#partial rat body part

[freckleslikestars]

The X Files Quotes that I say/reference so often that I’ve had to make gifs of them part 2/?

[singeart]

kisses for scratches 😘

[saintsylestine]

STORY TIME

Author side note - wanting to practice writing the predator-prey dynamic. Nothing actually happens here but I hope I can get your heart pounding (´ｰ｀).｡*･ﾟﾟ[pls lmk if i do actually get your heart going] feedback is helpful. I wanna get good at writing tension.

Cw: potential blue balls, stalking/being cornered/chased, a feral astartes enjoying the hunt, first person POV

The Chosen

There was something behind me.

I hadn’t heard it. Not exactly. Not at first.

But I knew.

I’d been working long enough on this ship—crawlspaces, collapsed decks, half-buried servitor pits—to trust my instincts. And every fiber in me was now screaming that I was being followed.

Not chased.

Followed.

Stalked.

Was there anything I could do about it? Not really, no.

So I didn’t run. Not yet.

Because the moment I ran, I knew I’d lose.

The passage I’d taken wasn’t meant for human movement. It was part of the old cooling matrix—sealed off decades ago, except for rats and ghosts. The air smelled of machine-oil and long-dead wires. Dust fell from above every time the hull groaned.

My boots were soundless. I’d learned how to walk that way. Heavier crew didn’t.

Astartes didn’t either.

But I heard nothing behind me. No footsteps. No breathing. No sound at all.

There was however, a presence. A large, looming presence.

Every time I checked over my shoulder, it was clear.

But this notion of something massive. Something crushing, breathing down my back persisted.

And somehow… that was worse than being chased.

Because I couldn't stop the feeling from growing.

*Tick*

A vox? I spin on my heel to face the darkness that was behind me.

And I see them.

Two eye lenses. Red. Piercing through the almost pitch black darkness. Centering right on me.

Every muscle in my body stiffens. My eyes widen. I don't blink. My hand instictively falls to the pistol on my hip.

Too slow. The lenses turn off.

It's dark again.

I still haven't blinked. Am I hallucinating?

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I'm trapped.

I stood there, unintentionally. Stupidly. Jaw hanging open and a body jerking shudder starting to run up my right hip. I shook, visibly. My brain stopped functioning. The fear had permeated my subconscious, rendering me useless. I was just prey.

He knew that already.

Something creaks in the distance, or moves in my periphery. I hardly notice, but it's enough for some primal hindbrain instincts to kick in.

It urges me to move.

So I continued forward, as quietly as I could. As gracefully as I could, taking care to not disturb even a spec of dust from the ground. But it was too late.

Something had changed.

The air felt warmer now. Thicker. Each breath I took dragged heat into my lungs, and I didn’t know if it was from panic or the thing that was shadowing my every step.

I turned a corner. Another. Counted doors. Vents. Dead ends. My palm was slick where it rested on the sidearm at my hip, but I didn’t draw it. Not yet. Not unless I wanted to announce that I was ready to die.

I kept my pace steady. Kept my head down. Eyes up.

I passed a warped mirror panel bolted to the wall, half-covered in old warning glyphs. I paused for just a breath, enough to glance—

There.

A shape, just at the edge. A shadow with definite mass. High. Taller than any crewman. Wrong in the shoulders. Too broad. Too still.

The mirror blinked. Or maybe I did. The shape was gone.

I didn’t breathe again until I reached the sealed junction at the end of the hall. The bulkhead was partially powered—enough to slide open when I pressed the pad.

Inside: pitch black.

I stepped in.

Didn’t turn on my light.

Didn’t dare.

Because I felt him now. Near. Even nearer than before.

Like a storm waiting to break.

I didn’t move. I listened.

And in the dark, I hear it:

A breath.

Long.

Slow.

Pulled through flared nostrils.

He wanted me to hear this.

He was scenting me.

The realization made my chest seize. I bit my lip to keep quiet. Not out of fear he’d hear me—he already knew where I was. No. I bit down because some terrible, shaking part of me felt like my body had betrayed me.

I was responding.

Terror spiked through me—but it was tangled in something else. I didn’t understand it. Couldn’t. Not yet.

But he did.

He was waiting for it.

And then—behind me. Not even a sound. Just space being filled.

I feel a wall of heat against the back of my neck... then a breath from above.

I freeze.

Then nothing. I hear nothing.

A voice didn’t speak. A hand didn’t grab. Nothing.

But the silence is the worst part.

Because I know he's smiling.

And I can’t move.

I barely blink and the breathing above my neck is gone—but the heat stays. That awful pressure. Like a second skin pulling tight around my own.

I reached for my light. Slowly. Silently.

It clicked. Nothing happened.

Dead.

Of course.

I don’t turn around. Something told me not to. Everything told me not to. If I looked, I’d see him. And if I saw him—what?

I’d scream? Run?

Be torn in half before I reached the door?

I closed my eyes and listened. Not to the sounds. There weren’t any. But to the feeling crawling under my skin.

I didn’t know where he was. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t need to. He wanted me to break first.

A hiss of recycled air whispered through the vents above, stirring the edge of my hair. My heart was thundering, pounding so hard I could hear it in my teeth.

Then—scrape.

Above.

Metal shifted—deliberate, slow, dragging. Not mechanical. Not wind.

Claws.

Or gauntlets.

I backed away from the center of the room, hand still on my weapon. My knees trembled, heat radiating off my chest like I’d just been running for miles.

And then I heard it.

*Tap*

Not boots. Not heavy. Just the idea of a sound.

In front of me.

*Tap*

Then behind.

I turned—lightless, blind. Nothing.

The room was empty. I was sure of it.

But I was wrong.

My left hand brushed the bulkhead—and my fingers touched flesh.

Hot. Smooth.

Not fabric. Not armor. Skin.

And then it was gone.

I stumbled back, hit a wall I didn’t remember being there. But it wasn’t a wall.

It was him.

Solid. Immovable. Taller than any man I’d ever met. I could feel the size of him without seeing it. Heat radiating from his bare chest—he’d removed his armor.

Why?

Why would he take it off—

I turned, too slow.

Nothing there.

Nothing but breath that wasn’t mine, heartbeat that wasn’t mine, and the smell of something ancient, burnt copper and sacred oils.

And then something touched my ankle.

Just one fingertip.

Slow. Deliberate.

Tracing up the inside of my calf.

I screamed—shoved myself backward, fell over a crate in the dark. My flashlight clattered to the floor, blinking once, just once, before dying again.

In that blink I saw a shadow. Too big.

Wrong-shaped.

The faintest outline of a figure crouched low, eyes glowing faint gold—like a beast.

I scrambled to my feet, lungs seizing.

Run.

I ran.

Into the dark, into corridors I didn’t recognize anymore.

Every footfall behind me silent. Every breath I took louder than a gunshot.

And still—somehow—I could feel him getting closer.

Not with speed. But certainty.

He was letting me go again.

He was playing with me.

Like a cat with something not quite dead yet.

...

I didn’t know how long I’d been running.

Every breath I took burned.

There was no sense of time down here—just metal and steam and my own ragged breathing. The corridors twisted wrong. I kept looping back. I swore I passed the same half-melted control panel three times.

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop. If I stopped—

I turned a corner and froze.

There was a handprint on the wall.

Pressed deep into the dust. Five fingers. Broad. The size of my entire face.

No, bigger.

Fresh.

Facing down.

..

He’d stood here. Waited. Let me run in circles while he watched.

My stomach twisted.

Something was wrong with the lights here. Not just broken—sick. The lumen-strips flickered in unnatural rhythms, like they were syncing to a heart that wasn’t mine.

I backed away. Turned. Started walking slower, more careful.

Then I heard it again.

Not footsteps.

Breath.

Not labored. Not tired.

Enjoying.

Drawn in through teeth. Slow. Like he was tasting me from a distance.

He was closer than I thought.

I ducked into a service duct. Crawled—fast. The heat in the shaft was suffocating. My skin stuck to the metal. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pray.

A voice in my head kept whispering:

He’s not behind you.

He’s already ahead.

I stopped. Pressed my back against the inside of the shaft. Tried to steady my breathing.

And then I heard it.

Not outside. Inside.

Behind the thin wall of the duct. Inches from my head.

*tap*.

Drag.

My throat closes.

*tap*.

Drag.

The noise gets closer and closer to my head.

I pressed my hand over my mouth. My eyes blurred from tears I hadn’t realized were there.

And then—

A shadow passed by the slit in the duct wall.

No armor.

Bare flesh.

Pale.

Covered in scars.

I stopped breathing.

Why wasn’t he armored?

Why the fuck—

His hand brushed the outside of the duct. Fingertips trailing, searching.

He knew.

Then—a whisper. Not from his mouth. Not from lips. It was inside the duct with me.

A voice carried through the metal like it had been sunk there hours before.

“I've tasted your fear in the air for weeks. It's sweeter now.”

I screamed.

Fled the duct, scraped raw, sobbing. I didn’t care about quiet anymore. I just wanted light. A voice. Anything.

But I knew now—he didn’t want to kill me.

He wanted me to know what was coming.

To feel it every time I ran.

To want to stop running—because stopping meant the end of the waiting.

I slammed through a half-opened maintenance door. Emergency lighting flickered. A narrow room—empty except for racks of tools and an old vox-station.

I locked the door behind me.

Turned.

And saw it.

Something folded neatly on the floor, right in the center of the room.

His armor.

Laid down like ritual. Like offering. The massive warplate still fresh with battle scars, blood-smears across the chest.

And on top of it—

A single black glove.

Still warm.

Still shaped like a hand.

And a note.

“The armor waits. Just like you.”

I stood in the middle of that narrow room, staring at the armor laid out on the floor like a corpse prepared for a funeral.

Or a wedding.

The plating was still stained. Scratches scored deep through the pauldrons. Blood—some old, some fresh—spattered in thin lines across the chest. And the black glove? It looked like it had been peeled off and left there warm. Still curled.

Still reaching.

The note… I didn’t want to touch it. But I did.

The paper was rough. Old. It had that greasy feel of parchment that had sat in someone's pocket too long—worn soft by heat and sweat.

“The armor waits. Just like you.”

My stomach clenched.

That wasn’t a taunt. That was satisfaction.

This wasn’t about chasing. Or scaring. Or hunting for fun.

This was ritual.

I backed away. Slowly. Not out of caution now, but because I felt watched. Like someone was just on the other side of the wall, mouth inches from a vent, eyes never blinking.

My gaze crawled around the room. Looking for something, anything, that would tell me I could still wake up from this. That this was just adrenaline. A dream.

But I saw it.

On the wall—scratched into the metal. Barely visible unless the light caught it just right.

A name.

My name.

Dozens of times. Carved over and over. The metal dented in from the pressure of the blade that must’ve done it. Each one more uneven than the last.

That was the first moment I forgot how to breathe.

I stared at it like a prayer etched in a tomb. Like if I just understood what it meant, I’d survive.

But I already knew.

This wasn’t a mistake.

He didn’t find me because I wandered into his path. I wasn’t a lucky target. Not some human curiosity he picked up along the way.

I was chosen.

Long before this.

How long had he been watching? Weeks? Months? Did he memorize my schedule? Know which maintenance routes I liked to take when I was trying to be alone?

Had he walked past me before, armored and silent, pretending not to see the way I looked up and held my breath whenever they passed?

Had he picked me then?

And waited.

Waited until he could shed the armor.

Waited until I was somewhere so deep, so far beneath the systems of this ship, that no one would hear me scream.

I looked back at the armor.

It was too neat. Too intentional.

Like he laid it there knowing I’d find it. Like a man preparing a bed.

I covered my mouth with both hands and sank to my knees.

Not sobbing.

Not yet.

Just shaking.

I didn’t know what terrified me more—

That I was trapped.

Or that he wanted me alive.

I sat there on the floor, knees drawn to my chest, fingers pressed white-knuckled to my mouth. The room stank of oil and dust and him. That strange, chemical scent like sacred oils mixed with copper and something sharp underneath.

Every breath I took felt heavy. Wrong. Like the air was being used by something else before I even inhaled it.

I hadn’t moved. Couldn’t.

The armor hadn’t shifted. The note still lay beside it. That glove—still curled just slightly. Like it was waiting to finish closing around something.

The silence was back.

But it felt different now. Not empty. Not dead.

It felt full.

Like the air had been replaced with him.

I didn’t look up right away.

Something deep in my gut screamed that the moment I lifted my head, something would change forever.

But my body moved anyway.

Slowly. Like sleepwalking.

I lifted my face from my knees and looked forward, toward the armor.

And there he was.

Standing.

No door had opened. I hadn’t heard a sound.

He was just there.

Tall. Massive. Built like a cathedral wrapped in skin. Bare from the waist up, pale and scarred like marble left out in storms. His chest rose and fell in that slow, animal way—not tired, not winded. Just measured.

Like he was calibrating his breathing to mine.

His face…

I didn’t want to look.

But I had to.

He was beautiful in the way predators were beautiful. Strong jaw. Hollow cheeks. A mouth made for violence. His eyes were wrong. Too pale. Too bright. Focused on me like he was reading thoughts I hadn’t had yet.

And his mouth—

Gods.

He was smiling.

Just slightly. Barely enough to notice.

But it was there.

A small curve of satisfaction. Hunger. Victory.

I couldn’t make my body move.

He stepped forward. Silent. Bare feet against cold metal. His hands were relaxed at his sides, long fingers twitching slightly, like he was holding himself back.

The room shrank.

My body shrank.

I felt small in a way I never had before. Not just in size. In presence.

Like I was meant to kneel here. Meant to be seen like this. Afraid. Quiet. Waiting.

He stopped in front of me.

Close. So close I could see the thin sheen of sweat on his collarbones. Scars—dozens of them—mapped his chest like battle had tried and failed to erase him.

I opened my mouth.

No sound came out.

He crouched. Slow. Smooth.

