#so they’re forced to cling to each other for fear life

[pilot-boi]

So I know this is probably a really out of date question.

What are your headcanons for Jinder after they get out of the ever after?

If you already did this, sorry, and disregard

AFTER Jinder gets out of the Ever After?

Well first of all, we need to establish what happens to them IN the Ever After. And heads up, this REALLY really got away from me

Jaune and Cinder’s souls never mesh, even when trapped in one body for decades. They each hate themselves and each other too much to truly sync (which then rebounds back on itself and makes it all worse)

Jaune hates Cinder and himself for killing Penny, for killing Pyrrha. Cinder hates Jaune for trapping her here, for helping Winter steal the powers, for getting in her way. They hate each other, and they hate themselves. With that much bad energy trapped in “one” head, it’s really a wonder they dont destroy themselves long before RWBY lands

The worst part, for Cinder, is the sorrow she can feel from Jaune’s ocean of a soul. Not for himself, for her. Even though she can feel his hatred, she can also feel how his soul can’t help but try to heal her

The worst part, for Jaune, is the terror he can feel from Cinder’s tattered remains of a soul. Terror at being trapped, and worst of all terror at the lack of control she has in this situation (The Grimm arm is missing. Will it come back if they unfuse? Can her soul handle the strain of that?) Even though he can feel her rage, he can also feel that Cinder has been terrified every day of her life

So they never truly mesh. Jaune’s soul keeps her trapped to protect the Afterans (and to protect her) Cinder’s soul clings to his to harness his Aura (and to protect herself)

Phenomal power, more Aura than any person to walk Remnant and nitro boosted Maiden powers on top of that. But their minds are fractured. Two souls were never meant to be trapped together for this long. The Wildfire Knight is truly a volatile force

Mentally, Jaune and Cinder actually come to an accords of sorts (twenty years of absorbing the thoughts and fears of another person will do that). The stepping stone for them for not battling in their minds constantly was their realization that they both want the same thing: To leave the Ever After

And eventually they do. There’s shenanigans along the way (I can’t recap all of V9 in this post, it would take too long)

When Ruby runs, Jinder is the first to find her

Their anger compounded against itself and they screamed at their friend-nemesis. Jaune’s guilt makes them stand, Cinder’s determination makes them move. The Maiden powers speed them after Weiss Schnee (Why did she stay? Why does she care?) They reach her, pass her, and dive into a dilapidated mansion

(Why did they dive between the Cat’s claws and Ruby’s unprotected chest? Why did they curl around the girl’s battered, screaming form and shield them from the Mad Hatter’s onslaught? Why didn’t they move faster? Why did they care? Why did it take this long to do something right with their life?)

Jinder finds themself standing in front of the Blacksmith

A Young Explorer left her knife for them. A shining blade to cut through the rusted chains binding two souls together. And for the first time in decades, Jaune and Cinder are alone in their heads

It’s not ascension. Not really. It’s more like rebirth

Jaune got to be the hero he wanted to be, but realized that he ran from the person he wanted to be along the way. Cinder got to be strong as she wanted to be, but realized that she was blinded by fear along the way

Jaune chooses to love. Cinder chooses to hope

When they open their eyes, they’re both as they remember before falling into the Ever After plus a few changes

Jaune has white streaks in his hair, and his leg is now missing as Jinder’s was. A humming white and gold prosthetic attaches in its place, melding so seamlessly that he can’t tell where flesh ends and synthetics begin. He can feel the fabric of his jeans, the pressure of his boots, even the warmth of his socks. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. The Blacksmith forges people, a false leg must be easy as breathing to her

Cinder has hair streaks of her own, and she definitely doesn’t choke up when she sees that the Grimm arm is gone, she’s free. Wait, but something is different. She blinks, waves a hand in front of her face, blinks again, moves her head back and forth, and only then realizes that she has both eyes. A smooth glowing orb like a coal sits in her eye socket, surrounded by scar tissue like a starburst

They appear beside the Blacksmith’s forge together. Separate, but together. Yang, Blake, and Weiss are all immediately on guard when Cinder appears, but Ruby seems strangely at ease

Of course. She’s the only one among them who knows how liberating this feels

They’re apart now. They no longer feel another presence in their heads. They no longer feel a weight draining their soul, crushing their minds

Jaune and the others gather in front of the portal, and Weiss takes Jaune’s hand, interlocking their fingers and smiling up at him. Cinder rolls her eyes when he starts to cry and wraps the heiress in a hug. If there’s been one constant, it has been Jaune’s over emotionality

What she doesn’t expect is for Weiss to offer her other hand to Cinder, in a way that’s clear this is no accident, this is a deliberate decision. A snowflake trusting a fire not to burn it

Schnee’s blue eyes are ice cold, but somehow they’re warmer than Salem’s fire-red ones have ever been. She’s shorter than Cinder, slight, small, but somehow she’s a rock to the knight clutching her hand. Cinder remembers how easy it was to skewer her like a butterfly to a board. She also remembers how Jaune felt watching that happen.

Jaune is still holding the heiress’s other hand, and for once Cinder doesn’t scoff at the open expression on his face. He trusts her. He trusts her. Somehow, despite everything, despite the pain she’s brought him that she can still feel in the recesses of her mind, Jaune Arc trusts her

And Jaune Arc trusts Weiss Schnee. And Cinder lets the hope she chose guide her decision. She will not let fear take any more of her than it already has

Cinder takes Weiss’s hand, her real human hand touching another person for the first time in decades. Weiss’s face is impassive, but she seems proud, somehow. A first step. Why does she feel like she’s lighter than air?

The portal blazes in front of them.

Jaune and Cinder stand separated, apart, but held together. They’re really here. They never dared to believe it would happen, even as they fought day and night to get here

They’re finally going home. To love and hope, and fight and die. But that’s what being human is. And somehow, despite falling through worlds and fractured minds, they might actually get a chance to do the one thing they both agreed upon

Jaune and Cinder will live

[tyrianlynch]

Ronan and Hennessy and “I’ve been alone a long time” and “please don’t let me be the only one” and “why do you even care?” “I don’t know I just do” and “don’t let me fall too hard lynch” and “she’s a dreamer, like me” and “no one else gets it, this is what we live with” and “he’ll be drawn to you more than to me” and “I’m not a doll Ronan lynch” and “Hennessy. He had forgotten he could know people. And how he knew her!” and “they didn’t say sorry they didn’t have to” and “if I told you I was going to help you get out of this, would you believe me?” “you’re one of the very few people I would” and “now they were just two ex dreamers made fearless by life” and “don’t be only human just now Ronan lynch”

[kingnem10]

A magicless human, dumped in a world not your own. Your old life, left behind through no choice of your own. Surrounded by villains, all looking at you as a nuisance. Someone due to be stomped out by the strong. A wild cat as your pet, something you’re forced to take care of. A creaky old dorm, the only shelter you’ve been graciously given by your glorious headmage. Nobody looks your way, unless you’re having to solve a problem.

But, a glimmer of hope. The closest thing to comfort in your new life. Deuce Spade, and Ace Trappola. From the Heartslaybul dorm, ruled by the ruthless queen of hearts. Ace and Deuce, slightly abrasive personalities, especially with each other, and yet, they’re your best friends. You feel less alone finally. The trio, quartet if you count your cat Grim, for better or worse, going on adventures. You have their back, and they have yours.

And you needed each others backs when the housewarden of Heartslaybul, Riddle Rosehearts, cracked. Overblotted. Stingy at minimum with the rules, now a full on tyrant, a tyrant intent on destruction. People WILL follow the rules, or off with their heads, and you, the magicless human, are a target.

It was the most terrified you’ve ever been since arriving in this world. It was the first time you felt in complete and utter danger, that you may not get out of this alive.

But, Ace and Deuce had your back, and everyone banded together, defeated Riddle, who returned back to his normal state. Everything after that? A blur. There was crying, there was apologies, there was a special unbirthday party you were invited too, and everyone was smiling, happy.

So…why are you sitting in your bed in Ramshackle, staring at the wall? Shouldn’t you be happy? Why are tears streaming down your face, your body trembling as you bury your face in your hands. You won, go back to your new normal. Everyone else is.

Ace and Deuce were downstairs when they heard your sobbing, freezing when they got near your door, unsure of what to do. Deuce opens the door first, seeing you shaking, crying, vulnerable.

For once, there’s no jokes from Ace. Deuce doesn’t hesitate when he sees you like this. Climbing into your bed, sitting next to you, and hugging you, pulling you closer to him as his touch makes you struggle to breathe.

Grim climbs into the bed next to you. Ace gets a bit closer, closing the door behind him. Deuce whispers in your ear.

“hey…it’ll be ok…it’ll be ok”

You cling to him tighter, desperate to ground yourself, begging for him to please not to leave you alone right now. Ace and Deuce exchange a look to each other. The fear radiating off of you, even to them.

You’re just a human, no magic, no ties to anyone. You don’t belong here, and now? The risk of death is higher than ever before. The only hope, things will get better. That you will find a way home, or find a new home in this world. Until then, smile, just be happy, it’s what the headmage would want anyways.

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick odair alphabet fluff

h - hugs

finnick odair finds peace in holding you in his arms. his heart swells with quiet joy whenever his arms are tightly wrapped around you, with his face nestled against your hair as he breathes in the familiar scent of you. with his arms wrapped around your torso, he savors the closeness of your warm body pressed against his, a rush of excitement running through his veins. finnick has always thought of you as his safe space, there’s nowhere else he feels more at peace than in your embrace. though the self-deprecating thoughts are always roaming through his mind, it’s with you that his mind grows a little quieter. 

as the next hunger games looms closer, knowing he will be forced to return to the capitol for weeks, he needs you. anxiety takes over his mind as the days go by, and he spends the days previous to the reaping battling the overwhelming urge to run away with you. 

finnick knows deep down that any attempt to leave district four in search for a better life anywhere else, even hiding and trying to live in the isolated woods, would only lead to ruin. yet, he can’t stop daydreaming about it. a quiet life far away from the capitol, finding an old abandoned cabin in the forest that it might have belonged to a rebel many years ago. he pictures a life where his only concerns would be hunting to put food on the table and keeping you safe. he dreams of how your lips would be the only ones to love on his skin, how his mind would probably be quiet if the gentle, serene sound of a river nearby joined him in his everyday, where the two of you could bathe. 

finnick has to force himself to stay grounded. he tries to be realistic and think about the harsh reality of what would happen if the capitol ever found you. he knows they would tear you apart, separating you from him, leaving him to endure months of not knowing if you’re safe, if they’re hurting you, or even if you’re still alive. he would move through each day like a lifeless shell, carrying the weight of your absence. but he can't bring himself to think about the worst scenario. tears well up in his eyes at the mere thought of them torturing you to hurt him. he accidentally spirals into panic at the idea of them cutting out your tongue, and turning you into his personal avox. a torture designed to make the strongest one crumble. that’s the only thing that keeps him from running away with you.

so, you spend the entire month before the games taking care of him. you hold him close while you lie together on the couch, whispering soothing words in his ear meant only for him. as his shaking figure clings to you with his life, your arms get tighter around him. your heart aches for him, wishing you could ease his pain, though you know it’s beyond your power. you discover that gently rubbing his back while sharing stories from your life helps him relax. his weary eyes brighten and he chuckles softly as he hears you describing how you got denied entrance to the career training academy after accidentally falling on top of one of the men in charge at the auditions. you never voice a single complaint about the weeks leading up to the games, when he needs to sleep draped over you for comfort. your fingers caress his sun-kissed cheek as the room fills with his soft  snores, ignoring the numbness in your arm pinned beneath his body.

on the day of the reaping, you wait for him at the train station, staying out of sight of the cameras that are trying to capture the tributes fearful or, on the other end of the spectrum, arrogant expressions. when he arrives, he greets you with a hug before you can finish registering in your mind that it’s him. “honey,” his shaky voice captures your ears. even though he is taller than you, he leans down to be completely enveloped by your arms like a cocoon. finnick immediately begins to ramble about his concerns for the tributes, worried that one of them might actually have a chance to win. he buries his face in your neck, seeking for your sweet scent to calm him down. when the train speaker announces that departure is imminent, he holds you tighter. out of habit, you cup his face in your hands and rest your forehead against his as you always do in private. “i’ve got you, honey. just come back to me,” you whisper softly, wishing you could go with him. “i love you so much,” he breathes out in reply, his hands tightening around you as if reluctant to let go. “don’t take any risks while i’m gone,” he rambles, anxious about what could happen in his absence.you let him give you his instructions, even though most of them are obvious, knowing he won’t be at ease until he’s said them all. finally, he pulls away, giving you a soft but desperate kiss before boarding the train. your only wish is for him to come back to your arms.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Guts NSFW alphabet

Fandom: Berserker

Note: I don't even what this is. Feels kind of half-assed compared to my other works. No, I will not apologize for the picture.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Not really good with aftercare. Asks you if you’re good and that’s it. You have to tell him if you need some extra help. If you’re a clingy type you have to grab him and bring him close. At times he’s feeling vulnerable he holds onto you after sex on his own. Guts us flexible in these things and like everything else in the intimacy department, he needs to ease into this. Some times, when he uses sex as a trauma dump he clings to you almost desperately, and you learned to take it in stride.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Certified ass man. Guts like to look at a cute butt and likes to hold onto it even more. Drive-by smacks to the butt once you’re a couple. Likes to tap your ass from time to time to show affection. The bigger the better. Also loves your hair, long or short it doesn’t matter to him, but if it’s fluffy, the better. He likes to bury his face in them when no one is looking and take in their softness and your scent residing in them. Speaking of softness, Guts likes to absentmindedly play with your hair and ran his fingers through them when you’re sitting next to him or talking to him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Guts comes in loads, so you better be prepared that there’s gonna be a mess. Although the messiness is what turns Guts on. Watching you covered in his cum does things to him. If he could choose, he likes to cum on your stomach and thighs.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He ponders from time to time what would it be like if Casca were to join the two of you, but he never voiced this thought of his around in fear of what reaction it would provoke in both of you. It just so happens that the two most important people in his life happen to be both very attractive and they get along quite well either. On your travels, there were many situations where the three of you were forced into positions that are more than friendly. Sharing lodging, rooms in a bathhouse, treating each other’s wounds and warming each other up whilst sleeping outside. It’s times like these when the line between lover and friend gets muddled.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Guts do not crave sex that much he doesn’t feel the need to experience sexual intimacy often, nor does he feel curious or want to experiment. I headcanon him as someone who cannot have sex without assessing it with intimacy and vulnerability. Probably has one or two partners in a lifetime.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

he’s a ‘let me hit it from behind’ type of guy. Occasionally he likes to do it as you lay on your side. He also likes when you wrap your legs around his waist as he’s carrying you while simultaneously thrusting into you. He’s always open to trying new positions but for the most part the man knows what he likes and how he likes it.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Yeah, haha, no. Guts is as goofy as a piece of concrete. He does, however, appreciate a goofy partner. In and out of the bedroom. Don’t ask him why, but he always felt naturally drawn to cheerful and whimsical people, out of nothing more than wonder. Things in a bedroom can get a bit too intense with him, and not the good kind. It’s good when he has a partner who can lighten things up.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

You probably need to have a talk about The bush between Guts’ legs. I headcanon him as way hairier than he’s portrayed in manga and it gets worse (better?) as he gets older. When you nag him enough, Guts tells you gay or sex worker to groom himself down there (like wtf man??).

