#we all went up one blood potency

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter IX

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including tags for blood and descriptions of gore. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: Hopefully we can wrap all this up soon... god willing... but hey this piece finally has somewhat of a direction (?) now.

An Uchiha warrior with a fatal wound should give his life in a suicide attack, but not Izuna. No, the brother of Madara would not die a warrior’s death on the battlefield. Instead, the Uchiha retreated from their path to the northern shoulder, surrendering the territory to the Senju in a victory their rivals would call “The Conquering of King’s Neck.”

The Uchiha returned suddenly, earlier than they should have, and having lost great numbers. Madara did not use the village gates but shot right over the sharpened walls like a deranged comet falling from the sky. He carried Izuna’s body in his arms, holding his brother close to his chest. Both were covered in blood and heavy wounds. They had been the first to arrive, heralding in the news of their defeat without a single word of it uttered.

Madara shouted for medical assistance loud enough to startle the entire settlement, and in a blur of confusion, agony, and chaos, Izuna was brought to a doctor, and the two brothers were sealed inside a private room as quickly as the commotion had started.

The entire village stirred to life with urgency. People emerged from their cottages and herded their children out of the street as the rest of the battalion emerged from the forest and trudged toward the front gates.

The men who had stayed behind rushed the injured to the hospital and hurried around the newly returned soldiers to assist in treating their wounds. Women gathered water from the well, ready to help receive the weary soldiers. 

Most injured warriors were gathered in one large room and treated on cots side by side, but not Izuna. Even in the sunlight, gathered citizens could see Madara’s hulking form pace back and forth from inside their private room.

No one else was allowed in except for the best physician in the village, who was currently facing the brunt of Madara’s furious rage. You could hear the clattering of furniture and thrown items hitting the mat floor from down the road. 

You clutched your medicine pack, shouting and shoving through the crowd as you approached the triage.

“Make way for the apothecary!” 

You came running as soon as you received word. The medics who went to the scene before you had their own medical packs with prepared remedies within them, but if the medics were to perform treatments on such a large group of men, they would need all the medicines they could get. 

Madara had, after all, forbidden you from creating more heavy-duty remedies in anticipation of a victory for the Uchiha. He told you that fast-acting cures would be all that would be needed and did not discriminate when it came to potency. The high ground belonged to the Uchiha, and Madara himself formulated their strategy for the ambush. But Madara was left with little more than the taste of defeat and bloodied hands after the battle. 

You hurried across the dirt path, the dry pebbles and earth making hurried scratching noises below the soles of your sandals. You clutched your oversized medicinal bag. The material wasn’t strong enough to carry the number of remedies you had shoved haphazardly inside. Your eyes were set on the treatment center where the soldiers were being taken. The little time you had was crucial for saving as many lives as you could.

Time seemed to slow as you ran past the paper door leading to Izuna’s private room, and you failed to notice the large hand that shot out from inside until it had grasped the back of your robes and pulled you in. 

You were thrown onto the woven matt floor with barely enough time to break your fall, let alone catch your compilation of medicines. You skidded against the hard surface, ripping the cloth on your shoulder as the fabric folded under you with the motion. Your arms wrapped against your oversized pack, and the glass bottles rattled against one another as you held them close to your chest.

Madara stood over you: hulking, broad, impeding, and crazed, but still as he slowly slid the paper door shut. His palm splayed out in the middle of the door, leaving a streak of crimson across the delicate white material. The air dried the red color into a muddy rust.

An unmoving, pale hand appeared in your peripheral. You scrambled to your knees, grip still clutching your medicinal bag. You hardly recognized Izuna as he lay in front of you.

All color had drained from his cheeks, but you could hardly pay attention to the grayness of his skin in the face of the massive open wound across his stomach. Izuna bled all colors of red, his gash like a gruesome flower clawing out of his torso and streaking across the room. His chest heaved up and down at an inhumanly slow pace, pumping a wheezing sound out of his throat with every strangled breath. Everything smelled of blood, and what used to be an entirely white room was marred with ghastly streaks of gore. 

The doctor worked frantically over him, but even looking at Izuna for a second told you all that you needed to know. His wound was already decorated with herbal remedies, the leaves and ground flower buds a stark, soft contrast to the wet, oozing gash that churned just below. The colors illuminated with an effervescent glow under the light of the doctor’s healing jutsu. 

Izuna’s head fell to the side toward you, your name dripping from his lips in a voice hardly above a whisper. You scrambled to his side, shedding your bag, and scooping his hand up in yours without a thought. 

“Izuna—!” 

Your heart sank into the pits of your stomach, and your face felt numb. Tears flooded your waterline as your pulse started to drum in your ears. One of your hands, now sporting a few streaks of blood that you didn’t notice, came over your mouth in mortified shock.

But even so, Izuna gazed at you fondly. His eyes were lidded, pain written across his face, but he did his best to grasp onto you weakly. You stared widely down at his giant wound, almost hypnotized by the terrible sight of it, before returning to Izuna’s face. Your hand dropped back down to your lap and joined the other in morphing over his palm. 

Your lips parted, but no sound left them. They wavered in the bitter-smelling air as an ugly sound stalled in your throat. You didn’t have it in you to tell him that it all would be okay. He wouldn’t have believed you anyway.

“I do not know what to say…” Your voice came out in a breathless hiss, your lips crinkling upwards as your brows creased together into two wavy lines. 

“I apologize…” Izuna was barely audible, and his words held an incoherent rasp. “The words I spoke to you last were most regretful… and most dishonorable…”

“Izuna, do not speak like this!” Your scolding was less than a whisper.

You looked at the doctor, whose eyes were already on you. Wordlessly, he confirmed your fearful thoughts.

Izuna wasn’t going to—

“How does he appear?” Madara implored. “I demand you tell me. Tell me that you deem him treatable with your remedies!”

Izuna gave your hand a light squeeze. When you looked down at him, two tears fell right onto his blood-stained clothing.

His other hand slowly rose, shaking as he brought it to his face. It stopped, trembling over his neck as Izuna raised his pointer finger. He brought it over his lips. 

The sound of your name boomed across the paper room.

“Why do you fall silent? You are able to revive him, are you not?” Madara thundered frantically. “You told me! You told me of your chakra remedies!” Madara’s hand shot out from behind you but missed your shoulder as his fingers grasped about wildly. You could feel the force of his motion in the air as the slight breeze of his movement rattled the hair behind your ear.

He made another grab for you, and you turned to grasp him by the shoulders as if you were taking a bull by its horns, dropping Izuna’s hand in the process. The metal of Madara’s armor was dirty and solid, pinching your fingers as you tried to keep him at bay as he lunged. He ranted something incoherent, nearly knocking you back into Izuna. Your core tensed, trying to keep yourself from falling back onto Izuna’s open torso as you tried to fight Madara away. 

“Madara, this is madness!” you shouted directly into his face. Your arms were beginning to shake under the weight of him, the locking of your joints being the only thing keeping Madara from pinning you down in his deranged rampage. But the fear and confusion in your gaze immediately widened as you met his gray irises. “Madara! Your eyes!”

“Clan Head, that is enough!” The doctor had since stood, stepping over Izuna’s body to ram into Madara with his shoulder. Your limbs were granted relief as the two of them stumbled back, nearly punching a hole in the paper wall. 

The doctor was not as large of a man as Madara, but he held his own against Madara’s unrestrained rage. His shoulder dug into the right side of Madara’s chest, and the doctor used all his weight to keep him from charging. But he was ultimately not enough to keep Madara restrained. 

Madara shoved him back with a violent push to the doctor’s chest.

“Who are you to cease treatment on my brother?! Who are you to attack your Clan Head— I’ll have you banished for your indiscretion—!”

“Madara, that is enough!” You shot to your feet, placing yourself between the two men. One of your palms splayed across Madara’s chest plate. He continued to scream over your head, gesturing pointedly somewhere behind you. Tears streamed down his face as his skin scrunched up in rage. — “Madara!”