Predatory.

His head tilted, the way I’d seen wolves tilt before the lunge. He was eye-level with me now, and I realized that even crouched, he was still taller. Broader. Unstoppable.

I could smell myself in the air. Not arousal—just terror. My sweat. My breath. My fear curling like steam between us.

He inhaled.

Deep.

Slow.

Then again.

His eyelids fluttered. Just slightly. Like he was savoring it.

Not just my scent. Not just my fear.

Me.

And then he finally spoke.

A whisper. Gentle. Measured. Meant to touch me without his hands.

“Now you’re ready.”

I shook. Visibly. Shamefully.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock.

He just watched. Patient. Starving.

And I knew—I was never alone on this ship.

Not really.

Not ever.

I’d belonged to him the whole time.

___________________________________________

Ah we've made it to the end! Thank you for getting this far! Any thoughts/feedback is very appreciated! Be honest with me - Is the spacing weird?? It doesn't feel right to write in long winded paragraphs but spacing each line out also feels... wrong?

One day when I am more confident writing I will write about the beloveds (Sanguinius, Emperor, etc.)

Also - I'm so sorry about the changing tenses ...(*/∀＼*) I will keep it in mind for the next story.

[ghrgrsfdesfrfg]

Archived information about experiment 1876 : the Rat King

Experiment 1876 alias « the Rat King » was created in 1993, first experiment of his kind alongside the prototype, the reject and the [REDACTED] (information heavily redacted and only accessible to the CEO) to be made as an « animatronic » rather than a toy to be displayed or assigned somewhere in the company but rather to work with the security of Playtime,Co.

The Rat King is part of the bigger body initiative but despite the name « bigger body » he measure 2m20/7,21’t in size, his body consist of an exoskeleton housing all of his components and systems such has his optics and radar-ears, To protect his body the choice was made to use a mix of carbon and metal allowing him to remain flexible, agile and resistant to damage.

EARLY LIFE :

The Rat King former’s identity was that of Thomas Freuer, a child who’s mother worked for playtime but had an unfortunate car accident leaving the child an orphan and taken by playtime, despite the loss of his mother he remained a confident child full of charisma and optimism who liked to take care of other and often younger children, He would often take punishment instead of other children to protect them from harm, this attitude and loyalty toward his friends was thought to be used in the Initiative hoping his caring and loyal nature could be used to do the company’s bidding.

Playcare’s workers and counselors noted his friendship with Clara cindram, when she was taken for her own procedure he offered himself in her stead, proposing himself to save her.

PROCEDURE AND WORK FOR PLAYTIME :

Thomas, now know as the « Vigi-Rat » (who was later called « Rat King » by an employee) started to work right away, taking his security and combat training with surprising ease along with retaining nearly all of his cognitive functions, his targets were often « troublesome elements » (read : employee who did/found something they shouldn’t have) or other toys, often mini-critters, who went ferals or tried to escape.

His body allowed him to briefly scale walls, run quickly or silently stalk a prey thanks to the servos installed in his leg’s joint, his claw likewise help with tearing or slashing said prey or obstacle while his radar-ears (a personal favorite of Dr Sawyer) allowed for easy tracking, echolocation or even noise separation to focus on the desired noise, his eyes called “optics” could use theirs high-resolution and partial night-vision to help him see in the dark or over long distance to make sure his target doesn’t escape.

His tails was built for balancing his body but was “allegedly” used as a whip to be another weapon while the mouth was lined with teeth easily capable of cutting through skin, he is also running on battery power who then allows for prolonged periods of time without needing to recharge further prolonging the time spent working.

Trivia :

-His surname of “Rat King” came when a prison guard sent to team up with 1876 called him the Rat King thanks to his performance and stealth but the nickname truly stuck when 10, much smaller Rats (1m/3,2’ft) were built to join him in his work, he was then called the “Rat King” by every employee who knew of him.

-The others Rats who followed him were strangely obedient and responsive to his commands and were often seen all together where the King often talked to them.

-Many employees and guard questionned the use of a Bigger Body in a position of guard due to the possible resentment that 1876 could’ve harbored toward the company, however no such disloyalty was ever found.

-1876's stealth skill were famed amongst the guards who claimed he was so stealthy that he could follow unsuspecting employees for prolonged periods of time while other talked about the sheer horror they felt when pointing a light somewhere in a dark room and seeing his body.

-1876 was really close to 1632 the “train driver” or Eudora as she was called, she was actually Clara Cindram and the Rat King’s fury was such when he found out that he had to be confined for 2 days before finally calming down and asking to see her.

This is the first story i've ever written, especially for an OC so don't hesitate to tell me what you think of it and/or add suggestion in the comments (the picture isn't mine, found on pinterest, credit to whomever it belongs to)

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

You'll Never Learn

Simon "Ghost" Riley X John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny could feel his heart slowly crack in his chest as he stared back at Simon, lips parted as he struggled to come back down into his own body.

a/n: ahhhhh! I'm finally writing and posting again! i deeply apologize for basically not posting in forever but writers block and depression hit together, this was heavily inspired and also partially written(via our texts lol)by @gaylemonshark so i hope you all enjoy! tw: mentions of abuse, heartbreak, no happy ending

Johnny wasn’t an idiot, he’d always known he could talk for longer than anyone cared to listen. It was a habit he’d been unable to break since childhood. He understood why he did it as a child, chattering away about his newest obsession to his Ma as if she were actually listening to him for once.

She snapped on him for the first time when he was just over five years old. Her face nearly beet red as she yelled and screamed about how ‘he’d never shut his trap! Always yapping her damn ear off’.

Johnny learned not to talk to his mother much after that, instead turning his focus over to his father. He liked helping him whenever the car needed fixing, or even when he’d sit down with some whiskey. His fathers anger was scarier, the shattered glass on the floor a reminder of his failures.

“Do ye ever stop talkin’?! Aye, I feel like you don’ even listen anymore!”

Johnny stopped talking much after that, only answering when it became necessary. It didn’t matter if he was surrounded by his closest friends, or his family. 

He’d learned early on that no one would ever want to listen to him talk, so why waste his breath?

It was easier being in the military, having to keep his mouth shut unless absolutely necessary. No one needed to listen to his stupid stories, what good would it even do?

When he’d been chosen for the task force, keeping his head held high as his new captain, John Price, introduced him to the team. 

They’re just your teammates, they’re not your friends.

The words ran through his mind like a mantra, a subtle reminder that he couldn’t let himself get close to them. Sure, they made him feel welcome and like he was more than just a part of the team.

It’s all lies, Johnny. Don’t fall for their tricks, they’ll abandon you just like everyone else.

He’d need to at least be friendly with the team, lest they worry and think he’s a rat. Last time that happened he’d nearly been discharged. His Pa would’ve had his hide if that happened.

It started out innocent enough, enjoying a pint with everyone, the scent of beer and smoke filling the air. The lines around Simon’s eyes deepened with every laugh. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Damnit! He’d been doing so good lately, keeping his nose down and ignoring any feelings that could come up. Lord knows his father was ready to beat him black and blue when he’d found out he liked men.

Johnny had wailed, told his father he still liked women as well. It just landed him in the army so he’d be able to finally escape the abuse. No one needed to know about that, he didn’t need their pity.

Unfortunately, Johnny was never good at listening to his own advice.

The first time he’d spent the night in Simon’s bed, he was sure that he’d met Jesus. His legs shook from the aftershocks of the intense four orgasms that Simon had forced out of him. He claimed it was a one time thing, assuring himself it wouldn’t happen again.

Until it did.

The second time wasn’t as rushed, they took their touch exploring the other's body, searing kisses lingering long after they’d fallen asleep. The taste of smoke and liquor was heavy on his tongue, though the faintness of Simon lingered in the back of his throat.

Johnny could deny it no longer when they continued to fall into bed together, finally admitting to himself the feelings he had for the bigger man. One time was an accident, two times was simply his own fault.

It took too long for him to begin to open up, telling Simon little things about himself here and there. How his mother always made the best bread, or how both him and his sister broke the same arm at the same age. The conversations were kept to a minimum, Johnny refusing to talk Simon’s ear off and annoy the other man. Worry creeped up along the back of his neck each time they began a conversation.

It didn’t matter how many times Simon said how he liked hearing Johnny talk, or the lovestruck gaze on his face as Johnny told him silly childhood stories. None of it mattered, he wouldn’t let Simon hurt him the way everyone else in his life had. Hell, he’d refused to even open up to his Captain or the other Sergeant in the task force, his Lieutenant wouldn’t be any different.

Johnny, why don’t you let Simon see you for who you truly are? What’s the worst that could happen?

As the months slowly turned into years, Johnny’s shell slowly began to crack, their conversations becoming longer as Johnny helped fill the silence. Anyone who knew Simon would know he didn’t like to talk often, so if he truly didn’t mind Johnny’s yapping, then why not?

Their missions went by with ease, Johnny filling the silence when he knew they weren’t in any sort of danger. The conversations were mindless, just a way for them to pass time until they either reached their destination, or were picked up by evac.

In that time, Simon never once complained about Johnny’s lack of filter. Whether it was cracking jokes and telling stories, or simply just talking about the mission at hand. It felt good to finally be seen, to know there was at least one person out there that would simply listen.

The sky was overcast as Johnny sat up in his bed, Simon already up and about for the day so he could get some of the much needed paperwork written up. He debated for a few minutes whether or not he should go and keep Simon company. On one hand he knew how dreadful and boring writing up reports could be, on the other he knew Simon sometimes did them to help ease his mind from their latest mission.

It was an easy mission though, why not see him for a few minutes at least? What’s the harm in seeing your boyfriend?

Nodding to himself, Johnny grabbed some clean clothes and quickly changed, making his way down to Simon’s office where he was typing away. He knocked quietly, softly whispering the other man’s name as he stepped inside the office.

“Come in.” Simon didn’t so much as glance up as Johnny walked inside, shutting the door behind him before heading over to the lone chair on the opposite side of his desk.

“Didn’t know if you wanted any company, I can go if you’d rather be left alone.” Johnny gestured towards the door he’d just walked through, not wanting to impose and anger Simon.

“Y’re fine.” Simon waved him off, almost as if the other man wasn’t really paying attention.

Johnny started on another story from his childhood, one that he hadn’t told anyone, he’d been confident he would take it to his grave, and yet here he was, telling Simon. The words spilled out like word vomit, his lips moving faster than his own brain at that moment. The memories played through his mind like a movie, a reminder of how much his father despised him.

SLAM!

Johnny jumped out of his seat immediately, heart racing as he stared back at Simon on the opposite side of the desk.

“Jesus! Do ya ever shut your goddamn mouth!?” Before Johnny could reply, unsure if he even wanted to, Simon cut him off again. “I swear! All you ever do is talk! I can hardly ‘ear myself think!” Simon’s chest fell and rose harshly, his brow furrowed as the wrinkle between them deepened. “For once in your life, shut the fuck up!” Simon spat harshly, lip pulled back in a snarl.

Johnny could feel his heart slowly crack in his chest as he stared back at Simon, lips parted as he struggled to come back down into his own body. He slowly closed his mouth, jaw hardening as he slowly came to terms with his reality.

It didn’t matter how much someone claimed to love him, he would always need to hide a part of him to be more palatable. No one would ever be able to love John MacTavish the way he deserved.

“I understand, sorry for wasting your time.” Johnny’s words were clipped, tone sharp as he turned and made his way out of Simon’s office before his superior could come to his senses.

Simon watched as Johnny walked out, heart rate slowing until he was calm once more. The harsh reality of his words slowly beginning to sink in. He’d seen how shy Johnny was when he first joined the task force, having assumed that Johnny was just nervous around the other men. His eyes widened in horror as Johnny’s story began to suddenly make sense. 

He never talked about his parents, or his sister, or even any of his friends from when he was younger. Never wanted to talk about anything until Simon told him he liked talking with him, it helped fill the silence.

God, Simon was such an idiot.

He’d destroyed Johnny’s trust in him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to repair that.

[k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl-wr1t1ng]

The M3duS4 Protocol 

Part 1.0

Rubble shifts and slides under slender pointed feet. The dark haze of night shrouding her swift movements through the crumbling streets, the abandoned machine world silent around her as she darts from shadow to shadow. Her almost impossibly dark chassis perfectly suited for infiltration and stealth, reduced now to slinking around like an old world rat. Void pauses as she reaches a jagged opening in the floor in front of her, the edges of the pit’s yawning maw partially melted and gnarled. Void’s sensors begin to scan and calculate, she has no idea what weapon could have caused this damage but she does notice its trajectory, all the damage bent outwards, towards the sky. Whatever it was came from bellow and fired out, and hopefully, if she’s lucky, continued that way itself. She knows she has to decide quickly, spending as long as she has inside such an active zone without an encounter is a miracle, and she’ll need a few more if she’s gonna make it out intact.

A silent sigh escapes her body, she cant afford to stay out in the open any longer. Gingerly she starts her descent, every step carefully placed as to not create any noise, the pile of metal left over from whatever rampaged through here making a convenient staircase down into the dark under-city. Her sensors carefully scanning the room as the sky above her is replaced by thick metal. Her nimble body quickly swallowed by the total darkness of the streets below.

Without the natural moonlight lighting her path, and the thick machined walls insulating her from the world above, Void now relies solely on her other sensors to navigate. Her infrared scanners detecting nothing but the cold, lifeless metal all around her. She could easily get lost down here, with thousands of identical rooms and rundown corridors all it would take is one slip up. Void forces the thought from her CPU.

We need to focus

Continuing along her path she continues to scan each branching pathway for a potential exit, unsure what such an exit would look like, but remaining confident she would know it when she sees it. The dark corridors feel almost alien to her, the old world used to be so fascinating and incredible. She would spend hours studying everything about it. In the hopes that it would make her more capable, better at keeping everyone safe...