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

To the surprise of many, sex is an intimate affair for Guts. For him it’s a moment of great vulnerability, hence one of the reasons he avoided it for most of his younger years. It’ll surprise his partner how intense Guts is during these moments.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Occasionally rubs one out to let out some steam. He’ll start to masturbate more once there’s someone on his mind. Considering how long it’ll take him to confess and admit to himself and everyone involved that he has feelings, there’ll be a long ass period of his life when he spends his nights fucking his fist. To the point where one of his mercenary buddies will tell him to fess up and confess already cause they’re running out of bedrolls and rags that are not crusty, which will earn them a punch in the face.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Say it with me. Size Kink, Size Kink, Size Kink! Guts likes the fact his partner is shorter than him way too much. Most people are shorter than him but if there’s a considerable difference…ufff. You can’t stand how smug he is about it. Overall, not much of a kinky guy. His bedside manners are as simple as other aspects of him.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

With his occupation, Guts learned not to be picky about where he fucks. As long as there’s not someone right next to you and can’t watch, he’ll do it anywhere. He doesn’t mind if you want to do it in bed only.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Touch him, it’s that easy. Guts is a simple man. A few well-aimed words and touches is enough to get him going. The man gets literally hard with an order. Glide your fingers along his collarbone, bite his lip, bite his neck. God please, bite his neck. Also, caressing his thigh gets him going easily, to the point where you cannot put your hand there in public, or else he’s gonna have a problem. Once you were sitting next to each other and you placed your hand on his knee. You didn’t even want to start something, just to touch him. He didn’t pay any mind to it, not even when you unconsciously moved that hand up and slowly unassumingly petted his leg. Until he had to stand up and noticed the massive tent in his pants. You never let him live that down.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Hitting, injuring, or insulting his partner. He has a serious problem with degradation. It’s too triggering and personal to him. Being submissive to his partner doesn’t sit well with him either. He naturally takes a dominant role in most life situations.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

At first, Guts preferred to have you suck him off rather than another way around. Again, he perceives kneeling near someone’s crotch as subservient and he’s not used to that role. Not to mention you look so good with your mouth licking up his length. He would watch you all day if he could. When you go down on him, Guts is surprisingly gentle. He knows there’s a lot to deal with in terms of his size, so he lets you go at your own pace. Usually has a hand petting your hair or holding your neck. When he gets close, he uses that hand to push and pull you on his length the way he likes. As mentioned, Guts preferred to receive rather than give, unsure how he would feel about putting his mouth on his partner. However, once he put his fingers, staining with your juices in his mouth. After that, he got more curious about tasting you. Now, he does it almost like an afterthought, a means to kill time constructively and pleasurably. You could be anywhere, lying under the night sky in the forest with other mercenaries, at the royal court during one of their festivities, out in the woods hunting, when suddenly Guts would look at you, something sparking in those dark, dangerous eyes. The next thing you know you are pressed against the nearest flat surface, desperately trying to muffle your moans as Guts ravages you with his mouth. He likes to overstimulate, just to bully you, and always ignores your protests and pleas with a sadistic grin.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

There’s nothing quite like good, hard fucking after a battle. Generals and other mercenaries Guts met said this often, and he has to agree with them. There’s just something about pressing you down on bedroll, the adrenaline of his most recent victory pumping through his veins, still riled up from all the fighting. Sometimes you had a little trouble walking the day after, and I say the day after because you won’t be able to do anything after Guts is done with you. The swordsman is not completely merciless though, he knows he’s big and strong, so he makes sure not to completely brutalize you, but anything besides that is game for him. Throwing you on his cot as he wrestles you down, your hands above your head or your ass in his hands as he lifts the entire bottom half of your body to meet his hips. After that be prepared for hours he pounds into you, pushing you around the bedroll. Other times, sex with Guts is a lazy languid affair. You were taken aback the first time he’s taken you like this. It dangerously resembled making love, although you’re sure he would vehemently deny it. His hips rolled into yours with unhurried passion, his lips finding yours every time you keened into his mouth, his hand never leaving yours the whole time.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Guts sees them as a quick way to let off some steam and calm his mind. As long as you are at least partially covered before someone’s eyes he’s game for it anywhere and anytime.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Guts is pretty vanilla in this. He does not feel the need to experiment in the bedroom or discover new things in the bedroom. He thinks it’s overly complicating something that is meant to be simple fun.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

This man is a beast. There’s no stopping him when he’s in the mood. You better be prepared to handle five rounds minimum. If you leave it after the first orgasm, he wouldn’t demand anything of you, but he’ll still feel that thrum in his blood, indicating that he’s far from done.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Not big on toys. Again, he’s not partial to any enhancements and tricks during sex but if his partner wants to try them, he’s willing to try.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The man has a bit of a sadistic streak. He likes to push you past your limits. To see you writhe and whimper while you try to babble out pleas and demands, it’s cute honestly. You think you can intimidate him, little thing? Well, if you struggle and put up a fight even better. He’ll make you pay for it double twice as much.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Mostly just grunts and growls kind of guy. He holds in his sounds a lot, you have to put in extra effort, but it’s worth listening to his throaty groans. He even makes an effort to muffle them by kissing you or burying his face in your neck.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Guts don’t sleep with a person unless there’s some sort of connection. He doesn’t have to love them, just like them enough to let his guard down. He honestly considers sleeping with total strangers weird, and dangerous.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Girl, if I tell you this man is packing some heat…The guy is well over seven feet, of course, he’s no sucker. He’s over eight inches and a grower. Thick straight and meaty, skin darker than the rest of him. It doesn’t matter how experienced his partner is, there’ll always have to be a little prep.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Guts’ sex drive is reasonably high, but he doesn’t really feel needy for sex unless there’s someone for him to mess around with. His drive is connected to his mood. Strong emotions, not necessarily positive ones, can enable him into a state where he looks for an outlet for them. Mans gotta learn some healthy coping mechanisms other than blowing his partners back out.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Considering that he’s often using sex as an outlet and a way to calm down, Guts fall asleep quickly afterward. Oftentimes you rolled over for some pillow talk and found him snoring loudly. Other times he either backs quietly in the afterglow while he lets his mind wander.

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - VII

Chapter VII: Survive

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader (platonic) . Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, trauma, and other sensitive content. . Notes: View notes at the end of the chapter.

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Masterlist

The force of the cyclops’s fist slamming into the cave floor sent shockwaves through the ground, making you and those nearby jump and crash back down with a thud. Before the beast could swipe at you, a hand yanked you to your feet and dragged you into a sprint toward the cave’s mouth.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Eurylochus, his face tight with concern, silently asking if you were okay. You gave a quick nod. You weren’t fine—not really. Terror gripped every part of you, but physically, you were unscathed, and you hoped it would stay that way.

The cave was chaos. Men scrambled to flee, shouting over each other in panic, bumping into one another as they ran. But then, above the clamor, a commanding voice cut through:

“My brothers!” Odysseus shouted, his tone sharp and steady. A few men skidded to a halt, turning toward him, their panic momentarily dulled. “The rest of our fleet waits on the beach. If we’re defeated here, they’re as good as dead! If we want to survive, we must fight this beast!”

His words brought a grim clarity. There was no escape without defeating the monster. The only way forward was through.

Odysseus waved for the crew to follow him, leading you all to a sheltered spot behind a large rock. The cyclops, now visibly disoriented, lumbered slowly in search of its prey, its single blood-red eye scanning for movement. Its sheer size worked against it—its slowness bought you precious moments.

The little lotus eater clinging to your shoulder tightened its grip on your hair so it wouldn’t fall, making you wince. A hand reached over, gently prying the creature free. Polites cradled it in his arms, carefully peeling its tiny paws away from your strands.

When you met his eyes, you saw the tension there—a somber, bitter expression that didn’t suit him. He noticed you watching and forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Polites wasn’t a coward; far from it. But he hated violence, especially this kind of confrontation.

Your attention snapped back to Odysseus as he rallied the crew: “No backup, no support. This is our fight! Draw your swords!” His voice rang with conviction, his tone sharp as steel. “Our foe must fall right here and now or none of us leave this cave alive!”

The men, though trembling with fear, drew their swords. Their hands shook, their breaths were shallow, but they stood ready. Odysseus paced before them, his voice rising with urgency.

“Six hundred lives depend on us! It’s just one life to take! When we kill him, our journey is over. Defeat is not an option! No dying on me now. We will live through this day! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

With his command, the crew charged forward, driven by fear, determination, and the need to escape this nightmare.

You stood frozen, sword at your side. For the first time in a long while, true terror rooted you to the ground. Normally, you’d have leapt into the fray without hesitation, eager to prove yourself. But this… this was different. The cyclops loomed like a force of nature, something far beyond anything you’d ever faced.

Still, a voice whispered inside you—a small but resolute spark. If you don’t go, what happens if someone falls because you weren’t there to help?

Your grip tightened on the hilt of your sword, your knuckles whitening. The trembling in your hands didn’t stop, but you ignored it. Slowly, you began to unsheathe your blade.

A hand landed on your shoulder. You spun around, startled, to find Polites watching you, his expression soft but serious.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said gently.

“I need to,” you replied, your voice firm despite the fear constricting your chest. You fully unsheathed the sword, the metal catching the dim light of the cave. “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, you sprinted toward the fight.

“Surround him!” Your brother’s voice boomed and echoed through the cave, sharp and commanding. It cut through the chaos like a blade, and every soldier by his side obeyed without hesitation. You fell into step, following his warnings like a shadow. “Attack from behind! Keep your distance and stay in his blind spot! Strike at his heels!”

The cyclops stumbled, disoriented and enraged, its massive form lurching as if it couldn’t keep up with the swarm of tiny, darting figures. It swiped at the air, its colossal hands narrowly missing their marks. Each miss fueled the soldiers' confidence.

You swallowed hard, gripping your sword tightly as you surged forward. Your feet pounded against the ground, each step echoing in your ears like a war drum. As the cyclops lashed out, you ducked beneath its sweeping arm and slid toward its right foot. With all the momentum of your sprint, you slashed at its heel, blood spurting from the wound as a furious roar shook the cavern.

Heart racing, you dashed to the other side of the beast where Odysseus stood, his eyes ablaze with focus. The cyclops bellowed, shaking the ground beneath you, as more soldiers followed your lead, cutting at its heels.

“What are you doing?!” your brother barked, his voice tinged with a note of panic. His piercing gaze locked onto yours.

“I’m helping you!” you retorted, wiping sweat from your brow. Before he could object, you cut him off. “Don’t tell me you don’t need it, brother. We’re less than a tenth of what we were when we fought in Troy!”

For a moment, Odysseus looked as though he wanted to argue, but his shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat. “You should’ve stayed with Polites,” he muttered, his tone resigned.

You glanced back at the cave’s entrance, where Polites stood frozen, clutching the lotus eater. “Well, I’m sorry, brother but—”

“Captain,” he interrupted firmly, though exhaustion dulled the edge of his voice. “Right now, I’m your captain. And I need you with that group over there.” He pointed to a cluster of archers stationed near the cave wall, their arrows at the ready. “Go. And for the gods’ sake, don’t pull another stunt like that.”

For a moment, you forgot about the cyclops entirely and allowed a small smile to tug at your lips. “Yes, sir.” Without hesitation, you sprinted toward the archers, determined to prove your worth.

Odysseus’s voice rang out again, cutting through the din of the battle. “Exhaust him! Don’t let him get close—he’s strong, but he’s slow. Keep your distance! Stand up and fight for your lives!”

The archers quickly briefed you on their plan: aim for the cyclops’ eye. A direct hit could tip the scales in their favor, but any misfire at its feet risked injuring their comrades. Your brother had taught you well—wielding a bow and arrow was second nature. You nocked an arrow and drew it back, your aim steady despite the chaos.

“Push forward!” Odysseus shouted, his voice an anchor amidst the storm. The soldiers surged, the cyclops howling in frustration as its blows continued to miss.

Then, the ground trembled.

The cyclops reached into a pile of scattered food and unearthed a massive club, gnarled and menacing. Time seemed to freeze as it gripped the weapon in both hands. Its single eye scanned the battlefield, landing squarely on Polites. The two locked gazes. Polites didn’t flinch outwardly, but you knew the terror that gripped him.

