#one of them carries null

[queensparklekitten]

TIL ae carries null

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

[elder-millennial-of-zion]

Goyim are so angry that they’ve had to pretend to care about the holocaust up until now, and they are so excited to finally have an excuse to stop pretending to care.

They’ve been so mad, so resentful, that we “get” to have the holocaust. Because that’s how they look at it; not as an incalculable loss, not as a trauma that has scarred us for generations, not as something that made our world that much poorer for the loss of whole communities, of diverse traditions and legacies and contributions. Not as a real event that hurt real people.

Goyim view the holocaust as yet another expression of Jewish privilege, as a winning play in the oppression olympics. We “get” to have an irrefutable case of genocide in recent history that we can point to as proof that we still belong to the category of “oppressed” on a technicality. They view it as a card we can play to win arguments, as an unfair advantage that gives us the best of both worlds - we get to label ourselves “oppressed” even though we’re the “real” oppressor, thus securing for ourselves the privileges and advantages of both. They’ve been so angry at us for what they see as cosplaying as an oppressed minority when it’s so obvious to them that we’re the ultimate ruling class. They hate that they’ve had to be nicer to us, that they had to pretend not to hate us quite so much, because of the holocaust. To them, the benefits for Jews invoking the Holocaust far outweigh the disadvantages of having actually experienced it.

They are so gleeful to finally get away with putting an expiration date on the holocaust, to declare it officially null and void. And beyond that, they are positively giddy to weaponize it against us. They’ve jumped at the chance to say with impunity that Jews are the real Nazis, that Jews are the ones carrying out the Holocaust, that we’re fake victims impersonating real oppressed minorities while we’re the ones perpetuating the real oppression. Not only is the Holocaust irrelevant, a thing of the past, it never really existed in the first place.

Too many goyim are way too excited to be able to engage in flat out holocaust denial, to spew as much hatred towards Jews as they want, and not only face no consequences, but be rewarded with a reputation as virtuous and committed to true social justice and human rights.

[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

[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!” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000

dm or comment if you want to be added to my taglist :3

[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.

[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)

[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.)

[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.

[loverslodge]

the date

You were nervous to say the least. The date was supposed to start at 10 am but you got here at 9:30 am. You had chosen your favourite cafe because it made things easier. Just in case they did decide to ditch you, at least you could buy yourself your regular and go back home.

You were dressed in your favourite cherry colored plain sundress and white shoes. You carried a small bag with you that carried your wallet, phone, lip balm and water bottle. Your hair was half up and your stray hair had started falling out framing your face.

You sat in your booth and waited. You had brought a book with you but who were you kidding? You weren't going to read anything. You kept on glancing at the door. You've never been this nervous about a date before. But also, this wasn't exactly a real date, was it?

The door opened and two tall large figures walked in with flowers in their hands. They were in a deep argument or was it a discussion? They let their conversation go and looked around. You tentatively got up from the booth which caught their attention and they bounded towards you like happy puppies.

You weren't just starstruck. You were just… nobody could explain. Your breath hitched a little and your heart skipped its beats and your stomach somersaulted. Your cheeks were tinted with pink and it was not just your makeup.

They both held out their hand to give you flowers. You smiled. They were clearly trying to be competitive. You chuckled a little and took both the flowers with both of your hands, deeming the competition null. “Thank you. I love roses, especially pinks and reds. I love these.”

Bucky and Steve were awestruck. You were even prettier in person. Your smile alluring and your chuckle endearing. And your voice? Sounded like the warm sun in spring.

They both had walked from different directions to get to the cafe. They both saw you from the cafe window. You looked so… angelic. They noticed your nervous tick of chewing your lower lip. Your lips looked so kissable. They also saw how you kept on glancing at the door. They did not want to make you wait any longer so they walked to the entrance at the same time.

“Bucky?” “Steve?”

Clearly, none of them had thought that the other would have accepted.

“What are you doing here?” Steve was the first one to break the silence.

“Me? What are you doing here?” Bucky wasn't going to back down easily.

“I'm here to… go… get coffee,” Steve stuttered.

“Weird. I didn't know you could get coffee with flowers in your hand.” Bucky quirked up his eyebrows. They were caught, there was no reason to lie.

“Uh…”

“Give it up, punk. You can't lie to save your own life. You're here to see the girl, aren't you? The email girl?”

“Yeah. you too?” Steve pointed at Bucky’s hand full of flowers.

“Yeah. her idea, whatever you call it, sounded, i don't know, interesting. Wanted to give it a shot.” Bucky shrugged.

“Yeah, it's no string attached, no expectations. It's liberating in a way.” Steve put his thoughts out and Bucky nodded to agree.

They both entered the cafe together, though a little apprehensive about the other being there. When you stood up so they could find you, they had to make sure they weren't dreaming. You weren't just angelic, you were… you looked beautiful. Especially in that floral sundress.

When Steve stepped forward to reach you, Bucky jumped up too. It had become a competition, unknowingly. But when you accepted their flowers at the same time, their heart thrummed in a rhythm. The moment they heard your voice, they were floored. Such a sweet voice, it was like a melody to them. And when they learnt that they picked the perfect flowers for you, they were on cloud nine seeing you smile at the flowers.

You guided them to sit on the opposite booth and Bucky slid in first, making Steve sit in the aisle. You did something unexpected after that. You took a rose from Steve’s side and gave it to Bucky and you took a rose from Bucky’s side and gave it to Steve. They were confused but in awe.

“Well, you both got me flowers and you both seemed… competitive, I thought it would be fair for me to give you each a rose from the other’s side. If I had known we were doing flowers, I would've bought some for you too.” You nestled the roses neatly in your bag so as to not crush them.

“I- no, the flowers just popped in my head and thought it was a gentlemanly thing to do.” Steve initiated the conversation. “And thank you for the rose.” His cheeks were flushed.

“Why would you give us the flowers though?” Bucky got curious about your comment.

“Oh! Well, you should get flowers too. It's not a rule for a woman to not get flowers for a man, is it?” You tilted your head in question.

“No, no it's not.” Bucky smirked. You were fantastic.

“So, umm, before we begin, I do have to say something. I don't mind doing this with both of you. I don't want to choose.” You fiddled with your fingers. “If any of you is uncomfortable with it, you both can pick who should stay. I dont- i wont.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other. They had never thought about it. Sharing a date. They did share a few common traits they liked in women but sharing never crossed their mind. They turned their heads back to you.

“I don't want to come between two best friends again so if you decide that nobody wants this, it's okay as well. It was an email, not a contractual binding. You still have time to walk away.” you take in a deep breath.

“Again?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. He wanted to know more about that aspect of your story.

“It's- maybe some other time. Not right now.” You shuffled in your seat. “Talk it out, the two of you. I'll wait here.”

Bucky signaled Steve to stand up and they excused themselves. They stood outside the cafe in a way where they could see you. For a few minutes, all they could do was look at you.

There was something else about you, a sort of sadness that popped the moment they walked out of the cafe. You were rubbing your face with your hand as if you were worn out and your downcast eyes made their collective hearts clench.

“What do you say, Steve?” Bucky wanted to know what Steve thought. Surprisingly, it didn't cross Bucky’s mind that he would be jealous. Would he be?

“She's right. We cannot ask her to choose. She did email us individually.” Steve wasn't looking at Bucky. His eyes kept going back to you.

“So, you will be okay if I am on this date as well?” Bucky wasn't going to talk in circles. The time was of the essence.

“What?” Steve turned to Bucky. As well? What did Bucky mean? Did he mean all three of them go out together?

“You know, she did say she wouldn't mind the two of us together with her.” Bucky shrugged, trying to act casual but he was terrified. What is Steve said no? Will this be the last time he sees you? Will he have the heart to give you up? This isn't even about a real date! All this tension over a fake one?!

“Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't you-” But Bucky cut Steve off.

“Listen, this isn't even a real date. Why are we thinking so much? We did say we came here for no strings and no expectations. Why not just tell her that it's the two of us? What could possibly go wrong?”

“You're right. We're overthinking this. Let's tell her it's us and her. A three person couple.” Steve squared up and began his walk to the cafe door.

“It's called a throuple, you doof.” Bucky followed him.

