmth of body on body, losing yourself in the giggled kisses Hyunjin now planted on your panting lips, the loving confessions spoken against the lobe of ear before it was nibbled on in adoration – affection never stopped after release with Hyunjin, after the reach of simultaneous orgasm; his love expanded the sheer physicality, mere lust.

Hours later you’d lay in bed again, naked then, bare bodies glued to one another, every painting, every drawing of you on Hyunjin’s desk long forgotten, if only temporarily, for the cleverest artist couldn’t possibly copy the beauty Hyunjin saw in you before his very eyes, every day anew; tirelessly.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang

[bardan-jusik]

food related kal skirata headcanons

-he's been keeping snacks on his person since he met the nulls, who as kids would just come up to him and stick their hands in his pockets. he keeps talking to jango while mereel roots around for the jerky. 'left belt pouch, mer'ika' 'you moved it >:v'

-after living in a bombed out city alone as a kid and then spending a large chunk of his life completely broke, kal personally has a lot of really shit comfort foods. like, bottom-of-the-pantry poverty bordering on prison food. cinnamon sugar on toast. ramen noodles with peanut butter in it.

-he was much worse when he was younger and has mostly grown out of it, but had a lot of food security issues as a result of the whole 'lived in the rubble and basically went feral as a 6 year old' thing. munin had a hard time getting him to eat all of his food instead of just eating part of it and stashing the rest somewhere for later

-kal can cook pretty well. nothing fancy, and frankly he's better at campfire cooking than using a stand mixer, but he does a perfect fried egg

-most mandos carry travel-sized hot sauce and kal is not an exception

-in the books he frequently takes people to diners for difficult talks, asks someone to make caf when things get tough, offers candy and treats, makes sure that one senator's secretary gets ordo a glass of juice as a form of respect. bardan starts bringing troops food and it's noted that he's taking a page out of kal's book. food is a big deal to him, and it's not just because the clones have a higher metabolism, it's a language of respect and comfort and love to him

-maze saying that he likes zey because 'he made the caf around the office' hit kal like a fuckin truck because of that. unfortunately he wasn't able to be anything but angry right then but if book 6 had happened i like to think that that line would have come back to be significant

-kal doesn't know what a calorie is but he'll rip anyone who suggests you LIMIT them a new asshole

[mooooonnnzz]

hi!!! I fell in love with your content and I wanted to make a little request, since it was on my mind for a while...

It's kinda cringe but I saw your hc's/fic about Stan's and Ford's reaction to their daughter having a partner, but what would they say about the break-up??? how would they react?? 💔💔

I'm Glad There Is You

Stan + Ford HC's of you getting broken up with!

ʚ♡ɞ 4,2k words

ʚ♡ɞ we're so back

ʚ♡ɞ i've been cooking this up for the past few days mwehehe

ʚ♡ɞ i won't be publishing fics as frequently! but its better cuz i wont be pushing out poopy fics. i can actually take my time with them and make em better :3

ʚ♡ɞ that's all enjoy! request are still open too :p

🎱 Stan

𝄞 Stan hadn’t suspected a thing when he saw you rush into your room after being out all day. You occasionally do that when you were exhausted and had no more battery left in you to uphold another conversation. But, when he saw you all disheveled in appearance. Not bothering to glance at him, let alone tell him about your day, he knew something was up. Springing your wellbeing in the conversation was tricky. He knows that if he straight up asked if you’re okay, you’d burst out into tears and cry out incoherent words that sounded like mushed up sobs into his ear. So how could he ease you into talking about yourself without having you break down? For the remainder of the day, he was tackling himself with ways he could ask about how you’re doing, stemming from slapping a sticky note on your forehead to passing a note under your door. But none of them seemed effective. His brain was splitting into two. He couldn’t decide and the day was coming to a close. The orange overhang of the sun shone into the shack and Stan was contemplating on asking your partner why you were sad because if he didn’t know what was going on, your partner had an idea or the full picture. He decided against it though. Maybe this was something you’d rather keep to yourself? 

𝄞 The stress was so bad he had to go outside for a quick smoke. Seeing you in an emotional state of disarray sends him into one as well. He plucked a cigarette from his pack and pinched it in between his lips. Craning his head up a bit to light up the cigarette, he shielded the orange flame sparkling to life from the wind with his cupped hand. He blew a stream of smoke into the evening air, his electrifying nerves nulling into a soft calming buzz. He knew smoking was bad for him, but he couldn’t stray away from it in times like these. The door to the front porch painfully creaked open. Looking over his shoulder, he softly smiled upon seeing you. “Pumpkin,” He pats the side right next to him. You take the seat and inhale the crisp air—well, from what you can get with all the cigarette smoke littering the air. “Second hand smoking is way worse than first hand.” You mention, delicate amusement trailing in your words as you take a seat beside him. 

𝄞 “You’re the one who walked out here knowing I was smoking.” He replied with a flick of his hand. Another trail of smoke escapes his mouth as he exhales, his body visibly relaxing into the familiar routine. “I should get a cigarette too.” You stretched out your arms, cracking a small smile. “Heh,” Stan flicked the cigarette, small shreds of ashes trickling down from the burning end of the stick. “You think you’re funny.” You nod intensely. “I think I’m very funny.” You look off into the horizon, eyes carrying such a thick somber look to them Stan had to finally ask the question he had been beating around the bush for who knows how long. “You okay, kiddo?” 

𝄞 Your eyes glisten over with tears, bottom lip trembling as you hold back the words you’ve been dreading to say to your dad the minute news broke out to you. “Oh, [Name].” Stan burnt out his cigarette, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you closer to him. The pure affection coming from Stan made you pour out more tears, trembling sobs wracking your body as you mournfully cried onto his shoulder. “Let it out, sweetpea.” His hand comfortingly patted your back. This wasn’t how he wanted this to go, but maybe you needed a quick cry to comfortably tell him what happened. His stomach churned as the suspicion of the reason why you were crying into his shoulder rose. He had a feeling on why you were acting like that, but he had hoped he was wrong.

𝄞 He wasn’t wrong. He was right, unfortunately for him. After recollecting yourself to the best of your ability, Stan had discovered that your partner had broken up with you earlier today for reasons that they had not specified. Frustration bubbled up inside Stan and it took every bone in his body to not slam his fists on your ex’s door, gun in hand to shoot them down for breaking your heart. Instead, he opted to swallow down his anger and tend to you. You needed him to be right by your side and he wasn’t going to suddenly up and leave to shoot down a person. He’d wind up in jail and then you would have to deal with the loss of your partner and your dad. The thought sent chills down his spine. You peeled yourself off his shoulder, leaving a slobbering teary eyed stain on suit. “I’m sorry.” You mutter, eyes red and burning from the force of squeezing them closed. “It’s okay, sweetpea. You don’t need to apologize for things like this, you know that right?” His thumb swipes a stray tear off your cheek. “I know,” You hiccup. Stan seeing you like this infront of him shredded his heart into tiny little pieces. Who could hurt you like this? How could someone protect his child’s heart and break it the next day? Your partner even promised that they’d never pull a stunt like this, and yet here you are, bleary eyed and sniffily.

𝄞 Your face pinched with a forever sorrowful look and for a second he thinks that he’s never going to have you back, he’s never going to see your smile ever again and that alone terrifies him. There has to be something that can cheer you up, right? You’re not forever stuck in this pool of sadness? This is something someone can get over right? All prior knowledge to his personal relationship flies off his head and out the window. He removes himself from his thoughts and grounds him in the moment. What is something that’ll cheer you up? An idea sprouted in his mind. “Want to watch a movie with your old man?” He doesn’t know how you’d respond to his offer and it slightly scares him. He’s never been able to fully predict your every move, but he has made some sense of them later on, but he’s never seen you in this state before and he doesn’t know what to expect. “I’d like that.” You meekly nod your head and Stan has to contain himself from lurching up into the air and cheering out in happiness. Rather, he clears his throat and broadly smiles at you. “I’m gonna take a real quick shower. Pick out a movie you wanna watch and I’ll be back in no time.” 