Just stay calm, we can alwa-

A loud clanging rings out from beneath her as her foot collides with something she hadn't noticed laying in her path. The sound reverberates off the walls, no doubt alerting anything nearby of her presence.

Fuck

Void freezes in the growing silence as the sounds bouncing around her fizzle out, every sensor in her body working overtime in a desperate attempt to detect any reactions to her fumble. Bitter memories rise up in her memory banks, flashes of a similar situation, decades ago, forever burnt into her core, pain and fear elevating throughout her system in equal measure. Distorted screams impossible to forget.

A heavy force slams into Void’s left side, distracted in the depths of her own memories she didn't sense it approaching until she was already halfway to the ground. Her light, metal frame slams hard into the cold, unforgiving floor as the force in her side crashes down with her. Scrambling under the weight above her, panicking as she gets her hands beneath her chassis, the lithe body of her assailant slowly coming into focus as her sensors turn towards it. A lightweight, civilian frame containing a mess of wires and rusted metal, two poorly connected arms on either side of its torso grasping and scratching desperately towards her.

“Get off me!” Void screamed, hoping in vain that it would understand.

The bot opened its mouth in what looked like an attempt at communication but all that escaped its throat was the sound of ancient parts grinding together, its voice module long since decayed. Not that communication would have helped her. The frenzied movements and ancient design indicated clearly what she feared, the bots core had already completely destabilised, its body acting on nothing more than instinct and impossibly faded memories.

Flailing desperately Void gives the bot a shove with all the strength she can muster. Despite the civilian design it doesn't budge, the four arms and angle of approach giving it a significant advantage.

Knife

Void scrambles to keep the clawing hands at bay as she reaches her free hand down to her thigh, a small click and the outer casing slides apart revealing a small compartment containing a dark metal rod. Clumsily she grasps at the bar, forcing it into her grip. Almost instantly, as if knowing the danger present, a slim blade slides out from within the dark steel. Quickly she takes the blade and thrusts it as hard as she can into the closest shoulder. Something bursts inside the bots body as the blade tears through it, a dark liquid spurting out of the wound and any gaps within the already damaged chassis. The bot, seemingly unbothered by this explosion, continues to grasp and claw into her armour. Void braces her other arm against the bots chest, remembering her training, and slams the knife back down. This time into the exposed wiring coiling up its neck. Almost instantly the bot buckles above her, both its right arms collapsing to the floor, its torso falling flat against Void’s chest.

Sensing her moment, Void pushes with all her might against the partially disabled bot, her body sliding out from underneath it. Clambering to her feet she breaks into a sprint down the corridor, her mind spinning as she desperately tries to escape the now dangerously noisy area.

Synthetic adrenaline surges through her system as she dismisses several warning alerts flashing across her visor. Her panicked movements desperately working to get her as far away as possible. Struggling in the dark she finally spots a branching corridor to duck down, her feet sliding and sparking against the floor as she drifts around the corner, almost slamming into the opposite wall.

Peaking back behind her as she runs, another warning burns through her system, this time a proximity warning. Confusion fills her core, quickly replaced by fear when she turns back to face a burning bolt of plasma rushing towards her, almost the width of the corridor. She dives to the ground, the impossibly scorching heat partially colliding with her left arm as she falls. Another flurry of warnings rocket through her as she once again slams into the hard metal flooring.

Looking up with a long, distorted moan, Void attempts to discern the source of the projectile. She suddenly makes out a large, hulking form limping its way towards her. Six crab like legs straining to hold up a heavy weapons platform, an incredibly ancient warbot. Its design so old it could only have been built during some human war, long ago lost to time.

Multiple targeting lasers circle the dark space, most of them slowly coming to focus on her centre mass, a few others pointing off in seemingly random directions. Void drags her limbs closer underneath her in a desperate attempt to stand and fight. Her servos screaming at her as they fail to give her what she wants. Void sighs, accepting her fate, letting herself think back to those deep, desperate memories. Her body failing her now as it did back then.

I’m sorry

Before Void is able to fall too far into her shame, the entire floor lurches beneath her, a deep rumbling pulses through her body. A deafening explosion roars from somewhere behind her and the entire space around her is shifted and distorted. Void is thrown from her prone position forcefully into the ceiling, before dropping back down onto the now rapidly collapsing floor, the structure disintegrating and warping around her faster than she can process. Watching as the ancient warbot across from her is sucked through the floor, its towering form swallowed by the darkness below.