— “You dare to impede me? My younger brother lies dying before my very eyes, and I cannot even see his face! And you dare stand against me when Izuna’s chakra weakens! You are traitors! You are traitors to the Uchiha; I will have you banished and then hunt you down myself— why do you refuse to help my brother? —”

— “Madara, please, I implore you to listen—”

Madara’s hand whipped across your face with enough force to make your ears ring. You fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the power of Madara’s strike making you almost spin as you went down. Your hand shot to your nose, which had begun to bleed. Your blood mixed with Izuna’s.

“Madara, that is enough…” Izuna began to sit up somewhere behind you. He groaned in pain, almost collapsing as he propped himself on one elbow. The doctor was already beside him, urging him to lie back down. But the sound of Izuna’s voice appeared to be enough to sate Madara’s mounting rage. He visibly melted, perking up as he tried to pinpoint where Izuna’s voice came from with a rapid gesture of his head. 

You were lost, hypnotized by the red that dripped from your nose and onto your hand. The droplets were thick and hot, only diluted by the tears of disbelief that seemed to fall in sheets from your eyes. You struggled to gather yourself as Madara knelt by Izuna’s side. 

“We will find a way,” Madara insisted with certainty. He nodded several times, taking up the straps of your medicine pack in his hand. He rooted around in it, searching for powder. “There is an ointment crafted for deep wounds—!”

“It is too late, Madara.” Izuna collapsed back onto his cot. A sharp hiss of pain tore from his throat. Izuna grabbed at his brother’s sleeve, willing him to come closer with his little remaining strength. The hold he had on Madara’s clothes was a death grip. “You must listen to me.”

Madara bowed like a child in prayer, lending his ear to Izuna’s lips. He crouched on his knees, hair cascading over his brother’s pale face as he blindly clung onto any part of Izuna he could reach. Izuna’s voice, perhaps meant only for Madara, faded in and out.

“For the good and future of the clan, you must not fall victim to Hashirama Senju’s trickery… promise me, I…” You could barely hear him. You hovered just behind Madara, sitting with your knees tucked under you and the fabric that made up the skirt of your robes balled in your fists. You tucked your chin to your chest. Hot tears continued to dribble down your face.

Your head spun, unable to listen to Izuna’s words even if you tried. You became lost in yourself, only resurfacing to reality when the sound of your name rang across the room. It was the doctor.

One moment, Izuna was speaking to Madara, and then the next—

“We will be performing an ocular transplant,” the doctor said. “Are you able to assist?” His grave gaze bore into you.

Your mouth gaped. You shook your head in disbelief. You turned toward Madara, who couldn't see you.

“You are taking his eyes?” you asked accusingly. Your tone held a harsh snap. “Are you so obsessed with battle that you dare take the sharingan of your own brother—?”

“Enough.” Izuna’s voice somehow found its way out of his throat. Just barely. His tired eyes met yours. “I forfeit them willingly… for the sake of the clan.” Izuna’s lids fluttered closed, even as you continued to stare. A new wave of tears welled in your vision. You were growing sick of weeping.

“For the sake of the clan…” you repeated, a part of you hoping that if you spoke the words, they would make better sense to you. You didn’t have to yield advanced jutsu to understand the implications of Madara obtaining Izuna’s eyes. With the Senju closing in, you knew there were few other choices.

Madara, the leader of the Uchiha, had exhausted his mangekyo sharingan. Izuna, the second strongest fighter in the clan, was fading quickly as he lay before you. And while the Uchiha had more than formidable soldiers, too many had been defeated in the ambush, and the rest had been injured during their retreat. It was truly up to Madara to protect you now.

Izuna spoke your name again. It would be the final time he would do so.

“I implore you… please, do not deprive me of my final wish,” he said weakly, the frailty of his words a stark contrast to the unfair burden he bestowed upon you. You glanced back toward the doctor. “I need you by my side.”

“I— I just make the medicine, although I— I…” You closed your eyes to shed more tears, but none fell. You tried to blink again, only to find your waterline dry. “I can administer some remedies.”

“The extra set of hands is more than plenty,” the doctor affirmed. “But we must make haste.”

Izuna’s hand found yours. His touch was cold. He gave your hand a weak squeeze.

*** 

It wasn’t enough to hang onto every moment you could. You tried to take him in during every second of the procedure, focusing so hard on being with Izuna for the dwindling amount of time you had left. You could feel the minutes slipping through your fingers. Your eyes searched every inch of him, trying to hang onto the patches of snowy white skin between the dirt and red stains. Izuna was here now, and you pulled a single moment into a thousand.

And when it was done, and Izuna was dead, you sat back on your calves. Madara lay to your left, his face bandaged with wrappings adorned with healing herbs. And Izuna rested to your right.

He had passed just moments before, long before the doctor had left the room. A thin sheet rested over his head, extending down to his blood-stained boots. But even as he lay such a short distance away, all presence of him had been vanquished from the room. The form under the cloth was an object, a thing taking a shape that certainly wasn’t Izuna. 

Your skin was taut from all your weeping. The tears still came in bursts, but the muscles in your face felt fatigued by it all. Any noise from the outside sounded muffled. Even Madara’s heavy breathing didn’t make it to your ears. 

You could see the light from the sun behind the paper walls. You stared blankly at the random swipes and spatters of red that dotted the room, staining the light eggshell color of all the fixtures. 

You lay down between them, letting your body go limp for the first time that morning. Some medics had since taken your bag of extra medication to use outside. The commotion in the village seemed to have dwindled some. You let your eyes fall closed. Exhaustion had grown so great in your head that your lack of energy made you wired. Your thoughts ran across your brain on their own, and you could do little to stop them.

You could sense that Madara was about to speak even before he parted his lips. He breathed in, taking a familiar pause before his voice dared to break through the silence in the room. 

“Your resentment radiates off of you like fire.”

In one of his final acts of life, Izuna had sated Madara’s rage, leaving his brother in this world quiet and pensive. Madara had been eerily silent. 

You let your eyes open lazily. They traced the outline of Izuna’s face beneath the cotton sheet.

“Now is hardly the time, Madara,” you muttered. 

“But it is true.”

You didn’t answer. You shepherded the silence back into the air, hoping that your ignorance of him would be enough. You couldn’t handle his talk in the face of your bubbling and agitated emotions. 

“It is true—"

“Silence, Madara,” you snapped, your words lashing across the silent atmosphere you tried to curate. You held your arms close to your chest, nuzzling your cheek into the side of one of your hands. You curled farther in on yourself, only isolating Madara more. “Izuna just...”

“He is passed,” Madara rumbled solemnly with all the clarity of the world. You cast your gaze to the light just outside the paper doors. It looked warm. “And you believe it should have been me in his place.”

“I said no such thing.” Your face was tired and puffy.

“You would be right.”

“Cease with your grandstanding—” You sat up, propping yourself on your palm as you faced Izuna’s body. You could barely keep yourself from collapsing from the mental exhaustion alone. — “It is inappropriate at a time like this.” You could feel the sting of tears shocking the nerves behind your nose, yet your eyes remained dry. “Why must you make these things so difficult?”

“I am making the death of my own brother difficult?” He sat up somewhere behind you.

“Do not twist my words. Timing has never been your strong suit, Madara.” You also rose to sit up straight, now sitting cross-legged near Izuna’s knees.  

“You believe that I am not in grief?” He held a thundering bite to his words, although even the slightest increase in volume sounded like a storm within the context of the hauntingly quiet room. “Do you believe that I do not feel deep despair over one who I have loved so dearly?” 

“You were not the only one who cherished Izuna!” You snapped around, knees hitting the opposite side of the mat floor. “Of all the times where you must be a fool, Madara! Why must it be now? Why must it have been this past visit to my apothecary? Why must it have been on the battlefield where you could have saved him a hundred times over, and yet you condemn yourself to play the fool!”

You weren’t used to seeing Madara’s face bandaged. He looked like a ghost, sitting upright where he was with his legs outstretched before him. Even blinded, you could almost feel his gaze boring into yours.