You weren't paying attention. You suddenly had a minor panic attack which you had managed to settle. You shouldn't be doing this. This desperate attempt to make a perfect date. This isn't even your idea of a perfect date but you can't just invite strangers to your place for movies and dinner now, can you?

You were about to break down in a cafe in front of two of your celebrity crushes. But this overthinking, this maddening need to have just one sliver of happiness was taking over your thoughts of running away. Though, without your knowledge, few tears did escape your eyes.

“Are you okay? Why are you crying?” A very concerned voice made your head jolt up to see two pairs of gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in worry. When had they come back and sat down?

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, you are crying.” Bucky reached down to give you a paper napkin.

“Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” You wiped your face and looked back up with a smile. “So, what was the decision? Is it one, two or none?”

“We just want your consent over this too. We think that it could be the two of us with you. Are you okay with that?” Steve approached you very politely with the question. Bucky would have been more brash about it.

“That's great! Yeah, I wouldn't mind as long as the two of you are okay.” You nodded enthusiastically with a smile. “Oh but what about the money? Would you be splitting it? I will wire transfer you.”

“Angel, we don't need your money. Keep it. Seriously. We make enough money. Wejust want to enjoy today. Does that sound good?” Bucky tilted his head. You did look angelic, even with tear-stained eyes.

You nodded. “Yes. it does. Now, let's go. We're wasting precious time.”

You got up and grabbed your bag. The two men followed you like puppies.

“So, first things first. Here's the list of places I wanted to go to around the city for this date. I printed it out so it'll be easier. Also I do have a few requests but if any of you have any qualms about it, say the word and I will not bring it up again.”

“Lay it on us, Angel.” Steve’s heart fluttered seeing you take a lead like this.

“Ok, so the requests are as follows. But first. Do you guys know acting? Or do you know how to act? Even a tiny bit?”

“Uh, sure? I mean we do go for undercover missions.” Bucky was confused by your question.

“Oh cool. Maybe this could work. Ok, so first, can we pretend that this is not a first date and this is a date people go to when they're in a relationship? The one where there is no awkwardness.” You look at the two of them. “I'm sorry. This is already too much. Let's just finish this. I don't want to make you do something you both don't want to do.”

You start walking in the direction of your next destination. Bucky and Steve follow you and they each hold your hand to stop you.

“It's not too much. Really. Tell us more of your requests.” Steve rubbed his thumb on your thumb, trying to calm the situation. You exhale loudly.

“Ok. Well, that was the first request. The other is… Do you know how the hero looks at the heroine in the movies when he falls in love with her?” Both the men quirked up their eyebrows. “You know, all soft heart eyes and just looking at her as if she's the only thing that matters?”

They quizzingly looked at you. “Oh for the love of… Really? All these back on earth and you guys haven't watched a rom-com? Never mind. I'll educate you on that some other day. But for now,” You pointed at a very loved up couple across the street. “You see them, look at the way he’s looking at her. That's how I want you both to look at me. I promise I'll tell you the reason soon.”

Both men looked at each other and nodded. “Ok, anything else?”

“Oh! This is not a request but this is me consenting the two of you that since we're pretending this is not an awkward first date, you can touch me however you like. Showing affection. If I do feel uncomfortable, I'll tell you, okay?”

“Okay.” “okay.” A verbal agreement was sealed.

Your first stop was the museum. You liked art. You couldn't interpret or understand all of it but you loved looking at them. Steve was excited about it and Bucky kept calling him a dork which made you laugh.

You had to cross the road and your hands automatically seeked theirs. You locked your hands to theirs and crossed the road. It had been a habit of yours since you had gotten in an accident while crossing the road at the age of 10.

The moment you locked your hands with them, a warm sensation reached their hearts. You were in front of them, the way you held their hands was as if you were protecting them. You made sure to cross safely and when crossed, you looked at them making sure they were ok.

“Were all okay? Good. let's go. Here we are! At the museum.”

…………………..

“This is so boring! Can we really not do anything else? You both are dorking over flowers.” Bucky was very bored. He liked art, sure, but he wasn't that into it. He found looking at things for hours very boring.

“These aren't just any flowers, James. These are Monet.” You turn to him and drag him back to you and Steve.

“Bucky. Call me Bucky, Angel. Seriously, I will really like it if you call me Bucky.” His hand reached for yours and intertwined it. He gave you the most adorable puppy dog eyes and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Ok, Bucky, stay still. Just a few more minutes and then we will go for lunch. I'm actually getting very hungry.” You pulled him by the hand closer so his chest was brushing against your back.

“Let's go then. Wouldn't want our Angel to go hungry.” Steve looked at you and smiled. He grabbed your other hand.

“Oh but don't you want to look at the next exhibit? I thought you were excited about that one?” You tried to pull him towards that exhibit.

He pulled you back and your front bumped to his chest. “Nope. you wanted to see Monet and we did. I really enjoyed it. I never thought of seeing Monet the way you did. Now let's get food for us.”

“Oh no no. we're not doing that. A date should be for two people. We’re seeing that exhibit and then we're getting food. Now come on.” You drag both of them to Steve’s most awaited exhibit. Bucky whined in your ear but you giggled and gave him a light jab.

Unknown to you, Steve couldn't keep his eyes off of you. The way you got excited about an art piece or the way you ranted about an exhibit because you knew the history of it. His heart surely skipped a beat when you didn't let go of his hand the rest of the time all three of you were seeing the art.

He was also surprised how he was feeling warm rather than jealous when he saw Bucky flirt with you. He had never felt this way, at least for you. You were just a no strings attachment but Steve seems to have formed some strings and he was willing to pull them to stay in this moment with you.

Once Steve had his fill of the museum, all three of you walked out hand in hand. You asked them if they liked Indian food and they said yes so you dragged them to the nearest location of one of your favourite Indian restaurants.

After you ordered lunch and settled in the seats, Bucky couldn't stop his curiosity and finally asked the question he's been wanting to ask.

“So, I have to ask. Why did you send the email?”

“Oh! Uh…” You were trying to gather your scrambling thoughts. What version do you want to tell them? The desperate one or the short one?

“Bucky, that's rude. You can't just ask her something like this. She said she'll tell us when she's ready.” Steve saw you flush against the seat.

“Oh it's no issue really. I was going to say anyway so might as well. I just thought saving it for the end would make this better but lets get it out of the way.”

Unknowingly, Steve and Bucky shifted to the edge of their seats. You smoothened your sundress on your lap to find the beginning.

“My love life has never been about me. It should've been but it never was. My first boyfriend actually started talking to me because he liked my friend, even though he asked me out because he liked me for the way I was. That relationship lasted exactly six months before I pulled the plug on it because I just never felt that way about him. I thought having a boyfriend would mean I would like him but I didn't. Not romantically.

That's how my series of unfortunate relationships started. One was controlling, one was a flirt, one was angry all the time, one was a stalker and last one was, well, a ghoster.

But all these relationships had one thing in common and that was me trying to mold myself into that. Into a person they wanted me to become. I felt, I don't know, empty inside when I was with them. The people I liked, they never liked me back. They just used my affections for them and when done, dusted me off like I was just dirt.”

You took a large gulp of water from your bottle. Steve and Bucky were listening to you intently. Before you could say anything else, your food arrived and the conversation ended there. Both of them knew there was more but they didn't push it, for now.

The sadness in your eyes was too evident. They had wanted to hug you, hold you and tell you it's okay but it was neither the place nor the time.

Once the lunch was done, you brought out the list and your eyes sparkled. The next stop was a bookstore.

………………………….

“Don't you think that's too much?” Steve looked at the pile that was forming on Bucky’s hand.

“You can never have too much, Steve.” You pass him by to look at the book behind him.

Steve turned around to see your arms empty. “And you, Miss Bad-Influence-on-Bucky. Where is your pile?”

You look at both of them sheepishly. “Well, I don't have a budget to buy new books. I'm just looking.”

“And by looking you mean wistfully sighing at every other book then yes, you're just looking.” Bucky taunted playfully. Then he gave you an exciting smile. “I'll buy books for you. Pick all you like.”

“No! Are you crazy? No no, you don't have to. I-” You were worried this gesture would go straight to your heart.