𝄞 The rest of the night was spent snuggled up in the sofa, a blanket of yours of when you were a kid was draped over you and Stan. It barely gave you any coverage but you claimed that it did when Stan would mention it. Stan didn’t want to disagree with you and besides, the blanket reminded him of when you were a little kid, carefree and giddy with little to no knowledge of idiotic people who’d carelessly shatter your heart and leave you without any consolation. The movie that was playing was and still is an all time favorite of yours. You and Stan had memorized the lines that have been forever sewn into your brain from how many times you forced Stan to watch it when you were little. Guess some things don’t change. The days following are full of extensive care and love, enough that would be overbearing to anyone that wasn’t you–at least sometimes. 

𝄞 Fishing outings were a must. Stan would rapidly knock on your door, standing on the other side decked head to toe in his fishing outfit. Your fishing hat in hand. You couldn’t say no to him when he’s looking at you with such a sad look in his eyes and dressed up, putting on your worn fishing hat that has seen better days. Stan proudly smiled at you, wiping off a tear from the corner of his eye. “Why are you crying, Dad?” You chuffed nervously. “My eyes are sweating!” He covered his eyes with his forearm, violently sobbing as he walked away to get the fishing gear. In his defense, he hasn’t gone fishing with you in a good long while and seeing you wearing your fishing outfit really triggered the water works in his eye. The past week has been an emotional wreck for you and him, who could blame him? You had forgotten how much fun fishing was. A laugh rattles through your throat as you reel back your fishing rod. This must be your third attempt in catching a fish, and Stan’s enthusiastic commentary struck a funny cord within you. With a few more tugs and reeling back, you caught the fish. “Awesome catch!” He patted your back with so much force, you jolted forward, making the boat lean to the side, causing you to lose your footing and drop the fish in the water. When you were about to revel in your loss, you heard a large splash and large droplets of water sprinkling over you. You turned your attention over to where the splash was heard and to your luck, Stan bobbed his head out of the water, gasping dramatically as his arms flailed around. “Dad!” You laugh.

𝄞 “The water isn’t even that deep.” Talking was a task to do with how hard you were laughing. “Oh.” He stopped thrashing around and allowed him to sink to the bottom of the lake floor. And to his surprise, the water barely even passed his upper chest. That realization made you hunch over in laughter. “Oh, stop laughing!” He grabbed onto the edge of the boat and tried pulling himself up, but the sudden shift in weight made the boat tip over, sending you and all the other belongings in the boat into the freezing water. “[Name]!” He looked to where you were under the water, ready to dive in and grab you from below when you sprung out of the water. You stared at him, cheeks puffed as you struggled to hold back your laughter. “Oh, whatever.” His initial panic was washed off with playful annoyance. “Go ahead, laugh at your old man.” He rolls his eyes upon hearing your boisterous laughter echo in the air. “That was insane!” You wrap your arms around Stan’s neck, hoisting yourself up so you don’t drown while laughing. “Yeah, go ahead. Laugh at this poor old man who’s clearly struggling.” 

𝄞 Singing your favorite songs in your karaoke machine was his favorite way to catch you off guard. He’d notice you reminiscing on the past and he’d make a beeline to your machine, slamming the buttons that would turn it on and play a song that you like. His gruff scratchy singing voice always pulled you out of your mind and into the present moment. Walking into the living room where he relocated your karaoke machine for times like these, you couldn’t help but laugh as he passionately sang into the microphone. “Disco girl, coming through! That girl is you!” He points the microphone at you, motioning you over to join him. It takes some convincing but when you do, you and him are blissfully singing your hearts out into the microphone. 

𝄞 Seeing your partner around town was an immediate mood kill for Stan. Unaware and in a chipper mood, he found himself in the grocery store. Stacking up on food and snacks to fill your stomach and his. When strolling into the available cash register, his smile curls into a grimace when he sees who was behind the counter. “You,” he spat out. “Ah, Mr. Pines!” They nervously chuckled. “Good to see you. How’s it been?” They can’t make eye contact. The lazer like glare Stan was giving them was enough to know that things haven’t been good. Grabbing an item from the shopping cart, he hovered it over the conveyor belt, mulling over his thoughts. He could not pay for this and run out of the store or he could unscrew the carton of milk and squirt it all over your ex. Or maybe, he could do both? With speed no one could comprehend, he undid the lid and spilled the milk all over them, chucking the empty carton right on their head for extra measure. He then grabbed the cart and bolted out of the grocery store, leaving everyone in the store stunned. “Is anyone going to arrest him or?” A random passerby asked, watching how your ex just stood there, completely befuddled with milk dripping down their body. 

𝄞 “Dad? Why is the news saying that you assaulted a worker in the grocery store with milk?” Stan scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you see on the news, sweetie.” He takes a good sip of his pitt cola. “But it shows camera footage of you doing it.” You gesture to the video that was playing. “Fake news. You know how technology is advancing. They can make anything these days.” He grabs the remote and switches channels. “There! Now, we don’t have to see that.” You smile, elbowing him. “It was cool that you did that.” You mutter. He chuckles. “The kid deserved that.” 

𝄞 Drives around the town and wreaking havoc in rival attraction traps were a good stress reliever and anger outlet. You were swinging with all your might, your axe that was in hand was splintering through the large wooden statue. “Keep going!” Stan was serving as a lookout, his eyes switching through the front door and to you. Sweat rolled down your temples as you delivered one last final blow to the statue. The statue slowly tipped forward. “Let’s go.” Stan urgently whispered, running back to the family van with you in tow. Stan started the van and sped out of the parking lot and into the driveway. “God dammit, Stanley Pines!” The person emerged from his house, shaking his fist in the air. You clapped your hands together, laughing. “That was a fun one.” You noted, swiping the sweat off your forehead with your shirt. “Who’s next?” You ask eagerly. “Check on the map. You decided where we will go next.” This was the first time you fully smiled at him with your signature laugh following after. No remnants of sadness stuck to you. He knew right then and there that he got you back. 

📖 Ford

𝄞 Ford was peacefully slumbering on the couch when the front door was slammed shut, scaring him awake. He jolted forward, the book that was covering his face fell flat on his lap, startling him. “[Name]?” He closes the book in his lap and pushes it aside. You didn’t respond and he was quickly resorting to the idea that it wasn’t you. Creeping towards your room, his knuckles knock on the door. “Sweetie?” He puts his hand on the knob and very slowly turns it. “I’m coming in.” He announces. Opening the door, his eyes land on your back. Quiet sniffles and hiccups could be heard coming from you and Ford’s heart clenched in his chest. He never liked hearing you cry. “[Name]?” He settles himself down on your bed. He couldn’t get to see your face properly since you were curled inwards with your blanket slightly obstructing your face, but he could see your body quiver as you suppressed your sobs. Ford sucked his bottom lip into his teeth. Equally as clueless as his brother, he doesn’t know how to approach this. He hadn’t had the slightest idea of why you’re crying and that truly bugs him. 

𝄞 His hand rests on your hip, fingers tapping in a soothing rhythm. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” He’s chewing on his lip, anxiety running its full race through his body, relentless and awfully energetic. He’s sure by the end of this, he wasn’t going to have a bottom lip from how much he was nibbling on it. You shuffle further into your blanket in response. “You don’t wanna talk about it?” He croaks out. He never liked when you pushed him away in your most vulnerable moments. He knows you mean well but he detests being in the unknown. You let out a small hum. He had learned over the years that two hums were yes and one was no. It was a very asbured way to communicate but it did come in handy when you weren’t in the mood to talk. This was a way of telling him that you weren’t in the mood prevented Ford from asking an assault wave of questions.

𝄞  “Do you want me to stay here with you?” Two hums. Patting your waist, he shuffles to the other side of your bed and plops down right next to you, mindlessly staring off into the ceiling. His anxiety was still pounding through his body, his clammy hands and beating heart proved that but it quelled a little of it knowing that you wanted him beside you. That you found comfort in his presence. He’d hope you did, he didn’t raise you all these years just for you to hate him. Wait, you don’t hate him, right? You could never hate him. He’s your dad! Can kids hate their own parents? He hated his dad so that can be a generational—

𝄞 “I think hear your overthinking from here, Dad.” Your voice comes out muffled from speaking through the blanket covering your face. He blinks, swallowing his doubt and looking over to your blanket covered face. “Sorry,” he lets out a dry laugh, scratching his cheek. “It wasn’t my intention to annoy you.” You pull the blanket down to the bridge of your nose, allowing Ford to see your irritated swollen eyes. “You’re not annoying me, Dad. You being anxious makes me anxious.” Ford cracked a smile. “Like father, like child.” That managed to pull a smile from you. “Unfortunately, I grow to be more like you everyday.” You say with a roll of your eyes. An overdramatic offended gasp leaves Ford. “And that’s a bad thing, how?”