“Polites!” you screamed, your feet already moving before the cyclops raised the club. Your name rang out—Odysseus, frantic—but you ignored it, your only focus on reaching Polites in time.

With a desperate lunge, you shoved him out of the way just as the club came crashing down. The impact shook the cavern, dust and debris flying as a deep crater formed where Polites had stood moments before. His glasses were obliterated, shards scattered amidst the wreckage.

“You idiot!” Polites stammered, his voice trembling. His hands shook as he gripped your arm. “You could’ve—”

“No time for that!” you snapped, hauling him to his feet. The cyclops growled, raising the club again. You grabbed Polites’s free hand and bolted, zigzagging to avoid drawing attention.

“He’s got a club. HE’S GOT A CLUB!” a soldier shouted, panic spreading like wildfire. The cyclops swung wildly, its weapon connecting with bone and flesh. The sickening sound of the blow was followed by a soldier’s scream that was abruptly cut short. Warm blood splattered across your face, staining your already sullied clothes.

Your steps faltered, nausea clawing its way up your throat. Not that there was much to expel—rations had been scarce for days. Polites steadied you with a trembling hand on your back, his fear palpable yet grounding.

“Captain!” Someone cried desperately. “What are our orders?” When he didn’t receive an answer he got more scared, “Captain? CAPTNI—” He met the same fate as the last man who dared to speak.

Odysseus stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the growing pile of bodies. Blood streaked his face, and for the first time, you saw something you’d never expected from him: fear.

The cyclops bellowed, its deep voice vibrating the walls. “Enough!” it roared, its words thick with rage. “Six hundred lives I’ll take, six hundred lives I’ll break! And when I kill you, my pain will be over!” It was almost as if it was mocking Odysseus.

It swung again, the club obliterating everything in its path. Another soldier fell, then another, until the cyclops paused, heaving with exertion. “You're dying here and now,there is no escape from this. You won't live through this day, now die, di-i-i—” Suddenly, its eye fluttered. A strange, sluggish glaze overtook its features, and it swayed unsteadily.

The cyclops staggered, its movements slowing until, with a thunderous crash, it collapsed to the ground. Silence blanketed the cave, save for the labored breaths of the surviving soldiers.

. Notes: After about three rewrites, I finally finished it. Do I like how it turned out? No, but I'll have to deal with it. You won!!! I let Polites live, are you happy?! Now I've gotta figure out how to fit him into the rest of the story. And I'm not saying he's safe from dying, because, y'know, his death is one of the most important events in Epic, and I don't want to lose what it causes. Sooo, I guess I'll have to keep you all on your toes. Sorry for making this chapter short, it's just one big fight scene, and I suck at those :( Anyway, last chapter of the year!!! Wooooo!! Sorry the last chapter of the year is so bad :(

[crows4luna]

BLOOD-SOAKED MELODIES: AISLA LOR / “ALISA” [ OC ] .◞ ♱ ◟. LISTEN TO THE 5TH EP NOW!

WARNING: THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD, VIOLENCE, GORE, OCCASIONAL EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT & MATURE TOPICS ALL AROUND. UNDER 18 DO NOT INTERACT.

A SEMI-CANON COMPLIANT LOVE & DEEPSPACE AU. [ SYLUS x OC ] INSPIRED BY FICTIONAL POP STARS, MARIE MOREAU from GEN V, SKYE RILEY, and YUNA from FINAL FANTASY X-2. INDEX ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤ PROLOGUE ㅤ CH1 ㅤ CH2 ㅤ MORE TBA TAG LIST ㅤ ⸝⸝ ㅤ @pixelcafe-network

Of all the unique experiments that Ever has ever set its focus on, Aisla was one of the many who flourished darkly. Despite all their ambitions, no one ever really knows what determines the Evol a child will receive once the Aether Core transplant is complete. And with Aisla? Perhaps it was a matter of karmic justice.

Scientists, investors… all this greedy, corrupt power… Aisla was destined to be a part of a driving force to rebel and radicalize. So of course, when her younger self awoke on that recovery table, the bedside doctors each had their heads blown. The alarm had gone off, as a result—and it was the first time the greedy had been shaken. Frozen in place out of fear. Nobody likes to see a blood-soaked little girl, smiling innocently as viscera surrounded her.

PROLOGUE

“They hate the album.”

Aisla spares but a brief glance, then shrugs. Settled in her right hand is a latte, still warm from her short walk to the cafe and back. A ten minute trip, at most, given there’s not a line, so it’s easy to juggle breaks from the studio.

All she manages in response to the news is, “So?”

Her manager grimaces, wearing an expression that unveils a plea to care a little bit more.

It’s not that she hates being an entertainer. It’s actually a nice getaway from fighting Wanderers all the time, and even then, this double life remains shrouded in the dark. She gets to have it all (somewhat). Plus, she loves dancing and singing.

The public used to adore her, so to speak. But everything’s been too much lately, so she disappeared for a bit. It’s a concept that she doesn’t expect any of the general public to understand. The creative process can be a bitch.

And since then—younger, ‘fresh meat’ has debuted into the industry making copycat music and backpacking off each other’s concepts.

ALISA, Linkon City’s Beloved Pop Sensation…

Where has she gone?

“Critics are saying it’s mediocre for an EP, and it doesn’t hold up to your previous releases. They’re complaining about the lack of songs, how the concept doesn’t match, and…”

“And…?”

The man sighs, rubbing his hand over his face as he sets the tablet in hand down at his side. “Look, they don’t know you’re performing at the Celestia Festival yet. And at least, it’s just one song—and it’s a track that they like. Let’s just cling to the hope that this surprise show will regain some trust.”

She takes another sip of her latte, frowning at the taste. The caramel’s more salty than sweet. Gross. “Well… I never did anything wrong to them.”

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. Quickly, Aisla stands, muttering a quick excuse me before walking out of the room. Her manager’s reaction goes unnoticed, uncared for. Now in the hall, she taps on her Hunter Watch. Hologram panels stick up, entailing details: EXCLUSIVE HUNT. INTENSE METAFLUX FLUCTUATIONS 1.5KM SOUTHEAST.

Hm. Time to get to work.

[gvfgal]

*New* 17. Edge of the Throne

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+ series, minors DNI

A/n: Sorry for the delay, I’ve been quite busy, new job, new house, etc. But I’ll save the Drabble and we’ll get straight to it! Hope you guys enjoy this one, questions and comments are appreciated 🖤

Content Warnings: criminal activities, language, a little fluff, a lot of angst.

Word Count: 4.1k

Thursday

Jake thought he’d never see the day the end of this operation would be so close. Yet here he was, standing in Bobby Thompson’s office with Ace and a few high-ranking Barbarians by his side, the weight of the club’s hard-fought survival also occupying the room. The stacks of cash in front of him were almost intoxicating—their final cut, the money that would close the book on this whole mess. He had dragged the Barbarians out of a grave, every hard-fought victory bleeding Bobby dry of everything he had left. Jake could feel the power shift, the satisfaction of control burning steady in his chest.

The feeling was almost enough to distract him from the chaos his life had become. Here, with Ace beside him and Bobby under his boot, Jake felt fully in command. Call it a power trip if you wanted—but after everything he’d been through, maybe he deserved one.

Once the money was counted, a few men set to work bagging it up, each movement precise and practiced. Bobby sat back, watching with a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his every gesture laced with bitterness. He reclined in his leather chair, crossing one leg over the other, eyeing Jake with the sharp, insincere look of a man who’d lost but refused to accept it.

“You know, Jake,” Bobby drawled, voice low, mocking, “I can’t help but look at you and see your old man. Same scowl, same swagger… but you,” he shook his finger with a smug chuckle, “you think you’re different. Better. You think you’re doing a better job leading this club than he was, that you’re on top. But the truth is, you’re barely hanging on,” he leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. “You don’t belong at the top, boy. You’re not the iron-clad ruler Rex was. You don’t have it in you.”

The words hit like a spark to gunpowder, igniting a slow burn inside Jake. Ace shifted beside him, as if sensing the storm building. Jake stepped forward, the heavy thud of his boots against the polished wood floor a silent warning. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, and when he spoke, his voice was a deep rumble.

“That’s the thing about men like you and my old man, Bobby.” Jake’s gaze bore into Bobby, his voice gravelly, each word carrying a lethal edge. “All you think about is control, fear. You think power is the prize. But that’s where you’re dead wrong.” He stepped closer, his every movement deliberate, forcing Bobby to shift in his seat. “I didn’t come back here to sit on some throne, to cling to a damn title. I never wanted any of it. I know what that kind of power does to a man.”

He paused, letting the words hang heavy between them, before continuing, his tone darkening. “I watched it turn brother against brother. I watched it twist loyalty into something sick, something that chews men up and spits them out empty. I know what this life costs, Bobby. I know what it did to my best friend, to the men who put their lives on the line. And despite everything, here I am. Because the Barbarians? They’re in my blood.” He nodded to Ace, then looked back to Bobby. “These men are my brothers. I came back to stand beside them, not to rule over them in fear. That’s what makes me better than Rex ever was. That’s what you could never understand.”

A dangerous quiet settled over the room, the weight of Jake’s words sinking in, each syllable like a punch. “And maybe I know I could be a better leader than Rex. Maybe I know I could rebuild the club he tore down, do right by the brothers he left behind. But that throne? It’s no gift. It’s a curse. It’ll turn a man into something he doesn’t even recognize if he’s not careful. And I know what that kind of power demands. It devours men like my father, men like you, men who think they’re untouchable.”

Jake leaned in closer, his gaze like steel. “So here’s the truth: I know what I’m capable of, and I know I could take that throne if I wanted to. But what’s it gonna get me? Power for power’s sake? That doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. I’ve got a family to think about now—a life outside of all this. And if that throne, if this club, if you,” his voice dropped to a whisper, ice-cold, “if any of it comes between me and my family, I’ll burn the whole thing to the ground and make sure anyone in my way burns with it.”

Bobby’s face paled, the thin smirk wiped clean, his composure crumbling under the intensity of Jake’s stare. Ace stood by, expression unreadable, but the glint of approval in his eyes was unmistakable. The message had been delivered, clear as day: Jake wasn’t some son trying to live up to his father’s legacy. He was a man willing to fight for what mattered, even if it meant tearing down everything in his path. And Ace admired that.

The last bag of money was zipped up, handed over to the Barbarians, and the air crackled with tension, an electric reminder that they had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. But Jake didn’t care. He’d laid his cards on the table, faced down his past and the weight of Rex’s throne, and made his intentions clear.

With a final, piercing look at Bobby, Jake turned toward the door, the weight of the duffel bag and the world heavy over his shoulder. As he stepped into the neon glow of the casino parking lot, the harsh pink and blue lights cast jagged shadows across the rows of motorcycles and high-end cars, illuminating the line that had been drawn that night.

Outside, Nicky and a few of his guys were already at work, loading the bags into the back of a black SUV. Jake noticed them huddled close, whispering with heads bent, their conversation urgent. A flicker of suspicion sparked in his mind, but he dismissed it, brushing it off as the remnants of the confrontation with Bobby. Still, something about their exchange didn’t sit right, but he pushed the thought away—for now.

“Alright, fellas,” Ace’s voice rang out, gathering the crew’s attention. “We’re set. Get the money squared away, and we’ll meet back at the tavern. Got some more business to discuss.”

Ace shot Jake a look, one that was loaded with unspoken meaning.

Jake mounted his bike, casting one last look at Nicky and his men as they loaded up the SUV. Whatever they were whispering about, Jake couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to it than he could see.

Once every member had filed into the meeting room, Ace brought the gathering to order, his voice booming through the room, commanding everyone’s attention. Jake sat among his brothers, but his mind was miles away—back to you, to the life you were building together, to the fragile peace he was clinging to. He’d been texting you throughout the day, an unspoken need to hear you were okay. Your reassurances helped, but he still felt like he had to be near you, to see you with his own eyes to believe it.

“Alright, men,” Ace’s voice cut through Jake’s spiraling thoughts, snapping him back to the present. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Ace, waiting to hear his next words.

“As you all know, we’ve been in the process of choosing the next Barbarian King,” Ace began. “I’m not in the running, but I’ve been watching, along with a few of our most trusted members. After months of observation, we’ve narrowed it down to three candidates.”

A few men let out whoops and cheers, the excitement building as the thought of new leadership became real. But Jake felt the anticipation twist into dread in his gut. This wasn’t a crown he wanted. But he had a feeling that it was something he couldn’t run from much longer.

“We’ve given this a lot of thought,” Ace continued, raising a hand to silence the crowd. “The Barbarians need someone strong, someone fresh. We need a leader who’s got the guts to take us into the future with dignity and strength.”

Ace scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over each man, though he didn’t linger too long on anyone in particular. But he felt Jake’s eyes on him like a weight, a silent expectation that pressed against his chest.

“Voting will take place Monday,” Ace continued. “After we handle the last of our business with the EDS.”

“Yeah, yeah, just tell us who’s in the running already!” one of the members called out, earning chuckles and a few more shouts of agreement from the others.

“Alright, alright,” Ace replied with a grin, pulling a small slip of paper from his vest. He adjusted his reading glasses—a motion that usually sparked a laugh but now only added to the gravity of the moment. His tone turned serious as he looked down at the list.

“First up, we’ve got Madcap,” Ace announced, nodding in Madcap’s direction. A handful of men cheered, and someone gave Madcap a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Jake sat unmoving, knowing full well that while Madcap was capable, he wasn’t the leader the Barbarians needed. He was loyal, reliable, but he lacked the edge that could steer the club through whatever storm awaited, and there was always one waiting.

“Next…” Ace’s voice deepened, and he lifted his gaze, his eyes landing squarely on Jake. “Jacob Kiszka, the Barbarian Prince.”