When he spoke, his voice was low.

“I am well aware,” he growled, trailing a tense silence in his wake. Madara sat up farther, and it wasn’t until the faint shadow of his large form eclipsed half of your face that you realized how quickly he bridged the gap between the two of you. “I am not blind enough to reflect on my hubris, nor am I blind enough to recognize my own twisted nature in my jealousy.”

You found yourself once again face to face with bandaged eyes, hypnotized by the infinity of cloth strips layered over each other. You took in every fold, watching where blood slowly seeped through the fibers. And perhaps if it had been a more tender moment and if you had loved Madara more, you might have tenderly taken hold of his jaw. But instead, you sat, slowly sobering up to the reality of what just occurred a few moments prior as your face was contorted by a demon of despair. 

Your resolve imploded.

“A mere reflection is hardly recompense,” you hissed, your voice coming out as barely a whisper. “How must it feel to have sacrificed your only living blood and continue to prove yourself so fruitless in your rivalry with Hashirama Senju? You have no excuse for your arrogance!” You steadily grew in volume, suddenly finding yourself standing. “So lost in your fruitless rivalry with him, you have indeed been left blind, with your flesh newly broken and easily swayed heart—no, you do not view clearly enough the hubris in your ways! You are a soft man, Madara!”

The tears came back all at once. You shed them like a waterfall as the wind caught in your throat. You gasped for air, hiccupping and choking all at once as the words tumbled from your lips. 

“Izuna—" You could hardly get his name out between gasps. “He—! Izuna, he thought—!” 

And perhaps if Madara had loved you more, he would have done something other than take the brunt of your broken rambling in silence. To him, that was gesture enough. To you, it was an indulgence in self-pity.

He let you leave, and no one stopped to question you as you quickly pushed through the crowd of people back to the apothecary. Although things seemed to have settled compared to the roaring chaos that captivated the late morning, people still milled around, collecting food and fluttering around the loved ones who were fortunate enough to make it home. 

You needed more time to analyze things. You honed in on the apothecary doors, barreling through them without regard for the medics coming in and out. 

You said little aside from your curt and adamant wish not to be disturbed before retreating into your loft at the far end of the apothecary. You curled in on yourself for what would feel like days, wrapping your cotton sheets around you as you buried yourself further from the world. 

The tears seemed to flow without you completely now, soaking the fabric of your pillow to create a wet circle just below your ear. Your thoughts ran on without you, and your heart ached from what felt like a hole sliced clean through it. The grief rested over you like a blanket, coating you from head to foot in numbing density. You would stay like that for what felt like days, unaware of what was happening outside. 

And the world would turn upside down, disrupting the mundanity you were trying so desperately to cultivate. 

When you weren’t lying in bed, you spent your hours lazily picking at things in your garden. In the rare moments of mustered energy, you would bathe and tend to your hair— more out of a necessity for maintenance than anything else. 

You didn’t even know that Madara had left until he returned. And when he returned to the village, he did not seek you out. Instead, a member of Madara’s council visited you at the apothecary. 

A young man with a severe face around Izuna’s age, he stood with his back erect on the porch behind the apothecary. You sat in your herb garden, absentmindedly fiddling with a particularly large flower blossom as a small collection of random herbs sat in a basket at your hip. He had called out to you in that militant voice that soldiers tended to use. You had hummed in response.

“There is a truce,” he said. “The Uchiha and the Senju have agreed to unite.” 

***

There were so many questions that the village hall overflowed with people. Members of the Uchiha even stood outside, hoping to catch an explanation. 

Madara and what was left of his council sat before the crowd, still adorned in their light wrappings from the Conquering of King’s Neck and the second face-off Madara had apparently had with Hashirama Senju. The room chirped, filling with murmurs and speculation. But when Madara began to speak, all fell silent. 

“The time has come…”

You watched from just barely inside one of the wide doorframes. Madara stared straight ahead, his voice confident, stern, and sure. 

He held himself like a clan head.

“The time has come for wartime to end,” he announced, surveying the gathered crowd. “It is time to put a stop to a violence started long ago, one that has forced our children to pay the price for a conflict started by the fathers of our father’s fathers. For I challenge you to find me a soul in this room that has not been exhausted from war and the act of burial.”

The room remained eerily quiet. You stood on your toes, trying to catch a better view over a man’s shoulder.

“Let me do away with your primary concern; The Uchiha stand on the same ground as the Senju, as equals, and in collaboration with one another. Our combined power has the potential to create a village where all people shall live without fear of violence, and small hands may never know the handle of a kunai nor the weight of the metal. This is a thing that Hashirama and I agree upon, and as the leader of the Senju clan, he has agreed to honor our terms.” 

The room erupted in a low clamor, everyone wanting nothing more than for Madara’s words to be true. They held their questions high, finally breaking their collective silence at the mere mention of Hashirama Senju. 

The sound of his name struck your heart no differently, and before you could even think, you were a distance away from the meeting hall. Your spot by the door had filled in swiftly. You had one place to retreat, one sanctuary, and you hid yourself in the loft.

***

“I need you by my side.”

You thought it was cruel for Madara to use Izuna’s last words in such a way, but you doubted that Madara even remembered his brother’s last words to you. 

The meeting had adjourned late into the night. The people had many questions, at least, that’s what Madara would tell you later. You hadn’t needed him to tell you to believe it.

It startled you when lantern light from the street flooded through the open door of the apothecary. You sat up in your bed, already halfway between wakefulness and mental exhaustion that kept you from falling into a meaningful slumber. Madara always swung the door open wider than he needed, and aside from that, you could place his hulking form anywhere.

He waited wordlessly as you descended from your tower. You did so lazily.

“Are you ill?” you asked at the bottom of your set of steps that wasn’t quite a ladder or a proper set of stairs. “A physician would have an easier time tending to you than I. At the meeting, I do believe I saw—”

Madara pulled you close in an instant. Your sleep-addled mind had little time to process the action as you stumbled over your feet. Your face hit Madara’s chest. He had a strong scent to him, which, while not unpleasant, was as overpowering as the man. 

A sliver of light trickled in from where the door sat ajar. It cast a faint highlight around Madara’s figure. Your tired eyes traced the shadows that the faint glow created on the fabric of his sleeve. 

It felt out of place being in his arms like this. You weren’t used to him not wearing armor. You could feel it in the tension of your muscles and the awkwardness of not knowing how to touch him in return. You let him hold you, and yet, for how none of it felt right, there was an odd, fragile comfort that had never belonged to Madara before. 

Madara, who imposed himself in every space he ever stood and could never be found wearing not even a piece of armor, felt soft. 

“I need you by my side,” he had told you. You felt his cheek against your hair. “I need confidence that I am making the right decision.”

“Madara,” you spoke softly, pulling back to meet his gaze in the dimness. “How do you expect me to give guidance on these things? I am not—”

You stopped yourself right there, feeling foolish in less than an instant. Nothing but the chirp of insects outside disrupted the silence of the apothecary. It felt as if so much of your time with Madara was filled with silence. But Madara’s eyes held no judgment. 

“Izuna watches over us from the heavens, and I have thought little more than the day he passed and the terrible way I behaved toward you,” he said with a slow nod. His voice held the rich timber that it typically had. Madara brought a hand gingerly to the side of your face. His skin was rough and scarred. He spoke lowly, surprising you with more softness. “I would feel confident with you by my side. You need not labor yourself, nor would you have to speak a word… For you just to be would be enough.”

“What do you speak of, Madara?” 

Madara cast his gaze off to the side, his jaw tensing slightly. 

“Perhaps Izuna would think it weak of me to bring a woman to such prestigious negotiations…” He pulled back, taking his warmth with him. Madara turned with one hand on his hip and the other clasped over his face. 

“Of what do you speak?” You nearly choked on air. 

— “But what if said woman was close family? 