“No arguments. Come on. Lets pick. I'll hold your books for you. Pick whichever you like. And then, maybe, you'll help Bucky sort through his pile?” Steve gave you the sweetest puppy smile. You swore you floored there and then.

You started picking all the romance books you had your eyes on. You told them that you will sort again later. While Bucky kept on piling onto his arms any book he finds, you were very conscious about making sure you're not troubling Steve. But that didn't stop you from piling up.

Bucky watched you buzz from one shelf to another. You looked so excited! Talked so much about why you were picking the book you picked. The spark in your eyes went straight to Bucky’s heart.

Bucky kept his eyes on you. He gave you full freedom to manage his book pile. While you brutally shortened your own pile, he loved to see a soft ruthlessness in you. You kept on murmuring about why not this book or why not that.

When you were helping him with his pile, he chose to stand close to you. You actually went through an effort to know what his preferences were. You also asked if he would read ‘fairy smut’ and then went to explain what it was to the two of them with a deep blush on your cheeks.

Bucky saw you and Steve together, talking, giggling, sometimes laughing at his expense but he did not mind at all. He loved seeing the two of you together, with him. You always made sure that the other isn't missing out. His heart always tugged at you when you did that.

“Maybe I should read that fairy smut you were talking about.” Bucky announced haughtily. He wanted to know what was making you blush so much.

“Uh, I wouldn't mind recommending but you like old school fantasy. Are you sure you want to try them?” You didn't want to throw him into the deep end.

“Yeah. I wanna know what you are blushing so much about.” Bucky picked up a smut heavy book. “This one, right? I'll take this.”

You snatched the book from his hand and shook your head. That one was the deep end. You look around the shelf and come across the one you thought would be great to subtly guide him in this genre. You handed him the book and he put it on his sorted pile.

His little comment about wanting to know what made you blush made your heartbeat rise. These are the exact reactions you're supposed to get when you're on a date. But then a thudding twinge of sadness poked the bubble. A lump formed in your throat again.

This wasn't real. None of this was. You snapped out before it got too deep. But one look at the men and your heart betrayed you again. You knew you were going to cry yourself to sleep for the next few nights.

Steve pulled you and Bucky out of the bookstore before both you bought the rest of the store. You and Bucky giggled at Steve’s stern face when he put his foot down about not buying more than five books. He stopped Bucky from buying more than six books but he bought you at least eight, which was a lot more than you had actually thought.

Steve carried your book-filled bag in his hand and Bucky held his own, although Bucky wanted to hold your bag too.

You were standing on the sidewalk with them, cruising through the list, trying to narrow down to one more place before dinner and then goodbyes. You chose a park. It was a small park, not too crowded and very close to where you lived. You didn't need to tell them that.

While you were busy, something in Steve and Bucky told them that they needed to talk to each other but before they could, you swooped in with your idea of relaxing in the park.

Their hands involuntarily went for yours, keeping you between them and all three of you started walking to the park, occasionally joking and laughing at each other’s expense.

…………………

“I should've worn jeans. I don't know how to sit on the grass in a dress.”

Just a slight complaint and the two men removed their jackets. Bucky stood behind you and tied his jacket to your waist, covering your back. Steve stood in front of you and tied his jacket to your waist, covering your front. So now you were all jacket skirted and comfortable.

Both Steve and Bucky observed how tiny you looked between them. Sure, your height came up to their upper chests but you still looked very tiny, something worth protecting and staying.

They kept on sharing looks with each other. They both had things to say about you but they also didn't want to leave you alone. Their brain had, by now, completely accepted this to be the real first date.

The park was pleasant and so was the weather. You sat comfortably with the two men who told you stories about their good old days. You laughed, smiled and commented on their stories. But the twinge in your heart kept on reminding you that this isn't real.

There was occasional hand touching, hand holding and kisses on cheeks and foreheads. There was also leaning on each other to get comfortable and there was no issue in minding the proximity.

If there was a third person looking at the scene, they would surely say that the three of you looked very cozy. Too cozy for being in public. Someone’s hand was on someone’s waist, someone’s hand was on someone’s thigh and someone was all cuddled between the other two someones.

The evening passed by and it was finally time for dinner. You, being the smarter of the three, had made a reservation to a nearby restaurant that also overlooked the water and the bridge. You wanted the ending to be scenic.

Ordering what each of you were in the mood for, a silence spread over, again. But this time it was Steve who asked you a question.

“If you don't mind telling us, why just one date email? We never reached that part of our discussion.”

“Oh yeah. I'm sorry it completely slipped my mind.” You gulped down water and looked at them. It made you chuckle how eager they looked to get new information.

“Well, as I told you about my sad and pathetic love life, I started seeking more. Of course I can blame my love for romance books and movies but that's just not it. These unrealistic expectations that people talk about, I have witnessed them, in my own home.

My many cousins, who are married to their lovely partners, I see them. I have seen their love. They dont need to say ‘i love you’ or ‘you are fucking annoying but i will do this for you because i love you’. They show, they act on it. Our family isn't big on PDA but the occasional hand holding, hugging, even annoying on purpose screamed love.

These are the types of things I have read in books as well. So how are these unrealistic? Also, never in any of my past relationships have any of my friends told me that my boyfriend looks at me like I am the only person in the room. I can understand one or two but every single one of them?

I pretended all these years that it didn't matter. But it does. I'm not- I don't know how to say things so I show, say something else instead of what i actually mean and many times it's not that hard to ‘decode’. The last guy I was with said he didn't want a complicated relationship because I asked him to communicate better.”

You took a deep breath. This was turning into a rant. You didn't want that. You never wanted to show your sad and pathetic side to them.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rant. I didn't even answer your question.”

“Angel, it's okay. You can share anything with us. Go on. We know you have a lot to say.” Bucky put his hand on yours and rubbed your knuckles with his thumb to calm you.

“No- well, at least let me tell you why the email. So, i was tipsy and because i never got to experience the ‘in-love’ part of the couple, i thought maybe a famous person could put up an act for the day and i can get my fill. Then I can cry about my life again but I will still have this memory.” You shrugged and hearing you answering it very nonchalantly, their eyes widened.

“So, you are prepared to get your heart broken at the end of the day?” Steve was intrigued by your ideology.

“Yes. I mean, that is one of the reasons why I sent emails to actors. They can act and at the end of the day, the payment would have made everything settle in place.”

“But we're not actors.” Bucky sounded jealous. A tinge. Somehow he had pictured you, an angel, their angel, with some random man who wasn't even going to treat you right, even for the sake of a fake date. He hated that.

“Yes, well, like I said, I was tipsy. I sent emails to every guy I found hot.”

Before they could get a word out, the food arrived, putting a comma to the discussion. Steve and Bucky were seeing green. They didn't like the thought of you with someone else.

“So we’re just some lucky winners?” Steve wasn't very good at concealing his jealousy.

You flinched a little with Steve’s tone and Bucky put his hand on Steve’s thigh to calm him.

“No. This was not a competition. This was a ridiculous request by a drunken lonely woman who has never experienced love.” Your voice raised a little.

“Sure it wasn't a competition.” Steve’s sarcasm burnt you. “You did say yes to both of us when you had the chance to pick one. But no, you wanted us to fight over you, didnt you? This is the type of love you were looking for? A broken one?”

Steve’s words left scaring marks on your heart. He was right, wasn't he? You don't even know what love is while this man had been in love for a century with the same woman. He knew what love was and you didn't, you were just seeking a way to fulfill your dumb fantasies, which you did. You got to go out with two hottest men.

Tears had blurred your vision when you stood and walked out of the place without even a glance. You knew this would happen. The night was going to end in tears anyway. Why wait for dessert? You stumbled down the restaurant deck and wiped your cheeks forcefully. You were not going to cry in public. You started your ten minute walk home. A safe space.

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 5)

Word Count - 3.8

Summary - Honestly, there isn’t any plot to this one. Just sex.  