𝄞 Playful banter was tossed between the two of you, each quick remark and quip allowed you to pick yourself up from the hole you were cowering in. After a while, you mustered up everything you had and told him about the break-up. Ford really couldn’t believe it at first. You had to repeat it to him twice much to your dismay but once he caught what you said, his face fell. “They were a waste of time anyways.” He said with a flick of his wrist. “Dad!” You weren’t expecting him to come off so strongly over hearing the news. “It’s true. They couldn’t even take my work seriously! How could someone laugh at my face when I tell them that aliens are real? Someone is clearly stuck in the stone ages.” 

𝄞 He was riding on the mindset of you need to forget this person and move on. Wallowing over losing them wasn’t ideal and you need to distract yourself with other things to prevent yourself from dwelling back on the thought of them. He was done with your ex, so should you. But he was real quick to find out that you weren't exactly like him in that aspect. He’d find you resting on the couch, eyes mindlessly staring at the TV as you’re cuddled up with blankets upon blankets. Tear marks were stained on your cheeks. Maybe you couldn’t distract yourself? Maybe he should be the one that distracts you? He’d scribble drawings of you and him on a piece of paper and fold it up into a cute little airplane and toss it over to you. You would unwrap the little gift with a smile, tears clouding your eyes. “Aw, Dad...” You held the piece of paper to your chest.

𝄞 Your favorite dinner would be cooked almost everyday, and if you have more than one, you bet he’d be coking it up in the kitchen, offering different favorite meals every night. Anything that would bring the smile on your face back. Adventures out into the woods, just like old times, was a thing he’d bring you along with. Even when you did protest and groan, whining how you would rather cry into your pillow, Ford stood his ground and made sure that you got ready for the adventure he had meticulously planned. The minute you step into the familiar lush woods, a sense of calmness falls over you and suddenly you’re a kid skipping around in the woods, in search of anything to show Ford so he could write about the new discovery in his book. Finding old discoveries lightened a smile on your face and unknowingly to you, Ford would draw you in his book like how he did when you were younger. Old habits die hard. 

𝄞 A lot of nights were spent you talking your feelings out to Ford. He was a good listener and had a few quips of advice to lend over, since he’s been in a similar but not so similar predicament. But he was more intent on listening to your concerns and anxieties. “I can’t believe I let them do that!” You plop your back down on your bed, anger spilling out of you in sharp words. He shook his head, a very sassy “mhm,” leaves him. “They didn’t deserve you anyways.” He moved his finger side to side. “Why are you acting like that?” You laugh, gingerly pushing him. “Don’t your friends act like that when something happens?” You beam from ear to ear, a loud laugh escaping you. “No! Where did you even get that from?” Ford shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought they did?” He pretended to act clueless and with a big smile of his own, he watched you curl up in laughter over his ridiculous act. He could only think of how much he missed your smile and beautiful laugh. 

𝄞 Seeing your ex at the mall was a surprise both for him and them. Ford was scanning the shelves in search of something to get you when they approached them. “Sir, do you need any he…” Their words die in their throat when they register who they’re talking to. Ford hasn’t made the correlation yet, his attention so wrapped up in finding you the perfect gift. “Do you need any help?” They repeat, their voice cracking. Ford lazily looks over to them, dismissing them before looking back. Then, a look of recognition washes over him and he whips his head over to them. “You!” He loudly yelled. Customers in the store glance over to them. “Mr. Pines, keep it down.” They stressed out, teeth gritted together. “I will–.” An idea came to mind. “I’m sorry.” He rolled his shoulders back, untensing them. They look to the side, uncomfortable with the sudden change. “You’re sorry?” They repeat in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be on my way.” A strained smile pulled to his face as he bid goodbye. Stepping out of the store, he sees you happily munching on a blueberry muffin you bought from the bakery. “Hi, Dad! You got anything?” He looks around you. “Do you have any food?” You place your muffin down on the table and grab the bag full of treats. “Yeah. I got some–” Ford dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out a cookie. His other hand digs into the inner pockets of his coat and pulls out a vial of pink sprinkles. “I knew I was going to use this at some point.” He mutters to himself, popping off the cork. “What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he sprinkled it onto the cookie.

𝄞 “You’ll see.” He winks at you before scooping it off the table and walking back into the store. Minutes later, he comes out with a big sinister smile on your face. “What did you do, Dad?” He pointed at the entrance of the store and it didn’t take long to see what he did. A flamingo human-like creature erupted into the store, squawking crazily as their head desperately swiped from side to side, looking for someone. Their black beady eyes landed on you and Ford. An angry squawk was heard from them, their chicken like legs slapping on the floor as they charged at you and Ford. “Run!’ Ford grabbed your wrist and darted away. In a quick swiping motion, you grabbed your bag full of treats before being whisked away. Loud bird noises were heard behind you and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Who is that chasing us?” Ford took a quick turn into another store, shuffling past people and hiding in a discreet corner with you. “That may be your ex angrily chirping at us.” You clapped your palm onto your mouth, an effort to muffle the laughter that left you. “Of course you’d do something like that!” The rest of the day was stealthily trying to escape the mall without being pecked to death by a very angry flamingo. When you did, you were laughing all the way to the car. “Do you always have that around for times like this?” Ford nods. “You’ll never know when you need to make someone a flamingo.” The automatic slide door pulls apart. “Pines!” The now fully turned flamingo human hybrid squawked out. “Get in the car, hurry!” 

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[lets-try-some-writing]

In your professional opinion: what would be some Cybertronian Superstitions? Like do the miners hit the entrance of mines after someone dies inside it to help free their sparks from their tomb? Do people not say Unicron’s name after dark for fear it’ll summon him? Is there a name(s) that you can’t say inside the Iacon Hall Of Records or else you’ll be cursed with bad luck????

Please feel free to go hog wild with this.

Oh boy I LOVE the idea of that sort of thing. Honestly, I can see all sorts of little superstitions existing due to mythos and history.

Miners make it a point to never leave their tools unattended. They take them everywhere. To recharge, to fuel, even to get repairs. As for why they do this? There is a certain belief that the tools carry a bit of the luck and wisdom of those who held them previously. And since most tools are handed down from one fallen miner to the next, miners treat their tools with reverence. Many have carried the same pick, and each has left their mark. It cannot be disregarded.

Additionally, miners refuse to enter a deep tunnel system without whistling down it first. The habit has been long since made null and void by tunneling improvements, but there are stories of miners getting lost in the dark, before they adapted to it. Many died before their optics were augmented to the low light conditions. Great swaths of miners still believe that the wandering sparks of those lost in the dark linger there, scared and alone. Whistling down the tunnel before entering gives the lost spirits of the dead something to cling to, a guide to the afterlife in a sense.

Gladiators have a particular set of beliefs revolving entirely around the concept of honor. They know that their work is bloody and often cruel, and so they have developed a strange set of beliefs. Every gladiator, before combat, will take a stick or something equally useless, and snap it in half. They will give half of their broken instrument to a trusted comrade and march off to fight. If they return alive, the two pieces are to be put back together and promptly crushed into powder to be cast out upon whichever mech or beast died so that the gladiator could live. A sign of respect. However, if the gladiator were to die, their comrade is obliged to gather up the fallen's half of the instrument and have them run through their funeral rites with the joined object. This is done out of a belief that the dead must be honored, lest they linger in the living realm to haunt those who killed them (in the case of the gladiator surviving) or to stay with the other piece of their spark (in the event the gladiator dies).

Gladiators also have a firm belief that going into battle without paint will inevitably lead to bad luck coming upon them. They take meticulous care of their accenting paint, tracing swirls and jagged lines with delicate touches meant for those of higher castes. Some believe the marks distract enemies. Others say that the marks ward off attacks, letting otherwise lethal combat situations turn in their favor. No one really knows what they do. It is just something that must be done. Failure to go into battle without paint has led to more than a few gladiators meeting their end. Seeing such things has left the rest preferring to not take chances. Megatron himself went into battle without paint one time, and he quickly learned never to do that again when he returned with a brand new scar on his shoulder.