When Madara whipped back around, he did so in the middle of a thought he did not bother to share with you. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes flutter closed as you tried to gather your thoughts, and to your dismay, Madara didn’t speak a word in your silence. You stared at him for answers, prompting him to elaborate.

“Izuna should be by my side,” he finally said, perhaps a bit louder than he needed to have been. When he continued, he did so with a lowered tone. “Our parents passed when we were young. Izuna was my one and only brother, and he is now gone… And so, I implore you…”

Madara took in a sharp breath, not daring to speak the rest.

“Is that what we are now?” you asked. “You consider me family?”

A familiar silence once again took hold of the space between you.

“Is a wife not considered family?”

It was only due to a moment of shock that you let the question sit in the air.

You turned on your heel, your hands coming to your face as you shook your head with fatigue.

“Madara, must I remind you how terrible you are with time? —” 

Your name shot from his lips, as did a hand to your shoulder. 

— “Perhaps you should see a physician—”

“You are the closest thing I have!” Madara’s desperate cry halted all words on your tongue. He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises, forcefully spinning you around as he moved forward, caging you against a nearby counter. His face was so close to yours, and when you looked deep into his eyes, you saw Izuna. 

“You and I have known each other for as long as I can remember,” he said with faintness. “Has it not always been you and I? Have you not always thought it was destiny how we have always been brought together like this?”

You couldn’t say why tears began prickling at your eyes. It felt as if anything could make you cry nowadays. Madara brought a hand back up to your face, skimming the wetness from your cheek. 

“Please—” It was the first time you heard Madara use such a word. — “I can assure you that things will improve, that I shall improve. Be with me by my side. I do not ask you to marry me tomorrow, but perhaps if you may see— perhaps you may come to see things as I see them.”

“You have always been one to set your expectations far too high.”

“Can you deny that we are as close as family? We have only each other.” Madara’s hand traveled down your arm to grasp your fingers in his. “I do not ask for your commitment. I ask only for the openness of your mind.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and you breathed out a deep breath. Unconsciously, you leaned into him. Nothing made you feel right now.

“With your track record of anger and empty promises? What have we ever agreed upon?” Your words came out weakly as you met Madara’s gaze in the dimness again.

You wanted so desperately to stop staring into his eyes.

But… Izuna…

“You would have protested such things not too long ago. It all seems quite ridiculous, does it not?” You found yourself laughing, and Madara cracked a smile for the first time in a long while. 

It was thin-lipped and, indeed, did resemble a crack. The wrinkles that ripped across his face made him look young, a lot younger than he had been looking as of late. A small chuckle shook his chest and hardly made a sound in his throat. You let out a light laugh. What you said hasn’t been funny, nor was it meant to be. 

A handful of memories from when you were a teenager sat at the back of your mind, and perhaps if you tried not to think about them, they wouldn’t hold any importance. 

***

That had been a foolish thought in and of itself, and in the days following, you wondered why you had let Madara persuade you. You decided that he had beaten you down with sentiment and nostalgia, knowing that considering any other reason would only disturb what little peace of mind you had. 

It would have been wiser to give it all some thought. It would have been wiser to have turned Madara away in the first place rather than humoring his charged words, and yet, a part of you wanted to move forward. Even on your way to the neutral meeting ground, you wanted to be a part of the new dawn, spurred on by a nagging curiosity and a morbid sense of fate. 

Foolish. Foolish, with little sense to it at all!

You caught a glimpse of white, and you purposefully averted your eyes. Madara stood next to you, sporting his best robes as members of the Senju unfurled two banners to be hung. The amount of Uchiha who came in support of the agreement surprised you. Most of your settlement gathered somewhat behind you, still unsure what to make of the crowd of unarmed Senju directly ahead.

The two groups remained segregated for the most part, standing around awkwardly even as the banners featuring the Uchiha and Senju crests were hung side by side. You glanced to your left toward Madara, feeling the stuffiness and tension yourself. But Madara remained stoic and upright, hardly regarding you even as Hashirama approached.

“Today is a day for celebration! Why must everyone be so serious?”

And from the tales you had been told of Hashirama, he had not been what you expected him to be. He instantly spotted the two of you as he emerged from the crowd. His round, kind eyes seemed to glitter, along with the perfectly white teeth he bared with his smile. 

“Madara! My friend!” Hashirama, an already tall man, held his arms up. He only needed to take a few long strides before he was upon Madara, wrapping him up in a hug great enough to cause Madara to take a half step back. (You almost took a step back with him.) Just as quickly as Hashirama embraced him, he pulled back, planting his hands firmly on Madara’s shoulders. And Madara let him. “It is good to see you!”

Hashirama turned to you and positioned himself directly before you, eyes remaining as wide as his smile. 

“Madara, how could you not send notice that you would be bringing a goddess to smile upon the union of our clans?” He fell quickly into a deep bow as you gaped. You instinctually turned to look at Madara, a girlish grin of your own contorting your lips. Madara rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh. Hashirama returned to his full height. “You may call me Hashirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you hummed, offering your name in return. “I hope you do not consider primary names informal as we have just met.”

Hashirama let out a boisterous laugh.

“Are you not all Uchiha as we are all Senju?” Hashirama chuckled, eyes drifting to the crowd of Senju for a moment before he did a double take. “Ah!” He turned back to you and Madara, gesturing to his right. “Speaking of Senju, might I present my brother, Tobirama.”

“Everything is prepared, brother, the people are waiting on you—” 

Tobirama’s gaze latched onto yours like a magnet, causing him to stop short just to Hashirama’s right as his mouth snapped shut instantly. Your jaw dropped, and you quickly clasped your lip closed to not bring attention to your light gasp. You prayed that neither Hashirama nor Madara, who stood between the two of you, noticed your out-of-place surprise. Hashirama seemed to breeze past the micro-interaction entirely as he spoke your name.

“This is my brother, Tobirama. Tobirama, this is…” You didn’t take your eyes off Tobirama’s red irises for a second, lost in the pounding that threatened to burst open your chest. You couldn’t stop yourself from moving. Your foot slid back, positioning you just behind Madara’s shoulder. Your hand tightly grasped the back of his sleeve.

Your movement didn’t escape Hashirama. When you looked back at him, you found his gaze anchored directly to the grip you held on Madara’s arm. You watched as his face seemed to droop, his broad smile wavering for a moment as an expression of what you could only describe as genuine sorrow swept over Hashirama’s face. It was a contortion so sincere that you almost felt bad for how your body reacted. But Hashirama recovered quickly as he faced Madara once again with a friendly smile. 

“... your wife, Madara?” 

You hadn’t realized that Hashirama was still talking. 

You and Madara gazed at each other simultaneously, expecting the other to answer, but instead, you found yourselves engaged in a silent, second-long debate.

“This is, uh,” Madara started, now as thrown off as you were. His forehead twitched as he glanced back toward you instinctually. 

“I am an…” You made the mistake of accidentally making eye contact with Tobirama once again. He stood stoically by Hashirama’s side, quietly awaiting an answer. Your panicked gaze once again darted between Hashirama and Madara, who didn’t appear to be in a rush to come to your aid. — “advisor.” You nodded with pseudo-certainty. “I am an advisor on the Uchiha council.”

Hashirama wasn’t allowed time to comment. 

“Pardon us.” Two members of the Senju tentatively approached your group. Hashirama pivoted a foot to acknowledge them.

“Yes, what is it?”

“All has been prepared for us to begin. We wait only on the two of you.” 

Hashirama turned to spare a half-glance over his shoulder.

“Ah, that is what you were here to notify me of, was it not? Telling me to quit my chatter, eh, Tobirama? Why did you not speak sooner?” Hashirama laughed. “Let us make haste and not leave the people waiting longer than they have already. I am certain that everyone would rather be at the banquet than listen to my dry speech!”

With Hashirama having decided to begin, you retreated to the Uchiha side of the crowd and Tobirama to the Senju.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Hahaha would you believe that I forgot that healing jutsu existed for, perhaps, this entire fic?? I certainly wrote other things with healing jutsu. Hell, I’ve written whole stories centered on it, but this?? WHOOPS.