Attempting to avoid a similar fate, Void thrusts her knife deep into the wall in front of her. Almost as quickly as the knife enters the wall does the floor crack and sunder beneath her, being torn away by whatever force propelled the explosion. Her entire body briefly suspended in the stale air. Gravity quickly takes hold, her form plummeting downwards before jolting to a stop, anchored to the wall by her blade. Her relief is short lived as her her arm is torn from its housing, shorn wires sparking, lighting up the darkness as she falls fast. Warnings and alerts fill her vision, her entire system screaming at her one final time as the impact ruptures something within her, sensors and servos lose power almost instantly, her consciousness only seconds behind. Her limp body pathetically falling through the dark before thudding into a metallic surface one last time.

~~~~~

I'm currently saving up for a tattoo (as well as just trying to survive) so if you wanna support me know it would go to a hot as fuck tattoo hehe - Ko-Fi

[tomorrowxtogether]

TAEHYUN: “I wish happiness for the people who made me feel happy”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback interview

2024.11.14

TAEHYUN never speaks in a roundabout way. The idol doesn’t mince words, and there’s something tender about that.

You spent some alone time at the Hangang River a little while back. What do you do when you go there? TAEHYUN: I buy my choice of drink, a caramel macchiato, and go in search of serenity while I sip it to get the taste of sweetness on my tongue and take in the peaceful scenery with my eyes. It doesn’t really inspire me so much as it just sort of feels restorative. I just feel good when I do that.

You’re probably so busy that you only get little bits of time here and there, but what would you want to do if you could carve some free time out of your busy schedule? TAEHYUN: I’d have some of that serenity I just mentioned, and work out, too. I’d probably just do the same things I do in tiny bursts now but be more relaxed about it. Right now I exercise when I have little breaks, like when I’m done for the day.

It seems like working out’s pretty much a part of your routine. TAEHYUN: It’s so routine for me now that sometimes I don’t even know why I’m doing it. It’s like how gym rats work out with no end goal. (laughs) It’s helpful for my posture since I start hunching over if I haven’t worked out in a while, and anyway, if I go straight home after work, I feel like I haven’t done enough. (laughs) I like how it keeps me ready to go and makes me feel productive.

You even keep it up when you’re on tour, running to stay in shape or working on your abs for “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock).” TAEHYUN: We did around 30 shows and I showed off my abs every time. (laughs) I showed them once on tour in Seoul and then I thought people might feel left out if I skipped it anywhere else. I started getting more into food somewhere down the road so they’re slowly disappearing, but I’m trying to keep them around one way or another. (laughs) It hasn’t been easy. I make myself run until I’m out of breath when we’re on tour because it challenges me in the exact same way as performing. I don’t know if it really helps since I’ve never not done it and therefore don’t have data on it, but I believe it does.

Boxing, on the other hand, seems like something you’ve kept up a long time not for keeping in shape but just for fun. TAEHYUN: Boxing isn’t something where you can slow down when you get tired. If your opponent ups their pace, you have to, too—but you’re just as much an obstacle to them. If you’re not fighting for a title or to make it into a competition, then there’s no risk of getting hurt, so it’s a great way to break a sweat and get in some cardio. You hear sports like these called chess played with the body. Even if you’re not as good as your opponent in some ways, you’ve still got a shot at winning. What makes it so enticing is how you have to hone your skills in order to be powerful.

What does it mean to you to be powerful? TAEHYUN: It means a lot of different things. There’s some boxers who are strong for their weight class, and some who can shut out the crowd when they’re on their opponent’s home turf and win. I think it’s partially mental like that. There’s people who make a plan and work toward their goal, avoiding any obstacles standing in their way—people who don’t fall apart.

It feels like that’s your approach to your work in some regards. TAEHYUN: I’d say so too. Those are the kinds of people who get up in front of tons of people at the pro level. We’re similar in that we get up onstage and show everybody what we’ve got after working at it for a while.

How do you find touring after working at it for a while? It’s been about two years since you resumed in-person touring. TAEHYUN: It feels really overwhelming at first. When you find out how many shows there are, where you’re going, and get the set list, it’s seriously … (laughs) I mean, obviously there’s fun parts, but you’re running in an unflattering way to get through the walkways underneath, and sometimes you just feel like, Let’s get it done, or, Time to go change—I will survive. Then there’s parts where time flies, especially when you first get a mic in your hand. It’s all about jumping around and having fun together. Going around and getting hyped with the audience happens spontaneously. That’s when it gets exciting.

I found what you said about your first online fanlive event on weverse LIVE really memorable: “When the camera’s not on me, there’s nowhere to see me. It was crushing.” TAEHYUN: That was a really weird period, since now there was no way for people to know what I was up to when the camera wasn’t on me. But there’s always somebody looking right at me when we do shows in person. In those cases, I have to be capturing the mood of the songs at all times, and I can’t tuck my clothes in right away if I need to or rub my eye if something gets in there. There’s a lot more I have to pay attention to, but they’re all minor things. I’m always going to feel grateful as long as people are watching me.

You also put a lot of effort in for the tour in regard to your vocals, right? You seem to keep challenging yourself and experimenting in your own unique way. TAEHYUN: Yeah, totally. (laughs) I make minute adjustments, like, How can I make this easier? How can I increase my chances of success? How can I minimize damage to my throat? I try to feel how my body changes every time I do. Even for the sound, I’m in direct communication with them to try and get things right during rehearsals. When you’re recording vocals, you can do it over and over to get it right, but you’ve got people watching you at a concert, so you have to be confident you can keep your vocals steady 10 out of 10 times. I asked our producer Slow Rabbit once if we could bring the key down so it wouldn’t be so hard to sing so hard live (laughs) but eventually it worked out anyway. There’s nothing you can’t do if you just practice. If I can’t do it, it means I didn’t try hard enough. Anything is possible.

You sing several ad libs in The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY that give a real sense of your vocal style. Do you feel like you’ve developed your own style while recording vocals now? TAEHYUN: Recording feels more familiar to me now, and the producer and I can practically read each other’s thoughts now, so it's a completely stress-free experience. But there’s one thing that’s always on my mind. I love so many different genres. I love knowing their histories, singing them, and listening to them. But choosing what suits me is a huge challenge. I’m confident I could handle anything they throw at me to 70 or 80% quality, but there’s nothing I feel confident I could do at 100%. I don’t really know if I’m doing a good job of finding my own style, but knowing people can pick out your voice is something that makes any singer happy and appreciative. It’s a really good sign.

I personally felt like only you could pull of the “Forty One Winks” intro. TAEHYUN: We recorded that in Japan during the tour, and before the parts were assigned, I heard the song and asked the producer if I could do the first verse. I said I’d crush it. (laughs) So he said okay and I got to do it, and on the first day of recording, I immediately nailed it. I felt confident about that part: This is how it should go.

You’ve also been writing lyrics for a while now. How’d it go with this new album? TAEHYUN: I have a lot I want to write whenever I think of something that would be really fun for TOMORROW X TOGETHER to sing. The idea behind “Danger” is sort of cliché, but we hadn’t done something like that before so that actually made it fun. What was unusual this time was that we were out of the country so I couldn’t take my preferred approach of opening up a bunch of windows on the monitor in the studio and writing on my phone. It was a new experience for me to not settle down in one place and write. I wrote “Danger” on a plane, “Resist (Not Gonna Run Away)” in a car. I have a tendency to drag things out when I’m in the studio sometimes, but when I’m on the go, I end up writing faster sometimes because I feel like I have to get it all down before arriving—like the ETA’s now the deadline. (laughs)

The lead single “Over The Moon” has a more straightforward message than previous songs. How did you capture your interpretation of the song? You strike me as someone who really needs to understand what they’re singing. TAEHYUN: It’s way more straightforward, but there’s still one line I’d like to hear MOA’s interpretations of: “Let’s make an ancient future.” I need their help because I’m curious how listeners feel about it. (laughs) I guess “Over The Moon” is first and foremost about feeling good. Visually, the sense of freedom is important. I also hope anyone who sees it feels like we’re steady and talented—so much that it’s like, Huh? They’re so eye-catching—I can’t stop thinking about them! If people feel like, These guys are so uplifting—who are they?, at the end of our performance, I’d say it’s a big success. We have to bring out the subtle allure to achieve that. The vocals need to be so good they sound fluid and flexible, and the choreo flawless.

Doesn’t trying to have that kind of allure make it that much harder? TAEHYUN: It’s way harder. (laughs) We reduced the amount of group dancing and filled that time with individual choreo instead, which took a lot of work. All group choreo takes is good stamina and a lot of rehearsal time—this approach takes exploration and gut feeling into what makes it look cool. I think we’ve reached that point in our career now. It’s something people who perform 30 shows at a time can do. (laughs)

You’ve always been the type to practice as hard as you can and just as confidently say so. Is that the case for this album, too? TAEHYUN: Yes.

You sound very sure of yourself! (laughs) TAEHYUN: I put in everything I’ve got within the time available. That’s something I feel I should do. It’s just one of those obvious things. I feel a huge weight off focusing like that. Doing my best means putting my heart and soul into it until I feel that nothing will change no matter what might happen. That’s what doing my best means, I think.

That’s something only someone who has poured everything they have into their work can say. What’s there waiting at the end of all that hard work? TAEHYUN: I chose this path because I love being onstage and love singing, and now I’ve achieved that, but there are times when it becomes necessary to have goals. I want to set loftier goals—I want to do and reach for lots of things under the name TOMORROW X TOGETHER—the five of us and MOA together. There’s a lot I need to uphold for the fans, like sharing feelings and promises. We didn’t pinky promise, but still. (laughs) I want to keep going with our group for a long time, and in order for that to happen, people need to keep checking us out, which gives me a sense of certainty. Having some goals and achieving them lets us feel like we’re really doing a good job and heading in the right direction.

You’ve been with the other members for eight years now, which is over a third of your life. TAEHYUN: That’s true. And I’ve known YEONJUN for nine years. Now, even when we’re working out how to move, we don’t need to say much—like, “Two? Three?” That’s how we ask whether to stand at the second or third marker on the stage. We’ve reached a point where we can talk entirely in nouns.

I could sense how close you are in episode 144 of TO DO X TXT, “Abandoned Stars,” when the older members were being protective of you even though they were equally scared. (laughs) TAEHYUN: I felt there was still kindness in the world in that moment. (laughs) SOOBIN saying, “He can’t do it alone,” and YEONJUN said, “Don’t send him in by himself.” (laughs) We know each other so well that we don’t hide anything. Working with people who you get along with that well is an absolute blessing. It’s a good thing, too, since we spend more time with each other than our own families. It wasn’t easy to get there, though. (laughs) I don’t mean to be blunt, but we first came together to work together, meaning there were conflicts, and it took some time to figure out what didn’t work. Sometimes I even felt it’d be easier to go alone, but now doing it alone is challenging.

You even brought YEONJUN a lunch you made for him when he went to do a pre-recording to promote “GGUM.” TAEHYUN: I know one thing for sure: I think I’m extremely attentive toward the other members, and I’m always monitoring their performances. Maybe if it were one of the other members, I would’ve expressed how much I care in a different way, but for YEONJUN, I thought it would be best if I went there in person. He finds that kind of thing touching. (laughs) I was worried because he loves to eat and yet he probably couldn’t eat properly and would just be eating fast food from the store. I just happened to be free, so I dropped by, gave it to him, and came back to get some sleep. (laughs) Only love can make that possible.

You’re really good about showing the people around you how much you care. TAEHYUN: I’m actually not close with that many people. There’s people I care for, or see all the time, or do stuff with, and I feel like, even if I put in the time and effort, it still requires a lot of opening up and communication. That’s what the people in my life mean to me. With the group, I feel like it has to be that way to end up with better results and build trust. That means that sometimes when we’re talking together, we’re not just saying nice things. If all you’re looking to do is keep things roughly as they are, you could get away with saying nice things exclusively, but sometimes you just have to say or hear unpleasant things.

That could honestly be hard to handle, but it’s love that keeps you going, isn’t it? TAEHYUN: It’s important how I express things, but I think it’s also important what the other members think of me. If they’re working with the knowledge that I’m saying those things out of love, they wouldn’t think it’s absurd. It’d just be nagging otherwise. (laughs) It takes a lot of effort from everyone involved.

But you have nothing but love when it comes to MOA. I randomly saw how one time while YEONJUN was doing pre-recording, you talked about how  MOA’s wait times need to be shortened. TAEHYUN: I hope our fans can have the best fan experience possible. I felt like it’d be better if we came back out a little sooner in the space between songs to talk. Spending a little extra time on fixing ourselves up doesn’t really make us look that much better, I mean. (laughs) I told our staff, “We should hurry out there,” and I guess they listened. (laughs)

You also left a comment on weverse saying, “Wishing other people happiness is one of the ways I’ve found happiness myself.” I’m guessing you had an experience that led you to feel that way. TAEHYUN: When I meet fans, sometimes they say things like, “You saved my life.” Honestly, all I could do was do my best with singing, put out some albums, and get up onstage. I think maybe the reason they say it that way is because getting to know TOMORROW X TOGETHER and seeing us brings out positive feelings for them. I thought that wishing happiness for the same people who made me feel happy and wishing the best for them would send more positive vibes back their way again. I think that moment really hit me.

[zablife]

Green Gloves (Part 4)

Ada Shelby & OC (Irene Robinson)

Summary: Ada and Irene find themselves in trouble once more, but this time the outcome is more serious than either of them could have predicted.

Warnings: language, mention of a weapon, mention of blood

Part 3

“Do you really know how to use them?,” Irene mumbled in awe.

Not a clue, Ada thought to herself. “Course I do,” she issued confidently, loathe to admit she’d only watched a handful of readings from a crack in the cupboard door.

Ceremoniously raising Polly’s tarot cards to eye level, she made a show of shuffling them. She used the stall tactic to consider what to do next, only to realize Irene was changing her mind.

Irene gnawed her cuticles as she watched her friend’s hands with wide eyes. “What if we summon a demon?” she whispered as though they already had.

“The only thing we’ll summon tonight is a release from unbearable boredom,” Ada sighed in exasperation. “Now place your hand on the cards.” 

Irene extended her hand over the colorful deck, slowly as though it were a hot stove that might singe her delicate skin. Wavering a moment too long, Ada pressed her palm over her friend's shaking fingers before instructing Irene to close her eyes and remain silent.

"Why do I have to close my eyes?" Irene squeaked, only partially calmed by the warmth from Ada's hand radiating through hers.

"You have to concentrate so your energy enters the cards," Ada explained with a stern look. 

Like a tightly wound trap, Irene's jaw clamped shut, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate. Peeking out from under her lashes, she watched Ada's gaze move past her. Her lips seemed to move in silent incantation and Irene held her breath for what would come next. Straining to hear the words, she realized Ada was speaking to someone behind her and the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end.

"So you've come back! I knew you weren't gone," Ada hissed.

Feeling something brush against her foot, Irene’s eyes flew open and she jerked her hand away to clutch her arms tightly around her body. "Wh-who is it, Ada?" she stuttered, wheeling around to face what was surely a ghost.

"The bloody rats are back!” Ada replied in exasperation, eyes darting to a tiny hole near the fireplace where a long tail was slipping into the darkness.

Though she was pleased to see Ada hadn't been conversing with the dead, Irene wasn't sure she was relieved by the living visitors either, especially as her friend dragged a chair toward the green hutch in the corner muttering a string of curse laden threats.