Amongst dock workers, there are various superstitions revolving around cargo in particular. It's bad luck to look at someone's cargo if it has a written letter attached. It doesn't matter what is in the box, it is considered a stain on one's spark to witness the usually rather sappy interactions between those who bother with sending hardcomms. Additionally, dock workers have long since grown to fear any box that comes in solid black. There was exactly one incident where a black box appeared amidst the cargo and disappeared without a trace, taking several other cargo pieces with it. Since then, any black boxes are either thrown right off the truck with a collective agreement that the loss will be signed off as an accident, or said boxes are loaded up with one unfortunate spark to transfer alone. Black boxes being delivered by one mech are often found missing, the driver and the box itself having vanished without a trace. Black boxes are terrifying, and not one dock worker is willing to risk it.

It is also notoriously bad luck among dock workers to deny the youngling with golden optics a ride. They will appear anywhere and at any time without rhyme or reason. When they appear, they never say a word, instead coming up to dock workers and pointing toward whatever transport they are loading up. Dock workers have long since learned to quietly nod and promptly ignore the youngling as they load up alongside the cargo. Interacting with the youngling results in the worker in question befalling some unfortunate end. Ignoring the youngling entirely leads to a similar situation. This superstition began long ago, and many younglings have abused it relentlessly since no one knows what the mysterious youngling from the myth actually looks like aside from their optics.

Low caste mecha as a whole have a strange superstition revolving around the concept of truth. They are notorious for keeping information to themselves, but low caste mecha never ever outwardly or blatantly lie. They are very careful to leave even the smallest grain of truth in their words. Why? Because telling lies brings the whispers of Liege Maximo. What are the whispers? No one is exactly sure. It is an evil omen, one that has led the low castes to develop odd honesty. They don't want to risk Liege's touch, not when he was stated to have been torn apart during the first age for his manipulations.

Low level soldiers hold the belief that giving away their names to one another is bad luck. Since they can all die at any given moment, they find it easier to remain nameless around one another. To them, remaining without a name in the optics of those around them ensures that survivors of battle can move on without fear. Giving a name means binding oneself to another. Their sparks might linger if they are attached, and that could lead to pain for both themselves and their comrades. So to get around this, soldiers don't do the name thing. Instead, every soldier refers to each other through characteristics or words of endearment. "Yellow" for a mech with yellow plating. "Comrade" or "Brother" for a mech they have served with frequently. Anything except a name. It would be cruel to bind the dead to living and the living to the dead.

Soldiers also have a belief that leaving a corpse to rot is incredibly bad luck. It doesn't matter whose corpse it is. It can't be left out. If nothing is salvageable, the spark chamber must be removed and taken to be given proper funeral rites. Not a spark wants to risk and angry spirit lingering because the body was not tended to properly. This belief extends to the point where soldiers will actively tear out their own spark chambers if they know they are going to die (or request others to do it for them). They don't want to linger and haunt those around them, so its best that the core of their frame is guaranteed proper rites.

Flyers of all kinds simply refuse to fly when Luna 1 and 2 are fully aligned. There are a thousand stories telling tales of fliers crashing, being killed, hit by rogue shots, and everything else. They won't risk it, and instead of flying, flyers will instead actively hide from the moons on such occasions. Usually unwilling to be locked in tight spaces, such cycles are the exception. To be seen by the moons is to be hunted. They won't risk it. Additionally, flyers have one particular stretch of Cybertronian landscape they all avoid like the plague. Mecha have been known to go in and never come back out, or if they do return, they are changed. They don't want to mess with that place, not for anything.

Flyers also hold the firm belief that one must keep their optics in perfect condition. They run tests all the time to ensure that their optics function without issue. Some even go so far as to get goggles or visors built into their frames just to protect them. Most chalk this up to a simple desire to not go blind. But flyers think differently. They won't get their optics replaced even if its an option. Why? Because they hold the belief that they carry the optics of a mech who didn't get to soar. Every flyer who has ever lived has had the optics of a grounder who will never get to grace the skies. For flyers, they see their optics as something sacred. They fly not just for themselves, but also for whoever their counterpart is, living or dead. They honor another through their sight, and so they must maintain their vision at all costs. Some call the phenomenon something akin to soulmates. The flyers state that it is the price they pay for their gift of flight.

(Note: Starscream and many of his people do not subscribe to the above thought process. Thundercracker is the only notable exception. Most chalk this up to his love of romance novels.)

Enforcers have many little quirks depending on city, but one they all share is the universal habit of naming their weapon of choice. It is a strange not quite religious belief for them. Whatever the thought process actual is, Enforcers rely heavily on their weapons, and as such, they must appease the weapon itself. They have to bond to it, make it an extension of themselves so that they can move it just as easily as a limb. They go about this through naming, and once named, they never get rid of the weapon in question. Even if its outdated, old, or broken. The weapon stays. If it is obliterated or lost, the Enforcer is obliged to get a copy of their prior weapon for the sake of their continued success. For this reason, most Enforcers fight with inbuilt weapons until they settle on something, and then they buy several copies just in case.

Enforcers will also never actively say "goodbye" to one another. Doing so would imply that there is a possibility of not coming back from the next patrol. So Enforcers simply don't use such language. "Good luck" or "Get those slaggers" are common supplements. Surprisingly, Enforcers only dodge around "goodbye" while on duty. They will casually wave off companions when not on the clock without a care in the world. However, if an Enforcer really does not like someone while on the clock, they will say "goodbye" as their polite version of a middle finger.

It is not exactly a rule, but Archivist as a whole simply do not refer to the Primes by name most of the time. There is a belief that uttering their designations aloud will bring their gaze upon whoever spoke. That can either be good or bad depending on the context, but since Primus's chosen can never really be predicted, most Archivists won't risk it. Instead, if they must say a Prime's name, they will tap a nearby surface a few times to supposedly draw attention away from themselves and hopefully keep the Prime in question from seeing them. It makes no sense, but even Orion Pax kept to the habit. Although some, like Orion, usually worked around this by coming up with slightly different pronunciations of the designations of Primes to hopefully avert their gazes.

Archivists also refuse to read anything relating to relics after a certain time. There is a longstanding belief that doing so can drive a mech mad. Hidden knowledge comes at Primus's chosen joor. Sometimes Archivists will reach grand discoveries at this specific time after delving into records of relics. But more often than not, Archivists have been noted having mental breakdowns, crying, losing their minds, or otherwise going haywire. Medical professionals chalk it up to exhaustion and mania. The Archivists believe it is a warning. They refuse to read about relics during Primus's joor. Obviously, there are some thing between the veil they are not meant to know.

Medics won't come within a ten mile radius of the smelting pits where most of the dead are dealt with. They believe it is a bad omen to linger in places of death, and that the wrath of the deceased can stick to their frames, making other patients lose their lives. This has led medics to make it a habit to remove dead mecha from hospitals as fast as physically possible, handing them off to medical students to carry to the pits. Medical students hardly ever do anything of note with the patients, so the professionals don't feel bad dumping all the potential bad luck on them. The only medics who actively hang around smelting pits are morticians and mecha focused on autopsies. They think lingering around the dead will help them understand the dead. That way, they can better diagnose just what killed a mech. Such medics are usually avoided by the rest who work with the living.

Medics have very sensitive servos. There is a longstanding belief that if a medic is to retire or happens to die, he or she must give up their servos to a younger medic in training. This is to pass on skill, at least in theory. It is also a sign that a medic in training is skilled and worthy of note. To take the servos of an old medic is to take on their legacy. Similarly to the miners, medics take honoring those who came before them very seriously. They will go above and beyond to keep their servos in perfect condition so that whoever comes after them can have the vital sensors that come with a medic's servos. Ratchet is one of the few mecha to not have inherited his servos from anyone. He has also never signed up to have anyone get them after he dies. Most take this to mean he never will die. And considering how long Ratchet has lived, a good chunk of the population firmly believe that Ratchet is eternal.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Twenty

Summary: Geta & his reader are finally wed, Geta remembers when he first saw reader, when he first wanted her.

Notes/Warnings: 18+, p in v consensual sex, squint dommy/darker Geta, squint breeding kink, mentions of voilence, dated views of marriage..man/women dynamics, flashbacks in italics. I give a backstory to the little girls (from the deleted scene…included in the collage) seen tossing flower petals. Mixed in some traditional Ancient Roman practices with some bits that are the “writer” in me. Enjoy!