I thought to myself that I might add another section to this chapter but I saw that 6.8k and went hahahahaha nope!

My grammar checker no longer works on the document that this was originally written on, so I took the chapter and isolated it to do edits... resulting in weird indentation issues. Ah so goes the world...

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Edit: I think I’ll drop the next chapter when this one reaches 100 notes.

[kallie-den]

Renewable Energy

Ziratha, an intrepid young succubus researcher, finds the ultimate solution to the looking Succubus Energy Crisis: a device that brainwashes its subjects back into nourishing, delicious, easily-flustered virgins - even rough, experienced, punk trans girls like Vivi

This was a delightful commission from GrillFan65, one of my patrons, and features a very, very fun TF ;)

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

---

“Wow. This is a succubus’s lab?” The crust punk trans girl looked around Ziratha’s research laboratory and sniffed. “I would have expected more candles. Magic circles. Maybe a few jars of goat semen or something.”

Ziratha the succubus rolled her eyes as the punk laughed at her own bad joke. “That’s a stereotype. You’d think humans would know better now. We’ve been living amongst your kind for decades now, and-“

“And succubi are simply people just like us, living perfectly normal lives, except for the whole needing sex for subsistence thing,” the punk interrupted. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard the history lesson before.”

Ziratha had to suppress a groan. Alongside her PhD research, a full-time job in its own right, she worked part-time as an adjunct making minimum wage. She’d forgotten what a good night’s sleep felt like. Half her blood was coffee. She was way too tired for this.

Unfortunately for her, this punk girl - Vivi - was the best shot she was going to get at seeing her research reach fruition.

“Anyway,” Vivi piped up, “hurry up and tell me why I’m here already.”

“You’re here,” Ziratha replied tersely, “because I caught you breaking a window at the back of the lab. Probably looking for something to sell. And because if you help me out, I can delete the feed from the security camera. Got it?”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Vivi shot back. “HRT ain’t free, you know?”

Ziratha sighed. In truth, she didn’t hold the attempted theft against her. It was simply that the succubus really, really needed just one single research subject. One was surely all it would take to get the funding board to sit up and pay attention.

“So, c’mon,” Vivi insisted. “What do you need me to do?”

Ziratha took a very, very deep breath. “OK, let me explain. Firstly, what do you know about the SEC?”

Vivi sniffed. “Sounds familiar.

“The Succubus Energy Crisis,” Ziratha told her patiently. “We succubi depend on energy harvested from our sexual partners. You clearly know that much. However, what you may not know is that sexual energy isn’t a sustainable resource.”

“How’s that?” Vivi seemed more interested in scoping out Ziratha’s messy lab than in the answer.

“The amount of energy a succubus harvests from her partner is inversely proportional to their sexual experience,” Ziratha went on. Reciting this was practically automatic. She’d been over it a hundred times in class. “The potency of sexual energy declines after, well, sex. Especially sex with succubi. The more we take, the less they have to give. Sex with ‘well-used’ partners yields negligible energy - and furthermore, might actually kill the human.”

“OK.” Vivi laughed offhandedly. “So what? There will always be more virgins, right?”

“That’s what people used to say about coal and oil,” Ziratha pointed out. “As it turns out, no. Thanks to a declining birth rate, an increasingly sexualized culture, and a constant expansion of liberal sexual mores into untapped parts of the world, reserves are depleting faster than they can naturally refill. Humanity’s store of sexual energy is trending towards zero. Starvation for succubuskind.”

“Right…” Vivi said skeptically, before shrugging. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with me.”

“I was getting to that,” Ziratha retorted. “I’m working on a solution, OK? See, traditional succubic magiscience holds that the depletion of sexual energy following virginity loss is a spiritual-metaphysical phenomenon. In other words, completely and totally irreversible. But that’s bullshit!”

Vivi looked up sharply at the sudden outburst of passion from the succubus.

“Those idiots in the academy just don’t want to let go of their precious little doctrines!” Ziratha fumed. “They’d rather sink billions into pipe dreams than admit the textbooks could be wrong.  I mean, the SuperCharm Collider? Seriously? It’s a joke! But once I get my funding, I’ll be the one who’s laughing!”

She let out a loud, rich cackle worthy of her demonic forebears.

“See, my research indicates that the source of this problem is purely neural-psychological,” Ziratha ranted. “In other words: if you can turn back the clock on someone’s mind, you can completely refill their sexual energy. It’s a perfect solution. Renewable energy for all, forever. But the Institutional Review Board won’t give me the damn funding for a proper set of clinical trials.”

“Hold up,” Vivi broke in. “Are you about to tell me that I’m your guinea pig? And… you want to turn me back into a virgin?”

Ziratha grinned, her eyes flashing behind her nerdy glasses. “Exactly! Behold my Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit. Which I expect to be known more widely as: the revirginization helmet!”

Reaching over to her workbench, she picked up something that looked halfway between an old VR headset and a military-issue tin foil hat.

Vivi folded her arms over her battle vest. “There’s no way I’m wearing that.”

“It’s safe!” Ziratha insisted defensively. “I made sure of it. If it wasn’t, this would kill my entire career.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Vivi replied, unconvinced. Then, she tilted her head to one side, and a crafty, dirty grin slowly spread across her face. “Hey. How about you and I go someplace comfortable and find a solution to a different kind of energy crisis?”

“Huh?” Ziratha blinked.

Vivi kept grinning and winked.

“Oh, I see.” Ziratha smiled wearily. “You want to have sex.”

Vivi giggled and nodded. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” the punk girl said, “but you look like you could do with a little top-off.”

Ziratha frowned. “Rude!”

In truth, though, she couldn’t be too offended. It had been a long time since Ziratha had fed properly, and it showed. Proper, nourishing partners weren’t easy to come by. Her deep red skin had taken on a slightly unhealthy pallor, her horns were nubs, and her tail was just a thin, dainty little thing. It was a far cry from the kind of overbearingly transhuman appearance succubi could have if they were permitted to glut themselves to their hearts’ content.

Admittedly, Ziratha wasn’t exactly playing to her own strengths. Instead of anything particularly alluring, she was dressed in the universal uniform of the overworked grad student: an old t-shirt, grey sweatpants and comfy sneakers, with a lab coat over top. Her hair was tied back in a hasty ponytail, her huge, round glasses made her look like exactly the nerd she was, and she hadn’t bothered with any makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

Beneath it all, though, she still had a killer body. She was still a succubus, after all.

“What do you say?” Vivi proposed. She glanced pointedly at Ziratha’s chest. “Wanna turn those C-cups into something bigger?”

Ziratha was surprised Vivi knew so much about how energy levels affected succubi. “You’ve slept with my kind before?”

“Sure have.” Vivi’s smirk was infuriatingly cocky. “A few times. And don’t worry - they were never disappointed. I know just how to treat a girl - mortal or demon.”

Ziratha rolled her eyes at the lewd comments, but she was smiling too. This made Vivi the ideal test subject. It was what Ziratha had been hoping for when she’d first laid eyes on her. Vivi was tall, hot, and confident, and while Ziratha knew better than to judge a book by its cover, Vivi did look like someone with a certain amount of ‘experience’.

She was pure punk, top to bottom. Vivi was wearing a battle vest covered in patches and spikes over a simple, loose-fitting top, and beneath the belt she had on a pleated skirt, some torn stockings, and an impressive pair of boots. A lot of the skin she was showing was covered in ink, and both sides of her head were shaven, leaving her with a messy streak of hair that was dyed neon blue.

Ziratha would have been pretty shocked if Vivi had told her she was a virgin.

“As attractive an offer as that is, I’ll have to decline.” Ziratha didn’t bother to conceal her weary sarcasm. “You’re a guinea pig.”

Vivi rolled her eyes. “Fine. I guess I can think of worse things than getting my ‘sexual energy��� replenished - whatever that’s gonna feel like.”