Tags/Warnings - 18+ SMUT,  Fingering, P in V, Oral, Unprotected sex, Edging, Size kink, Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn, Maybe a little bit of angst, Mentions of childhood trauma

A/N - I’m back baby...maybe 

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

It was just your luck that there was no hot water, and by the time you washed out the soap from your hair, your teeth were chattering uncontrollably. You could have sworn a minute longer and you’d have ice forming on the tips of your lashes. You couldn’t get dressed into your civi clothes fast enough, a thin but warm sweater and a plain pair of sweats. You packed for warmth and practicality, not seducing husky men, and some small bold part of you wished you had. 

Simon was already in the barracks waiting for his turn for a shower. His gear was in a neat pile next to the cot, and he had just pulled off his combat shirt when you entered the room. 

He truly was all power and strength, all solid muscle and hardened skin. He was built and bred for the battlefield and imbued with cruel intent. The tattoos that travelled from wrist to bicep were stark against his skin. If you stepped outside yourself for a moment you could see why so many men feared to cross his path. Yet, here he stood 15 feet away from you and not a single thought was one of dread. With you, he was softer, calmer. Even his usual rough tone settled into a smokey version of itself. He still carried a dominating edge with him but he never misused it with you.       

And…

And you were staring. 

He was crouched down at his pack when he finally looked over his shoulder at you. He had removed his mask and he looked just as good as he did when you saw his face earlier. If not better. If that was possible. His dark hair was unruly like he had just woken up from a nap. His face was dirty with a mixture of paint, sweat, dirt, and more likely than not, blood. He was unkept but more in a charming, alluring way. 

Oh, you were in deep. He had you wrapped around his finger and he was well aware he had that much sway over you. Still, he would not make a move until you made it very clear and unmistakable what you want from him. He would give you everything and anything you wanted, but not unless you told him.    

“There’s no hot water,” you willed the words to sound anything but bothered. 

His gaze dripped down your body, watched as your body shivered from the lingering bone-deep chill, “I needed a cold one anyways,” he tossed the dirty combat shirt into his pack and picked up the fresh one. Even in the low light, you could see every dip and angle of his muscles as he bent down. 

The summer night air might be warm but it wasn’t warm enough to warrant a cold shower, “Who would take a cold shower on purpose?” you made your way to your own pack, readying to set up your sleeping bag. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grabbed whatever else he needed from his bag before disappearing into the small shower room. On his way past you, you threw a clean pair of balled-up socks at him, which he unsurprisingly caught before throwing them back at you, “Smarten’ up.”  

“I would like to know,” you quipped just before he closed the door. It’s not like you’d die without an answer you just wanted to have the last word. The only reason he let you have it was because he needed to get out of the same room as you as soon as humanly possible. He needed the cold shower to 

The cold shower was null once Simon came back out into the room. The moment his eyes locked onto yours, he was just as frustrated and deprived as before. You could practically taste his want from across the room. Could see it in the way he stalked back to his side of the room, his attention locked on you.

He changed into a regular green t-shirt, the colour faded around the seams and fit snugly around his shoulders and chest, and green army-issued sweats. His still-wet hair was pushed back and away from his face.    

“You clean up nice,” you tested as you slid into your sleeping bag, your head tilting to the side. 

There was a flash of white teeth in the low light, “Keep that mouth of yours shut for me?” his words were more of a plea than an order. He moved to turn off the propane lamps, replacing the light was a singular red light torch which was better for concealment and stealth because it was harder to see from a distance.

“Easy, big boy,” your grin was fiendish, “I’m only making conversation.”

“Yuh huh,” he grunted back at you as he checked the locks on all the doors and windows. The final window was right above your head and after he checked it he crouched down beside you, the torch dangling in his hand between his legs, “You gonna be warm enough?” 

“Are you offering to keep me warm, Riley?” you shifted into a kneeling position, and still you didn’t match his height, your knees were almost touching his feet.  

His answering smile was wolfish, “I was offering you an extra blanket.”

“And,” you said slowly, “What of you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” It was hard to discern whether this desire was coming from someplace genuine or if it was the result of missing him and needing a distraction from today's events. Perhaps it was both. It was evident that he was wondering the same. You could see it in his eyes. The way they turned inquisitive each time you returned his attention. The way he would slow his approach and wait for your response, gauge your reaction.

Your gaze fell to his lips, imagining how they’d feel on yours, on your skin. His grin shifted to something more shy and he looked away, looking into the room's darkness. Another moment watching you and he would have jumped on you like a deprived animal. Which is why you had to take the first move. 

Gently you pulled the torch from his grasp, placing it up on the floor beside him. He turned to face you once more. With hands made of air, your fingers drove into his hair. The space between your lips felt too wide and too close at the same time. I felt like time itself was yours, like you were holding it in the palm of your hand, warm and heavy. This moment was well overdue.  

It was a whisper of a kiss. A timid gesture that the both of you leaned into. Pressed into. With trembling hands, his fingers curled around your waist, digging into the supple flesh there. The wanton groan that rumbled deep in his chest was gasoline to a fire. Your hands slipped down to the hard muscles of his chest and pushed him back into a sitting position. His free hand caught him just in time to break the fall. You were quick to move into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Woah,” he huffed, the crooked grin returning, “I’m not going anywhere.”    

“You always have something cheeky to say?” you hummed, hands encircling the back of his neck, running the expanse of his shoulders, his chest. 

“I’m working on that,” he leaned back on his hands, allowing you access to all of him. 

You lifted his shirt, just enough to sneak your fingers underneath. His skin burned and his muscles twitched beneath your touch, “A rather new development?”     

He was all enchanted compliance and keen submission for you, “It’s taken the back seat as of late,” his chest rose and fell rapidly as your hands grazed lower before returning to his chest. 

“Never took you for a procrastinator,” Your lips connected with his jaw, trailing lower and lower. 

The man underneath you was a complete juxtaposition from the man who prowled the battlefield and lurked in the shadows. Even with everything he was capable of, you felt safe with him. Felt secure. Protected. 

“I can’t think when you’re touching me, Darlin’,” When you pulled away his head was tilted back and his eyes were mere slits, foggy with lust. 

Right now, he was docile, but you wanted to see him get wicked for you.      

You lowered your hips onto his and rolled them. You were met with hard arousal and the compromising heat between your legs shot up your spine and into your throat. There was a synchronized moan that bounced between you and like a knee-jerk reaction a hand was braced at your hips. Your motions quickly turned feverish, both trying to match each other's desperate rhythm. It was all gnashing teeth, open-mouthed kisses, and shared breath.

With shaking fingers you tugged at his shirt, “Off,” you could hardly manage the single syllable. And who was he kidding, the few seconds he had to pull away from you to remove his shirt made him regret ever putting it on. 

You paused as you traced the hard tissue of his numerous scars, and wondered which was he acquired during his service and which ones he received from his father. He remained utterly still, even his chest ceased to rise and fall with breath. He was waiting for you to reject him, to recoil from all the imperfections. 

You leaned down to press a kiss to one of them, one that looked like it never had time to properly heal. Like the wound was ripped open over and over and over again. Then another kiss to the scar next to it. You couldn’t tell if it was your own heart or if his was so beating so loud you could hear it from where you sat. When you lifted your eyes to him you decided it was probably his you were hearing. His eyes were wide with shock and his swollen lips were parted in awe.

“Simon—”    

“I want this,” he gasped, “But if you’re not sure we have to stop now.” 

You would have to stop now because it’d kill him if he had to stop later. 

Your expression turned sultry and you removed your sweater from your body, revealing nothing but bare, tingling skin, “Be good to me.”

He moved on you like lightning, and with quick practiced maneuvering you were on your back with him cradled between your legs. Gone was the man who let you dominate him a few seconds ago. Calloused hands ran the length of your sides, up to your throat and held you in place. Though he didn’t squeeze your neck hard enough to choke, it was a tight enough grip to let you know that he was in control now. He sucked bruises into the sensitive skin of your collarbone, your chest. His tongue flicked out to lick apologies into the marks he left behind. His teeth scraped against your breast and your breath hitched in anticipation. 

But he pulled back, his head tilted to the side, “Since day one,” he murmured before raising himself to a kneel, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his own eyes, “Since the day I met you I’ve wanted you like this,” his heated gaze flicked to your face, your expression no doubt matching his, “Like that,” his voice trailed off and he lowered himself back down to you, “I’ve wanted you…” 

His skin against yours wasn’t close enough, it never would be. You needed him like you needed air. Like you needed laughter. You were starving for him. You were starved of him. There wasn’t enough time in the night for you to be rid of this carnal need for him. 