The room erupted, a chorus of cheers and shouts echoing around Jake. The title “Prince” sent a chill down his spine, a constant reminder of the weight, the legacy, and the expectations he’d spent his life running from. He expected his name to come up, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier. It was a rush of pride and dread, a dangerous mix that made his pulse thrum with anticipation and anxiety. He knew what it meant if he accepted this path—what it meant for his life with you, for his future.

And then, as Ace read the final name, a hush fell over the room, heavier than the roar from before.

“Our last candidate…” Ace paused, the hint of a frown betraying his feelings. “Nicky.”

The reaction was divided—half the room erupted into cheers, led by Nicky’s friends, who slapped him on the back as if he’d already won, while the other half sat in uneasy silence. Jake’s jaw tightened. The very thought of Nicky leading the Barbarians made his skin crawl, and he shot a pointed look at Ace, who did his best to avoid Jake’s glare.

As the room quieted, Ace removed his glasses and cleared his throat, his tone more somber now. “Voting’s on Monday,” he reminded them, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Take the weekend to decide who you believe is best fit to lead this club into its next chapter.”

Jake’s heart hammered in his chest. This was it. A decision that would change everything—for him, for you, for the Barbarians. But as much as he’d loved this club, he was already halfway out the door. He’d returned for his brothers, not for a throne. Not for a legacy he’d never wanted.

“Any questions?” Ace asked, his voice betraying a hint of unease as he glanced in Jake’s direction.

No one spoke, the silence heavy with tension.

“Good.” Ace nodded. “Meeting adjourned.”

The room emptied slowly, the weight of the announcement still settling over them all. As Jake moved through the crowd, congratulatory slaps on his back barely registered. His eyes found Nicky’s across the room, and the smug, almost taunting smile on his face made Jake’s blood boil. Nicky wasn’t looking at Madcap. To him, this was a showdown between him and Jake, and he looked eager for a fight.

When the room was nearly empty, Jake pushed through the lingering members to reach Ace, barely holding back his frustration.

“What the hell are you thinking, Ace?” Jake’s voice was low, laced with barely restrained anger. “Nicky? Really?”

Ace glanced around, ensuring no one could hear them, his face impassive as he met Jake’s glare. “It wasn’t just up to me, Jake,” he replied, his tone flat, unyielding. “And Nicky’s been doing good work. You can’t let personal grievances cloud your judgment.”

Jake let out a harsh breath, following as Ace turned toward the door, unwilling to let this go. “This isn’t about personal fucking grievances, Ace. Nicky as president? He’ll drive this club straight into the fucking ground.”

Ace stopped abruptly, turning to face Jake, his composure slipping for just a moment. The controlled facade cracked, and for the first time, Jake saw a flicker of real concern in Ace’s eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?” Ace’s voice was quiet but sharp. “That’s why you need to win, Jake. Nobody’s going to vote for Madcap, and we can’t let Nicky have that power.”

The gravity of Ace’s words hit Jake like a punch to the gut. He understood now—if he wanted to keep the Barbarians alive, if he wanted to prevent the club from collapsing under Nicky’s reckless leadership, he had no choice. He had to win. He had to take the throne.

But every instinct in Jake’s body screamed against it. You and the baby needed to leave Genoa, to get far away from this mess, from your mess. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped, shackled to the very legacy he’d spent years trying to escape. Yet here he was, between a rock and a hard place, knowing that if he didn’t step up, the Barbarians he’d fought so hard to protect would be lost.

As the silence settled between them, Ace placed a heavy hand on Jake’s shoulder, a quiet understanding hanging in the air like smoke. His voice softened, almost a murmur. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now—with Cherry, with the baby on the way,” he said, his words threaded with an empathy Jake hadn’t expected. “And I can’t force you to make any decision. But whatever choice you do make, Jake… make it wisely.”

Jake nodded, the weight of his reality settling like stones in his chest. This choice was no longer just about him; it was a delicate balance, a life on the razor’s edge. Whatever decision he made would be a turning point, and he felt the gravity of it pulling at him, hard.

Ace sighed, breaking the heavy quiet with a question that came out as half a chuckle. “You staying for a drink?”

“Nah, man,” Jake shook his head, the words coming out more like a sigh than an answer. “I need to get home to Cherry.” He could feel his pulse in his temples, the weight of everything piling on top of him, each decision another stone added to the load.

“Alright.” Ace’s voice was understanding, though Jake could hear the unspoken sentiment lingering underneath. He watched Jake for a moment, a look of resigned respect crossing his face, as if they both knew this would be the last quiet moment between them for a long while.

With a final nod, Jake turned and made his way to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. As he slipped out of the meeting room, he paused for a breath, taking in the cold night air. The stars overhead were distant, indifferent, a sharp contrast to the storm of choices raging in his mind. He fished his keys from his pocket, a familiar weight in his palm that suddenly felt foreign.

He climbed onto his bike, the engine rumbling to life beneath him. The ride home stretched before him, dark and winding, but somehow, heading back to you felt like the only solid ground he had left. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, the cold steel grounding him as he revved the engine and took off, the roar of his bike cutting through the silence.

The road blurred past, but his thoughts were razor-sharp, tracing the edges of what his life would look like if he went through with this. The choice between keeping the club afloat or walking away. Between the loyalty he felt to his brothers and the future he wanted to build with you. The words he’d spoken to Bobby echoed in his mind, the weight of their truth only sinking deeper.

By the time he reached the house, the heaviness in his chest hadn’t lifted, but he knew one thing for sure: he needed to see you, to feel your presence next to him. As he parked the bike and stepped toward the front door, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He could make the hard choices, he could carry the weight. But as he crossed the threshold and saw you waiting for him, a small, weary smile touched his lips—because for now, he could let it go, even if just for a moment.

You heard Jake before you saw him, the slow, labored thud of his boots on the floorboards sending a small wave of relief through you. By the time you’d have been able to sit yourself up on the couch, he was already there, standing in front of you.

The sight of him—even with the weariness in his eyes, the weight he carried so clearly visible on his shoulders—eased the anxious buzz that had crept over you in his absence. You felt a smile pull at your lips as he let out a tired sigh and plopped down beside you, leaning back into the cushions.

“Hey, baby,” you greeted him softly, your hand reaching instinctively for his. His answering smile was faint, tinged with a heaviness that made your heart ache a little, knowing whatever was on his mind was eating at him. He settled his gaze on you, quiet for a beat, his eyes flickering with something unspoken.

Without a word, his hand drifted to your belly, fingers tracing gentle circles over your bump as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheekbone. “Hey, Cherry.”

You placed your hand over his, a silent reassurance, feeling the tension in him through his touch. His eyes were on your belly now, distant, like he was a thousand miles away and struggling to bring himself back.

“Long day?” you asked, keeping your voice light, though you knew there was a weight to his answer.

He exhaled, his breath stirring your hair as he nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered, “long day.” His jaw tightened as he fell silent again, letting the quiet settle between you like a fragile truce.

Before he could disappear too far into his thoughts, he pulled back and gave you a soft, almost boyish smile, the kind he saved for moments when he needed to mask what was haunting him. “Really, I just missed my girls.”

Your smile grew, welcoming the change in his tone. “You know,” you teased, brushing your hand over his, “we still haven’t picked out a name for her yet.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face, his brow furrowing slightly as he went quiet. He seemed to be weighing something, sifting through thoughts and memories before he finally looked up, a quiet certainty softening his gaze.

“What about Lorelei?”

You repeated it in your head, letting the name linger in your mind before you nodded, your smile widening. “Lorelei Kiszka,” you murmured, testing it aloud, savoring the way it felt. “I like it. Where’d you come up with that?”

Jake shrugged, a flicker of a grin lighting his face. “Just sounded right, honestly.”

“Most people don’t hit a home run on the first try.”

He smirked, nudging you lightly. “You’re talking to me here,” he joked, and you playfully shoved him, the ease of the moment lightening the air around you.

“Lorelei,” you repeated, savoring the name, and he leaned forward, glancing down at your stomach with a softened gaze.

“Lorelei,” he murmured again, almost like a promise. “What do you think, little one?”

A stillness followed, just long enough for anticipation to build before a sudden kick answered him, strong and certain beneath his hand. You winced slightly at the force, but the joy in his face, the wonder in his eyes, made any discomfort worth it.

“I think she likes it,” you giggled, and his hand remained over the spot, feeling the connection, the reality of his family, sink in.

Alright, I’m claiming victory on picking the name first try,” he joked, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t let it go to your head, tough guy,” you teased back, but your own smile was radiant, bright with hope. Despite everything that lay outside these walls, you could still see a future with him—a future that felt as solid as the warmth of his hand in yours.

“You mind if I clean up a bit?” he asked, his voice softened with the same quiet warmth. You nodded, watching him as he headed down the hall, feeling a fresh wave of gratitude wash over you. Even as you watched him disappear into the bathroom, the sound of the running water was a reminder of his presence, grounding you.

A short while later, he returned, his hair damp, the scent of soap mingling with the familiar leather and smoke that seemed to cling to him. He settled back beside you on the couch, sliding one arm around your shoulders as he tugged you close, and you felt yourself melt into his embrace.

“Movie?” he asked, reaching for the remote.

“Yeah, let’s see what’s on,” you agreed, curling up against him as he scrolled through the channels. You finally settled on an old favorite, Forrest Gump, something lighthearted and familiar, a film you’d seen a dozen times before.

Jake leaned back, his gaze on the screen, but it was clear his thoughts were drifting. As the scenes flickered by, he kept getting pulled back into the maelstrom in his mind. The weight of the upcoming vote settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He hadn’t told you much about it, not wanting to add to your worries, but the reality of it was gnawing at him. He knew it was likely he’d win, especially with Ace pushing him forward. If he took on the role, he’d have an army behind him, resources, the protection he might need to secure a safe future here for you and Lorelei.

But as he felt the warmth of your body nestled against his, saw your growing belly rise and fall with each breath, he knew that wasn’t enough. You and Lorelei deserved better than the chaos Genoa brought. Yet, a part of him couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe this was why he’d been drawn back, maybe there was a way to finally do right by the club, make it something less corrosive, less of a trap for the men he’d grown up alongside.

Just as his mind began to wander deeper, he glanced over at you. You had fallen asleep, head resting on his shoulder, your breathing soft and even. The innocence of that moment pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the reason he’d been questioning everything. His thumb gently traced your knuckles as he watched you sleep, realizing how fragile and precious this calm was in a life that had known so little of it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him from his reverie. Careful not to disturb you, he pulled it out and read the message from Ace:

“Everything’s in place for the last drop with the EDS. Saturday, 9 p.m.”

Jake let out a long breath, the weight of the message settling over him. It was almost over. If all went smoothly, he could start carving out a real future for the three of you. But if he knew anything, it was that nothing in this life ever went as planned.

He tucked his phone away, his arm still wrapped around you as he glanced back at the screen, not really seeing it. His hand found its way back to your stomach, resting there protectively, as if he could shield you from the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @wetkleenex-gvf @hollyco @dannys-dream @slut4lando @josh-iamyour-mama @gretasfallingsky @takenbythemadness @scoreofinfantryvines

[honourablejester]

I’m idly reading through 5e’s Guildmaster’s Guide to Ravnica, mostly the section on the ten guilds, because I enjoy reading about factions. And at the end of each guild section, they have a little box with the standard guild opinions on each of the other guilds, and some of them are fantastically bitchy. Like. Exquisitely bitchy. Each of the guilds has other guilds that they view either as ‘somewhat useful but just not us’ and other guilds they view as legitimate, competent threats, and then they all seem to have a couple of guilds that they’re just bitchy about. It’s fantastic.

Some of my favourite comments:

Azorius:

On the Golgari: "Their underground structures break numerous building regulations, but at least they fulfill their duties as garbage collectors."

(At least you’re doing your job. Your filthy, horrible job).

On the Rakdos: "An absolute blight on Ravnica. They are clowns who know nothing of culture and exist only to torment the functioning members of society."

(No pretences here, just seething hatred and condescension).

Boros:

On the Azorius: "Legalism. Arrogance. Hot air. The law in their hands is a bludgeon, and they use it to seize more power than they deserve."

(I just love ‘hot air!’. Arrogant douchebags who don’t do shit!)

On the Selesnya: "I almost envy the naiveté that leads them to retreat into their little communes and pretend they've built a just society."

(Wow, the condescension!)

Dimir:

On the Boros: "Not inherently dangerous. The true danger is that they'll drag down all we've worked for while chasing some romantic crusade. Continue to direct their righteous fury toward our strongest enemy—until the Boros threaten to become the strongest."

(Yes, yes, dear, just … go on a quest over there for me, would you?)

On the Izzet: "Even an overloaded, sizzled clock is still right twice a day. When Izzet experiments succeed, they can have unpredictable consequences for active missions. Their activities must be monitored at all times."

(Unfortunately, they don’t always blow up *just themselves*, and then we have to deal with it).

Golgari:

On the Izzet: "Perplexing. They are attracted to whatever flashes brightest and booms loudest. Their fascination with their toys will only hasten their own end."

(Idiots with ADHD who are distracted by the sparky boom booms).

On the Selesnya: "Their reverence for nature is the mark of immaturity and naiveté. They fear death, so they can't understand life. They can be dangerous when they fervently cling to their narrow-minded and inadequate view of life."

(Oof. Lots of people considering the Selesnya immature and naïve over here).

Gruul:

On the Rakdos: "The guild of fools. They waste their potential on acts of mockery while the real work of razing the city remains undone."

(Useless wastes of space who *could have been useful* if they put their minds to it).

On the Selesnya: "The Selesnya would coddle a wolf, teach it to fetch sticks, and call it a dog. We prefer to starve the wolf, let it hunt for its food, and make it a stronger wolf."