“Great. Great!” Ziratha immediately started ushering Vivi deeper into her lab before the punk could change her mind. “Take a seat, please.”

She gestured towards a chair that looked like it had been ripped out of a hospital examination room, with all kinds of wires and machines hooked up to it. Vivi glanced at the chair dubiously, but still moved to sit down.

“What’s all this, huh?” she asked, settling.

“Just monitoring equipment,” Ziratha explained. “Taking your vitals, measuring neural readings. That kind of stuff.”

“Nerd stuff, got it.” Vivi winked. “OK. I’m ready, I guess.”

Ziratha could barely contain her excitement. This was it. Her breakthrough. Her triumph. But the succubus was too much of a scientist to count her chickens before they hatched. “Here. Put this on.”

She handed Vivi the helmet she’d spent hundreds of hours designing and building. The punk looked at the strange, ramshackle device even more dubiously than she had at the chair, but she did as she was told. Once the helmet was properly adjusted, the screen mounted to it hung in front of Vivi’s face, obscuring most of her vision.

Ziratha tapped a few keys on her laptop and the screen came to life. A few lights and indicators on the helmet started to glow and flash, and the whole apparatus began to hum as the large capacitors mounted to it started to charge.

“Hey, so, how long is this going to take, anyway?” Vivi asked. The punk sounded a little less brash and a little more uncertain now. “Is this, like, some kind of long-ass meditation thing? Because I have places to be.”

“No, don’t worry,” Ziratha answered. “It’s much quicker than that.”

The succubus tapped a few more keys, checked a few readouts, and then hammered the space bar.

There was a huge, bright flash, like an old camera going off.

Vivi went still and stiff for a moment, and then groaned faintly.

“What the fuck?” she complained. “What… was that it?”

“That was it,” Ziratha confirmed. Her tail was very straight, and her voice was thick with anticipation. “How do you feel?”

“My head is throbbing.” Vivi slipped the helmet off her head and blinked as her eyes readjusted. “You could have given me some real warning, you know. So, did it work?”

Ziratha glanced at her laptop screen. “According to the diagnostics, it should have worked.”

“How’s my, uh, energy?” Vivi asked, a faintly mocking smile on her face. “Any of your fancy instruments tell you that?”

Ziratha simply returned the smile. “Oh, I don’t need any instruments for that at all.”

The succubus reached out and took Vivi’s hand, and let her demonic sixth sense for energy tell her everything she needed to know. Her smile immediately became a wide grin. Oh yes, it had worked. Succubi could always tell when someone would make a good meal. It was no different from any other predator’s sense of smell, although physical contact made it far more precise. Right now, Vivi had the scent of a ripe, untouched virgin.

This was it. The breakthrough Ziratha had long searched for. Her invention was about to change the world.

Despite such heady thoughts, though, Ziratha wasn’t celebrating. Something else had caught her attention. There was something very strange about the way Vivi was reacting.

The punk girl was trying not to let it show, but she kept squirming and shifting in her seat. A distinct pink blush was showing in her cheeks, and Ziratha could feel Vivi’s palm starting to turn hot and sweaty as they held hands.

The succubus tilted her head. Now this was very, very interesting.

“Vivi,” Ziratha said. “How do you feel now?”

Vivi couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. “I-I’m fine,” she blurted out in reply. “It’s nothing.”

Ziratha wasn’t buying that for an instant. She had a succubus’s instincts. She could tell when someone was seriously flustered. Experimentally, Ziratha lent in closer and squeezed Vivi’s hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Jeez!” Vivi’s voice was a little too strained. Under Ziratha’s watchful gaze, she twitched tellingly. “You’re just being kind of l-lewd.”

Lewd? Just by holding her hand? “Fascinating…” Ziratha murmured.

The succubus pulled away, allowing Vivi to breathe a sigh of relief, and inspected some of her equipment readouts more carefully.

“It clearly worked,” she said, as much to herself as to her test subject. “But there’s signs of something else, too… hey, Vivi. Remind me: you’ve had sex, right?”

In contrast to her earlier, cocksure attitude, Vivi now looked like a deer in headlights at the question. “W-w-well, yeah! Of c-course!”

“So your memory hasn’t been affected, just…” Ziratha murmured, before turning back to Vivi and clapping her hands. “I think I know what’s happened!”

“What?” Vivi demanded. “I mean, uh, nothing. Obviously. But what?”

“Just as I was hoping, my revirginizer helmet completely returned you to a virgin state regarding your reserve of sexual energy,” Ziratha explained. “But I theorize that it also affected some of your closely-related inhibitions, skills, and arousal responses.”

Vivi blinked. “And what does that mean? English please.”

“Well, do you remember being a blushing, nervous, inexperienced teenager, years ago? Remember how much ‘steam’ you had to blow off on a daily basis? Remember how it made you feel when a girl so much as looked at you?”

Vivi nodded, and waited for Ziratha to say something else. But when Ziratha just glanced at her significantly, the punk girl turned as white as a sheet.

“N-no way,” Vivi protested. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so.” Ziratha giggled. “It’s all connected, it seems. Congratulations. In just about every way that counts, you’re a virgin again.”

Vivi turned from white back to red upon hearing the v-word said out loud. She made to stand up. “I-I can’t believe you did this to me. I gotta get out of here.”

“Wait, wait,” Ziratha urged. She moved to Vivi’s side and calmed her with a simple hand on her arm. “I should really run a few more tests. Just to make sure.”

The succubus’s nostrils flared. She was shocked at how potent Vivi’s energy now felt. It was palpable, even when they weren’t touching. She could sense it in the air. Clearly, she had to investigate further. All in the name of science, of course.

Vivi was back to looking flustered, but she still threw a mutinous glare at Ziratha. “Y-you’re crazy! I can’t believe I even…”

Ziratha swiftly decided that if the betterment of succubuskind wasn’t a good enough reason for Vivi, she’d have to resort to other forms of persuasion. She bent down at the waist, putting her face close to the punk’s, and made her eyes very big and alluring.

“Please?” she whispered, in a voice that was suddenly soft and intimate. “Won’t you stay with me?”

Vivi looked like her body temperature had just shot up ten degrees, and Ziratha noticed that she couldn’t seem to meet her gaze properly. The succubus was sure she wouldn’t have fallen for that five minutes ago, but now she was a total sucker. “S-s-sure,” Vivi managed, in a strained voice.

“Wonderful.” Ziratha licked her lips. The distinctive virgin-scent Vivi was starting to give off was just delicious. “These readings - and reactions - are extraordinary. And I’ve done nothing more than hold your hand.”

Vivi whimpered plaintively.

“I can’t help but wonder,” the succubus murmured, “what kind of yields you might produce with slightly more purposeful stimulation.”

Vivi’s eyes registered alarm but, before she could protest, Ziratha slipped closer and planted a kiss on the punk girl’s cheek.

Her reaction was as immediate as it was striking. Vivi let out a faint gasp and her back arched slightly, even though she was clearly trying as hard as possible not to show it. But even more striking was the intensified deer-in-headlights look in her eyes, like she was desperately struggling to figure out what this meant and what she should do about it, even as she was so devastatingly flustered she couldn’t even manage basic addition.

Ziratha’s nostrils flared again. This was amazing, and she was starting to become aware of just how long it had been since she’d had a real feeding.

“Wow,” she said teasingly, momentarily letting her instincts get the better of her. “Just from one little kiss, huh?”

Vivi whined indignantly. "I-it’s not… that’s… t-this is nothing!”

“Yeah?” Ziratha couldn’t resist a giggle. “It’s just so funny - you seemed so cocky before. So experienced.”

“I am experienced!” Vivi tried to insist. “I’ve f… um… fu… I mean, you know… I’ve had s-s-s-“

Ziratha’s grin just kept growing as she watched the previously fierce punk trail off, her blush growing steadily deeper as she struggled to bring herself to actually say it. The transformation was quite the sight to behold. She had to keep pushing Vivi further. She just had to. It was part of the experiment, somehow, she reasoned. The succubus took advantage of Vivi’s helpless spluttering to press closer still and put her lips right by her ear.