As Irene observed Ada, she too climbed atop her chair, carefully avoiding the rodent that had nearly scurried up her leg. She shuddered as she scanned the floorboards, wholly preoccupied until a glimmer of metal winked in her peripheral vision. 

“Why do you have a gun?” she squealed.

“We have to kill them somehow,” Ada declared, barely glancing at the pistol hanging in her right hand. 

Irene could think of several options that wouldn’t leave the Shelby home looking like Swiss cheese, but she wasn’t able to offer them before a second rat scampered across the room. A tiny yelp left her throat, her hands fumbling to raise the fabric of her skirt lest they use it to claw their way up her body. Squeezing her eyes shut against the horrible thought of claws scratching at her skin she screamed, “Shoot it! Shoot it!”

Despite her heavy breathing, she clearly heard the gun cock as Ada prepared to take aim. Irene braced herself for a shot when footsteps thundered in her ears instead. 

“What's going on?” Finn shouted, rushing them quite unexpectedly.

The intrusion was enough to startle Ada from her concentration, the gun firing into the wall much higher than she’d intended.

“Fuckin’ hell, Finn! Look what you made me do!” she screamed back at him. All three scanned the wall until their eyes rested upon the bullet hole. A sinking dread fell over them, knowing Polly would box their ears for this. 

The silence wasn’t to last as the Shelby siblings began loudly arguing with one another over how they’d explain the damage. Meanwhile Irene ran her finger over the gaping hole, biting her lip as she noticed the torn wallpaper and crumbling plaster.

“Maybe Aunt Pol won’t notice?” Ada asked hopefully. Irene wished the same, especially as the door swung open to reveal the lady of the house. 

Polly was soaked to the skin from the rain pouring outside, clearly in no mood for the shenanigans that had taken place inside.

“What have you three been up to?” she asked, spying their guilty faces.

“N-nothing,” Ada shrugged, hiding the pistol behind her back.

Polly sighed in exhaustion and much to everyone’s surprise, collapsed in a kitchen chair without another word.

Ada took the opportunity to tuck the gun away and slide the chairs back into their rightful place. Polly barely seemed to notice, the effects of her fifth glass of rum lingering heavily in her limbs as she placed her head to the table.

“Walk Irene home,” she instructed before collecting herself and disappearing upstairs.

Ada breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t been caught and fetched their coats before Pol could shout anything from the top of the stairs.

Meandering down the darkened streets, Ada, Finn and Irene said little to one another. The victory of their narrow escape seemed short lived, especially as they considered the scolding awaiting them when Polly sobered up. 

When they finally arrived on the Robinson’s front step, Irene turned the doorknob and lingered a moment in the doorway. “Will you get into much trouble?” she asked, biting her lip cautiously. The last thing she wanted was for Ada to suffer an unjust punishment after she’d practically begged her to shoot.

Ada shook her head as she embraced her terrified friend. “It’ll be alright,” she assured Irene. “Pol can’t stay mad over something so small.”

“You shot a hole in her wall!” Irene exclaimed loudly, earning a snort from Ada.

The noise summoned an unwelcome visitor who cloaked herself in the darkness of the parlor the moment she caught sight of the Shelby siblings. Clara peered around the door for a better vantage point and held her breath to eavesdrop. As she listened to Finn assure Irene, her hand clamped over her mouth at his words.

"You had nothing to do with the gun going off. Ada was the one playing executioner!"

As Irene stifled a nervous giggle, Clara's mind raced to piece together the information she’d just overheard. She was too lost in thought to hear their whispered goodbyes, jolting back to reality the moment she heard the front door latch. Scrambling to avoid detection, she only succeeded in colliding with a small table which quickly drew her sister's attention.

Clara winced at the sharp ache in her shin, rubbing her leg to soothe the pain when Irene's tapping toe came into her line of sight. “Clara, what are you doing awake?”

“I heard voices,” Clara hissed in a sharp whisper that stressed the courage of her convictions.

“It's only me so you can go to bed," Irene whispered back, removing her shoes before heading toward the stairs.

"Ada and Finn Shelby as well," Clara corrected, sounding terribly proud of herself.

Irene slowly turned to face her sister, wondering if she’d been listening the entire time. “How long have you been hiding in here?” Irene asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

An insincere smile of practiced innocence graced Clara's freckled face as she promised, "Not long, I only came down for a glass of water."

“Alright,” Irene begrudgingly accepted, a yawn rippling through her, reminding her of her own bedtime. “Don’t tell mum I came home so late.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” Clara winked conspiratorially.

Irene rolled her eyes, dreading whatever favor Clara would ask in return for her discretion. If the light hadn't been so dim perhaps she would have noticed the way her little sister crossed her fingers behind her back as she spoke.

———————-

The next morning Irene was woken by bustling activity downstairs. She dressed quickly, rushing toward the sounds to find out why their home had suddenly become a hub of activity.

“Aunt Alice, what’s happening?” Irene asked, spying the long line of women outside her mother’s shop.

“Seems as though everyone in town wants a new frock to welcome their lads home,” her aunt declared, a promising smile glistening in her eyes at their good fortune. 

Irene cocked her head, wondering if this meant what she thought it did. “D-does that mean…?” she mumbled in disbelief.

“The war’s over, Irene!” her aunt informed her, tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Martin’s coming home!” Irene blurted excitedly as she allowed her aunt to pull her into her arms.

Irene couldn’t wait to see her mother, bursting into her work space with a hopeful smile. "I just heard the good news!" she practically shouted, causing her mother's customer to visibly startle. "What has everyone been saying?"

However, she was not greeted with the same jubilance. “Not now, Irene,” Mrs. Robinson told her daughter in an uncharacteristically cold voice, turning back to the hem she was pinning.

Bristling at her mother’s tone, Irene took two steps back, wondering what could possibly be wrong on such a joyous day. 

—————

“Sit down,” Mrs. Robinson gestured toward a kitchen chair.

It felt eerily familiar, the only times her mother requested her undivided attention was for conversations she’d rather forget. 

As her mother busied herself with the kettle, Irene couldn’t help blurting out, “Is Martin not coming home?” 

Rose turned her head sharply, eyes softening as she began to recognize the look of fear overtaking her daughter’s eyes turning them a piercing shade of emerald.

“No, he'll be back within the month,” she rushed to assure her.

Irene's shoulders slumped in relief. Allowing herself to smile at the notion she noted wistfully, "We'll all be together."

As Mrs. Robinson carefully poured their tea she agreed, “Yes, it finally seems we’ll have a bit of luck. The shop is doing well and your brother will find work." Her words seemed distant, more of an attempt to soothe herself than her daughter.

"Perhaps Ada's brothers can get him a job?" Irene offered helpfully as she accepted the cup her mother pushed toward her. However, as she lowered her lips to blow the steam away, she missed the change in her mother’s expression.

Rose forced a tight smile. “Yes, well..." she trailed off before choosing her next words with thoughtful consideration. "You’re old enough to understand how quickly good fortune can turn.”

Irene couldn’t help but notice the way her mother’s eyes lingered over the scar along her collarbone before adding, “Bad things can happen when you're caught unaware."

Irene swallowed thickly as the bitter taste of blame lingered on her tongue. Her response never came as she found her thoughts clouded by memory, stifled by the feeling of rough brick against her back and a cool blade at her throat. The narrow alley she'd taken as a shortcut turning to an endless row of crimson as her bloodstained hands grappled for purchase. The soft cotton dress she'd yet to deliver tumbling into the thick mud beneath her boots as she fled.

"I want you to keep you safe..." her mother's voice echoed out of the void until the words rang loudly in Irene's ears.

“Why are you talking to me like Edith?,” Irene interjected harshly, annoyed at the insinuation that she needed looking after like her baby sister. “I was here when father died and Martin was wounded." In an emphatic statement of her maturity she added, "I've helped you do everything for this family and you still won’t treat me like an adult!”

Rose pursed her lips at her oldest daughter’s impudence. “That isn’t true.”

“Yes, it is,” Irene persisted. “ Why don’t you trust me?”

Rose shook her head against the accusation. “You misunderstand my intentions. I only want what’s best for you, Irene.” She reached across the table to squeeze her daughter’s hand and inhaled a deep, calming breath. “I think you’ve begun to place your trust in those you shouldn’t,” she stated cryptically.

“Those I shouldn’t?” Irene echoed, wondering what it was she’d failed to see. 

Her mother nodded and without looking at her daughter, Rose announced, “It's the Shelby girl."

Irene’s mouth dropped open, a quiet whimper of protest escaping her throat.

“Irene, please don’t,” her mother warned.

“B-but, I don’t understand. Ada’s my best friend, mum.”

“Not anymore,” Mrs. Robinson declared.

“Why?” Irene managed through raspy breaths.

“Clara told me about the incident with the gun,” her mother answered sternly.

Unable to deny it, Irene clamped her jaw shut.

“You’re lucky no one was injured or killed!” She searched her daughter's face for some understanding of the peril she'd faced, but found nothing. Her eyes fell to the floor as a whispered breath left her lips. "I can't imagine welcoming Martin home without you here."

Irene noticed the tears glistening in her mother's eyes and suddenly realized the pain lingering behind them. She might have apologized in the span of that short moment of silence, but her mother was already fixing her with a look of steely determination she hadn't anticipated. "She's forbidden to set foot in this house," Mrs. Robinson decreed.

Irene pitched forward, shaking her head against the unbearable idea of a life without the person she'd grown closer to than her own sisters.

“Irene, did you hear me? You’re never to see Ada Shelby again.”

----------

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@theshelbyclan

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@stilestotherescue 

@helen06dreamer

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@dream-this-nightmare-over

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@thomashelbyswife

@brummiereader

@cillmequick

@justrainandcoffee

@mischievouslittlecreature

@peakyltd

@look-at-the-soul

@toms-cherry-trees

@copinghex

@call-sign-shark

@novashelby

@thegreatdragonfruta

@anonymooseforever007

@murderousginger

@runnning-outof-time

@dreamlandcreations

@lilladygrinningsoul

[spooky-pomegranate]

Eyes on Fire (pt 2)

*Enemies to Lovers inspired by the Year Zero music video*

Papa Emeritus II x Reader (18+)Word Count: 3.4k (Part 1) (Read on AO3) (Part 3)

Summary: Hoping to escape the headaches of Imperatrix's life you spend time in a forbidden section of the Abbey. Meanwhile, a sleepless Papa Secondo goes for a walk in the early morning hours to clear his mind.

(Dividers by @wrathofrats)

There was only one place you wanted to be...

A place far away from Papa’s dining room, the bustling great hall, and the dormitories flooded with siblings preparing for a night full of debauchery and sin. You wanted to be in the one place that felt most like home with the people who felt most like family. So you climbed. Stride by stride you moved down ancient and worn stone steps covered in cobwebs and dust as you made your way toward the ghoul dens.

The Abbey had stood on the same grounds for hundreds of years. In that time many improvements had been made. A swimming pool was added in the 1890s, the great hall was expanded in the 1920s, and more recently the kitchens had gone under a total rehaul, with new top-of-the-line appliances and expresso machines flown in from Italy. But the one place the ministry hadn’t touched in all those years was the space below.

The basement of the Abbey was a restricted section for all siblings. Partially because it was a bit unsafe and partially because the ghouls were too much of a handful to be trusted with nice things. There was no electrical power down below. The stone walls in the basement were lit only by candle sconces that threw around long casting and eerie shadows. To those unfamiliar, the basement probably looked more like a crypt than it did a home for hell-spawn creatures. But the ghouls liked it that way and so did you.

At the bottom of the stairs, you snatched a candle from one of the wall scones. For some reason lately, there had been an influx of rats scurrying around the Abbey. The last thing you needed was to accidentally step on one. That might just send you to orbit.

By candlelit, you followed the halls through their maze of twists and turns before stopping in front of a massive set of wooden double doors. A large bronze knocker cast in His image hung from the center. You picked it up and slammed it against the splintering wood door three times.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you heard a familiar voice call from the other side. “Hold onto your granny panties would ya.”

The door groaned in a heavy sigh as it opened. A scrawny maskless ghoul stood in the entryway. Two white horns protruded from the crown of his head and ashen black skin covered his body. When his orange eyes met yours his spaded tail flicked from side to side.

“Hey! What’s up little snack pack?”

“Hey, Dew,” you sighed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing babe.” The fire ghoul bowed with a flourish and waved for you to enter. “Right this way little lady. You look like shit by the way.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped past the ghoul. The main room of the ghoul den was decorated in what a generous person might call an “eclectic style.” Mix-matched furniture from varying decades was strewn around the room in random places. A few soft carpets were layered on top of one another to confront the cold that seeped into the stone floors during the winter months and much like the stairs leading to the basement, candles burned on the walls basking the place in a soothing warm and yellow light. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t even that clean. But maybe because this was the only place in the Abbey that wasn’t dripping in opulence, it felt like being wrapped in a warm hug. And you needed that right now.

In the center of the room, Cumulus and Auoroa lounged on a lime-green sofa. On a small coffee table in front of them, snacks and drinks were laid out. They waved for you to join them.

“Hey guys,” you said, plopping down on the couch between them with a huff. Dew grabbed a guitar from a table by the door and sat in a chair across from you. Aimlessly he started picking at its strings.

“Hey, love,” Cumulus said smiling from your left. Like Dew, her skin was the color of burnt embers but her eyes differed. They were a beautiful soft gray. The same color as the sky before an evening storm or the pebbles on the beach by the lake south of the Abbey. “What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in that shiny new suite of yours? Mountain told us it was real pretty.”

“Honestly today’s been a day,” you answered, sinking further into the couch. “Just wanted to hang out if that’s alright. Unless you guys had plans. Then I can fuck off.”

“Nah. No plans,” Aurora assured you, popping a chip into her mouth before offering you one. “We were just gonna practice for a bit. Unless you wanna talk about your day?”

“God no,” you answered, taking the chip. “Listening to you guys sounds really nice actually.”

“Oh thank Satan,” Dew huffed. Both Cumulus and Aurua shot the fire ghoul daggers and he stopped strumming the black and white guitar in his lap. “What?! Don’t lie you both wanna sing. You have been begginggggggg me to practice with you. ‘Dew please play with us,’” He impishly sang. “’Dew no one plays like you. Please Dew. You’re so talented with your fingers Dew.’”

“No one said that,” Aurura grumbled, throwing a chip at him. It landed squarely in between his eyes.

“Also we don’t sound like that. Plus if she’s having a bad day some humans like to talk about their feelings,” Cumulus added, picking up another chip and throwing it at Dew. “It’s called empathy dipshit.”

Dew stuck out his tongue and you laughed. You were surrounded by idiots. Sweet and loveable idiots. You were feeling better already. After a few more minutes of juvenile bickering, the hellspawns eventually settled down and started to play.

For as long as you’d known Dew he’d been a cocky shit, always bragging about his skills with a guitar. But as you listened to him play you knew he’d earned every brag he’d ever boasted. He was a magician with strings. Plucking and picking with a mesmerizing mastery that had to have been a gift from Satan himself. But the ghoulettes were just as spellbinding. Their harmonizing voices bounced off the high-bowed walls like sirens, lulling you into easy relaxation. At some point, you decided to crawl off the couch and lie on the floor, curling up in a pile of pillows and blankets and letting the music soothe you.

“That’s really pretty…” you murmured half-asleep, during a short break in the music.

“Mhmm. It is,” Cumulus purred from her spot on the couch.

“What’s it mean?”

“You don’t speak Latin?” Dew asked incredulously, before taking a long draw of some water Aurora had passed him.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked back at the fire ghoul. “Eh. I’m a little rusty.”

“Through hardships to hell.”

“What?”

“That’s what it means,” Dew answered, setting his water aside. “Per aspera ad inferi. It means through hardships to hell.”

“Oh,” you said shirking back to the floor and into your covers. It hadn’t occurred to you that this song might be incredibly personal to the three ghouls. They had quite literally crawled through hell to be here in this Abbey and serve the ministry. They had come from the real below.