His mouth was back on your chest, nipping and sucking at you. You arched your back into his touch in a plea for more. More. More.

His breath caught between his teeth, his fingers lingering on your thigh. With anguished hesitance, he traced the scar and his head dipped to your leg. Your heart was hammering against your rib cage, begging to be let out so it could wrap itself around his. There was no need for words for you to understand what was going through his head right now. The guilt and bitterness that rolled off him heated your skin. 

“I thought you were dead.”

You were sure he was talking about when your vehicle blew up with you inside of it, “Me too,” you murmured into the dark room, fingers finding his jaw, guiding him back to looking at you. It was all you could do to offer him a weary smile, “But, I’m not. Because of you.” 

The man used his own body as a shield for you, carried you to safety and brought you back from the brink of death. Without him, you weren’t entirely sure if things would have turned out the same. Not that you wanted to think about it in the first place. 

His lips parted, his brows furrowing in preparation for an argument. You didn’t give him the chance to make one, bringing him back down to you for an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue licks at him to open for you, “No more talking, Riley.” 

His answering grin was enough for you, his thumbs hooked into the hem of your pants and pulling them until they were on the floor. He hissed at the sight of you, completely naked, before him. Those tortured dark eyes take in every curve and dip of your body. His dopy smile told you all you needed to know about how truthful he was when he said: “Since day one”.

He placed a chaste kiss on your mouth but quickly moved down the length of your body. It was like he couldn’t get between your legs fast enough, his previous hesitation had melted away with the heat you two made. 

“Oh,” you gasped as his tongue found your center, licking a languid swipe up. He placed a heavy hand on your chest meant to keep you still, while the other wrapped around your thigh to keep your legs open for him. You cover the hand over your chest with your own, squeezing and digging your nails in as he licked and sucked at you. You rolled your hips into him, legs curled around his shoulders and panting in desperation. He flattened his tongue against you, and you could feel your arousal and slick leak from you. Eyes squeezed shut and throat constricting with a moan. 

You were fiendish for him. You’ve been with men and women before, had both good and bad sex, but this…this was different. This was a release. Within seconds he had you at the edge, but he didn’t let you fall. Instead, he kept you there teetering back and forth.

He added a single thick finger, tracing the outline of your cunt before pushing it inside you. His mouth never stopped working at you, circling your clit. His digits curled inside you in perfect rhythm with your own motions. He was following the lead of your body, listening to the sounds you made and each reaction. 

Another finger stretched you, and your legs instinctively closed around his head at the feel of them pressing into your G-spot. 

“Ohmygod,” you tossed your head back, arching into his touch. You were shaking and twisting in his arms, your climax was right there. 

His fingers left you feeling empty, his arms forcing your legs from his head. You were spread out, soaking, and aching beneath him. Annoyance and discomfort bubbled up into your throat, “You fucking–” you started only to be cut off when he dove back into you, his wet tongue exploring the inside of your mouth. 

No more talking.            

He didn’t need to say the words. He pulled back only far enough to pull his cock out from his pants. You had your fantasies and imagination to guess the size of him but whatever you would have come up with wouldn’t have compared. For a second you contemplated backing out. He was going to split you in half. You swallowed, the arousal between your legs becoming unbearable. 

You needed him. Now. 

“I’ll be slow with you,” he huffed, his eyes following yours. He wrapped a hand around himself, making long, slow strokes. Precum beaded at the head. Any other day you’d take your time licking that up for him. 

Words betrayed you and it was all you could do to nod at him. 

“I need to hear you say it, darlin',” he groaned, his entire body quaking with deprivation. 

You dipped your fingers to your core, dragging the slick across your stomach, “Please, fuck me, Simon.”

His answering moan was beyond seductive. He rocked into your cunt, wetting himself on your arousal. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sliding across your pussy, pausing where he would have bottomed out if he were inside you. The tip of him reached your belly button and you slid your fingers up the slit at the head of his cock. He jolted, pulling back ever so slightly. Then he lined himself up with your opening. He pushed just the tip in, stopping there to allow you time to adjust. Pulling out. Pushing in a little further. Pulling out. 

You wrapped your leg around him, forcing him in all the way. He swore at the sensation of you being around him. You bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and the stretch burned. 

“You okay?” he immediately cupped your face in his hands, eyes searching your face. 

With an experimental movement of your hips, you managed, “Just move. Just move.”

Simon heeded your plea, drawing out before sliding back in. You could almost feel him in your throat, you felt so full of him. You had to time your breath to match his rhythm, if only so his reentry wouldn’t knock the air from your lungs. He leaned down to you, his arms on either side of your head. With every stroke, you could feel him hit your cervix, and every time it elicited a crude moan from you. 

“Atta girl, you’re taking me so well,” his gaze burned at where you two connected, watching himself disappear and reappear. You pushed his dark hair back from his face, wanting to see every micro-expression he made. His attention whipped back to you, a roughish smile spreading across his lips, “You’re so beautiful.”  

His speed picked up, his breath catching with every pump. You felt your climax swell up again and you clamped down around him. He licked a stripe up the column of your throat, placed burning kisses up the curve of your jaw, and sucked welts into the sensitive skin on your neck. Sweat beaded on your chest like the firey heat inside your core was making it’s way to your skin. 

He wrapped his arm underneath you, arching you further into him. His large hands encircled your waist, pulling you into his cock. The angle was too perfect. Your eyes rolled and it made you see stars. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, the absolute ecstasy ripped any sort of coherent word from your tongue. 

His thumb came to rub fast tight circles on your clit, ushering you to your orgasm. You twisted in his grasp, writhing at the sensation. It was too much and not enough. He was too much and not enough.

“Cum for me, baby girl. Show me how good I make you feel,” his slightly pained expression revealed his own proximity to his ruin. He’s been waiting for this moment since the moment you met and he’s been on edge around you the entire time. He was struggling to keep himself railing you into the floor. Until there was nothing left but tears and whimpers. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not yet. You needed more time to get used to him. You needed time to memorize the shape and size of him. 

The band he pulled taut inside you finally snapped and your body stiffened. Your orgasm crashed into you so hard that you forgot your name. There was only one thing on your mind and it was him, the feeling of him. The sound that came out of you was one of crazed bliss and pleasure. Your body developed a mind of its own and you tried pushing his fingers away from you, the stimulation quickly becoming too much for you to handle. 

He shifted his position, one hand holding your legs around his hips and the other supporting his weight, fingers gripping at your loose hair. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck. His breath was warm on your skin, sending tingles all the way down your legs. You clawed at his back, nails leaving behind angry red lines. He relished in the pain. Prayed whatever marks you left on him would never heal over. He would keep coming back to you for more. He was inside you and still, he felt like he needed you closer. He needed you under his skin. In his lungs. The mere thought of you made him half wild. His relentless pace never allowed you the time to recover from your last climax as another rose from the depths. 

He murmured sweetly in your skin, “One more.” 

Like the words were gospel, you obeyed them. Tightening around his length you came again. His own release followed, pulling out the last possible second. With a strangled moan, his hot cum covered your stomach and dripped down the sides of your thighs. 

The two of you stayed like that, entangled in each other, fighting for breath. He placed a tender kiss on your jaw, then another on your mouth, “You feel way better than I imagined you would.”

You grinned at him, “You think about fucking me a lot?” 

“Only every time I jerk off,” he leaned back on his heels, his eyes devouring you, “I think about you all the time actually…” he tilted his head to the side, “and not just about how good you taste,” using his discarded shirt he began to clean up the mess you two made. Wiping all the fluids and cum from your body. He was so gentle with you. So delicate. Like he was afraid that if he spoke too loud or moved too fast you turn into dust. Blow away with the breeze. 

You sat back up, bringing his face back to yours, “Shower?” Your hair was still damp from the last one you took, but circumstances called for it. 

His face seemed to light up at the invitation, and his eyes darkened with mischief.  