“Sex?” Ziratha breathed, pouring as much suggestion and seductive glee as she possibly could into that one, single word.

Vivi looked like she was about to explode.

“You see?” Ziratha drew back, smirking victoriously. “You’re not experienced. Not really. Not anymore. You can remember that you’ve had sex before - but that’s it. And you can barely even bring yourself to think about those memories, because you might get too worked up. Neither your mind nor your body knows how to handle it.” She giggled. “Typical virgin.”

“I-I’m not…!” For a moment she thought Vivi was about to start tearing up, but then the punk girl managed to rally herself. “Y-you’re just messing with me! That’s all! It’s your stupid little machine, making me all confused. T-that’s the only reason I can’t think straight right now. I’m not, um, w-worked up.”

“Yeah?” Ziratha challenged. “Then explain this for me, please.”

She reached down and rested her hand firmly on the big, unmistakable tent in Vivi’s skirt.

Immediately, Vivi went as white as a sheet. Clearly, until that moment, she hadn’t noticed the huge hard-on she was sporting. She attempted a protest, or perhaps an explanation, but all that came out was a few strangled, incoherent sounds.

“My, my.” Ziratha licked her lips again, without even realizing it. She was so very hungry. “You see? You’ve become so adorably excitable.”

Vivi whined as Ziratha started stroking her fingertips along the surface of her bulge. “Y-you can’t just… what the hell are you d-doing? This is harassment!”

“I’m a scientist, Vivi,” Ziratha chided, in a voice that made her sound anything but scientific. “After my experiment, it’s only natural for me to give you a nice, thorough examination.”

The punk girl let out another whimpered protest, seeming to sense Ziratha’s ulterior motive, but under the succubus’s ministrations that soon gave way to a weak, pitiful moan. The new virgin was like putty in Ziratha’s hands. The power, the energy, the scent - it was all intoxicating.

“In particular,” Ziratha decided, “I think it’s only proper that I get a reading on your, ah, endurance. I really think - I really do think - it could be very, very scientifically interesting.”

Science was increasingly slipping out of view. Ziratha’s gaze was set firmly on the huge tent in Vivi’s skirt, and it was getting harder and harder to think clearly. After a little teasing, that sweet, sweet virgin energy was coming off Vivi in waves. The laboratory was thick with its scent.

Vivi was still giving the succubus that achingly alluring deer-in-headlights look, but after a moment, her willpower started to wane. She nodded. Ziratha’s nostrils flared. That made sense too. What kind of virgin had the resolve to say ‘no’ to a succubus?

In exchange, Ziratha decided, maybe it was time to make good use of some of the inherent succubic talents she’d spent all of grad school neglecting.

Ziratha straightened up and, as Vivi watched, shrugged out of her heavy lab coat. As it fell to the ground, she reached up and removed her hair tie, shaking her head to make sure her hair cascaded down around her face. Vivi was all but hypnotized by the sight.

But that was only the beginning.

Next, Ziratha took her t-shirt by its hem and lifted it off over her head. She moved slowly, though, letting the helpless punk watching her savor the sight of her tummy and cleavage being revealed. The way she slipped out of her sweatpants was even more seductive. She made a dance of it, swinging her hips from side to side as she peeled them away from her body to expose her long, sculpted legs.

The striptease left Vivi with a little trail of drool escaping one corner of her mouth. She couldn’t seem to stop leering. Her eyes were shining like she couldn’t believe her luck, and the tent in her skirt was now marked with a growing spot of damp precum.

Underneath her clothes, Ziratha wasn’t wearing lingerie, merely a comfy sports bra and a matching pair of boxers. But that, she decided, was plenty to work with when it came to a virgin.

And from the look on Vivi’s face, she was right.

“Tell me,” Ziratha panted, “have you ever gotten a lap dance before?”

Vivi looked almost panicked as she shook her head.

“Great,” Ziratha purred. “Then I suppose this will be a genuine first.”

Effortlessly, the succubus eased her weight into the examination chair, and backed up inch by inch until her naturally huge, curvy ass was pressed right up against Vivi’s hard bulge.

Vivi squeaked like a mouse.

At this point, her every little noise and twitch was like a red rag to a bull. The newly-restored virgin’s scent was so thick in the air Ziratha could taste it. Her hunger was awakening instincts she’d never known she had. Moving to the sound of unheard music, she started grinding and gyrating like she’d been doing it all her life.

The effect the lap dance had on Vivi was nothing short of explosive.

The punk looked like every bit the virgin she now was. Her eyes were wide and practically bulging, and her mouth was contorted into a goofy, uneven shape halfway between an amazed grin and a look of desperate, anxious disbelief.

She looked like she was about to blow.

“C’mon,” Ziratha mocked, in a voice dripping with honey and brimstone. “You can do better than this, right, virgin?”

Her teasing elicited another strangled whimper that just made the succubus want to push Vivi further and further. She danced her way up the punk girl’s body and turned to face her, rolling her hips as she pushed her ass back out behind her to grind into her throbbing bulge.

“Be a good girl,” she teased. “Hold on a little longer for me.”

Vivi just nodded haplessly. Her eyes were scrunched up closed, and she was gripping the sides of the chair so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Ziratha could just imagine what was going on in her head. Baseball scores. Times tables. Whatever she needed to help not utterly humiliate herself.

“Let’s see if you can handle something a little more… direct.”

Ziratha arched her and straightened her tail, daring the virgin punk writhing beneath her to open her eyes and stare at her amazing tits. Then, she reached back and used her deft fingertips to unfasten Vivi’s skirt. Vivi let out a moan that was as much protest as eagerness, but it didn’t stop Ziratha from using the motion of her hips and thighs to slide the garment out of the way, and then pull aside her panties until her hard, leaking cock was completely exposed.

Zirath’s long, forked tongue lolled out of her mouth as she stared at it, dripping drool down onto Vivi.

She needed it.

“Good news, punk,” she breathed, shivering. “You’re about to get your cherry popped.”

“W-w-what?” Vivi exclaimed pitifully.

“It’s, uh, for the experiment,” Ziratha reasoned. She was frenzied as she tore off her bra and panties. “I need to sample, uh… and, well, get a reading on the volume of…” She rolled her eyes and licked her lips. “Actually, forget the science. I’m just hungry, and you’re ripe for the eating.”

“B-b-but!” the trans girl spluttered, as Ziratha positioned herself against her cock. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready yet!”

“Yeah?” Ziratha paused, bemused.

"I mean… uh…” A bashful look came over Vivi’s face. “It’s just… I maybe… I wanted it to be special. You know?”

“Oh my god.” Ziratha snorted a laugh, and grinned wickedly. “You are going to be just delicious.”

In a single motion, she dropped her hips and impaled herself on Vivi’s cock.

Immediately, Vivi’s voice shot up an octave, and she let out a girlish cry of absolute pleasure. Right after, Ziratha’s rich, gleeful moans joined the chorus. The succubus couldn’t believe how good the virgin’s cock felt. It wasn’t just the sensation. It was the sustenance. Merely being in Vivi’s presence for the last few minutes had made Ziratha fiercely hungry. Now, at last, that hunger was being sated.

Once she recovered from the initial hit, Ziratha started moving her hips and bouncing greedily on the end of Vivi’s shaft. With each bounce, the punk girl underneath her thrashed madly in a clumsy, instinctive attempt to meet Ziratha thrust for thrust.

She mostly failed. But the attempt, at least, was adorable.

As she rode the sensitive, inexperienced punk, Ziratha started howling with glee. She’d never had the pleasure before, but it was true what they said - there was nothing like milking a virgin. Her body was humming with energy, and every time she buried Vivi’s cock to the hilt inside her pussy, the sensation got sweeter and sweeter. Something about the flavor of a virgin’s energy was utterly transcendent, and it was made all more nourishing by what it represented.