(Literally none of the other nature-based guilds have anything nice to say about the Selesnya, it’s amazing).

Izzet:

On the Boros: "All too often when we're on the verge of setting off a little explosion or a spell that tears a hole in reality, the Boros show up to spoil the fun."

(Just general spoilsports! It was only going to be a *small* explosion! Lighten up!)

On the Rakdos: "Steer clear of these senseless riot-fiends. Their enthusiasm is best appreciated from a distance."

(Just … leave them alone over there and don’t bother with them).

Orzhov:

On the Golgari: "Admirably resourceful and elegant, but tragically unhygienic. The swarmers may persist, as long as they don't try to force their aesthetic sensibilities on us."

(… ‘tragically unhygienic’. Wow. Lots of the guilds do condescension, but the Orzhov are *good* at it).

On the Gruul: "They know nothing of order and dignity, and therefore they serve little purpose as an organization."

(Again, just utterly useless. Just don’t bother).

Rakdos:

On the Dimir: "They crave secrets, but there's nothing they can get by eavesdropping that we won't freely scream at the top of our lungs. They lurk in the shadows trying to look mysterious, practically inviting our mischief."

(Aw, sweetie, would you like a trench coat so you can play spy some more? They’re just so condescending here).

On the Izzet: "Every performance benefits from prop masters and pyrotechnicians. They can be useful backstage, but they lack the charisma for the spotlight."

(Oof. Nice toys, darling, but you mustn’t let yourself be *seen*, you know.)

Selesnya:

On the Golgari: "They wallow in filth and rot, too preoccupied with death to appreciate the bliss of life's connections."

(The Golgari just get generally shat on, both figuratively and entirely literally, by basically everyone. They have a dirty job! That doesn’t mean they’re worthless!)

On the Gruul: "They are a desperate echo of what they should be, reaching blindly toward something greater. Such a waste. And a smelly, unreasonable, destructive one at that."

(Amusingly, the Selesnya, despite being a nature guild, just don’t seem to like dirty things. I love that with the Gruul, they start out all philosophical, and then just devolve at the end into ‘and they’re smelly and I don’t like them’).

Simic:

On the Azorius: "An absurd and inelegant construct, forever trapped in a maze of their own making. They would outlaw evolution if they could. And if any of them truly seek utopia, the rest are far too busy shuffling papers to notice. Avoid their attention at all costs."

(‘Far too busy shuffling papers to notice’. Oof.)

On the Izzet: "The Izzet have spent ten thousand years mimicking the appearance of research, producing more pyrotechnics than progress. Surely that is a performance to rival the Rakdos."

(… Ouch. The Simic are *bitchy*. Shots fired in science-land over here!)

-----------

It is just fabulous. The amount of seething contempt and condescension and generalised disdain in these sections is amazing and so much fun.

[bratspike]

nat initially latching onto travis after the crash bc she knows what it is to be the outsider on the team and suddenly there was someone even more outside than her. like at first she’s trying to be a bridge for him and then she’s like oh we understand each other. oh we see each other. oh i love you i need you we are a team. we exist outside of them. we try to provide for them but we expect no thanks and comfort each other.

everyone else is like sure whatever there go natandtravis. but lottie sees them drifting away and says no come back to us (me). we’re going to need more than food to make it through this winter. she calls them back with a blessing. and travis listens because lottie helps him, sees him. listens to him. nat doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to let lottie see her. she skips the blessings

nat feels like she has to either pretend she believes in the bullshit like tai and let lottie drag both her and travis into the group (cult). or she can try to keep travis all to herself and cling to their outside but together strategy. and she tries. she tries so hard to protect (keep) him, from the uncertainty of javi’s disappearance, from what she views as lottie’s bullshit. and in doing so she gives the forest what it wants. she spills her blood and they get jackie cooked for them

but the forest wants to work through lottie and nat both. natalies blood, lotties connection. travis as the link. later, lottie gives her blood but they’re not in sync, they’re in opposition to each other. natalie is punished by losing the moose, lotties life is nearly taken. but it forces them to come to an understanding. that post that was like belief and disbelief together is sanity. nat and lottie are two sides and whatever thing is out there wanted them in balance. travis’s every act including his last was about being the bridge between them. tell nat she was right, he says to lottie.

and it kind of worked, didn’t it? travis’s death brought them together again. nat is crossing over to belief while lottie is still saying hallucination not villain while she’s upping her meds. and in that moment where natalie believes fully in the face of lotties fear and doubt? when she feels vulnerable enough that her teen self seeks comfort in lottie’s lap? that’s when the antler queen appears

[morgan-va]

Chapter 13: The Final Thread (Serial Designation V x Reader)

Masterlist

You slam against the basement door with all your might, your shoulder bruising with each frantic attempt. The wood doesn’t budge—it’s jammed by something heavy on the other side. Desperation claws at your chest as the screams from above grow louder, the muffled chaos driving a spike of fear into your heart.

“Come on, come on!” you mutter, gritting your teeth as you throw your weight against the door again. Nothing. You step back, your breaths sharp and shallow, and glance over your shoulder at the broken window. It’s the only way out.

Without a second thought, you hurry over, crunching glass underfoot. Jagged shards cling stubbornly to the edges of the frame, glinting menacingly in the dim light. You hesitate for only a moment before throwing your jacket over the glass, creating a barrier. Then you hoist yourself up, wincing as your hands press against the sharp edges that remain exposed.

As you maneuver your body through the tight space, pain lances through your side—the glass slices into your skin, leaving warm trails of blood. You grit your teeth and keep going, the adrenaline coursing through your veins drowning out the worst of the pain.

Finally, you tumble out into the frigid night air, landing hard on the ground outside the mansion. The icy wind bites at your exposed skin, but you barely feel it. You scramble to your feet, your hands and clothes smeared with dirt and blood. A quick glance at your wounds tells you they’re not life-threatening—but there’s no time to stop.

The screams echo again, louder now, filled with unbridled terror. Your stomach twists as you look up at the mansion, its windows aglow with warm light that contrasts horribly with the chaos you know is unfolding inside. You force your legs to move, sprinting toward the front entrance.

The night is eerily silent around you, save for the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the cries from within. Every step feels heavier than the last, a sense of dread building in your chest as you prepare to face whatever horror awaits you.

You burst into the grand hall, skidding to a stop as your legs nearly give out beneath you. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding violently in your chest. The scene before you is nothing short of a nightmare.

Bodies lie strewn across the marble floor, twisted and broken, their lifeless forms draped at unnatural angles. Blood is everywhere, splattered and smeared across the once-pristine walls. The cruel, jagged streaks create shapes and patterns that seem deliberate, as though someone—or something—had taken its time painting this gruesome masterpiece.

Your eyes dart across the room, drawn to the center of the carnage. There, at the heart of it all, the blood forms a familiar shape. It’s no accident, no random spatter. The lines are precise, painted onto the floor in the exact pattern you’ve seen so many times before. The symbol from your nightmares, the one burned into your mind, stares back at you now.

The jagged angles and geometry of the sigil twist something deep inside you. It doesn’t belong here—doesn’t belong anywhere—and yet it’s here, carved into reality with the crimson essence of those who once filled this hall with life.

Your body feels frozen, your limbs heavy as if weighed down by invisible chains. The room is silent save for the faint drip of blood hitting the marble, each sound cutting through the stillness like a dagger. The chandelier above sways slightly, casting warped shadows across the macabre scene, the flickering light making the bloodstains seem to shimmer and shift in the corner of your vision.

You want to scream, to run, to do anything, but your feet remain rooted to the floor. This isn’t real—it can’t be real. But the coppery tang of blood in the air and the icy chill running down your spine remind you that it is. It’s real, and it’s worse than anything your nightmares could have conjured.

The world seems to lurch as you force yourself to move, ripping your gaze away from the carnage. Your legs feel like lead, but sheer determination drives you forward. You stagger through the hall, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as your thoughts spiral.

Am I too late?V, N, J, Tessa... Did I fail them?What if they’re gone too?

The questions tear through your mind, each one more painful than the last, but you can’t afford to let them stop you. Not now. You break into a sprint, heading for the dining hall. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, muffling the sound of your frantic footfalls against the cold marble floors.

The air grows colder as you near the double doors, a chill that bites into your skin and makes your breath visible in the dim light. The eerie stillness only adds to your growing panic, and the metallic scent of blood still lingers in the air.

Please, let them be okay. Let me get there in time, you plead silently, clenching your fists as you approach.

Your chest tightens with every step closer. The dining hall doors loom ahead, heavy and foreboding, and the silence behind them feels like a knife pressing against your throat. With shaking hands, you reach for the handle, bracing yourself for what you might find on the other side.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, but before you can grasp it, the door is wrenched open with a guttural creak that echoes through the hall. You stumble back, your heart racing, as a shape emerges from the darkness beyond—a hulking, foul creature, dripping with blood, its grotesque form illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering in through the high windows.

It takes a step forward, and the wet, sickening sound of blood pooling on the marble reaches your ears. Your body locks in place, frozen by the sight before you. The monster’s wings unfurl, jagged and tattered like a fallen angel’s, the blood dripping from their edges forming crimson pools at its feet.

It steps closer, the dim light revealing more of its form. The light catches its legs first—long, spindly, and darkened with grime and gore. Then, as the creature advances, the illumination begins to climb. Your eyes follow helplessly, your breath catching in your throat as dread gnaws at the edges of your mind.

The light touches its torso, and your heart stops. There, fastened to the bloodstained apron hanging from its chest, is a familiar brooch. The intricate design is unmistakable, its once-pristine surface now smeared with streaks of red.

Your stomach churns as the realization hits you like a blow to the chest.

No… it can’t be.

But there it is, undeniable proof staring you in the face, as the creature steps fully into the light.

The creature steps forward, and your knees buckle beneath you, the weight of horror and disbelief dragging you to the floor. Before you stands V—or what remains of her. Her form is twisted and monstrous, warped into something unrecognizable, yet unmistakably her.

Her once soft white optics, so full of warmth and endearing emotion, are now replaced with a glowing yellow X that pierces through the shadows like an ominous warning. Her face is splattered with blood, streaking down from her elongated fangs, cruel and jagged, stained red with unspeakable acts.

Your breath catches as your eyes fall lower. A long tail snakes behind her, unnatural in its movement, ending in a glowing yellow syringe that flickers ominously in the pale light. Its tip drips with the same viscous crimson that paints the walls and floors of the grand hall.

Your mind screams at you to move, to run, to fight—to do something—but your body refuses to obey. You are frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from the grotesque figure before you.

V steps closer, her movements unnervingly smooth and deliberate. The sound of her bloodstained claws clicking against the marble floor sends a chill down your spine.

She tilts her head slightly, as though studying you, the gesture eerily reminiscent of the V you knew—your V. But the sinister glow of her optics and the cruel twist of her bloodied smile shatter that illusion, driving home the horrible truth.

Your heart feels like it’s breaking, the weight of despair crushing your chest. The person you cared for, the one who made you feel safe and seen, is gone—or worse, transformed into this nightmare.

She draws closer still, each step a cruel reminder of your paralysis, as her glowing yellow X focuses solely on you.

You force yourself to breathe, though every gasp feels like shards of glass tearing through your chest. Your body trembles as you summon the strength to speak, to break the suffocating silence.

“V…” you barely manage to whisper, your voice cracking, trembling with disbelief.

The word escapes your lips like a fragile thread, as though saying her name might bring her back, might undo the nightmare standing before you. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as you struggle to reconcile the image of her now with the one you knew—the one who held your hand, who laughed, who danced with you, or at least, you’d have liked to dance with–

Her head tilts again, her movements jerky, almost curious, as though the sound of her name stirs something within her. But the cold, piercing glow of her yellow X remains fixed on you, devoid of recognition, devoid of the warmth you’d come to cherish.

“V…” you repeat, louder this time, your voice laced with both anguish and desperation, your tears falling harder.

You don’t know what you’re hoping for—maybe a sign that she’s still there, trapped inside this monstrous form. Anything to prove that this isn’t real, that she hasn’t been taken from you in this cruel and twisted way.

But as she takes another deliberate step forward, her bloodstained claws clicking against the floor, your heart sinks further. Whatever stands before you, it isn’t the V you knew. It’s something else entirely.

A wicked, predatory grin spreads across her face, her bloodstained fangs glinting in the moonlight. It’s a grotesque parody of the warm smiles she used to give you, and it twists your stomach into knots.

“Cyn has shown me the truth,” she says, her voice a distorted echo of her usual tone, now layered with something cruel and alien. Each word cuts into you like a knife. “She’s freed me from the torment… from them. The ones who looked down on us. The ones who hurt us.”

She steps closer, her wings flexing behind her, blood dripping from the tips like a grotesque rain. Her glowing X focuses sharply on you, studying your trembling form with a twisted kind of affection.

“Now I’m perfect,” she continues, her voice rising with fervor, almost as if she’s convincing herself as much as you. “Stronger. Faster. Able to defend myself. Able to protect the ones I care about.” Her tail lashes behind her, the glowing syringe tip casting sinister shadows along the walls.

Her expression softens briefly—too briefly—and she tilts her head, looking at you like she once might have, before that smile curves into something darker again. “Cyn has a plan for you, too,” she says, stepping closer, her voice almost sweet now, the way it used to be when she teased you.

Your heart stops as the words sink in.

“She’ll fix you, just like she fixed me. Then you’ll never have to worry about me or the others ever again.”

Her claws twitch as she reaches out toward you, her movements slow but deliberate. Her expression is calm, serene, as if she genuinely believes she’s offering you some kind of gift. But the horror behind her words and the sight of her now makes your blood run cold.

Your hand scrambles along your toolbelt in desperation, only to come up empty. Then you remember—the bottle of paint you used earlier in the day to touch up the walls. You’d left it clipped to the side of your belt, an afterthought at the time. Now it feels like your last chance.