“Did you guys come up with that?” You didn’t know much about their journey. You’d always assumed it wasn’t your place to ask or to know, but the song… it had been so haunting and yet… so strangely familiar. Even though you hadn’t understood the words, the music had clung to you. Like thick sticky syrup, it had swirled into your blood and mixed in your veins. You felt an inexplicable connection that was as old as time.

“No. We didn’t write it,” Cumulus said quietly.

“Who did?”

The three ghouls looked at one another. Seconds passed like minutes.

“Papa.”

There wasn’t much point in staying in the dens after that. You’d come down here to escape thoughts of Secondo only to be reminded of him all over again.

The climb back toward your suite didn’t take long. The Abbey was quiet this late at night. The hallways were empty of their regular hustle and bustle. Most siblings were asleep in their beds or tangled up in the sheets of another. You reached your door in record time. You pulled out your brass key and slid it into the door... but it was already unlocked.

You heard the crackling of your fireplace before you saw him. He was seated with his back to you in one of the tufted leather armchairs across the room. There were no lights on and you couldn’t see his face from the doorway, but none of that mattered. You knew who it was. Only one person owned the tense curve of those broad shoulders. It was him. It was Secondo. He was here in your room.

“Do I repulse you, sorella?” His voice boomed over the fire.

You froze in the doorway. Legs cemented to the ground, heart ready to bound out of your chest. What was he doing here? Had he come to expel you from the church? Was he going to smile as he tossed you out on your ass?

“Speak up sorella,” Secondo commanded. “I will repeat my question. Do I repulse you?”

“N-no, Papa,” you managed to squeak.

“Come here. I want to look at you while we have this conversation.”

Fuck. So this was it. The sadist was going to make you leave right here and now in the middle of the night. You moved across the room and into the dancing firelight.

After what had happened in the dining room you weren’t prepared to meet Secondo’s eye line again. So you delayed it. Slowly you looked him over, starting at his feet and working your way north.

Secondo wore a pair of black Oxfords, buffed and polished so pristinely that you saw your reflection staring back at you. A few inches higher black socks peaked out from underneath a pair of crisp black slacks. And on his steadily rising and falling chest, he’d opted for a button-down of a matching color. A black and emerald Grucifix hung from his neck. Head to toe he was dressed in black.

He looked like an undertaker. You closed your eyes. You weren’t ready to be laid out on his slab.

“You will answer me honestly, sorrella. No lies to your Papa.” It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway.

You opened your eyes and looked at Secondo’s face. Since dinner, he’d washed away his sacred paints. A pair of dark aviators were perched on his crooked nose. He looked every bit like the Papa the siblings whispered about. An angry, bitter man, full of rage waiting for a spark to ignite his fire.

“You won’t partake in the offerings?” He questioned.

“No, Papa.”

“It is late, sorrella. I will not drag this out. Tell me your reason and do not lie.”

Secondo was right.

It was late. The clock in the corner of your room had finished its 24-hour cycle and the hours had reached into the early morning. But you were sick of having this conversation. You were sick of defending yourself. Fuck it. If Sister Imperator hadn’t told him you would—cards on the table.

“I don’t like to be so casual about who I have sex with.”

For a moment Secondo looked confused before he burst into a fit of laughter. Bending at the hip, he slapped his gloved hands on the arms of your chair. “Say that again sorella. That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You wanted to slap him. Anger pooled in your stomach. Your fist clenched at your side. “I believe sex means something more when there’s more than just a physical connection.”

Secondo laughed again and you bit your cheek. “You know you sound like a Catholic when you say these things. ‘Means something more.’ Are you going to tell me that the next sister I sleep with I should marry and that I should make as many babies with her as possible?”

Secondo rose from the chair and stepped toward you. Inches separated you. You could smell his cologne. Rich and deep. Sacramental incense lingered on his clothes. He stared down at you over the ridge of his nose. His brows cast long, and angry shadows over his already glowering features.

“Do not confuse our rituals for something deeper, sorrella.”

“Of course, you would misunderstand me.”

The words slipped from your tongue before you could think twice. But you didn’t want them back. You meant it.

You’d seen Secondo.

You’d watched him as he moved through the Abbey every day and every night. He only ever thought of himself. He was a taker, never minding what others needed. What others wanted. So why would a conversation here and now be any different? Why would he consider any other person’s perspective but his own? He didn’t even remember what he’d said to you. How he’d hurt you.

“Watch your tone diavolessa,” he growled. “I am your Papa.”

Exactly right, you thought. You are my Papa but you are not my owner. My maker. My master. You have no right to claim me or to force me to do anything. I own my destiny. Not you. You took another step closer to Secondo, the front of your habit brushed against his dress shirt. Unafraid you tilted your chin up. Fire blazed in your eyes. Heat emanated from his chest.

“Apologies, your dark excellency. I will ask Sister Imperator to move me back to my former post in the gardens.” You didn’t want to give up your new apartment but you’d rather fight for lukewarm water in the communal showers than deal with him another day longer.

“That is…” Secondo paused and you closed your eyes bracing for the blow. Send me away. Do it. Send me back to the land of the undeserving and misguided. Do it now. I’d take them over you. I’d take anything over you. “Thatisunnecessary. I will see you tomorrow.”

Without another word, Secondo brushed past you and walked out your door.

There was no point in going back to his quarters. Secondo wouldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept well in days. Tonight would be no different. There was too much on his mind.

He needed to clear his head.

So Secondo stepped out into the night.

The air was crisp and cool. Fall would be here soon and the flowers would shrivel. But for now, life still breathed in the grounds and the air still smelled sweet. Secondo followed the dirt path from the south entrance of the Abbey down to the gardens. His older brother had taken meticulous care of them since his retirement, practically spending every waking hour pruning and pampering his beloved piccoli fiori. Primo’s obsession had grown so strong that he’d even moved out of the Abbey’s suites and into a small log cabin on the edge of the ministry’s grounds so he could be closer to his work.

But Secondo hadn’t minded.

It made Primo happy and he could still find his brother for a chat whenever he needed to. If it weren’t for the early morning hour he would have sought out Primo for one of those talks now. The old man was more of a comfort than his father had ever been and his mind had been a mess for weeks. But the sun was almost up. Surely Primo in his old age was sound asleep somewhere. So Secondo chose to stroll the grounds alone and linger in the messiness of his mind.

He wandered through rows of vibrant roses and multicolored hydrangeas, passing various fruit trees and flowering cherry blossoms until he reached something he had not seen before. Underneath a centuries-old weeping willow, Primo had planted something new. In tightly packed rows narrow plots of spectacular white and pink flowers bloomed amongst leathery deep green shrubs. It was beautiful. The shrubbery looked like rhododendrons, but the flowers… Secondo had never seen anything like it. They resembled the cooper bells that hung in the Abbey’s highest towers.

He needed to smell them.

Secondo crouched down on the dirt path and reached for their pretty petals.

“Careful fratello.” Secondo quickly dropped his hand. “She is not so friendly this one.”

Clad in a red robe, Primo emerged from the dark path. His hands were clasped behind his back and he eyed his younger brother with a loving smile.

“Shouldn't you be asleep fratello?” Secondo asked, pushing off the ground with a groan that denoted his age and stood to his full height. “The sun will be up soon.”

“Ah, I was going to ask you the same,” Primo’s smile widened, strolling over to stand next to Secondo. “Do you like the fiori? They are beautiful, no?”

“Si. They are,” Secondo answered truthfully. “New additions?”

“Not entirely fratellino. Many moons ago these flowers used to surround our little Abbey. If you would indulge un vecchio uomo I would like to tell you their story.”

Secondo nodded, “Of course, Primo.”

The elder Emeritus led his younger brother to a stone bench under the willow tree. They sat down together. Secondo looked over the rows of flowers as his brother began to tell his story.

“Before you and I, walked these grounds there was a beautiful sibling who cared for the fiori and impianti. She came to the church with an extensive knowledge of botany and quickly thrived here. From the things she grew, she established the first apothecary in the ministry. She helped many siblings. She was happy and content. Eventually, she fell in love with a brother and he with her. But one day when the sister walked these grounds she witnessed a betrayal. Her mate with another. Her heart was broken. But the sister would not let this indignity stand. She introduced a colony of bees to the garden and let them feed on the nectar of these very beautiful fiori.” Primo’s gloved hand pointed to the rows of pink and white bell flowers in front of them.

“And then the ever-patient sister waited. She waited and pretended everything with her lover was bene, while in the night he continued to be with another. But after a time she returned to the garden and to her bees. She collected their honey knowing their nectar had been poisoned by these beautiful fiori. One evening the sister made her lover a pot of tea and added a spoonful of her wicked honey. As he drank the brother’s lips began to burn. Pain flamed his mouth and throat. He withered and convulsed in pain for hours. The legend diverges here. Some say the brother died. While others claim he recovered but fled the ministry in fear of his beloved’s vengeful wrath. In both versions of the tale these flowers were ripped from our grounds.”

Secondo sat quietly trying to make sense of his brother’s story. Ever since he could remember his elder brother had used longwinded tales to teach him lessons of the world or of the church. But tonight for the life of him, he could not figure out what Primo was to say. What did these poisonous flowers have to do with anything?

He was too tired. A puzzle was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t hide his annoyance.

“Why are you telling me this brother?” Secondo asked exasperatedly. “You know I don’t care about these plants the way you do.”

“Ahh,” Primo hummed. “That may be true but tastes change fratellino. Things we once thought were insignificant can become valuable to us, no?”

“Primo I don’t under-”

“It’s nice to have beautiful things around, even if we cannot touch, si? Even if we cannot taste?”

Secondo raised an eyebrow. “What have you seen fratello?”

“It should not matter what I’ve seen. You must see for yourself.”

Secondo angered. Standing quickly he spun and stared down at his brother. “How quickly you forget what it is like Primo!” he shouted. “I need guidance. I don’t need this. I don’t know why I bother when you only speak in riddles.”

Secondo turned his back and stormed away from Primo, but before he got lost amongst the roses he heard his brother's voice.

“He has not forgotten you nor have I. Patience fratellino. Plans are already in motion. You will not be denied.”

(Follow along on AO3 here)

(Part 3) (Back to Part 1)

[bananaactivity]

Working On my Lab Rats headcanons

Here's the more interesting stuff. Im still working on it still lol.

BTW some parts may seem pretty uhh dark??? Lots of opportunities for existentialism... dubious morality and ethical codes. It's just uhm it can be really sad and fucked up if you think about it...you can make some killer angst with ts. Especially with the levels of android sentience...

anyways you know I love ignoring angst and having shits and giggles so just ignore all that lol even though I made it hahah

Lab Rats headcanons for shits and giggles

Lab Rats is a show about a kid finding out about three bionic kids that live in the basement of his super-rich stepdad's mansion and proving that he can be a valuable asset to their good cause. Or something like that. Sometimes they do cool stuff most of the time they fuck around and do classic sitcom things. If you look deep into it or overthink it there's a bunch of fucked up shit probably played off for lols, but if you know me ya know I don't fuck with angst.  It's silly time all the time over here yo. So here comes the silly time shit:

Basic Season Overview

Season 1: Finding out about the Bionics in the basement. This Donald has already had a run-in with the gov about these guys and had to make it seem as though they were purely experiments completely so the Gov would get off his ass. Lots of bonding and silly time and school. No missions yet.

Season 2: First few missions. Confrontation with real dad and the two Andriod-pors Daniel and Marcus. Still silly bonding. Resolved YAY. Dougy and his robo kids come live with the Davenports YAY. But Dougy has a secret ooooohhhhhh

Season 3: Consistent missions. Android bros get stolen nooooo. A benefactor who helped Dougy while he was mad at Don is now mad at Dougy for defecting. ITS KRANE GASP. He teams up with Geisele and they use the Android- Davenports. Krane uses them to perfect his human bionic soldiers and Geis uses them to make her android lil shits. Krane is a stupid pants and makes his plans clear while Geis is secretive and hides away. Krane gets whooped. Android-ports and Super soldiers are saved and taken in. 

Season 4: Gov tries their big one again but it's solved and they make the island. Lots of rehabilitation is needed. No possible way to make these kid's situations less sad. But they gettin’ better yay, some faster than others but it's chill. All Human Davenports are teachers ( excludes the android-ports as they work diff tb explained) Gies and Troy n the android gang try summ but they get their ass beat. Troy is being held in confinement and Gies is in the same place as Krane. Uhm HELL. it's hot down there. Troy was the first droid. He has the same individuality as the Android ports. All the others got jackshyt so they all kicked the bucket. At the same time, all that shyt from my MM AU is goin' down. Mr. Terror gets the Rat's attention cause obviously. Doug and ABC go off to Centuim City to find shit out. Don, Leo, and the android-ports stay behind on the island and in Mission Creek

EF: Mr. Terror is in Mighty Max lol. But turns out she manipulated Rodissius now hes doin' crap while she's in jail. Leo and the island gang are doin' stuff probably. And The rats and heroes are fucking shit up too yayyy!

How Bionics and Androids Work but Im not good at pseudo science so not really

There are three levels for Bionic Humans and five for Androids, here they are in order of Rank

Bionic Levels: Superior Bionics, Partial Bionics, Soldier Bionics

Andriod Levels: Superior Bionic Andriods, Superior Androids,  Androids, Basic Androids

There are only three Superior Bionics. Guess who? You never will… It's ABC, obviously. Subjects A, B, and C. They were the first to have chips, with so much care and passion put into them over the years Doug worked on their chips and embryos. They're irreproducible. Their bodies can handle the toll of bionics well, as they were grown and raised as embryos to do that. Yes, the chips can be fixed up if pieces are smashed but brand-new ones that have the same strength of capabilities can't be done. That's why they have the glowy-eye things in my art. Leos a special case shut it. The chips are called Lazer-Punchy, Intelligence-Smarty, and Speedy-Sneaky. L-P, I-S, and S-S, chips respectively. Doug is shit at naming things. This exclusivity was done so that the 3 are extra special I wanted as much separation from the super soldiers as possible. It was a little irritating back when that season aired to see how all these new bionic people made ABC less special but I didn't want to get rid of them. So now it's a spectrum. They can activate 2 bionics at a time more if they train super hard.

The Super Soldiers and Krane are Soldier Bionics. Significantly less strong and durable than the Superiors. They had bionics implemented later in life. (Super soldiers were orphans or homeless children taken by Krane with no family to return them to and also another reason) A lot of them in the case of Krane. Little did Krane know, but even if he wasn't defeated and destroyed or wtv, his excess of bionics would have killed him eventually. His body was deteriorating rapidly and he took a bunch of shit to cover up the pain like an idiot instead of realizing the actual issue. The amount of abilities he put in is what made him so strong and formidable but again his body would've completely collapsed eventually. That's actually what Geis was waiting on cause she wasn't as much of a dumbass. The island also provides a lot of health care to the super soldiers after saving them. That's also what got the government to back off again, How much care they needed and how “useless” they would be without this constant care and upkeep. Again they just are like an iPhone 8 to ABC's iPhone 11. if that means anything lol. They can only activate one bionic at a time.

Leo is the only Partial Bionic, again the tech was something Doug spent a while on. Bionics that can be used later in life without causing trauma to the receiver. He was preparing to sell it to Krane but he didn't which is why Krane did that worse thing. After Leos's severe almost fatal injury Doug had to try something. He used his plans on the injured areas (his legs, arms, and head) and this makes Leo Bioincs less strong than Superior Bionics but more stable than Soldier Bionics. Doug destroyed these original design books ( superior and partial) as he knew Krane would do anything to get his hands on something like that. Chase however has a file saved in his computer brain that can be accessed even if his bionics have been compromised. He can activate one bionic at a time, more if he trains.