Masterlist

A/N - Just recovering from a minor surgery my bad for the delay

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[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vodika🤗🤗

Congrats on 800 followers🎉🎉🎉

Is it possible for a request to have the scavenger hunt with either one of the nulls or with delta squad. (Sorry I know you said pick a clone but I cant😭 so please have the creative freedom) also if you can make it fluffy as a cloud that would be amazing.

Thank you and congrats again!!!!

Counting Stars

Summary: When Scorch tells you he has a surprise for you, you expect the normal kind of surprise, a snack or something like that. Normal things he’s gotten you in the past, you don’t expect a scavenger hunt.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x F!Reader

Word Count: 982

Prompt: Scavenger Hunt

Warnings: Very fluffy, you've been warned

A/N: So I couldn't go into detail about the scavenger hunt, not without going over the word limit, but I hope you like it anyway!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

This has to be your favorite time of year, when the leaves start to change colors, and the miserable heat of summer fades into the more comfortable temperatures of autumn. 

Sure, it gets chilly occasionally, but that's what you have sweaters for.

Today you’re clad in a yellow sweater dress. It’s new, and you hope Scorch likes it. It took you ages to find a sweater in his specific shade of yellow, after all.

But, he’s late.

He said that he would be here at 10, and it’s now 10:30 and he hasn’t even sent you a message saying that he’s on his way.

You’ll wait for him. Of course, you’ll wait for him, he’s worth it, but it’s still annoying to not hear from him.

Warm fingers brush against the back of your neck, and you jump slightly, before tilting your head back to look up into the grinning face of your boyfriend. 

“Found you,” He jokes as his arm slides around your shoulders and he gives you a slightly awkward hug.

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face, Scorch never fails to make you smile, it’s one of the reasons you love him. “Was I lost?” You reach up and lightly brush your fingers against his cheek, before tapping the tip of his nose.

“Nope, I just like finding you,” He drops a loud kiss against your cheek, and then hops over the back of the bench and eagerly tugs you to your feet, “Are you ready for your surprise, cyare?” He’s grinning like a schoolboy and his excitement is contagious, as you start to feel the same amount of excitement.

“I do like surprises,” You reply as you slide your hands into his. You look him over, “Is the surprise a place?” He’s not carrying anything.

Scorch’s grin broadens, “Close your eyes.”

You do as he asks, and then crack open an eye to peek at him.

“Ah! No peeking!” 

You giggle as he presses a hand over your eyes, and you reach up to wrap a hand around his wrist, his skin is warm and you can feel his pulse racing as if he’s nervous about something. “You seem nervous, lover boy.”

“I worked hard on this surprise,” Scorch replies. You hear him move around slightly, and then the sound of paper unfolding. Then Scorch moves his hand, “Alright, open your eyes.”

Once again, you do as Scorch asks and open your eyes. Your gaze immediately falls on the paper he’s holding in front of your face. You tug it from his hand and hold it so you’re able to see it properly.

“A gift awaits you at the path, to find your next clue go to the place we first met.” Your gaze snaps to Scorch, “A scavenger hunt?”

“The others helped,” Scorch admits with a sheepish grin, “I promise the reward at the end is worth it.”

“Mm, do I get hints?” 

“If you need them. I doubt you will, though.” 

Honestly, you don’t think you will either. Not if all of the places are related to your relationship with Scorch. So, you flash a bright smile at him and take his hand, “The place we first met was that little bookstore near the spaceport.”

Eagerly, you tug him down the street, heading toward your favorite bookstore.

Once there, the owner hands you a second slip of paper with a kind smile. That clue leads you to the park where you and Scorch had your first date.

Upon arriving at the park, Sev appears, tucks a red rose behind your ear, and hands you the third clue before he leaves. This clue leads you to the university you attended when you and Scorch first started dating.

Your old professor supplies you with the fourth clue, which leads you to the lake where you and Scorch shared your first kiss.

Fixer is at the lake, and he hands you a thermos full of your favorite caf, as well as the next clue before he too leaves.

By the time you receive the last clue, from Boss, the sun is starting to set and you’re starting to get hungry. But you want to see the scavenger hunt to the end, so you lead Scorch to the clue location.

It’s only when you arrive that you realize that you and Scorch have never been here together before. 

You’re at a small fountain, far removed from the bustle of the city. It’s quiet and peaceful, and you know you’ve never been here with Scorch before. Still, maybe you’re misremembering.

So you release his hand and poke around a little bit.

But, there’s nothing.

“Mm, Scorch? I think there’s been a mistake. There’s nothing—” You finally turn to look at Scorch, and your words trail off.

He’s on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, “I was hoping that this place would become important for us,” Scorch replies with a nervously excited smile. 

“Scorch,” You are not going to cry, even though you can feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

His gaze locks with yours, “I love you. I’ve loved you since the day I first met you. And I thought that a walk down memory lane would be a good preface to this,” He absently lifts the ring box, “So, cyare, will you marry me?”

You don’t answer, but then you don’t have to. Because as soon as he finishes his question you tackle him in a tight hug and crash your lips against his.

When you break the kiss, you’re beaming at him and you’re perched on his lap. Scorch’s arms are tight around you, and he’s a little breathless and hazy-eyed. “So,” He says, “Is that a yes?”

You giggle and bump your forehead against his, “Silly man. Yes, I’ll marry you. Nothing will make me happier.”

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[genji-centric]

hi!! may i please get a uh ram nsfw alphabet or even a junk nsfw alphabet😁 ur pick💕

Ofc!! I'll start off w Ramattra l, I got some Junkrat requests you can look forward to in the future ^^

Ramattra NSFW Alphabet

MDNI!!! NSFW under the cut!

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ramattra isn't one for.. bonding after you both finish. He's more relaxed than he usually finds himself, for an act so simple he was surprised to feel.. almost complete. Of course, he doesn't let his mind wander. He's a leader and can't waste his day alone by your side. But after being so rough, well, he can't just abandon his little pet human. He would carry you to the bathroom and draw you a bath, make sure any aches and sores are taken care of before he departs. Maybe once he reaches his goals, he could set aside time for you, make you an important part of his day even.. but for now, that's the only care you will receive.

B = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ramattra is an omnic, cold, and robotic. Due to his build, he is powerful. The upgrades with his nemesis give him strength others could only dream of. His wit is beyond most humans he suffices, and he's one to pride himself on his parts. But his favorite is his hands. With them, he can upgrade himself as he so pleases, hold the staff he brings to battle, pin his favorite pet to the wall as he thrusts from behind whispering insults as you sob. On you? Well.. all humans are the same in his eyes, but you.. you are different. He can't choose a certain part that's his favorite. If he kept the thought in mind, he would settle of how.. squishy human flesh is. How easy he can mold you into positions.. that's what he finds enjoyable the most.

C = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Ramattra doesn't cum, in fact he finds the idea rather.. unpleasant. Just another thing about humans he couldn't help but despise. Such organic ways of reproduction are messy.. and reproduction only creates more soldiers to harm his people. Yet his ideas can shift, for being a monk in the past, he has learned to change his ways. With a mind open he can find a sick pleasure in your cum, he doesn't which to be covered. Oh no, he likes bending you in ways where you get your fluids on yourself. It's demeaning, but that's the case for many moments with him.

D = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ramattra.. well, he never saw himself having such relations with a human. Something so.. simple didn't catch his eye. So he still feels a bit odd when he holds you, gropes you, claims you. You, to him, is his dirty secret. He doesn't want other omnics to know he fell for such a thing, a human? Him? The idea is preposterous, so for now, your lives are kept private. But one day, he oh so wishes to free the little secret and claim you on the factory floor of the Null Sector as others look on to such a display.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ramattra doesn't.. only because of you he gave those omnic enhancements for human relations a try. But believe me, he learns fast. During the first time, it only took gentle guiding before he was already rearranging your guts while saying filthy things in your ear. You would've thought he was highly experienced, but no, Ramattra would never share the fact he spent how long researching human anatomy for this.