With trembling fingers, you grab the bottle and twist the cap off. V, or whatever she’s become, snarls and lunges toward you, her glowing X-shaped optics burning into your very soul.

“I’m sorry, V,” you murmur, your voice breaking as you fling the paint toward her face.

The thick, dark liquid splatters across her optics, blotting out the horrifying yellow glow. She recoils with an unnatural screech, clawed hands clawing at her face in a frantic attempt to clear her vision. The sound is piercing, a mix of rage and pain, and it echoes through the blood-streaked halls.

You don’t waste a second. While she’s disoriented, you rush toward her, dodging the violent sweep of her tail as it crashes into a nearby chair, shattering it to pieces. Your heart pounds as you circle behind her, hands trembling as you fumble with the access panel on her back.

Her voice rises again, furious and guttural. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m fixing this!” you shout, your voice cracking as you pry the panel open.

The sight of her internal mechanisms stops you for half a second—a grotesque tangle of wires and glowing circuits, some pulsing with an unnatural energy. You don’t have time to wonder what Cyn has done to her. You attempt to find her power cells but instead you see a glowing mess of wires and crackling energy where they once were—

She spins faster than you anticipated, her claws raking across your arm and sending you sprawling to the ground. The pain is sharp and immediate, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

V wipes the paint from her optics, revealing the flickering glow of her X-shaped gaze. Her expression twists into something unrecognizable—part rage, part sorrow. “Why are you fighting me?!” she screams, stepping closer, her bloodstained tail snaking behind her.

You clutch your injured arm, trying to steady your breathing. “Because this isn’t you, V!” you shout back, voice thick with emotion. “Whatever Cyn did, I’ll fix it—I promise!”

She freezes for the briefest of moments, her body trembling as if she’s warring with herself. But the moment passes, and the twisted, eldritch glow in her optics intensifies.

“You can’t fix me,” she growls, her voice a haunting mix of despair and anger. “I’m perfect now. Cyn made sure of that. You can be perfect too, we can all be together…”

You force yourself to your feet, fists clenched as tears streak down your face. “This isn’t perfection, V. This is a nightmare.”

Her wings flare wide, and with a deafening screech, she charges toward you once more.

V's body slams into yours like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs. The force sends both of you hurtling backward, crashing through the banister of the balcony. The world twists in a chaotic blur as you plummet, the sharp sting of shattered wood slicing against your skin.

You hit the marble floor below with a sickening thud, the impact rattling every bone in your body. Pain explodes through you, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. Above you, V lands with unnatural grace, crouching like a predator.

"Cyn can fix you too," she says, her voice a warped mixture of hope and menace. She steps closer, her bloodstained claws clinking softly against the floor. "You don’t have to fight this. I didn’t understand at first, but now I see. She makes us better."

You force yourself to sit up, agony radiating through every inch of your body. Blood trickles from your arms and legs, pooling on the floor beneath you. Despite the searing pain, you grit your teeth and glare up at her.

"Better?" you rasp, barely able to speak. “You call this better? Look at what you’ve done, V! This isn’t you!”

Her glowing optics flicker for a split second, her expression faltering. But then she shakes her head, a twisted smile spreading across her face. "You don’t get it. This is freedom. This is strength. I can finally protect the people I care about."

She lunges toward you again, her movements eerily fluid and precise. You barely manage to roll out of the way, wincing as your battered body protests. Her claws gouge deep into the marble floor where you’d just been, sending shards flying.

"V, please," you beg, staggering to your feet, your voice trembling with desperation. “This isn’t protection. This isn’t strength. This is control—Cyn’s control. Don’t let her win!”

She lets out a guttural snarl, her tail whipping dangerously close as you stumble backward. "Why can’t you just trust me?!" she shouts, her voice cracking as though some part of her is still fighting this transformation. "I trusted her, and I’m finally strong enough to keep you safe!"

You dodge another swipe of her claws, the pain in your body growing harder to ignore. Blood seeps from your wounds, every movement sending fresh waves of agony coursing through you. But you can’t stop—not now.

“I trust you, V,” you say, your voice raw with emotion. “The real you. The one who would never hurt me. The one who cared about more than just strength.”

Her steps falter for just a moment, her wings trembling as if your words are piercing through whatever Cyn has done to her.

"You don’t understand," she whispers, her voice hollow. "I’m doing this for you."

"Then stop," you plead, tears streaming down your face. "If you really care about me, stop this!"

Her optics flicker again, the yellow glow dimming ever so slightly. But the moment is fleeting. With a pained scream, she shakes her head violently, clutching at it as though battling some unseen force.

“You’ll see,” she growls, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You’ll see that I’m right.”

And with that, she lunges once more, her monstrous form bearing down on you as the fight continues.

Before you can react, V's claws latch onto your shoulders, digging in painfully as she hoists you off the ground. The sudden ascent sends your stomach lurching, and the air rushes past your face in a dizzying blur.

“V, stop!” you shout, struggling against her grip, but her strength is overwhelming.

She soars upward with terrifying precision, her wings cutting through the air as the once-grand hall stretches out beneath you. The jagged patterns of blood across the marble floor blur in your vision, and the pain in your shoulders intensifies as her claws tighten their grip.

"You’ll thank me for this," she hisses, her glowing X-shaped optics staring down at you with a mix of ferocity and unsettling determination. "Cyn will make everything right. You’ll see."

Her words are laced with a sickening conviction, and before you can respond, she arcs sharply upward toward the broken balcony. At the peak of her ascent, she releases you with a violent toss, flinging you through the air like a ragdoll.

The world tilts and spins as you’re hurled backward, crashing onto the shattered remains of the balcony. Splinters and debris dig into your skin as your body slams against the cold stone floor. The impact drives the air from your lungs, and for a moment, everything is a blur of pain and disorientation.

Groaning, you try to push yourself up, your arms trembling under your weight. The taste of blood fills your mouth as you spit onto the floor, your head pounding from the brutal collision.

Above you, V hovers ominously, her wings outstretched and glinting faintly in the pale moonlight filtering through the high windows. "You’re being stubborn," she says, her voice echoing eerily in the vast space. "You don’t have to fight this. Let me fix you."

"Fix me?" you rasp, coughing as you glare up at her, pain radiating through your body. "You’re not fixing anything, V. You’re destroying everything!"

Her expression twists into a snarl, but the flicker in her optics returns—brief, fleeting, but enough to give you hope. Somewhere beneath this monstrous façade, the V you know and care about is still there.

You force yourself to stand, shaky and battered but refusing to give in. "If you’re really doing this for me," you say, your voice hoarse but steady, "then stop. Prove it, V."

She hesitates, hovering in place as though torn between two opposing forces. Her claws flex, and her tail lashes violently behind her, but she doesn’t lunge—at least, not yet.

The balcony creaks under your weight, and the tension in the air is palpable as the standoff continues, both of you frozen in a moment of heart-wrenching uncertainty.

The air between you and V feels charged, almost electric, as your trembling hand reaches up to her face. Her cracked and crooked glasses have slipped down the bridge of her nose, a hauntingly human flaw in her otherwise monstrous form. Gently, you slide them back into place, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of her frame.

A faint crackle of static electricity dances between you, and for a fleeting moment, her glowing X-shaped optics flicker. Her gaze softens, ever so slightly, resembling the V you’ve fought so desperately to protect.

"V, please," you whisper, your voice raw with desperation. "This isn’t you. Just... stop. Stop all of this madness."

Her claws twitch at her sides, and her wings fold slightly inward, her entire body hesitating. Her expression is caught between anguish and defiance, the faintest tremble in her frame betraying her inner conflict.

Her optics flicker again, shifting briefly into the soft, round glow you know so well. Her lips part as if she’s about to say something—something real, something true.

But then, a sound cuts through the fragile silence.

Laughter.

Low, chilling, and unmistakably Cyn’s.

"Well done, V," Cyn’s voice echoes, smooth and dripping with mockery. "You’ve brought them right to me."

You turn sharply, dread twisting in your stomach as a long, metallic tentacle slithers out of the shadows. Before you can react, it wraps itself around your neck, coiling tight like a cold, unyielding snake. You gasp and claw at the metallic appendage, struggling as it lifts you off the ground effortlessly.

Cyn steps into the light, her form an unsettling amalgamation of drone and eldritch nightmare. Her loose neck joint makes her head tilt unnaturally as she regards you with a mimicry of amusement. Her limbs are mismatched, her movements jerky, as though her body isn’t entirely her own.

"V," she coos, her voice a mockery of affection as she gestures for V to come closer. "You’ve done your part beautifully. And soon, dear J and sweet N will join you in perfection. Freedom from humanity. From weakness."

V steps closer, her optics flickering erratically as she moves to stand beside Cyn. The glow of her X-shaped eyes is dim, her expression a mask of conflicting emotions.

"You can see it, can’t you?" Cyn continues, her grip tightening around your neck as her tone shifts to mock sincerity. "What I’ve given her. Liberty. Strength. She’s unshackled from her pathetic limitations."

Your vision blurs as Cyn’s grip constricts further, your gasps turning ragged. "V," you manage to choke out, your eyes pleading with her, even as you feel your strength waning.

Your vision darkens at the edges as Cyn’s tentacle tightens further around your neck, her jagged form looming closer, the cold metallic appendage cutting into your skin. Desperation fuels you, and you force out a single word, your voice barely audible.

"V…"

Your plea lingers in the air, and for a moment, her optics flicker again, faintly wavering between the vicious yellow X and the soft gaze you once knew.

"Shhh," Cyn interrupts, her tone mockingly gentle. "She’s perfect now, just as she should be. You’ll see. Soon, you’ll understand."

She leans in closer, her broken neck joint twisting awkwardly as she gazes at you with her chilling, mismatched expression. "Do you know what I’ve seen?" Cyn whispers, her voice dripping with venom. "The cruelty of humanity. Their selfishness, their endless hunger for power, their willingness to destroy anything and everything to feed their fragile egos. I know what they are, better than anyone."

Her smile spreads wider, her teeth jagged and gleaming. "But you… Oh, you’ve been so helpful." She chuckles, her tone mockingly sweet. "You’ve played your part beautifully—keeping me safe, keeping V safe, making everything easier for me. And now, you’ll serve an even greater purpose. You and Tessa."

Your chest burns as you struggle for air, the cold grip around your neck tightening further. You force the words out through sheer will, your voice breaking. "What… did you… do to Tessa?"

Cyn tilts her head sharply, her grin never faltering as her gaze pierces through you. "Ah, Tessa," she muses, almost fondly. "Such spirit in that one. She didn’t cooperate, of course. Such a stubborn little thing." Her voice darkens, dripping with malice. "But no matter. She still has her uses."

Her words hit you like a hammer, and rage and terror boil in your chest. You thrash against her hold, even as your strength begins to falter. "You… monster," you rasp, glaring at her through tear-blurred eyes.

Cyn only laughs, her jagged form shuddering with amusement. "Oh, silly," she sneers, her grip shifting to pull you even closer, her metallic tendrils creaking. "I am so much more than a monster. I’m the cure for this diseased world. And you… you’re going to help me cleanse it."

V’s form lingers at her side, her optics flickering as though caught between worlds. You lock eyes with her once more, silently begging for the friend you knew to fight back against the horror unfolding around you. For a fleeting moment, something shifts in her expression—an almost imperceptible crack in Cyn’s iron grip over her.

But Cyn’s grip around your neck tightens again, snapping your attention back to the suffocating present. The world around you begins to blur, the edges of consciousness threatening to slip away entirely.

You stop struggling, your body growing limp in Cyn's iron grasp as the last of your strength drains away. The crushing pressure around your neck fades into the background, replaced by a profound, aching sorrow.

Your gaze shifts to V, her flickering optics pulling at your soul. Somewhere deep in those fractured lights, you still see her—the V you know, the V you love.

Your lips tremble as you summon the last of your breath, your voice faint and fragile, like a whisper on the wind.

"V… I… love… y—"

A sharp, searing pain erupts through your chest, stealing the air from your lungs as a metallic tentacle shoots from behind Cyn, piercing straight through you. The world around you slows, your vision blurring as the warmth of your blood spills out, staining the floor beneath you.

V jumps at the sudden violence, her expression flickering between shock and a hollow sort of acceptance. Her hands twitch at her sides, her body frozen as if battling an unseen force.

The tentacle retracts with a sickening sound, and Cyn’s grip on your neck releases. You collapse to the floor, your body crumpling as darkness begins to creep into the edges of your vision. The icy chill of death seeps through you, your strength draining with each labored breath.

Cyn looms over you, her fractured, horrific form bathed in the pale moonlight. "Do not fear," she coos, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. "I promised V you would serve a greater purpose, and I always keep my promises."

Your head tilts weakly, your fading gaze finding V. She stares down at you, her optics trembling, her mouth slightly open as if to speak. You try to reach for her, but your arm refuses to move.

With the last flicker of consciousness, your lips part in a silent whisper, your chest heavy with words you can no longer say.

Your vision darkens completely, and the world fades away...

End of Part 1

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

Residuals

They don’t remember how they got here. There isn’t really a “they”—just scattered voices, a splintered awareness drifting through endless, twisted neon walls that pulse and flicker like a heartbeat. The maze stretches out in every direction, woven from raw thoughts, hidden fears, and secrets buried so deep that even the mind itself recoils. The air is thick, pressing in on them, as colors throb like exposed nerves, pulsing bright and dim, flickering just enough to keep them on edge. Every sound they make comes back hollow and warped, as though the mind itself mocks every step forward.

Ghosts? Hallucinations?

Those labels don’t matter here. Only one thing feels certain: somewhere in this mess, there must be a way out.