There are only two Superior Bionic Andriods. Marcus and Daniel. M.A.R.C.U.S: Modular Android Reactive Construct Utilizing Sentience. D.A.N.I.E.L: Dynamic Android with Neural Intelligence and Emotional Logic . Again trash names dunno what Doug was doin. They have a level of sentience and intelligence that's pretty much like… Vision or Ultron ig. They have this humanity to them and I treat them as such thats why they're ‘bionic” androids. They are conscious completely, they have personalities completely. There are technically no limits to their use of bionic abilities as it relates to LR universe. Minus cooling systems and child locks ( on Daniel) that stop overheating. They can eat, drink, and sleep. They're anatomically accurate to humans as well. ( Not for freaky reasons ofc just Douglas trying to replicate human processes again this is what makes them bionic, they replicate humanity very well) Any fluids that a human can have are simulated by special liquids that need to be replaced once every 10 years. That being things like sweat, digestive fluids, tears, and blood. These are all simulations though, and if they aren't replaced it's no big deal just means they can't do any of that stuff like eat or sweat. It's all aesthetic that stuff, just Doug showing off. They also grow like a human again Doug being a show-off. Doug started them before ABC meaning technically Daniel is older than Adam lol, but he finished them at different times. Daniel wasn't conscious until 4 years after Marcus and 7 years after Adam. The reason is that it was much easier to leave Androids as a WIP than actively growing bionic children. (The androids start out toddler size cause it is easier to work with. just what I think seems reasonable not any science all of this is what I deem reasonably possible in a fake world, it's not even pseudoscience) They can use as many abilities as they want with consequences if they overdo it.

There is only one Superior Android, Troy. T.R.O-7:Tactical Robotic Operative 7. Troy is not a bionic android; he only looks like a human. He doesn't replicate any human functions, and he is not anatomically correct. He can't eat, sweat, cry, bleed, sleep, or grow. He looks exactly the same as when he was first finished. He does however have a complex personality, similar to the Bionic Androids. Hes like the… Friday to their Vision. If that means anything lol. Hes very vain ofc but he misses a lot of social cues and has a harder time empathizing. Gies didn't bother to fix these for reasons that'll be clearer in the next level. Geis started Troy in secret back in college after Doug first started Marcus and Daniel. She had 6 versions before he was functioning how he does now. He still is very pervious to water, overheating, and a wide variety of things that happen to machinery. The reason hes less advanced is due to Gies not caring about the intricacies of accurately replicating humane behaviors. She thinks of androids as an easier way to do bionics—easily controllable weapons without waiting for growing embryos that can use bionics. My Doug was more of a human bio scientist with dubious ethical and moral codes. Troy can use up to 3 abilities before he begins to shut down.

Any other Androids in Gies army are Androids. Different from Troy. Troy took all of her college and 5 years after she graduated. Again the only reason she was doing this was for convenience and a leg up in this world so she used Troy as her money maker and all of the others are even less human than Troy. They were all destroyed with no hesitation while Troy was jailed. 

Basic Androids are things like Robo Perry and EDDY. Like the Siri and Alexa's of our world but with a little more spice.

thats all for now working on characters and shit layter. like algayter haha cant say bionics without saying nics like nicotine. help me

[leiascully]

XF OctoberFicFest Day 1: Teso Dos Bichos

Mulder didn’t consider himself a religious man. Scully would laugh at that, probably, and tell him he believed in every religion but hers and the one he’d inherited. He’d never felt anything in the synagogue, looking at the artifacts: the ark folding its doors open like wings, the Torah in its robe and crown. Even when he’d become bar mitzvah, reading the scroll with its ancient text had inspired more tedium than reverence.

But he felt something when he looked at the Amaru urn. It sent shivers down his spine. It felt like summer nights as a kid when he’d toss and turn, restless, and then out the window, over the water, lightning would strike. There was that same electric tension in the air when he stood near the urn. The hair prickled at the nape of his neck.

He wondered if Scully felt the same. She seemed sanguine, as usual. But then, he’d seen her stifle her fear over the years. She’d built up this smooth shell of seeming invincibility. In Oregon, she’d gotten excited over a fistful of ashes. Now she was unflummoxed by a tree garlanded with intestines or a partial rat body part.

What did Bilac feel when he sipped the yahé? Did he see the glint of canine teeth and the gleam of eyes in the dark? Did a snarl too deep and too close to hear reverberate in his bones? Was he a conduit for the jaguar spirit, or did she move his limbs, snap his jaws shut?

Bilac was a brave man, in a way. He believed in something so deeply that he gave himself over to the unknown. He made himself a vessel for the spirit, something to replace her broken urn. He gave his life for his cause. Mulder sought the unexplained, but in the end, resisted it, arrested it, pinned it to paper. He didn’t have the gumption Bilac had.

They exited the scene, pursued by cats. The urn was returned to its resting place. Mona and Bilac were buried in their own graves; whether they rested easy, Mulder would never know.

[fkeknife]

wreckage of july

millions knives x reader gender neutral reader 800 words

He recoils. He tries to speak, to curse the stranger for touching him, but the breath comes out wheezing and wet and more through his throat than his lips. “Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” they say. “Don’t move. You’re okay right here.” Knives realizes his body is dying. The stranger is waiting for his body to die.

this fic is about you finding knives’s horrible corpse in the rubble of july and being like. boy howdy that guy is dead then he moves and you're like. oh sorry that guy isn’t dead YET. better go hold his hand while he dies so he experiences love and humanity in his last moments or whatever (MISTAKE)

read on AO3 if you like or read below if you'd rather, up to you

Night is the worst time for these kinds of things to happen. In the dark, you can’t tell survivors from orphaned limbs, shadows from trip hazards, water from blood and gasoline.

Flame spreads over what is left and casts confusing geometries of light and shadow. Smoke turns the air acrid and unbearable and rich with the smell of burning hair and flesh. The rumble and rend of delayed collapse climbs over the noise of panicked humanity.

The explosion doesn’t kill everyone, and it doesn’t break everything. Maybe that’s the worst part–incompletion. Being among leftovers.

Knives wakes in the wreckage of July, immobilized under rubble. He’s on his side, in the shadow of a wall that’s partially at his back and partially splayed over him, crushing.

He tries to move, to shove a hunk of concrete off his chest, but he finds himself weak. The world shivers. He brings a hand towards his face and struggles to focus his eyes on the bone of his fingers as they drip.

Out of the smoke and sound, something resolves before him; shoes. Then knees, then hands, pulling rubble off him, brushing thick dust from his nose and mouth and turning his face to meet a pair of eyes.

The eyes flash in and out of contact with his—wide and alert and assessing; then tight; then gentle.

He recoils. He tries to speak, to curse the stranger for touching him, but the breath comes out wheezing and wet and more through his throat than his lips.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” the stranger says. “Don’t move. You’re okay right here.”

Their knees shift before him in the dark rock and gravel. Black liquid climbs the thread of their clothing. It’s his blood.

The hand on his face touches his cheek with a thumb; another hand slides into his slick palm.

Knives realizes his body is dying. The stranger is waiting for his body to die. As he struggles for physical awareness, it slips away. His throat is open, his chest sodden and ripping when he tries to move.

The stranger makes an odd noise when Knives twists. They try to recapture his attention. “Don’t. Don’t. Can you hear me?”

“Just wait it out. Rest.” The reassuring, gentle expression contorts, the voice breaks. “I’m so sorry I don’t have anything for the pain.”

Yeah, the pain. The pain is what makes everything so difficult.

This is stupid.

Knives screws his eyes shut and draws from the gate. He feels it—his chest starts to warm, to knit, then constricts around something and surges with pain again. This time, his voice works better, and he spits out the feeling, liquid and wordless noise.

Somebody starts. The hand around his tightens and releases.

“You-“

Knives remembers he’s with company.

The stranger’s face is blank, backlit with flame and cast with white light from Knives’s skin.

“You’re…” They trail off, eyes flicking across his body.

Knives jerks his hand away from them, trying to focus on the concept of blades and assemble them at his fingers. To strike the stranger down before they can call anyone else over, rat him out.

“…you might actually pull through this.”

The stranger leans back.

“Okay. Okay. We need to get you out of here right now, especially if you’re going to keep looking like that.”

They turn their back to Knives and begin to heave rubble off his legs, levering it sideways. “I’m going to have to lift you off that beam. I’m sorry.”

Yes—that’s what it is, in his chest. Metal and H-shaped and all the way through him.

He starts to push himself up by inches, to prop himself on his arms, but the left, untested, crumples. He slides back to the ground, sweat and wet agony.

When he opens his eyes, the stranger is over him like an animal. He sees the patterns on his skin reflected in the wet dark of their eyes. Knives swipes at their neck, but the blades are gone—or never came together at all—and his fingers rake blood uselessly across their throat. It drips back into his face.

Fingers slip again into his bloodied hand. Squeeze it. They’re warm, warmer than him. He feels the pulse of blood within them. The heat of life.

“Are you ready?”

Yes.

His hand is placed on the back of a neck. The animal leans over him, wraps limbs around him. It cradles him like an awful doll. The movement is in his ribs, in his teeth. Too slowly, not smoothly enough, it pulls him forward and over. His vision slips like a red blanket. He’s clinging to the gate. To consciousness. To power. To the nape of someone’s neck with his fingernails.

At the height of agony, of demand; something shifts.

The gate cracks away from him. And there is only the raw horror and the helplessness of it left. Him, his body, the animal, the dust, his blood, someone else’s.

He loses his grip on awareness, like everything else.

[satinpoints]

Colorpoint Dogs

A relatively new color mutation in dogs also known as himalayan, acromelanism, and temperature sensitive albinism. It is the same type of color mutation seen in Himalayan rabbits and siamese cats. Colorpoint is seen in a variety of other species such as rats, mice, and guinea pigs. Cats and rabbits are just the most well known examples.

The current oldest historical case in dogs is Apache the Rottweiler from 2005. The first publicly posted dog was a stray from 2009, and the first researched dog was Matysek the dachshund in 2017. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0378111920308817

There are 5 verified unique mutations in dogs at this point in time, and there may be more. Matysek, Rem, Belyash, and the Canadian dogs all have unique mutations. The South Carolina dogs have a variant nearly identical to Matysek’s but its own unique mutation.

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/age.13496?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2doij1sXb6FMWVHu85tgXAkgXsWwhTw9H34DYDxo1wM3j8P4wuf_5YDk4_aem_5OQRJ0GxfdzI2E28VZjPWA

Unfortunately Apache and the first stray cannot be researched to find out if they have unique variants as well, but perhaps in the years to come others that share their mutation will appear. It’s also possible more unique variants could appear.

Some variants seem very sensitive to temperature changes and have more extreme color shifts with warm and cold temperatures. It is called temperature sensitive albinism because it is a form of partial albinism that still allows color. Cold temperature causes an increase in color, while warm temperatures decrease color production. That’s why the extremities, the colder parts of the body, have more color.

In dogs there are no current health issues associated such as blindness or deafness. There are varying degrees of light sensitivity though. Cats can have crossed eyes, the dogs have not being studied enough yet to find out if that is a trait in dogs. That and the light sensitivity may vary by specific mutation.

[xiaoscarasimp]

A Cat and Mouse Game

A friend and I were talking bout how theres only cat boys and girls so I decided to do a fic with a mouse girl reader and cat boi scara (lets be honest: it's canon)

This is just kinda horny drabble lmk what you think

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB! reader, predator/prey dynamics, little bit of blood play, nipple play, degradation(he calls you whore/slut) and slight size kink (no not my usual shenanigans) Minors DNI

Cat boy Scaramouche toys with his darling mouse girl by playing with your folds to where you're bucking your hips against his fingers desperate for relief. As you sit in his lap, he runs one of his long fingers up your slit, sending shivers down your spine and nibbles your sensitive little mouse ears. Your thin little tail thrashes in partial distress from the other powering pheromones the cat boy is putting out but also arousal.

You feel a tingling in your body as he runs electro through your pussy, nerves contracting and expanding how ever he wants them to. He shocks your clit first, then prodding a finger in your entrance he shocks you again, causing a waterfall to gush on your fingers. 

“Oh, what would the rat colony say if they saw you like this? A simple whore that can't get enough of me?” He taunted you. “Never forget I'm in control.”

“I'm not a r-rat, I-I'm a mouse.” You manage to gasp out. 

“Heheh. Same difference. Stupid rodent who will be my fucked out whore.” 

He leans back and flips you around so you're facing him, his dick prodding your back side. You grind your wet pussy on him, but he grabs your hips, forcing you to stop, little whines escape your lips. The cat boy silences these whines with a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue down your throat. His fangs end up drawing a bit of blood as he pulls at your bottom lip, causing you to whine even more. The taste of blood made his eyes light up; how could it not? Taste of his prey on his lips? The most delectable.

“S-scara, plea-” you try to pause the action; things were moving too fast. His member was now slotted perfectly between your supple ass cheeks, leaking precum over your skin. 

“Shh,” He cooes as he pulls away from the kiss, a red string of spit connecting the two of you. “Hush, darling. My cute little dinner's getting all worked up over nothing. Relax.” 

For a brief moment, his predatory face relaxes into a soft expression, almost like he cares, before his eyes narrow and go on the attack again. Scaramouche rubs his weeping cock against your folds, stimulating you to produce even more slick. He starts attacking your neck next, fangs piercing the skin and drawing small droplets of blood not unlike a vampire. As he does, you not only make little moans, but also little squeaks. You almost go limp from this attack, your mouse instincts tell you to freeze while the semi-rational part of you demands more. 

“M-more,” you moan. “D-devour me.”

“Gladly.”

He bites down even harder, his thicker, furrier tail wraps around your thinner, hairless tail. Your ears twitch in agonizing pleasure; it just hurt so good. At this point, even if you wanted to escape, you absolutely could not. 

Once your neck has been thoroughly claimed, he lines up the tip at your entrance, smirking the entire time. Not wanting to waste any time, you slam yourself down on his cock, moaning and gasping, as you do. Luckily for him, you are already so wet and lubed up from the teasing earlier that you hardly need any time to adjust to his size before bottoming out and grinding on him. He notices the little tummy bulge from where he filled you up so thoroughly, so wonderfully. Scaramouche starts rubbing your clit, sending little electric shocks through the sensitive bundle of nerves, walls clenching with each little pulse. 

If he wasn’t careful, he’d finish before you did.

To help speed up the process, he leans up and puts one of your small nipples in his mouth and dances electro on his tongue as he swirls the bud around in his mouth. You arch your back in equal parts pain and pleasure, showing off even more of how much he was filling you up. Excited by your reactions, he uses his fangs to tease the bud even further, raking them across your delicate skin, tasting blood as he goes. 

“S-scara!” You’re getting close, the pain, the pleasure, the overwhelming smell of sex in the air are all making you close to unraveling. 

“Y-you like that, you cock hungry slut?” He grabs your hips and moves you along at his pace, interrupting yours. “Cum all over my cock, whore.” He stimulates your clit even further, your walls clenching so hard he was worried that he’d never be able to get out. 

In a race to last place, you both try to hold out for as long as you can: kissing, biting, making out, marking, maiming skin. You finish first however, but he wasn’t long behind you, painting your insides white. You slump down on top of him, making little content squeaks between heavy breathing while Scaramouche was purring. The vibrations were enough to put you to sleep, curled up on his chest, his seed leaking out of you.

“You did so well,” He murmured through purring. “Next time, I’ll devour you even more.” 

[yuahoeaiknow]

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

Wattpad || AO3

Tags|Warnings: slight voyeurism/exhibitionism , oral sex Word Count: 3000 Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

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Chapter 3 - Alexander

"A passing interest...", Caracalla mumbles after a long night of rolling around on the mattress and not getting much sleep. Restless in bed, his body weary and taut, as he tossed and turned. Every time he closes his eyes, Cica's image comes to mind, her sparkling light green eyes and that confident smirk tormenting his thoughts.