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” : “Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia." traditional Roman wedding vow, stola & palla: parts of women’s clothing in Rome.

❤️s, reblogs, comments, feedback are all welcome. 💐 (sorry for the delay on this chapter) Thank you for reading! ❤️

You bathed once again, fresh braids with new ribbons twined your hair. You ignored the sliver of red that remained Tertia’s dagger near your heart. It was vivid and red but had not drawn blood.

You were grateful no damage by the grace of the gods had been done to your wedding clothes. Through the pain during the violent attack you saw the stars. You were still unsteady by the attack. You wondered how long she had been planning it. The thought made you ill.

Stirring in Geta’s arms was truly a gift. A soft look had come from him. His eyes like warm like a summer’s soil despite his sharp appearance; the finely crafted ebony lines that traced his eyes or powder that dusted his smooth face. His softness, made your affections for him to grow.

*******

The spice of incense filled the air. He stood waiting for you. He had wrung his hands behind his back in anticipation. It had felt like this day was longer than most in his life. His eyes settled on the follows Mila and Flora had sprinkled in their wake.

He had always thought, Caralla would be impulsive and marry. It would be a scandal. It would have been frowned upon and it would have been nulled. There would have been a lot of drama.

As he grew into a man, first son his mother reminded him of the importance of marriage and having a heir. His father when not beating on him and Caracalla, more him would speak of expanding the empire. It was the only thing he was ever in agreement with his father.

He wanted Rome to be as large and as powerful as possible. Marriage and having a heir bored him. It made him vulnerable. He never wanted that. And yet a solid party or particularly in fight in the arena pleased him. Punishing foes in it brought an invigorating enjoyment to it.

It was in his royal box, when everything changed for him. A gentle breeze swirled into the royal box; it drew his attention away from his gladiator that was astride a rhino. He watched as a stray strands blew into your eyes. You were as delicate as the petals that were now thrown at his feet.

The room brightening, he looked up as Aelia holding a robust torch stood a safe distance behind you. The sight of you with the crown and gold veil obscuring your face made his heart skip.

*******

Candles flickered, the scent incense swirled in the air. Distantly, the small coin shifted in your shoe as you walked. You focused on the one you held. As Aelia, followed with a brilliant torch which brought a great warmth as she followed close.

Just ahead of you; you saw as the little girls who were always called upon to toss flower petals. They were always called upon when needed, last you saw them was when Rome was seeing off General Acacius. He was atop his large, strong horse that he would ride to his ship. Now they were there for you. The petals you saw underfoot, were lovely and rich in color.

The two girls were sweet, well cared for. Aelia, was a mother to them. From the handful of moments, you had seen them with her. The whispers you had heard, spoke of their parents having taken ill and Aelia had taken up the care of them.

Geta, had bestowed them to her. Though, it was well known that she carried out all of her duties for Geta and Caracalla; along with the duties of the little ones. Usually, you saw them helping with the culina. Helping to clean and gather the fruits and nuts for Geta, Caracalla and now for you to enjoy. Their clothes for this grand day was even lovelier than ever.

Finally, glancing up you saw that you had reached where Geta stood, the sight of him before you stole your breath. He looked absolutely magnificent, your heart squeezed with excitement.

********

As you drew closer, he remembered the stolen moment. He had needed some air, Caracalla was being particularly excessive with his drinking so he needed to just step away. Hearing voices, he paused in the shadows. It had not taken him long before he realized it was your voice he heard. As he heard how you knit words together kept him listening. It made him more curious about you. He was certain the gods chose you to be the embodiment of the poetry and art he loved so dearly. The more he heard you speak, he knew he had to have you. And now he did.

******

Gently, you opened your veil. The material was as soft as a breath. You barely felt it. Blinking, you looked and met his eyes. A warmth, a happiness came over you. A soft smile curled his lips.

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” You whispered, offering a gentle hand to him.

He gently took your hand in his. “Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius.”

With his other hand, he easily slid a far grander ring upon your finger it nestled the one he had given you prior nicely.

“My heart.” He whispered.

His soft words made your eyes water.

Gently turning his hand you placed the ceremonial coin into his palm. It had been made during the time of his father. On the side opposite his father’s face was one of venus. Now, that he would lead as emperor, a coin would be made in his honor.

Once in the city walls of Rome, you had seen and even used a coin that had the profiles of both him and Caracalla. It had an astonishing resemblance to the both of them. You would have had never thought, one day you’d be in the same space of them or even come to love of them.

Your affection for him continued to grow. He had chosen you to be at his side; yet there was a distant tingle of apprehension. Silently, within your heart you gave prayers of gratitude to the gods, goddesses. Yet, you wondered what they chose for the both of you.

*******

As you drew close, he could barely discern, your silhouette under the delicate golden colored veil. How delicate you were at this moment, made him pause. This was it. A new life for him was beginning and he felt exhilarated.

His mind’s eye easily knew the curve of your lips, the apple of your cheeks and the vibrance of your eyes; he grew hungry for the feel of you.

He gently took your hand in his. “Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius.”

You easily revealed yourself from behind the veil and his breath caught despite all the tribulations of the day, you were his beauty.

Your voice soft and ever so pleasing to his ears.

Easily, he placed your hand within his. Barely pausing, he slid a far grander ring upon your finger it nestled the one he had given you prior nicely. You were now, his wife…his empress; and the spoke the part that remained.

“My heart.” He whispered.

As he saw tears in your eyes, he longed to brush them aside with his thumb, or even kiss them away.

He was ready to truly lead and have you at his side.

*******

He had held above you the cake, easily crumbling it far above your laurel crown and the animals had been given to the gods, goddesses; now the celebration was in full swing. The finest foods were displayed and passed around on beautiful plates. Music filled and swirled in the fragrant air.

“Blossom, you are now the empress of the world.” Geta’s whispered in your ear, he brushed away some crumbs of cake he had broke above your head, as he did he saw a shaving from a walnut that lingered on one of your shoulders.

A flush filled your cheeks as you turned to look at him. “As long as I am by your side, that is all that truly concerns to me.”

He smiled. “You will always be my sweet blossom.”

You nodded.

He reached and held your hand, his thumb grazing your knuckles. “Does this all please you?”

“I don’t know where or what to enjoy first?” You confessed. “But the dancers and singers are lovely.”

“They are. They arrived from one of our new providences.”

You nodded.

Sitting back he smiled, pleased. Many a wonderful tribute had been made to the two of you. Despite Thraex and his attempt to dampen the mood of this union, the people in attendance appeared happy.

He would have to keep an eye on that power hungry senator.

Your brother and his continued to get along, this helped his spirits. That illness that had taken ahold of his brother could let itself known at anytime and was violent. He had worried it would bring a sourness to Caracalla since they both knew that the marriage would mean. At the moment, he saw him smiling and enjoying the company of a dancer that swished closer to him. A large plate of food sat in front of him and had a wine in hand. He could see just how content he was, this meant the night would end well considering how badly the day had begun.

Silently, in his heart he spoke prayers for his gratitude over how well had turned. He could have lost you. Glancing at you, he squeezed your hand that he still held. He was also beyond grateful that his brother’s illness had not brought a shadow of madness today.

Taking a sip of his wine, he felt good.

*******

Excitement tingled within you, as you stood in the middle of the chambers that the two of you now would share. Your laurel crown and veil sat beside his at a nearby table. You still marveled at how you had kept it atop your head the entire evening during the festivities. You had stood up and sat, a handful of moments, had it remained unwavering.

Glancing, at his grand bed which looked far bigger than he had previously, you longed for to join with him as a man and wife did. Idly, you wondered if it would feel different since you two were now married.

You watched as Geta, took a hold of the ceremonial dagger. His clothes swung and flowed as turned back to you. There was a twinkle in his eye that shone as brightly as his good mood.

He reached out and pulled you to him by the knotted belt that had hung from your waist. Seeing, feeling that small display of strength pleased you.

“My wife, my empress.”

“I am.”

“With slice of this dagger, I cut to free you from your previous bonds of life.”

“Yes, my sire.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded.

“It You will free you to be my wife, mother of the children we will surely have, empress of the Roman people and so that you can accompany me the underworld when death has come for me.”