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes control, Ramattra wants to be the one in power. He bends his little human around as he so pleases. An ironic change of power, instead of the humans in control, it's him, the omnic. If you forced him to answer. He'd laugh and say, "What a petty question," before he would give in. His favorite is doggy, forcing your face into the pillow while he pounds at a harsh pace from behind, watching the curve of your ass jiggle from how hard he was going.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He isn't humorous outside of the bedroom. Inside is no different. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't laugh, oh no. He would laugh at you, your reactions, how fragile humans are.. how needy they are. "Ha. Already all sensitive? Weak. You humans can't even handle such little time with a thing you crave.."

H = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Ramattra doesn't have hair. Unless you count the wires he has, but he doesn't actually have hair, let alone pubic hair.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ramattra isn't one for romance. But you.. well, he can make an exception just this once. After a strenuous day, watching armies go into battle. There's nothing he wants more than to see his little pet.. ironic how that is. After taking out the stress of the day on you, he's content to just hold you. Pet your hair and whisper sweet nothings. "You did well.. very well." Simple compliments are the world coming from him, Ranattra is no romantic lover. But during those soft moments, he feels like any person's dream.

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he first installed the.. enhancements he got. Of course, he had to try it out. The sensors.. well, they were a strange feeling but somewhat pleasant. When he felt something.. start to tighten, he grew concerned there was a malfunction, something he needed to fix. But he continued, and he found himself being pushed over the edge. Like his motherboard overloaded for a moment before this feeling of pure, relaxion hit. It was enjoyable, and if his little pet human isn't there to help him out, he might use his hand once more.

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ramattra is well.. he thought things such as sex would be simple. It's just an act, nothing more.. right? He was soon to find out there was much more than just the act itself, emotions, positions, and even different kinks. At first he didn't want to expierement, but he found himself getting rougher and enjoying it. Without telling you, he looked into the more.. extreme parts. Hard domination peaked his interest, along with bindings. After trying them out, he learned he loved to deny you, making you whine and cry for your release. It pleases him, making a human beg for his mercy.

L = location (favorite places to do the do)

He's a private man, opting to claim you in your bedroom or his quarters. Away from any prying eyes, away from judgment. He still feels a small bit of embarrassment knowing he fell for a human. It isn't directed at you, but it feels like a weak point in what he fights for. So he just wants to keep his time with you private, just for him to enjoy.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Ramattra wants to say he doesn't crave sex like the pet he has.. but that just isn't true. After a long day, leading his army, meetings, and so on. He needs to release his stresses of the day into you, to rut into the tight, warm walls he grew to love. He loves watching you grow needy over him, using his legs to hump against like you were in heat. Just how desperate you get over him is that it turns him on more than anything.

N = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn't want to be subservient to a human, no. Omnics have already had to bend to the will of humans to be cast as monsters once they had the freedom of choice. Being told what to do.. getting told by a pet of his wjat to do. It's just not something he will entertain the idea of. He wants his little pet to he obedient, not him.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ramattra doesn't have a mouth. Even if he did, he wouldn't waste such time with a lowly human, even if it was you. But oral for him? There's nothing he wants more than to put his little pet human in it's place on their knees below him, only allowed to please him.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Ranattra isn't one to be soft, especially on a human. When he gets to have his way with you, he calls the shots. And he prefers it to be fast, rough, and make it so you can only focus on him. It's a way to pound all that stress into his own little human of his own, but on the days he accepts the fact a human has his heart then.. well, he decides to be slow. To enjoy the warmth you bring, the sounds you make.. all just to admire. All so different, but all so unique.

Q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Ramattra isn't one for quickies. If he wants it himself, he will take his time. Some things just can't be rushed. But if his pet is being particularly needy, then fine, he will give in just once. He won't admit the fact he enjoys he has the ability to make someone desire him in such a way, it's a boost in pride for him.

R = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Fighting wars is risk at its rawest form. Sending troops after troops to battles the machinery used would need to be rebuilt time and time again. Ramattra is used to risks. It's what he does on a day to say basis. This is why he wants to keep his time with you private, with little risks of being caught or putting you in danger. He wants to be in control of everything entirely. If there's the chance something could go array, he is not interested.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As an omnic, his stamina is nigh infinite. He can go for as many rounds as he so desires, and he uses that to his advantage. Each time you two have sex you are left disheveled, tired, and sore. He can also last as long as he wants. He has control over himself. Ramattra is mean but isn't heartless. He will listen if you truly need to stop.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He sees no purpose in using toys. He is right there, so why do you need a small bit of silicone? Because Ramattra is an omnic, he can switch out parts as he needs. After his favorite little pet has been rather.. obedient, he decided to treat them. As he started the process of preparing his little human to take him, his fingers began to vibrate. It was sudden, but felt oh so good. After hearing the noises you made, Ramattra decided he would happily install more.. erotic functions to his body.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

As a former monk, he knows patience. He has spent years of his life dedicated to meditation, waiting. His skills he still practices, the patience helping him plan each move carefully. And how long he can hold himself from you, he can go weeks without touching you. All while whispering about how your treat is soon to come, he wants you to disobey.. to touch yourself behind his back. His teasing is all with the goal to punish you. All humans are weak minded.. unlike him. So go on, he wants you to give into those selfish human desires. It isn't unfair. He just wants to prove a point.

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ramattra isn't one to moan. Be loud, and give you the impression he's enjoying himself. You are more likely to hear him make noise on the battlefield over the bedroom. That's just how he is. When he's close, he would let out some grunts, but when he crosses the finish line, he goes quiet and enjoys the feeling. He would much rather listen to you.

W = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If he succeeds in his goal, giving omnics power, he believes they all deserve he will settle down. He doesn't wish for a pure domestic life, but he truly does wish to have you by his side as his lover. To keep you on a pedestal by his side, his favorite pet human. He wants nothing more than to show you off, to claim you in front of others once he doesn't have to worry about appearances.

X = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

After you came into his life, he learned more about humans. More than he ever wished to. Out of curiosity, he looked into omnic and human relationships and was surprised there was.. certain upgrades for such cases. He kept it a secret, but Ramattra had located such an upgrade. The.. device is purple in color. Made of silicone, with ridges from the base to tip. It's both squishy and firm, with wires he connected to his other sensors. Ramattra was genuinely surprised he could.. feel such sensations, but after getting the upgrade, there is no going back.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Ramattra in an omnic who holds off on more.. indulgent activities. Only you had made him even entertain the idea of such obscene actions. To which he tries to ignore the need, but after getting a taste, he finds himself fantasizing about taking his little pet human more and more. But he holds large amounts of self-restraint, only he knows how often he dreams of indulging such.. peculiar activities.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Ramattra doesn't need to sleep, but when he's feeling rather.. tender, he will hold you close and let you rest in his arms. You look so small compared to him, and he feels protective. If you can fall asleep as he holds you, he will sit in silence. Meditating and enjoying the moment of silence you share.

[onyxonline]

Ranks in the Space Riders

So I did one for the bad guys, time to one for the good guys! Just like the Cult, our Space Riders also have a chess like hierarchy, but with a unique twist to them!

The King= Elliot Ludwig himself, the man behind the organization that keeps the universe from being fully taken over by The Prototype, he takes the symbolism of protector and leadership seriously, but unlike the king piece, he does not remain stationary, as the Space Riders' station/main HQ is actually constantly on the move!

The Queen= Poppy Ludwig! she's a versatile and strategic young lady that essentially carries the organization as a whole thanks to her outstanding knowledge of literally <everything> that has ever existed! She may not be a physical warrior, but her intelligence is what has allowed the Space Riders to fight against the Prototype!

Rooks/ Captains= Rooks are described as fortresses, defense, and stability, and that's what the captain's role is for. They're essentially the tanks that ensure the safety of their crews. Captains are usually celestials as well, an example of a Captain would be Dogday, who leads his Critters Crew.

Knights/ On-Field Riders= These are crew members that specialize on heading out on the field, they are expected to engage in combat when needed, and are usually the ones that get their hands dirty. Examples of On-Field Riders are Catnap, Kickin, and Hoppy.

Bishops/ Informants/ Medical personnel/ Archivists= WOW that's a LOT of positions, that's because instead of a religious perspective of bishops, I like to see it more as the support that work in the background. These are the people that while not fighting the cultist, help in different ways, like providing medical aid, getting information, retrieving and recording information, etc., etc. Examples of these type of riders are Bubba, Bobby, Picky, and Crafty

Pawns= None. Everyone in the Space Riders organization are incredibly important in the eyes of Ludwig, specially in this game of chess, he knows he cannot afford to lose his pieces against the prototype, therefore, the meaning of pawns has been rendered null for years now.