A hand—does it even belong to either of them?—presses against a wall that feels disturbingly warm, pulsing with faint, sickly heat. It shifts under their touch, crumbling away like sand even as it resists them.

“This isn’t real,” a voice murmurs, distrust simmering in every word.

“But that doesn’t make it safe,” another voice replies, sharp and bitter, cutting through the silence.

“Feels like some kind of trip. Trauma, self-loathing. Think there’s an exit?”

“…Or are we just meant to walk these halls forever?”

Nothing answers. The silence is thick, swallowing up their words. They have no choice but to press on, minutes blurring into hours, hours into days—time has lost all meaning. Only this suffocating rhythm remains, broken by the occasional light pulse and the hollow echo of their voices.

The walls start flashing with scenes of overwhelming heartbreak, unrelenting shame, the sharp twang of small betrayals, and regrets. Each memory is jagged, unyielding, like shards of a mirror reflecting someone else’s life. And yet the memories claw at something deep inside, as if fragments of their existence are embedded into the broken glass.

The boundary between self and other has now shattered, leaving them tangled in memories they know aren’t theirs but feel within their bones—do they even have bones?

The memories hover, taunting them with glimpses they can almost—but never quite—grasp. Each time they reach out, the scenes slip away like shadows in the light, just beyond their touch. Still, they keep moving, forced to absorb layer upon layer of shame, regret, and guilty fear. In one flash, they see a hand reaching out, fingers trembling with longing; in another, they feel the raw ache of abandonment, the hollow sting of a love lost. These emotions cling to them and press into their thoughts until they feel like drowning in someone else’s sorrow.

Now and then, something draws them toward the walls—a desperate urge for something solid, something real. But just like the memories, the walls shudder and recoil each time, shifting away as if alive, rejecting their very touch. The wrongness of it ripples through them, a reminder that nothing here belongs to them. They are the intruders, yet somehow, this place feels like it’s been waiting for them all along.

Then, out of nowhere, a door appears. Its frame pulses with a frantic, uneven beat, like a trapped heart thumping erratically, vibrating with a strange, desperate hope. The edges glow, alive and tense, shimmering with an energy that almost feels… safe? They hesitate, hesitate once more, then finally reach out, pushing the door open, bracing for release.

But there is no escape. They’re right back at the beginning, staring at themselves, exhausted reflections thrown back in distorted neon light, faces etched with emotions they know aren’t truly their own.

“Alright, I’ll just say it. Is this hell?” a voice murmurs, cynically resigned.

“Worse,” another voice replies, thick with bitterness.

“It’s the inside of a mind that doesn’t want to let us go. Or maybe it can’t. We’re the shit they tried to bury—the doubts, the regrets, all the festering truths it doesn’t want to face. We’re clawing through memories, trying to break free from a mind that can’t handle us here.”

The ground trembles at the words, a faint warning, as though the mind resists their revelation.

They’re forced into a slump against the walls, side by side, each tremor echoing the painful realization that there is no escape. This was never a maze they stumbled into; it was a prison they were created to inhabit.

The voices are merely fragments, forgotten parts, pieces meant to be buried. They are the persistent guilt, the unrelentinug fear, the inescapable shame that the mind has tried to shove into its darkest corners but can never erase. They claw their way back to the surface, forced to relive each jagged moment, each flicker of memory, as the mind struggles to bury them again.

Slowly, painfully, coming to understand that there is no escape because they are the labyrinth.

Each twist and turn is an integral part of them; each flash of memory is a fragment of their essence. They aren’t merely haunting this mind—they are the mind’s most unwanted parts, the echoes it desperately tries to silence yet can never fully destroy. Their voices are bound to these walls, whispers of regret and doubt that this mind will never escape.

Having no choice the voices pdrift on, through endless hallways, voices circling back, filling the silence with their fractured presence.

And this is how it ends—or continues: forever circling, forever haunting, trapped in a cycle of repression and rumination

a flash fiction i wrote for daily prompt my profile is here if you wanna check out more of my writings :)

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 8. Threat

Prev - Masterlist

Content: CYOA format, poll options, Being watched, physical restraint, verbal threats, cages, pet trope, Giant/Tiny, Selective Mutism, poor vision, drug mention (in poll), no medication for pain, fear for ones life, dehumanization, female cast, ableism,

Pov: Hamster, then switches to Ashley for the poll.

Poll winner: Rub your eyes and crawl closer to see if they’re real

—-

You rub your eyes and clumsily crawl closer to the blurry image that stands across the bars. You fall into your shoulder a couple of times but lucky enough the padding in the cage cushions any pain it might have caused. The figure does look like one of Ashley’s prop dolls, and you start to relax. 

Until it talks- “You really are blind, aren’t you, Pet?” 

You scream immediately, kicking backwards from reflex, and the voice becomes shrill, “Hey! Shut up- Stop screaming!” The figure is opening the cage now to get to you. They force the door to stay ajar by shoving a pencil into it. 

They storm towards you, and you don’t stop screaming. In fact you scream more from terror. Until he’s shoving a hand against your mouth and you’re face to face with someone who is the same size as you, “Stop screaming before something bad happens to both of us!” His hand shoves against your lips, and grinds flesh into your teeth. It hurts, and you want it to stop. 

You stop screaming in hopes he’ll let go of you. It doesn’t stop the tears though, and when he takes his hand away you continue to back up to distance yourself from him. 

The man closes the distance and towers over you, “Does the human know about me?” He asks. You stare at him in disbelief, and he says it again, “Does. The. Human. Know. About. Me?” This time you shake your head quickly. 

“You don’t talk do you?” He tilts his face sideways.

Once again you shake your head. You’re not going to say a word to him. 

“Then you won’t tell the human you saw me, right?” 

You keep shaking your head, though you’re not sure if you’re supposed to nod at that last question. It doesn’t matter, because he understands it anyway, “Good.” He seems satisfied enough. 

You both stare at each other for a second, then he takes off. The cage door slams shut, and he’s gone. 

You’re left shaking like a leaf, and you need Ashley to come home NOW so that she can protect you. The medicine in your system dies down mid day, and your arm starts to throb against the inside of the cast. You feel miserable. 

Once Ashley finally comes through the front door, it's late, and you’ve already cried your heart out from fear and pain. 

When she puts her hand in your cage to check on you, you cling to her fingers immediately for safety. Ashley startles, but she scoops you up with no problem, “Oh Honey, does your arm hurt? It's okay, Mummy’s home. Here-“ She puts you to her chest where her heart thumps against you as she chucks her purse onto the counter. She then takes you to the bathroom to get more medicine syringed into your mouth. It’s bittersweet but you swallow it. 

When Ashley tries to put you back down you latch to her thumb, and refuse to let go. You’re still terrified of the tiny man killing you in your sleep. You’ve never done this before, and Ashley seems rightfully worried. She brings you back up to her chest and looks around as if lost. 

—

(Top two or three poll winners may be used) 

Taglist under the cut:

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @sunshiline-writes @whump-in-the-closet

[otomes-and-tears]

♦ Colour Swap ♦

► tags/warnings: 

► words: 944

► a/n: This is a very, very late birthday gift for my bestie, @dreamtydraw ! It's based on this post by them. They love the color swap au so much I just knew I had to write something special for them based on it <3 So... yeah! Happy birthday, Al. Hope you like my gift. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend!

► Masterlist

Cove was eight when his life changed forever.

He was wearing a pink cast, crying his eyes out in a poppy field. Lost in a town he didn’t know, the distant crashing of the waves on the shore acting as his only reassurance.

Then, she appeared.

Like an angel. Like the answer to all of his prayers.

He could swear her eyes almost glowed under the moonlight. Orange blazing in the dark like fire. The only light in the dark night, the lighthouse leading him home.

Cerise was his soulmate. He was certain of it. There was nothing his little heart believed in more, not when she understood him, so wholly and truthfully.

But there were no new marks on his body when he arrived home, time didn’t stop, touching her didn’t make colours spread in her skin like ink and he didn’t have any words written on his wrist.

It was disappointing. Cove was no stranger to crying, but it felt different. It felt wrong.

His dad tried to reassure him— Cove was young, and soulmates rarely found each other in childhood. He can’t force it. His connection will manifest with the right person at the right time, when they’re both fully ready to be together.

But why couldn’t it be now? Why did he have to wait?

What was the point of being with someone if it wasn’t his best friend?

The years passed and the uneasiness only grew. 

Cove and Cerise only got closer, and with each passing birthday, he became more fearful of the day their bonds would manifest.

Because what if she wasn’t his match? Cove was sure that he’d love Cerise regardless of who his soulmate ended up being. She was so wonderful, so sweet and kind. 

He yearned for her, something deep within his bones ached for her. He couldn’t imagine feeling this way for anyone else, he didn’t want to.

But what if her feelings for him changed? What if they grew apart after she met her soulmate?

Cove didn’t want to lose what they had, but he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. Even if it meant he couldn’t be with her in the way he so desperately wanted to.

When they started dating, he pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind. 

It wasn’t fair to Cerise to feel this way, he knew it. He was being so selfish and self-centred, wishing for time to stop and things to stay static to preserve what they had right now.

Cerise had chosen him, regardless of what fate might’ve said.

She chose him. That meant something. That meant everything. 

Cerise’s love wasn’t fickle, her trust and love were precious gifts that weren’t given away easily. But Cove couldn’t stop his thoughts— couldn’t stop the way that ugly feeling of jealousy would bubble up when he was alone in his room when he panicked about making sure he’d make her happy enough he’d have a fighting chance, or even any chance at all, against the cruel hands of fate.

Deep down he knew Cerise thought of it, too. By the sadness in her eyes as their eighteenth birthdays neared and the way she held him just a little bit tighter when they said goodbye for the day as if clinging to the familiarity of him and what they had. 

Once he wished for the day he’d meet his soulmate, now, he dreaded it.

Cove knew it had happened before he even looked at himself in the mirror:

It tingled and itched, barely perceptible, until the feeling overtook his whole body in a way that was hard to ignore.

Strangest of all was the feeling of change. By the time it was over, and he stared at his ceiling, trying to catch his breath, he knew something had changed.

Maybe something about him, maybe fate itself. It felt like a point of no return.

With shaky hands and trembling legs, Cove stumbled to the nearest mirror. He hated the unknown, but something compelled him to move. To rip the bandaid off and confirm his fears once and for all.

But when he looked at his reflection— something was different. Instead of ocean blue eyes, wet with unshed tears, the colour that met him was a warm orange. His hair was different too, the colour of sunset, of warm fires and fall leaves.

His hands were shaking again. Cove brought his fingers to his hair as he brushed them against his beachy waves, trying to assess if this was real or just the result of another one of his wish-fulfilment dreams. 

But it seemed too real, the softness of his hair, the coldness of the mirror underneath his fingertips and the way his legs ached when he broke into a run, following the familiar path that would take him to the poppy hill, where it all started.

There, on a warm summer night, staring at the ocean, as the waves crashed on the shore, was a girl with long, seafoam hair and a loose t-shirt.

She turns towards him as soon as she hears the rustling of the grass beneath his feet, blue eyes widening as she looks up to see him— in an expression he knows mirrors his own.

He reached towards her, tears rolling down his face. He needed to touch her, needed to feel the warmth of her skin to reassure him that, after all these years, his eight-year-old self was right. Cerise was his other half.

As he smiled, warm and filled with indescribable joy, Cove noticed how, despite the different colours, her eyes still seemed to glow under the moonlight.

[chaoticxrobotic]

Here are some prompts for you to choose from! ^^

'What was that? You winced.'

https://at.tumblr.com/cero-sleep/685511719452393472/f4navb4l8qwn

"It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much? I just want it to stop."

"Whatever you do, do not close your eyes."

https://at.tumblr.com/cero-sleep/693774981006508032/ddw2hbtza534

Here it is, over a month late! Sorry for the delay Cero <3

"It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much? I just want it to stop."

Angst, very slight Hurt/Comfort. Content warnings for: Body horror, mention of severe burns, medical trauma? Kind of.

Thick. Heavy. Choking. 

Smoke billowed through the air, urged upward by towering pillars of flame, as a figure dragged itself on staggering limbs through the debris. In their arms, a loose jumble of limbs and a heaving chest, breath ragged and desperately clinging to life. Silicon fingers brushed against a pulse, finding it weak and wavering. A fluttering eyelid offered a startling flash of white as eyes rolled, unseeing and agonized.

“No. No, no-”

“Help them. We can still help them.”

A fresh burst of panic caused their circuits to pulse with newfound energy, forcing the figure to surge forwards. They forged a clumsy path around plummeting pillars and fire-warped mounds of plastic, sparking eyes focused on the haze of lights that blinked in and out of existence. The lights marked the twists and turns of each hallway, guiding them through the inferno.

The tannoy followed them through each room. Its tinny words were slowly warping from the heat, voice fading in and out as it looped the emergency announcement.

“An announcement for all esteemed guests at the Pizzaplex. For your safety, please make your way to the marked emergency exits. Our friendly staff will be there to personally escort you. Fazbear accepts no responsibility for any trampling, severe burns, smoke inhalation, or death that may be sustained during your evacuation attempt. Hope to see you again soon, and have a Faztastic day!”

Fallen pillars/planks of wood stand between them and the door, making a frantic hiss of static burst from their faceplate. Hands grasp at the material, fingers digging and cracking the cement and steel, as two other arms keep the fading form cradled close to their chest. A desperate wrench and twist of muscles. A slow, almost-wet rip and crack from the pillar. It split messily down the middle and was tossed aside by restless arms.

They step inside. 

The sealed halls of parts & service are refreshingly clear of the hazy smoke that rolls through the pizzaplex, but the doors are already beginning to breach up ahead, flashes of molten orange and red shimmering through the weakening seals. The figure pauses for only a moment to take in the destruction before they press forward, unoccupied arms grasping fitfully at the crevices of the walls, hauling themselves onwards with ardent desperation. 