“Free me, my love.” You replied softly.

Once again nodded. Your heart beat harder as he tugged harder on the belt, pulling you even closer. He rose his hand that held the dagger, the belt hung tautly onto you. Lowering the sharp blade it easily sliced the knot at the center of the belt.

You wilted into one of his waiting arms as the belt then fell to the ground at your feet. His eyes met yours as he looked down at you. A smile curled his lips. He brought the dagger up once more. He glanced at it and then you.

“My brother in one of his fits, would have wished me to plunge this into your heart.”

“Yes. It would have been your right. He suspected, I wanted to take you from this world.”

“Yes.”

He threw the dagger into the shadows of the room, the metal clanking against the floor as it tumbled. He brought a hand to your throat.

“I would have much rather stolen your breath with hands around your subtle throat.”

“I would have let you. To perish by your hands would have been a great pleasure.”

His words, the look that entered his eyes made your heart thud harder. A sharp, aching need to feel and have him above you grew between your legs. His lips curled from a smile into a smirk, as you felt as his thumb caress your throat. You trembled gently.

“I still wish to steal your breath but only as our passions are met and we become one.”

“Then do not delay our passions any further my husband, my emperor.”

********

He did not know what had taken him over. The dark edge that had first emerged between the two of you brought an exquisite contrast to the warmth and love he felt for you.

“You are beautiful.” He breathed. “Get onto bed, I don’t want to wait.”

He loved seeing the dusting of pink that reached your cheeks. You slipped from his arms and your wedding clothes, he loved being able to see your curves once again especially as you were crawling over the expanse of the bed.

******

He pulled himself free of the many layers that covered him, before finally crawling over and settling happily between your legs. With a smirk still across his face, on he relished the sight of your legs opening wider for him. Moving just so, he captured your mouth with his. He could taste the fruit and sweets, you both indulged in. Though they tasted better on your lips.

As he kissed you still bracing himself on the bed, he reached down. Laying a hand on your soft mound, he allowed his thumb to graze your special bud that was nestled at the apex between your legs.

“Geta.”

His stomach tightened in pleasure at how his name was a mixture of a purr and a moan.

“Did that feel good blossom?” He met your eyes, he could see the fire of your passions in them.

“Yes.” You licked your lips.

He needed to watch as you writhed under him once again. His thumb grazed you once more.

His desire, knotted in his stomach. Biting back his own moan, he wrapped his fingers around himself.

“We will become one blossom, my empress.”

“Yes, yes please.”

Gently he rubbed his tip against to soft petals that were you. Were as dewy as a spring morning. He loved knowing he was the cause of this. Taking a breath, finding your entrance with the greeting of gentle snugness he then slid into you. He finally could not contain the moan that erupted from him. You felt amazing.

******

Pleasure ripped through you as you felt him enter you. Moans, whimpered poured from your lips. As your eyes met, you felt as he took a hold of hip and soon the passions ignited between the two of you. Lips met, both of you moved together and moans became you one.

“Perhaps this time, since we are man and wife, your belly will take my seed.” His voice was deep and raspy in his pleasure as he spoke in your ear.

“Yes. Yes.” You moaned softly, writhing in his arms.

Thoughts barely filled you. The pleasure was intense.

“Call out for me, wife. Call out for me.” He urged.

Distantly, you felt as one of his hands drifted between the two of you. Next, stars burst as if from the heavens as his touch sent off your pleasure.

“Ooh Geta.” You called out. “Geta!” His name burst from deep within you. You trembled.

“Look at me.” His hair was a mess and wild, like true fire and his eyes matched it.

He moved what felt like deeper within you. It made you call out in pleasure, as his fingers dug into your hip.

Through your half open eyes, heavy with bliss you watched as he arched between your legs, your name one mingling with his own moan. He choked, gasping for air and called out as you felt his seed spilled, filling you.

********

Stirring, a soft sound came from you. Your eyes fluttered open to find Geta holding your hand. The rings were flush as they fit snugly on your finger.

“Something drifting in your mind?” You asked softly.

“I am fond of this. This is very pleasing to me.”

You smiled. “I do like these rings you chose for me. They are truly beautiful.” Any words you could express would truly pale to how you actually felt.

You glanced up at him. It gave you the view of how he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss just above the rings.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

*******

Aelia, fluffed the purple. The vividness of the purple palla contrasting the whiteness of the stola, made you truly feel like the flowers Geta always compared you to.

“They will love you, girl.” She whispered. You met her eyes and nodded.

“Don’t make her nervous, Aelia.” Even with the trumpets as loud as they were, you could still hear the jest in his voice.

“Far from it sire.” Her whispered.

You met her eyes over your shoulder, you shared a fleeting nod.

His hand met yours and squeezed.

“Yes, sister.” Caracalla, quickly added. Dondas, followed with a chirp as if to agree. “They had better. Or I will have their heads taken.”

You looked in his direction, just to his own laurel crown. You were not completely comfortable with this new dynamic to your relationship of sorts. You did not wish to upset his temperament. “Thank you.” You replied softly.

*******

“Citizens of Rome!” The herald called out.

Silence fell over the crowd, high and low born alike.

Your stomach twisted. You reached and squeezed Geta’s hand, he replied with his own squeeze once again.

“Today is a day of celebration. We are in the presence of Emperor Geta and his wife, the empress….”

The excitement pounded in your ears that you could barely hear as he announced you.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @aspiringwhore @justalittlebitshy @littlemissholy @ruinedbythehobbit

[meanbossart]

hey RJ! Obsessed with your du drow work. With all the talk of breeding etc, I can’t help but wonder— how good of a support would drow be to a pregnant person? I was also the person who asked if he was a good caretaker (lmao), and you said that he was more likely to be an overbearing one than neglectful. Does this also apply to a pregnancy sort of situation (with or w/out Astarion being involved), or is it a consistent sort of attitude of his that would carry over? I was curious since it’s a bit of a different circumstance than what I had asked previously, and I have a crush on him so I like to rotate all his facets around in my head. even when he’s fucked up and weird etc

He cares about someone being in a state of pregnancy about the same amount as he cares about mothers and kids - he favors then a fair amount more and actually reserves them a bit of respect by default (if a humanoid race, at least). And of course, if he archaically decides you're an unworthy mother for whatever reason this is just nulled.

But if it were actually someone that he cares about like Shadowheart or another friend who can conceive, he would go out of his way to ensure their comfort and safety in whatever circumstances they are in. He's still a realist when it comes to survival situations so you couldn't expect to get away with being a complete dead-weight - but he'd be much more patient than usual.

Addendum to that: It would only apply if the kid was wanted at all. DU Drow WILL help you out with your at-home abortion if you're tight. He might help if you're not, also, but I wouldn't take up on the offer myself in that case.

Obviously a completely different situation if the kid is his own. He'd go insane if he had to put a pregnant S.O through anything short of sitting in bed and eating home-cooked meals all day, he'd adore them and cling from morning until night and never get sick of it and life would cease being about anything besides keeping his partner and progeny safe and in good health. If you enjoy being pampered and deified for being fat with a kid, it would really work out for you! If you'd rather retain a semblance of independence and self sufficiency for the duration of those 9 months, it might get a bit annoying.

(And no, I'm not gonna do undead-male-pregancy, don't ask)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a scenario about Nemona, Penny and Arven with a real who has type null please? Maybe something about it transforming in Silvally?

YES NULL/SILVALLY TIME

I have one in Sword who I call "Bestie", and it's carried me through the Crown Tundra DLC. I want it in Violet so badly aaaa

Also this just reminded me of my fic that I wrote prior to Sun/Moon's release. Ya'll can give it a read if you so desire <3

That being said, this scenario will be like a sequel of sorts

........

Revealing Type: Null--or "Nully" as you've affectionately called it--to your friends was something you were initially nervous about...

But today was finally the day.

Moving away from Alola to attend school here in Paldea was quite the stressful journey, especially for your masked companion who had never know any place besides stark white labs and sandy beaches.

People kept warning you about how dangerous it was, but you never listened...and now your bond with the mysterious normal type has never been stronger.

Ever since you rescued it from an Aether Foundation facility that exploded due to its rampage, it put its trust in you and loved you unconditionally.