Frustrated, he lets out a sigh, running his hand through his exhausted features.

How comes that she is haunting his mind? Geta was the first one to be entranced by her and dismissing his interest. And now he is the one enchanted by this street rat.

Caracalla finds it difficult to comprehend why he is so drawn to the girl. He is no stranger to carnal pleasures, having had countless partners,  women, men, anything in between - some of whom were far more conventionally attractive than her. But there is something about her smile, her laughter, the way she stands up to him and speaks her mind... It ignites a fire within him. He catches himself thinking about her more than he cares to admit, feeling bewitched in a way he has never experienced before.

Dondus jumps up on his hairy chest and chitters excitedly. "You like her too, right? Maybe she is a witch and she used a spell to-" He got interrupted by the monkey. "What? No? She does!" Their yelling mixes. "Why are you on her side!??", Caracalla shouts angrily at his pet and throws a pillow.

The clear of a throat his heard as a Praetorian stands in the doorway. The ginger hadn't heard him enter. "My emporer, your lectica is waiting for your meeting with Macrinus.", he informs his Caesar before leaving to wait outside.

Caracalla grumbles, annoyed by the interruption. "Alright, alright, I'm coming.", he mutters as he pushes himself up and out of bed.

He gets dressed quickly by an attendant. His mind remains fixated on the scarred girl and the perplexing hold she has over him. Frustration and curiosity swirl together within him as he grumbles, preparing to leave.

Caracalla exits his chambers, flanked by his Praetorians. As he walks, Dondus is perched on his shoulder, still clinging to him and chittering. With an absentminded gesture, the emperor reaches up to pat his pet's head as an apology.

He seems preoccupied and brooding, couldn't even breakfast. Despite his best efforts, he can't shake the image of her from his mind. Even when eating grapes with his little buddy in the lectica, it doesn't stop. He hopes to find disctraction at Macrinus's place.

Caracalla arrives at the arms-dealer's residence, greeted with the usual fanfare. Macrinus himself stands ready to receive him, accompanied by a cohort of servants.

The ginger dons a partially genuine smile as he greets the businessman, playing his part perfectly.

"Macrinus! You look... troubled?", the ginger cocks his head. "Are your gladiators giving you a hard time?", he asks with a menacing grin, golden tooth glinting with mockery.

Macrinus chuckles awkwardly, clearly on edge. "No, no, nothing like that. It's... it's something else on my mind. Nothing of importance, really.", he says vaguely, his hands clasped in front of his belly.

Caracalla notices the tension in the man's stance and furrows his brow, sensing that something is amiss but he decides to let it slide for the moment.

"Go on, then. Let me see the goods!", he says, his tone commanding but now in good mood.

Macrinus ushers Caracalla to the side building where his gladiator school is situated, a sense of pride and satisfaction emanating from him.

Caracalla follows Macrinus into the side building, his eyes taking in the surroundings. The building is well-lit and spacious, with a practice ring in the center. The smell of oiled leather and sweat hangs heavy in the air, as do the sounds of men shouting and grunting.

Blue eyes scan the gladiators that are practicing, taking in their physiques and skills from above their training ground.

"Impressive, very impressive!", Caracalla comments as he walks to the stone railing, watching them train. "You have some real killers here, Macrinus.", he compliments with a grin.

He stops as one of the gladiators grabs his attention. The man is formidable, boasting a towering stature with muscular bulk. There is a fierce intensity in his gaze, indicating a seasoned fighter.

"Is he your best?", Caracalla asks enthralled.

Macrinus shakes his head. "No, Emperor. That would be Alexander, he...", he trails off as he doesn't find him on the sand. Where by Jupiter was that bastard?

Light blue eyes narrow as Macrinus mentions this Alexander. "Where is he then? I want to see him.", he demands, his voice challenging and commanding.

He can sense that there is something odd about the whole situation - the way Macrinus avoids his gaze and the absence of the supposed best gladiator. He doesn't like it.

"Please wait here for a second, Caesar. I'll need to speak with my staff. I apologize in advance!", he grits with a fake smile. Not hiding his anger at all.

As Caracalla watches him stride off in a hurry, Dondus chitters and jumps off, running off along the passage surrounding the training ground. The ginger looks confused for a moment before following. "Hey, where are you going?", he calls after the monkey, his tone annoyed. He groans and starts walking, following Dondus's path.

The smell of bathing water comes nearer as Dondus walks up the passage with his owner in tow. A balnea must be near. After the curve of the many pillars the path gets straight and he stops in his tracks as he sees two people near the end of it. Next to pit behind a pillar to hide from the others, he sees her leaning up against it. The light green hem of her white toga is between her pink lips and a man kneels before her, jerking himself as he tongues her womanhood.

Caracalla's mind is racing as he quickly realises who this woman is. It's Cica, the scar under the eye unmistakably hers.

He can hardly believe what he's seeing. The street rat, here, in the training compound where the gladiators are supposed to be. And she is with a man, one of the gladiators it seems.

For a moment he is frozen in place, watching her with an intense mixture of rage, confusion, arousal and jealousy.

He can hear her soft moans, muffled by the fabric and how her hips grind against the face between her thighs.

The sight and sound of her is driving him almost mad with desire and anger. He has no claim to her, he knows that he doesn't, but he can't help the way his blood is boiling as he watches her with another.

He clenches his fists and takes a step forward to intervene, but Macrinus was faster, coming directly from the pit to lean over the stone railing. "By the gods, Cica! I thought I told you to stop fucking with my gladiators!", he scolds loudly.

Caracalla stops in his tracks, hiding behind one of the columns. He can hear the conversation that Macrinus is having with Cica, and he feels a wave of curiosity - the need to listen in.

Dondus makes a noise now behind him, clearly excited by the sight of the girl with the wavy brown hair, and Caracalla shushes him quickly, not wanting to be discovered.

"You said I'm always welcome here and I don't fuck them... I... motivate them... so you have good fighters and I can bet on them later. Win, win if you ask me.", Cica tried to defend not really bothered that she has been caught as she shrugs her shoulders and flats out her toga.

Macrinus made a dismissive sound and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're distracting them, that's what you do. They are supposed to focus on the training and fights, not on you.", he chides.

"And besides that it's disrespectful to me. I don't like you coming here and messing with my fighters. It's bad for business.", he lectures her, letting out a derisive grunt in blatant disapproval.

"Say that again when I'm the one paying of your debts to Thraex again!", Cica shoots back irritably, her arms crossed defensively.

Macrinus groans in frustration, running a hand down his tired face. "I pay you back, don't I? Stop bringing it up every time I tell you to leave!", he grumbles.

He takes a moment, his gaze roving over her dressed figure, before sighing in exasperation. "Why do you always have to be such a pain in my ass?"

"I thought you like that.", she shrugs knowing of his tastes and grins. Cica also knows that he has a soft spot for her and tolerates her behaviour nonetheless. An advantage she likes to exploit.

Macrinus makes a noise of protest, but it's not very convincing. He can't deny that he really does have a soft spot for her. Like a daughter he never wanted.

"You're infuriating!", he says with a grumble, although there is a hint of fondness in his voice. "Leave, Emporer Caracalla wants to see my best man!" He waves Alexander over who also is now decent despite his wet chin and semi-hard under his clothes.

As the conversation seems to end, Caracalla sneaks back to where he was supposed to wait.

Meanwhile, Cica pouts but playfully winks at the gladiator before wandering off. Right where towards the ginger.

Caracalla quickly scurries back to his original spot, he can feel his heart racing, trying to hide the fact that he witnessed her with that fighter. He's not sure how to act, or what to say if she passes him.

Dondus, on the other hand, is clearly happy to see her and chitters excitedly, jumping out of Caracalla's arms with glee to say hello.

"Oh, it's Dondus! Hello, little man!", she greets the monkey in her high pitched voice as she crouches down and holds his delicate hands in her fingers.

Then she looks up to his owner. Just like in the imperial garden back where they met at the banquet. "Good afternoon, my Caesar!", she grins with a happy glint in her eyes.

Caracalla's heart skips a beat when her green oculars fall on him. Seeing her on her knees, her delicate fingers holding Dondus's little hands, and with that cheeky grin of hers makes his mouth go dry. Her freckled cheeks still a tint rosy. Anger almost forgotten. He swallows before responding.

"Ah, good afternoon, street rat...", he says, his voice a touch strained. He tries to act casually, but he's internally struggling to keep calm. She looks briefly up to him. Right in his light eyes which have witnessed her debauchery. And she cooes a greeting before focusing on the capuchin again.

Caracalla can feel his face heat up as she briefly gazes at him. His heart is pounding in his chest, the image of her with that gladiator flashing through his mind.

Dondus, being the little rascal he is, is clearly enjoying the attention of Cica, making small happy noises as she showers him with affection and vice versa.

The emperor watches the two of them, struggling to keep his emotions in check. The sight of her playing with Dondus, her smile... it's driving him mad.

He takes a deep breath and tries to keep his voice steady, but he can't help the slight hint of irritation in his tone. "You... are you often here?", he inquires, his gaze unwavering as it's locked onto her.

She giggles softly, admitting, "Not always but more often than Macrinus would like or know. I don't have a real home here in Roma... not yet.", she explains. "Ostia is just a few hours away by horse. So I like to annoy Macrinus as much as possible."

Caracalla remembers now, being told she has a villa in Ostia.

"Ostia...", Caracalla's thoughts linger on the mention of the city, his mind racing as he contemplates the implications. He gazes at her with a curious expression, his words carefully chosen- for his standard. "You own a villa there, yes?" he asks, his tone tinged with intrigue, a curious expression on his face. "Yup! Bought it with the money from my first big win. Well... first four big wins, servants not included.", she admits as Dondus chitters happily.

His intrigue deepens as he ponders over her true identity. She is no longer the mere street urchin he had thought her to be. She possesses a villa, a sign of wealth and status. It's a stark contrast from the dusty alleyways she still seems somewhat comfortable in.

"Why are you not defending your name when I call you street rat?", he asks rather suddenly and random.

Cica shrugs nonchalantly, as if the nickname doesn't bother her at all. "Because I'm not ashamed on what I was. It shaped me the person I am today." Exuding pride in her roots, and her words carry an air of confidence as she explains.

Confusion mixes with fascination as Caracalla listens to her words. The way she nonchalantly claims her past as a street girl, as if it's a badge of honor, leaves him both irritated and utterly enamored.

"I don't call you by your name either.", she shrugs with a small smile. "Guess we're even on that matter."

The ginger can't suppress a chuckle at her carefree attitude. He's used to people being nervous in his presence, but Cica seems entirely unbothered. It's both irritating and refreshing at the same time. Nobody would have the guts to call him and another even.

"Why are you called Caracalla?", she then asks bluntly, just like he did with her.

He hesitates for a moment, caught off guard by her directness. "Why do you want to know?", he answers, tone a bit more guarded now.

"That can't be your real name... or is it?", looking up at him with a questioning face.

He lets out a sigh, slightly annoyed but also amused by her stubborn curiosity. He debates whether he should just play along with her little game, but in the end, he decides to give her a hint.

"It's not the name I was born with, no.", he answers, his blue eyes fixed on her green ones.

"What's your real name then?", she asks automatically and picking up Dondus.

Caracalla debates on really answering her but Macrinus comes back with haste.

The emperor is about to respond when Macrinus returns, interrupting them. He sees Caracalla standing there with Cica, and his face hardens. "Cica! I told you to leave!", he snaps at her, his tone exasperated. "Please forgive me, Emperor! There was an incident but now everything is prepared.", Macrinus apologizes for the delay, looking upset at Cica and waves her off.

The brunette's smirk widens as she observes Macrinus's frantic behavior. With a knowing grin, she rises from her position and addresses Caracalla with confidence. "Enjoy yourself, and farewell, Emperor Caracalla!", she says, punctuating her words with a mischievous wink.

Dondus jumps back into his owner's arms, the monkey apparently having loved her attention. He chitters, as if telling him that he already misses her and asking when he could see her again.

Caracalla's heart skips a beat as Cica winks at him. He's torn between wanting her gone and wanting to keep her around, his feelings warring inside him.

He watches her go, a mix of annoyance and fascination in his eyes. And as Dondus chitters in his arms, his thoughts are filled with her, against his better judgement.

"Show me that fighter!", he demands abruptly.

Macrinus seems somewhat taken aback by the sudden demand, but quickly regains his composure. "Of course, of course!", he answers.

He swiftly escorts Caracalla into the pit area, leading him to a gladiator in the center. The man has a muscular build and a serious expression, his gaze fixed on the two of them as they approach.

"This is Alexander, the best fighter I have!", Macrinus says with a hint of pride in his voice.

The muscle man, Alexander, doesn't look as arrogant as the others, but he carries himself with a quiet confidence. He bows before Caracalla and awaits further instructions.

Caracalla recognizes him from afar. It's the man Cica had between her legs.

The ginger tries to maintain a neutral expression, but the sight of the man makes his blood boil. He can't help but remember the scene he witnessed earlier, the image of the gladiator's head between Cica's spread thighs.

He can feel the jealousy and anger rising inside him, but he manages to keep his voice steady as he speaks to Macrinus. "I want to see what he can do.", he says, his tone cool.

Macrinus nods in understanding and gives a quick signal. The gladiator named Alexander steps into the center of the arena and readies himself, as another gladiator takes his place on the other end.

Caracalla's eyes are locked on the muscular man, his mind still swirling with the memory of him with Cica. He clenches his jaw, trying to suppress the overwhelming mix of emotions in his chest.

The fight begins. Alexander moves swiftly, his muscular frame and trained movements allowing him to dodge and attack with precision. He's confident but not arrogant, a focused expression on his face. The other gladiator is no match for him, and within minutes, he has him pinned against the ground, rendering him incapable of fighting any further.

"I want him at the games.", says Caracalla.

Macrinus is visibly impressed by Alexander's performance, nodding his approval. "Excellent choice, Caesar. He's undefeated, and a favorite of the crowd.", he says with a hint of pride.

"He'll make a great addition to the games. I'll make sure he's fit for the next event!", Macrinus adds.

Caracalla's gaze is still fixed on Alexander's muscular form, the jealousy and anger still bubbling beneath the surface. He can't help but imagine Cica's body trembling in pleasure as the gladiator's head lay between her legs. The thought makes his blood boil, but he hides his emotions behind a stoic expression.

He clears his throat and turns to Macrinus. "Splendid.", he says without the usual excitement, his tone firm and he turns to leave without another word.

Macrinus seems to notice Caracalla's tension but refrains from questioning it. He waves the other gladiator off and watches as the emperor swiftly exits the pit area before he follows. He can't help but be a bit concerned by the ginger's dark mood, though he decides to not bring it up for now. What matters is being in the emperor's good graces!

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────── to be continued

[bibibbon]

Do you consider Quirks to be allegory for anything?

To be honest no I never considered quirks to stand for an abstract concept or for them to be allegorical. Usually when I make posts I never think of quirks like that but I usually think of them as what they literally are which is just superpowers part of the human body.

I have seen various takes like how quirks are just different disabilities that can either hinder your abilities as a human and aren't natural. Iam guessing these stem from the reveal that the origination of quirks is from rats.

I have also seen the same take but with quirkless people.

There's an interesting take I saw a while back that talked about how quirks and how it's basically this huge metaphor for people's destiny/privilege in life. It talked about how the quirks people get heavily influence their life whether that be career path or just overall chance of success in life. Now I think that this idea could of been implemented and even corrupted a bit while adding the HPSC and the government to make it much more interesting.

This idea also ties into some of the fics I have come across that have hints of the system being corrupt, abusing heroes like hawks and even being partially responsible for the discrimination that some characters receive but at the end of the day it can mean nothing.