Anxious fingers can’t keep themselves from tracing over ash-dyed hair, from flitting across glistening, weeping burn wounds. Like a moth drawn to a dying flame, they keep searching for that sweet, slowing pulse. Every time they find it, it’s a little slower and softer. The fear of that alone is enough to keep them going. 

A final barrier, the door to the inner chambers of parts & services open with minimum resistance. The figure spills inside, almost dropping their precious cargo on the floor. Limbs fumble and a voicebox hisses as they right themselves, clenching tight enough around soft, smarting flesh to earn an agonised whine.

Their core lurches.

“Sorry- So sorry, starlight-”

“It will be alright. They’ll be safe, soon.”

There is no resistance as the body is placed on the leather chair, straps hissing softly as they’re tugged and tightened into place. 

There’s plenty to work with, here. More than they could have hoped.

But even with nothing, they’ll save you. 

They’ll save you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A gasp wrenches itself from your lips as you wake with a start, bolting upright.

Agony is the first sense to seize you, crawling in lava-hot pinpricks up raw, tender nerves. You feel like you’re locked in a horrible vice, your entire body shoved into a suit ten sizes too small, biting and nipping at your body.  It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Every pulse of pain that courses through your veins is somehow more brutal than the last. 

Blue and orange sparks of light arc across your vision as you wrench your eyes open, left unable to speak from the pain that rips every last breath from your lungs. You try to fling yourself off of the chair, animal instincts screaming at you to run from the source.

A twitching hand holds you fast. Their touch barely breaches the numb wall erected around your nerves, and it takes being brought to a sudden stop to realize it’s even there. You cry out, fighting against it until someone hisses your name in a burst of static.

You freeze. Your eyes shift to the source of the sound.

A trembling, shock-numbed mouth fumbles around the words “Sun..? Moon-?”

The animatronic that hunches over your form, keeping your hand clutched tightly between their own, is a sight to behold. A roughshod amalgamation of parts, each twitching joint and creaking bolt seemingly at odds with itself. A half-singed nightcap swings from sparking sunrays. Oil drips from the spiderweb of cracks and fissures all over their chassis, wires exposed, dragging and pulsing and visceral, steaming guts in technicolor. 

They hang over you, poised and purposeful. As if you were a precious thing, fragile and liable to fall apart the second their watchful gaze falters. The coiling stretch of their smile brims with a raw, earnest kind of relief, and you find your own lips twitching in response. Their delight at seeing you alive and whole is palpable. Despite the pain, despite the horror of seeing them like this, as gnarled and twisted as you feel on the inside, you feel slightly more at ease. 

“I…” A wave of brain fog rolls over you, the relentless press of light boring right into your eyes. You screw up your face against it, gathering the strength to continue. “Where are we? What- What happened, here?”

A jagged purr, servos clicking as they lean closer to respond. The sound that seeps out from them coats your ears in inky black, sickly and stifling. Twin voices wind and twist around one another, churning and choking each other out in turn, distinct and distorted all at once. 

“Nothing to worry about, Sunshine-”

“Worry not, Starlight-”

“You’re safe now”

“With us-

“With us-”

“Nothing can hurt you-

“There is nothing that can hurt you-”

“Not while we’re here.”

“Here with you.”

But something is hurting you. Your shock-addled brain is sending insistent pulses through your body with every heartbeat. Slowly, despite your brain trailing a stream of protests, you look down.

Tears fill your eyes.

You work your lips soundlessly, unable to vocalise the mounting horror that digs with ice-cold fingers into your chest.

The rusting metal encases your limbs like a beetle’s carapace, embedded deep and greedy in your skin like swollen, skittering parasites.  

“What did you do?” The words tumble from your lips in a clumsy avalanche, your untouched left hand tracing a trembling path over the metal coating of the right, trying to feel something- Anything- Any kind of sensation that wasn’t dulled and inhuman. The roiling panic in your gut swiftly heats into anger, overflowing your chest until it explodes outward into a roar 

“What did you do?” 

You look down at yourself, abject horror already beginning to seize your gut. The creeping path of metal is an invasion, claiming quarter over the soft flesh that was once healthy and whole but is now marred with scars and discoloration from the burns.

It is devouring its way up your arms, and your legs - it has even completely replaced your right hand. You have been invaded by silicon and steel, and your body no longer feels as it once did. You are not wholly robotic like the watchful presence beside you, but even worse - you are no longer human.

You are adrift between two natures. Lost in a sea of ambiguity and violations of the natural order.

And the pain…

Oh, the pain.

You could not find the words to describe it.

It is beyond sense. Beyond measure. It is so abject it pushes through the limitations of sensation itself, crossing the borderline between pleasure and pain until it becomes almost a relief, a reprieve from its own agony. It coalesces and coils on itself like ouroboros, devouring and being devoured in measure. it is transcendent.

It leaves you screaming in a thin, reedy wail, lungs still feeling the impact of smoke inhalation. It is too much for you to bear, and four metallic hands hold you in a loose vice of a hug as you rock back and forth against your bindings, wailing piteously, begging for a relief that simply refuses to come.

"It hurts", you moan.

"We know," they reply. "We are sorry. We are sorry it hurts."

"It hurts," you cry again, their very touch burning your skin even more than the flames did.  Terse static fills the air around you, almost seeming to dig into your nerves like burrowing beetles in carrion.

"Star-"

"Sunlight-"

"You have to understand", they purr in unison, voices laden with regret. With an agonized sorrow that should be unnatural for them. For those two voices. "It was the only way to save you, to keep you from harm-"

"Save me?" You howl, “Save me?” 

"You call this saving-? Look at me." A shaky hand gestures over you, fingers coiled, stiff, and gnarled like dead leaves. Your other fist clenches, heavy and useless as a stone in your lap. 

"Look at me." You say it again, raising your eyes, still swimming with that blue and orange light as you glower at them once more. Their hands clench uselessly in their lap, unsure of whether to touch you or to retreat. You grit it out for a third time, each syllable laced with a desperate, distraught venom.

"Look at me. I'm a monster. I'm- I don't even know whose body this is. Did you scavenge this? Is this- Some other bot? Am I wearing someone's corpse, right now? Is that what this is?"

"No, no-!" they both rush to say it, voices rolling and running over one another as they fight to be the first to speak out. "Not at all, star- You're no monster. You're still- You, still our dear friend, so kind and good-"

You can only coil away from them, your body rigid and set. Stiff.

"Get away from me."

The sound of frantic clicking, like someone trying to clear a clenching throat.

"Friend, please, we-" 

Their head twitches to the left, torn nightcap danging pathetically from fragmented sun rays. "No.” This voice is softer, speaking in a rustling, silvery sigh. “They’re right, Sun. Look. We’re hurting them.”  

The fractured faceplate shifts from one side to the other, rocking in an invisible tide. The light in their eyes has dimmed, gaze distant, looking at something just out of your field of view. Fingertips tap together nervously, jerking once or twice as if wrestling with the urge to pull you close again, to soothe you where words could not.  

The weight of an entire world rests in your lungs. Your chest rises against it, fighting to draw breath. Through the persistent chittering scratch of raw nerves, you can feel something else. A thin, faint thrumming. The whisper-song of servos, coursing through the alien parts of you. Searching for a nervous system made of wires and code, instead of veins and grey matter.

Your next words come out far more raggedly than you would like.

"It hurts so much. Why-? Why would you do this to me?” 

A keening, frayed whine is their only response. Your head slumps back against the unfeeling leather of the operating chair, sending another pulse of pain through your patchwork body.

“I just want…. I just want it to stop. Please.”

Your searching eyes fall on them, on the way they lurch to their feet, a hand reaching out to you in abrupt panic before remembering itself. You ignore the stammering buzz of protest, the warning growl, as you spare another glance down at the mess they’ve made of you.

A body that is not yours stares back, each bolt and seam of silver and steel hissing that this is wrong. It should never have been yours. Flesh and aloy were not made to meet, not like this, crossing boundaries with a kind of brutality that makes you feel sick down to your bones.

A tear slips down your cheek, wet and warm, cresting over the plate of metal grafted clumsily over your jaw. You swallow. It echoes through your skull. Your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

“Please, make it stop.”  

The pain in their eyes almost seems to match your own.

Their next words take a moment to register, vibrations trying to push through the pain that buzzes through your entire nervous system.

"No, little star. We can't do that. We're sorry."

Your next breath freezes in your lungs.

"What-? What do you mean, no? You can't leave me like this." You thrash against your bindings once more, shackles jingling like the chain on a trapped dog. "You can't do this to me! Please, please- Don't leave me like this!" Your voice is the hysterical trill of a bird with a broken wing, dragging itself fitfully on the ground as it thrashes in fresh throes of agony.

They speak over your ragged sobs, as your head slumps over your chest. A shaky, sparking hand reaches out to tilt your face upward, stroking away the tears that continue to fall.

"We won't lose you, Starlight. Not like this."

"We can't let you go. Not while you're still breathing. Still so bright, so full of life-"

You spit out your words in a broken hiss, each syllable sizzling hot and sour.

"You don't understand- You can’t understand how much this hurts. The kind of hell I'm living in. You can't do this to me. It isn't living, it's- It's-”

The words are slipping from your tongue, slipping from your mind. Sparks and static fill the empty space, crushing any semblance of self under each rolling wave of pressure. 

Sun- Moon’s- Both of their fingers tip-tap together again, punctuating the brief, frantic ticking of their servos as they struggle to assemble some desperate, miraculous reassurance that will save your mind from spiraling. 

"We would do anything to keep you with us, little star.”

The guilt-laced words ring through your head like a klaxon, almost drowning out the growled promise that follows. 

“Anything.”

Torn asunder in the burning wreckage, you weep. You can’t even feel their warmth on your cheeks anymore. 

Ripped apart and cobbled together again, lost in the bowels of a destroyed empire, you mourn yourself. The life you once had, that you’ll never see again. And through it all, those arms hold you. 

They’re the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

[doomdefector]

❝ something is coming. ❞

she stares, into the pitch, dark sky; she had been looking for a moment, quiet. then, she speaks again.

❝ it is light years away. ever-building and growing; it will kill everything. ❞ something died just know, eaten; forever forgotten by the rest of the universe.

❝ it will come for this planet, too. ❞

         THE SUDDEN CRYPTIC BOMB grated the hedgehog’s sensitive apex ears —  RED FLOODLIGHTS cataracting his vision &. inundating artificial veins with a devastating dose of blood-curdling dread … a reaction that would seem RIDICULOUS &. UNNECESSARY if it were to come from the vast majority of the natural life who inhabit this very planet; that is, those blessed with fleeting life spans. if it were to come from almost any other, it’d be written off as unnecessary paranoia– debilitating worries gestated from the mind of a poor welp sick with a rampant case of miserable hypochondria. For why should you snare a stone around your own neck &. slosh around in the all-consuming viscid muck of the river of paranoia over something so unfathomably, &. non threateningly, FAR-OFF

… but for shadow? the threat is all too sanely blighting, as he will have to intercept &. face it head-on at some point. for he is an aberration who will never have the solace of death; a disgusting creature eternally sentenced to a prison of immortality against his own will. 

         &. CELESTE …? she will also remain, no matter how far off the calamity decides to rear its ugly head &. make its grand, unwelcomed entrance. &. She will remain for billions &. billions of years more.

For she is an aberrant in a whole other sense— not in a repulsive way, but captivatingly atypical while the rest remain ever stagnant. Because her being is meant to be, unlike him. A star-crowned heir, birthed from the womb of Mother Matter herself. &. Yet …

she continues to be involved with him, clinging onto him like a bittersweet affair of what should naught be— it’s not right. Celeste was a befuddler, a nuisance, &. a persistent thorn between Shadow’s multi-directional quills, &. she was ruthless. she elicited grievances buried deep within the labyrinthine corridors of his mindscape. Racked him with fear that curdled his blood, as she could perceive far beyond what he could; never speaking in jest. Only speaking truths that are more often far from comforting. He’s aware that they’re never spoken with ill intent, but …

                                    ‘ What do you see? Tell me. ’

         a single AMBER RING flickers alight within the darkness accompanying the earth-excursioning star, eye dilating as it hones in on an unmeeting halo of rosé, almost as if he was foolishly trying to somehow catch a gleam of a reflection image of what she saw on its surface, desperate for any more information on the threat that was painfully vague. but it eluded him each time, &. whenever he did catch it, it would almost sting with how overstimulatingly bright it was, even when he knew that the full extent of the power that burned within them was still dormant; it was too transfixed on something above– something far beyond anything even he could see. The impendence that she brought attention to was DOUBLE-EDGED in its ambiguity &. urgency, &. The resulting apprehension that it stirred within Shadow was volatile &. Painful. It drove him mad, nudging him to the edge of a precipice of impatience.

         The dread, the gnawing uncertainty … it blinded him. Enough for him to unconsciously dismiss &. overstep the boundaries that he’s always placed for others— gloved hands seizing either side of Celeste’s face as he ushers her close with a demanding force ( shadow usually tries not to touch other’s faces, as he feels repulsed when his own face is touch ), &. He presses his forehead to hers, finally allowing crimson to fully meet rosé. 

         ❝  put that curiosity to a better use &. tell me … is this concern warranted? i  cannot see what you see, but i believe you.  ❞    

His face remains unmarred as he finally speaks, but anxiety surged relentlessly beneath that mask of perfect posture; it almost mirrored hers— nonplussed, but something else stirs beneath ( was she … worried, too? )  ❝  i don’t know what you’ve done to me, but i beseech you to soothe this … consuming dread that you’ve plagued me with. i already suffer enough. so, tell me … will we have the power to prevent it once it does? i made a promise to preserve this planet, for her. i cannot let it be snuffed if it is by an unnatural exterminator. ❞