Learning the truth behind that supposedly "good" organization and its leader broke your heart. Although nothing devastated you more than realizing Nully had been held captive there as both experiment and prisoner.

You've tried researching its species, checking for notes and hacking into secret files the foundation kept under lock and key--and you discovered that Type: Nulls were basically created as "tamer" versions of Arceus, even having memory discs similar to the plates manufactured. They were meant to kill the Ultra Beasts should they invade Alola.

Instead, they went on a rampage (of course, that's what happens when humans try replicating a god's powers) and were confined to masks and put into cryogenic stasis. The whole project was deemed a failure.

As tragic as it was...you were relieved to have found Nully when you did and get it away from that horrible place.

Even so the mask still made it feel absolutely miserable, but unfortunately you couldn't find any further information on how to remove it without causing your precious Pokémon serious injury. There were no visible clamps to unlock, pulling it off would only cause it great pain, and cutting seemed too risky.

The only benefit was that it made Nully immune to critical hits, but the cons definitely outweighed the pros.

Maybe one of your friends knew more about the Type: Null species, and so you decided to call them all over for a picnic if they had free time.

All you could do was pray that they didn't lose their cool and scare your companion.

That's the last thing either of you needed.

Arven was the first to arrive, with Mabosstiff at his heels as usual, but he stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the bizarre-looking Pokémon standing by your side. You could tell he was trying not to look too worried, considering the poor thing was hiding behind you now.

Still, it's obvious that he didn't have the slightest clue what he was looking at, so you explained everything to him: where you found Nully, why it looked like a rejected Arceus, and the memory discs you kept in a small folder.

So far, you haven't figured out how to utilize them in-battle. But despite the space they took up in your bag, you refused to throw them away.

"Are you sure there isn't a slot for these somewhere on its mask?" He stared at one of the floppy discs, before glancing back up at Nully, squinting. "It looks like there should be one."

"We've been pals for nearly three years, Arven..I'm pretty sure I would've found the slot by now if there was one." Shaking your head, you took it from him, sighing. "My only option is to get that thing off. The slot's probably on its body somewhere."

"Right...maybe there's a stomach hatch or-"

"¡Mira! You were right, Penny! They do exist!!"

"Nemona, slow down!! They're not going anywhere!!"

Hearing the shouts of two certain ladies from afar, you and Arven looked to see both Nemona and Penny coming over the horizon. The student council president was dragging the poor girl by the arm, with her stumbling to keep up and not lose her glasses.

When they arrived, Penny was dazed and annoyed as she scowled at Nemona, tearing her arm free of her iron grasp. But her attention was quickly set on the peculiar Pokémon who was cowering behind you yet again.

"Wow...I..never thought I'd see one up close before.." Adjusting her glasses, she gazed at Nully with interest.

"You've heard about them before?" You asked.

"Back in Galar, I found some top-secret stuff about Macro Cosmos trying to make their own instances. They literally stole the blueprints from the Aether Foundation."

"...yikes." Nemona remarked, tilting her head as she tried getting a better look at Nully herself. "It seems shy. Maybe a battle will help it-!"

"No battles, at least not right now." You smiled apologetically, patting it on the head as you looked at each other. "I know you're nervous, Nully..but it's okay. They're nothing like the jerks back in Alola who used to pick on us. They're my friends. You can trust them, I promise."

Nodding its head, it relaxed its haunches as it cautiously stepped away from your side, gazing at the trio and seeing their smiles, too.

They weren't looks of pity.

They seemed genuinely thrilled to meet it.

It stood there for some time, taking in everything you've said to it and thinking about how far it's come since you rescued it that fateful day.

Somehow, it knew it was always meant to be your companion--from the very moment you held it as it cried in the Pokémon Center, reassuring it that it's not a monster, but a sweet creature worthy of love and care.

Ever since then, your friendship has grew...and now it feels stronger, willing to put its life on the line for you if need be. Even though most of its powers have been concealed, it didn't feel like some weak and helpless lab experiment.

Oh no.

It was far from that now.

Thanks to your bond, it felt unbelievably strong.

So much so that....the normal-type realized an extraordinary change was imminent.

And you were about to witness it.

"Look! Nully's glowing, [y/n]!" Nemona pointed, her eyes widening as your companion was basked in a familiar light. "Is it evolving???"

"Oh my god...I think so." You gasped, never realizing the possibility of it evolving, but you're now certain that friendship is what triggered it at last.

The most noticeable thing were the cracks that started appearing all over its helmet, pieces of what you assumed was indestructible alien material falling apart. Nully shook its head vigorously, trying to get rid of it as much as possible.

Then it turned its attention to a nearby boulder, letting out a cry before performing a move similar to a Headbutt, ramming into it and letting the rock shatter the helmet completely.

At last, it was free.

When the glow faded, you and your friends gazed in awe as Nully looked back at all of you.

With its mask finally gone, what lied underneath it was a beautiful creature made of both nature and machine, with a beaklike mouth that smiled proudly.

"Nully...?" You murmured, stepping closer.

"Ally." It chirped, walking up to greet you.

Tears began forming in your eyes as your grin widened. "I can't believe it...friendship was all it took to-"

Suddenly, your rotomphone decided to ruin the sweet moment by flying out of your pocket.

It displayed a new entry in your Pokedex, and you grabbed it to read what it had to say, while Arven, Penny, and Nemona checked their own phones.

"I see, you're Silvally now." You gazed back up at Null--Silvally, watching it bow its head respectfully. With a small laugh, you mimicked the gesture, before petting it lovingly as you sighed. "Wow..."

You noticed one of the metal bolts on its face open up like a CD player, indicating that something had to go in there-

"Wait.." Remembering the memory discs, you took one out and held it up. "Do you want me to use this?"

Silvally nodded, although before you could do anything, Arven interjected.

"Hold on, which memory is that?"

"The Dark Memory. It probably just changes its type, but I believe this represents all the pain Silvally had to endure while being trapped in that mask, not knowing what it did wrong or why people shunned it for simply existing." You placed a gentle hand under your companion's jaw. "But now I think it's ready to turn that painful memory into power. So let's see what happens.."

"Silllllv!"

Carefully inserting the disc into the open slot, you watched as it closed up. Then you stepped back, seeing the colors and spikes on its body turn smoky black.

Even its eyes changed, and when they opened they looked even more menacing than ever.

And they stared directly at you.

With a low growl, it crept closer to you, while your friends held back..tense and worried that the pokedex entries were correct: this wasn't something you could so easily control.

There was probably a very good reason for the mask-

Yet any hostility Silvally seemingly expressed disappeared, as it smiled and licked your cheek affectionately, causing you to laugh once more. "Hey, that tickles! C'mere you!"

Hugging its neck, you grinned as you received even more kisses, hearing it purr with happiness. You petted its feathery crest, relieved that it completely trusted you now.

"Wow..it's way cooler than Arceus!" Nemona laughed. "Do you think I can battle it-??"

Silvally just shot her a wary look, and she immediately fell silent, a nervous smile on her face. "Haha, you're right. Not yet. But I swear we're gonna have an epic battle one day!"

"Yeah, one day. But for now, I have something special for this big guy."

"Sill?"

You managed to regain its full attention with a simple yet supereffective move of your very own:

It's called "chin scritches", something that none of your other Pokémon could resist receiving.

The mask obviously made it difficult for Silvally to receive proper affection back then...and you vowed to find a way to break it so you can do just that.

Now it was free of that awful and heavy thing, having a brand new life to look forward to: battles, friendships with other Pokémon, and more.

Even better?

Your three closest friends in all of Paldea were here to witness its evolution--a sign that despite all the odds...your bond was unbreakable.

[samo64]

Baldi's Basics Headcanons that will never be canon but are funny to think about because they're living rent free in my brain

Playtime has extreme zoomies, like when something exciting happens she runs all over the walls and ceilings in the schoolhouse so fast not even the Principal could catch her, she's too fast!

Bully only bullies the player and not the other students because if he were to bully Playtime or Arts and Crafters he'd feel bad but with the player he don't care not even a tiny bit.

If the Principal were to open his eyes i think it would have a medusa kind off effect except he doesn't turn anyone into stone instead strikes fear into those who break the rules.

Since Johnny is the shop-keeper i think he would be also a school faculty member like the other staff, like he's the only teen who works in the faculty.