OTHER RANKS:

Trainees: These are the young, soon-to-be space riders that are currently training to become one! they are not just combat based but also trained on other skills too! The age range is strictly from 16 years old and they graduate in their 20s, that is when they either get picked by an older crew, or they form one themselves!

And there you guys go! ranks for the space riders, hope this helps!

[aglennco]

Constellations from our group's game of The Prophet's Path for our campaign, Post Solar. Transcriptions of the text plus the image of the star map are under the cut:

Prelapsarian: A Prelapsarian will believe themself capable of anything, enabling them to look past antiquated perspectives to usher in new ideas, but they must take care not to reach for the sun. When working alone they often find themselves in over their head.

Compatible: Commitment Avoid: Redeemed Lucky Numbers: 2, 22, 36, 48, 52 Notable figures: Stele of the Compassion, Jack of Guts, Eschaton Elegy

Embrace: Embrace wants nothing more than to keep the world safe in its arms. They make noble leaders who will devote themselves to building a more just world, sometimes at the cost of their own happiness. A too tight Embrace is painful for everyone involved.

Compatible: Harlequin Avoid: Prelapsarian Lucky Numbers: 4, 8, 10, 12, 44 Notable Figures: Mercadier de Nulle, Mortis of the Blood, Anthem Rebis, Oranges-for-Breakfast

Chase: Children born in the grip of the Chase are masters of their field. They seek to endlessly improve at their chosen work, but they never forget to have a bit of fun in the process. Other Constellations may mistake gaiety for a lack of responsibility if the Chase mixes work and play.

Compatible: Prelapsarian Avoid: Succession Lucky Numbers: 6, 22, 33, 44, 66 Notable Figures: Juni of the Compassion, Abacus the Weasel, Dr. Temple Shrine, The Prophet's Sister

Flight: Flight cannot abide standing still for too long. There is always something to do and somewhere to be. They may be quick to flee but they are always the first to discover something new. If they forget to rest, it is easy for them to overlook what they love.

Compatible: Chase Avoid: Prelapsarian Lucky Numbers: 8, 9, 14, 55, 69 Notable Figures: Conifer of the Miracle, Captain Ache, Wing and a Prayer

Harlequin: The Harlequin has a pronounced sense of duty that allows them to patiently pursue their goals. While they are often a gregarious Constellation, they are not good communicators. They must learn to choose their words carefully to avoid misunderstandings.

Compatible: Embrace Avoid: Chase Lucky Numbers: 1, 3, 4, 16, 18 Notable Figures: Hart, The Miracle, Cardinal Meridian

Succession: Change follows Succession wherever they go. They don’t seek revolution, but they won’t follow old rules for tradition’s sake. Following their own path might hurt those they love most if they do not take care to explain themselves.

Compatible: Triskelion Avoid: Burr Lucky Numbers: 24, 30, 40, 48, 60 Notable Figures: Jori, Captain Montmercy, Mourning, Glory

Redeemed: Redeemed knows its time will always come, if they can weather their opposition. They know what the world needs before the world itself realizes it. If they restrain themselves from carrying grudges they will eventually find themselves with like minded companions.

Compatible: Loss Avoid: Triskelion Lucky Numbers: 4, 9, 13, 17, 39 Notable Figures: Juri of the Compassion, Syllophane

Triskelion: The Triskelion is known for its wicked heart, but it is not doomed to tyranny. The Triskelion is three hearts made one: the traitor, the lover, and the lost. If they can find balance between their natures, their heart will allow them to achieve many noble deeds in the face of disbelief.

Compatible: Flight Avoid: Serpent Lucky Numbers: 3, 4, 21, 30, 52 Notable Figures: Jaci of the Compassion, Old Bones

Commitment: Those born under Commitment devote themselves to their beliefs. They are unshakable and loyal, but struggle to respect those who do not share their outlook. They must take care not to commit themselves to that which would never let them free.

Compatible: Serpent Avoid: Embrace Lucky Numbers: 5, 23, 34, 41, 53 Notable Figures: The Lost Angel, Solstice Sixtine, Joli of the Compassion

Serpent: The most mutable of the Constellations, the playful Serpents desire companionship and warmth. They trust those in their embrace to always have their best interests at heart. When that trust is broken, they repay the deepest wounds with the sharpest bite.

Compatible: Serpent Avoid: Loss Lucky Numbers: 2, 8, 15, 38, 65 Notable Figures: Hercif of the Miracle, Hercun of the Miracle, Estell Manor

Loss: Those born under the sign of Loss start the world with nothing, but they have everything to gain. The children of Loss will do anything to obtain more than the Constellations ever dreamed of achieving. A Loss is never a setback: it can only sharpen their desire.

Compatible: Harlequin Avoid: Loss Lucky Numbers: 0, 1, 31, 68, 70 Notable Figures: For Felinus, Valentine Egress, Lorelei, The Prophet, Kotowari

Burr: The Burr is stubborn and ambitious, seeking an indulgent life of their own making. They pursue their goals with single minded focus and must take care to pay attention to the schemes of those who might take advantage of their drive.

Compatible: Loss Avoid: Commitment Lucky Numbers: 7, 13, 19, 37, 55 Notable Figures: Iola, Sophia, Captain Hardwood, King Burr, Errol Clay Frick

[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.

[mothiir]

Hcs about Marshal Ezra pleasepleaseplease

do they count as hcs if it is my character? anyway here are some fun facts, below the cut because the list got long because i love this man:

isaiah caused some awkwardness when he discovered that red hair was technically a mutation - his brief one-man crusade against the unfortunate ginger serfs only ended when marshal ezra shared a very rare pict of him in his youth, with gorgeous auburn hair. isaiah never thought to ask why ezra now had salt and pepper hair - thus meaning that ezra did not have to disclose that he used to dye his hair, because the ladies loved a redhead

speak of: yeah, you heard that. marshal ezra is too old for this sort of nonsense now, but he knows first hand that space marines are not sterile. he has five adult children. fourteen grandchildren. two great-grandchildren. none of them have been officially claimed as his offspring, but they have their suspicions, mainly because despite having five different mothers they all have the same hard jawline and steely grey eyes. his genes do not fuck about.

yes, five children with five mortal women. he was doing his duty and serving the emperor by taking care of the needs of the civilian populace. by attending to their widows. and one time with a woman who was already married to a planetary governor. that one did cause some problems, but that was a long time ago.

despite what you might think, the mothers of his children all get along very well. they may come from different backgrounds but they all share the same qualities — steely-spined, clever, devout-but-sensible. they have a book club and compare notes.

despite the fact that isaiah really really annoys him, he respects the boy tremendously — he sees a lot of potential in him. however, he thinks that reuben is a far better candidate for being marshal one day, since reuben has at least a passing knowledge of how humans work.

he firmly believes that the emperor has sent him on a holy journey. he does not see this belief as clashing with his frequent habit of having conveniently timed revelations from the emperor, depending on whatever he thinks is the best course of action of the time. the way he see it, if the emperor objected to him occasionally fabricating a vision, the emperor would strike him down where he stood. he considers his continued success as all the proof he needs of the emperor’s favour.

he really does not get along with the inquisition. inquisitors assigned to his crusade have a nasty habit of vanishing somewhere, or turning out to be heretics. he encourages the local inquisition to send their best and brightest though, and makes a big show of being eager to work alongside them. the more experienced ones are learning to be cautious of him, even if they can’t officially say why.

he is not a blank himself, but he’s fairly certain he carries a dormant version of the pariah gene, given his own unusual ability to withstand psyker attacks. that and the fact that five of the fourteen grandchildren have turned out to be nulls of one kind or another. two of them are sisters of silence, another two work in the administratum (enjoying the fact that most of their colleagues do not like coming near them, thus making them incredibly and unusually efficient), and the last is the attendant of a commissar. the last one is always welcomed at the family reunions, even if they do encourage him to stand by a window, since the smell is a little bit much. no one is entirely sure where the smell comes from. it just seems to manifest.