Gotta sweep would have an ability to switch broom brushes by jumping out of one so he's just the pole and jumps ans twists onto another.

Baldi since he's an Anim8tor model would have the ability to take parts of his body off with no blood or gore necessary but is there for comedic affect and don't worry he can easy re-attach them because his arms and legs are segmented.

Gotta sweep's heritage consists of cleaning products like mops, brooms and farm reapers.

1st prize's hands specifically his fingers would have some form of articulation where he can grip.

Dr. Reflex has seen how some people compare him to rodents and he takes quite offense to that.

Joe would be the one character that would make some memorable cameos kinda like Stan Lee in the marvel movies.

Mrs. Pomp's is more easly quick to anger than Baldi or Dr Reflex.

The Baldloons can phase through walls like actual ghosts and mostly travel in groups of five with Red considered the leader.

Null/Filename2 can communicate to his crab bink easily.

When Null/Filename 2 Sneezes he reveals his skin for a brief second.

Baldi and Principal made the murals in the detention room with the principal's mural being written by Baldi while Baldi's mural being written by the principal.

Baldi would have vivid memories of Susan and Andrew but are usually a blur

The other head's on Red Baldloon's body imitate the main head's expressions

The Baldloons can shape-shift into other people in the schoolhouse the only difference is that they can't change color or remove the party hats.

Red Baldloon loves to eat the walls, doors, entirety of the schoolhouse when he has the chance.

These ones are for PriniciBaldi shippers

if something goes horribly wrong in the schoolhouse to the point where everyone has to evacuate, Principal would rush in and get baldi holding him birdal style and Baldi thanking him by showering Principal in kisses leaving read lipstick marks.

Baldi would hug the principal too tightly making a cracking noise in the principal's spine.

If the principal were asleep in his office, baldi would come in say goodnight and give him a little kiss on the forehead.

Back to our regularly sceduled programming

i feel like Bladder loves Badsum too much.

The Test would carry around the chalkboard where chalkes is currently on so chalkles wouldn't have to fly off somewhere

[tenaciouschronicler]

@homestuckreplay

As someone who does know code your guess is pretty spot on. Karkats confusion on the syntax comes from the fact TA's code tests the limits on what is considered a nested loop.

Lets break down Karkats code first.

~ATH(U) {

~ATH(Karkat) {

} EXECUTE(NULL);

} EXECUTE(NULL);

THIS.DIE();

First lets take (Karkat) and make him equal to 1 for simplicity. The inner loop will keep going as long as (Karkat)=Alive=1. Once (Karkat) is no longer alive, or Dead=0, then that loop is exited and the following EXECUTE(NULL) occurrs. Whatever you want that code to do will go in the (NULL) space. The outer loop, (U)=1, will now keep looping until (U)=Dead=0 upon which the EXECUTE(NULL) will occur.

Now TA's code bifuricates, or forks/ branches, the Universe.

~ATH(U1) {

~ATH(!U2) {

} EXECUTE(~ATH(THIS) {}EXECUTE(NULL));

} EXECUTE(~ATH(THIS){} EXECUTE(NULL));

[THIS, THIS].DIE();

Taking away the color coding, or the bifuricate, gives us code that follows the standard nested loops like Karkats. The purpose of bifuricating is to allow the loops to self perpetuate and execute immediately. In a way TA has used the Mobius Strip principle here.

~ATH(U1) {

~ATH(!U2) {

} EXECUTE(~ATH(THIS) {}EXECUTE(NULL));

} EXECUTE(~ATH(THIS){} EXECUTE(NULL));

The blue loop executes when Universe 2 exists, (!U2)=1, while the red loop executes when Universe 1 dies, (U1)=0, making their base variables !U2=0 and U1=1. Again, taking away the bifuricate and looking at the inner loop, when the universe exists the code to execute changes the variable of the outer loop from U1 to !U2 (1 to 0). The outer loop would then execute code to replace the variable in the inner loop from !U2 to U1 (0 to 1). Bifuricating is necessary to allow the outer loop to affect the inner loop without ending the program.

Part of the reason the computer explodes is because with each pass of this code the variable changes to the opposite state needed to execute and carry on the code keeping it from ending. Eventually you'd end up with a BSOD in the best case and an exploded computer at worst. Same thing with why the curse goes on forever, the code never ends.

This works out well to mirror a lot of the looping we've experienced in the kids session with them and the exiles. You are absolutely right that the trolls have been bifuricated into two teams but keeping in mind how the code works, one cannot exist nor function without the other. Otherwise the program ends.

[rawmeknockout]

Can we have some command trine x minibot!reader? Please and thank you, king 💕💕💕

Dweeb is the most apt description for the whole lot of them.

It's almost funny; you used to be so terrified of them. They're still intimidating. The most skilled fliers to ever come from Cybertron, capable of razing down Autobot forces like they're insects. More than once you've been at the business end of their null rays, barely escaping being shot down (usually due to your miniscule size in comparison). You're clearly no match for them one-on-one, despite being able to escape being offlined by the Decepticon seeker forces more times than you care to count. You don't know how many more dogfights you've got left in you before you're a little energon smear on Earth's crust.

In comparison to the Decepticons, you're a clumsy, amateur flier. Forged for carrying cargo, as opposed to Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp who are the pinnacle of fighter build. The first image that comes to mind when mechs think Decepticon. They're elite soldiers with a tight formation and more combat experience than most mechs. Probably because most mechs can't survive as long. More than once Sunstreaker has compared Skywarp to an organic cockroach; the sort of mech that won't die no matter how many punches he takes. They have so much combat experience that the more you run into them, the more you learn as a result. That's perhaps the only good thing to come from having contact with them as a flight frame.

One of the things you've learned is that all three of them are absolute dorks. Thundercracker is the most tolerable, sensible and calm when the others are lost in their feelings and schemes. He would rather take atrocious orders than give them. You begrudgingly find him handsome, with a smile that belongs on an ad for denta scrub as opposed to getting knocked clean off from throwing servos with the likes of Brawn. His optics sparkle when he reaches down to hold your small digits, something that should NOT set your lines ablaze. The fluttering in your circuits makes you want to purge.

Skywarp is a plain nuisance, on the battlefield and in everyday life. When he's not warping in your way and playing stupid pranks, he's picking you up in his stupid big arms and warping off with you. He uses his ability to an obnoxious degree, irritating not only you but everyone around him. The zzZZ-VOP of him materializing from nothing haunts your deepest nightmares. He is irritatingly giddy around you, dementedly giggling right in your audial when he curls his large build around yours. But, just as you are forced to tolerate him, Skywarp is steadfastly tolerant of everything you do. Even the harshest insults you can levy are nothing more than water off an Earth duck's back. He might be actually nice to hang out with, you might be able to laugh off his antics, if he wasn't so insistent on banging pelvic armor.

But the one you least understand is Starscream. You've spent so long analyzing his flight patterns, copying the sharp way he dips and dives through the air, trying to morph your frame's movements to match his grace and deadly skill. And yet you're still no closer to understanding the mech himself. Not that you're exactly part of logistics and strategy, you would rather leave that to Prowl, but it would be nice to know what in the hell you did to attracted Starscream of all mechs. Thundercracker and Skywarp were easier to understand, more Cybertronian. They were deadly but noticeably more alive, Starscream is like a scheming, plotting machine with only torment on his mind. If it didn't hurt another mech, why would he care? But, as little as you understand it, when he's not shrieking at the top of his vocalizer at his brethren, he's trying to sneak his treasonous claws into your servo. You've learned it's best to ignore this, even let him do it, because if you question him he'll blow your audials out with how little he thinks of you screamed at the top of his voice like a hawk. You also blithely ignore the way he struts around like a peacock, flaring his wings in a blatant attempt to attract your attention.

Where once you felt fear, loathing, and reluctant respect for the elite trine, now you just feel weary. Perhaps it's the curse of being a mini flier. There aren't a whole lot of your kind left, and it's not exactly a popular frame for construction. It's got to be the novelty of it. That's all you can think. Why else would they be bickering with you trapped in the middle, Starscream's claws bearing down on your poor shoulder armor while Skywarp squeezes you a tad too hard. Thundercracker doesn't help much, more focused on shouting the others down than saving you.

A pack of sqwaking hens.

Maybe in this next battle you'll be shot down and you can take a nice long rest in Ratchet's medbay. That sounds nice.