Ziratha’s complete and total victory.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before Vivi’s moans started to peak, signaling that she was at the edge. Clearly, despite her memories, the virgin had absolutely no stamina. Ziratha wasn’t going to complain. The orgasm was the sweetest part of the meal.

“Go ahead!” Ziratha urged. “Blow your load already. We both know you can’t hold back anymore.”

With a cry of absolute, mortified bliss, Vivi exploded inside her.

Ziratha’s moans peaked too when she felt Vivi’s virile, nourishing cum paint her insides. It was better than anything she’d ever felt before. The power, the pleasure, the feeding - all of it. Ziratha could already feel her body priming itself to swell and change with the infusion of fresh energy.

The ecstatic rush of it made her greedy. She wanted more. She wanted it all. Ziratha squeezed down on Vivi and started riding her harder and faster than ever. Every bounce, every thrust, coaxed more and more sweet, sweet cum from the virgin’s cock, until Vivi was whining in blissful agony as she came down from the high of orgasm. Eventually, Vivi’s eyes rolled back  into her head and simply passed out, her mind overwhelmed past its limits by sheer pleasure.

Ziratha kept riding her all the same. The succubus didn’t stop until she’d milked her for every last drop.

Eventually, though, once her hunger was sated, she slumped down next to the punk girl, giggling intermittently in giddy, light-headed glee. The succubus’s head was already filling with daydreams of fame and wealth when Vivi came to and pulled her into a hesitant, needy embrace.

“Hey, u-um,” Vivi whispered earnestly, in a voice that was anything but punk. “W-was it good for you too?”

“Huh?” Ziratha roused herself. There was something strange about the way Vivi sounded. No; about the way she felt. Ziratha had expected her to start returning to something closer to her normal behavior.

“I-I-I just, uh…” Vivi was once again turning bright red. “I-I thought it was really special. You know? Like, um, maybe we really have a connection.”

Ziratha seized Vivi’s hand again and, as Vivi stared at her hopefully, paid close attention to what she could sense from the punk girl. When the penny dropped, she started cackling.

“Oh my god!” she howled. “I can’t believe it. You’re still the same way. As fresh as ever.”

“What do you mean?” Vivi sounded defensive.

“I’m definitely going to need to hold you for some… oversight observation. Just to make sure.” Ziratha licked her lips suggestively. “But I can already tell. It’s like your brain can’t adapt anymore. Not just your energy levels. Your social skills. Your inhibitions. Your stamina. Everything.”

“What?” Vivi pressed anxiously.

“It’s the revirginization,” Ziratha pronounced. “All of it. It’s permanent.”

***

Mere weeks later, it was a very different Ziratha that stood upon the stage to make her big pitch to a room packed full of succubus leaders and investors. It wasn’t just the confidence - although she had that in spades, now that her Nobel prize was apparently all but assured. Her body had changed too. She stood taller. Grander. She exuded power and presence, and all of her body’s assets had gone from merely ‘hot’ to inhumanly mouth-watering. Her horns were a massive, knotted crown upon her head, and her tail was as deft as a whip and as thick as an anaconda.

All thanks to her favorite little meal.

Vivi was standing a little way behind her on the stage, and while physically she was unchanged, she seemed to have shrunk just as Ziratha had grown. She exuded a fragile, nebbish submissiveness despite all tattoos and piercings. She wore a choker collar bearing Ziratha���s name around her neck, and she was wearing a dress.

Ziratha liked her that way. And Vivi was no longer able to argue with the succubus.

“So, as you can see from our data, our early clinical trials have borne out the most promising of my invention’s results,” Ziratha was saying, as she rounded off her speech. “The regression to maiden status is, both psychologically and metaphysically speaking, permanent. The process isn’t damaging, but the subject’s mind naturally sheds its ability to develop new sexual skills or comfort zones, physical or social. Accordingly, their energy levels remain at peak capacity and potency - forever.”

Ziratha paused for a beat, letting the crowd of succubi sitting in front of her drink that in.

“In short,” she concluded, “they’re helpless perma-virgins. Isn’t that right, Vivi?”

Vivi blushed an incredibly deep red and looked down at the floor, but nodded.

“So!” Ziratha clapped her hands. “It’s safe to say that we’re ready to move into pre-production. Soon enough, each and every one of you could have one of my devices in your very own hands - assuming you’re willing to provide me with funding, of course. What do you say, ladies? A future of infinite, renewable energy awaits us!”

As expected, the auditorium was immediately filled with thunderous applause.

The age of the Succubus Energy Crisis was over.

The age of perma-virgin mortals and succubus dominance was about to begin.

---

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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[ficnoire2]

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked Scent Theory

Scent is nostalgic.  It transports us back to a memory, a person, and the feelings that lived in that pocket of time.  When I was a teenager Snoop Dog proclaimed in Lodi Dodi “For all the bitches I might take home, I got the Johnson’s Baby Powder and Cool Water cologne.”  Yes, I have happily dated myself with that reference (all my youngins, do your Googles) but nearly every boy I knew had that scent profile and every time one of them said, “Where my hug at” I would bury my nose in its familiar embrace.  Tracy has been hella intentional with so many of her choices in this amazing series (see a bit more in my “A little LB/BM…” series at the end) and I don’t think the way our favs smell is any different.  Let’s take a dip in the olfactory pool shall we?

Bree Matthews - scent profile Gourmand, Green, Mossy Woods

“Do you want to know?” he asks in a low voice that makes me shiver.  He reaches for my hand, and his fingers are hot against my palm.  “What your magic smells like?”... “Honey wine.  Amber.  Green things growing.  The tiniest hint of copper, like fresh blood.  Something else…”  A deep inhale, and I feel him shudder.  “Power.”

Well now, Selwyn said a mouthful when describing Bree’s scent and every note fits her perfectly.  

Honey Wine - Did y'all know that honey wine is also called Meade?  Arthur went on about someone drinking all of it when Bree popped up in one of his memories.  It is made from honey, yeast, and water and can vary in alcohol content and can be mixed with fruit.  In Celtic cultures, Meade is thought to enhance virility and fertility and has aphrodisiac qualities (had Sel on his ass in the woods).  This wine was said to have been first made in secret by Irish Monks. Its origins, however, are lost in prehistory with the earliest archeological evidence dating back to 7000 BC. It was used in feasts and celebrations across Europe and Asia and still exists today. A scent fit for a King. 

Amber - Warm and exotic, amber which is derived from tree resin and described as “Gold of the Sea” and has been touted as the world’s oldest and most desired treasure.  It is considered beautiful and unique and has special chemical properties that are electrically charged and could ignite when rubbed together (A bit volatile and explosive like our Bree).  Amber is a powerful Chakra cleanser and can absorb negative energy, transferring it into positive. It can be used in meditation for relaxation and can heighten and enhance psychic abilities. 

Green Things Growing - The scent of fresh cut grass, blooming flora, mother earth.  Representing growth, new beginnings, healing, and renewal.  I find it interesting that Sel tapped into this aspect of her scent as taking in her root (after giving him consent) revitalized him.  In a way Bree’s arrival has brought forth new beginnings and growth for everyone she has come into contact with.

Copper, Fresh Blood, Power - Smelling blood (where none is present) can signify a deep connection with ancestral ties.  As we know Bree has seen Vera bathed in blood, and its use has been pivotal to her communing with her ancestors.  It can also serve as a shield or protection.  Erebus has Bloodmarked Bree which alerts him to her danger, in a way protecting her. This scent being part of her profile is telling because it is a symbol of life, sacrifice, and spiritual potency.  These attributes are ever present in Bree.  She after all is their sharpest and strongest blade with a powerful connection to the spirit realm. 

Selwyn Kane - Scent profile Oriental (amber/sweet), woody (smoky), peaty (aged whiskey)

“We are so close I smell whiskey and smoke.  His aether signature, back again.”

Whiskey - Did you know that smelling alcohol has spiritual significance involving evolution, cleansing, and reemergence with renewed clarity?  Smelling alcohol can be a call to purify oneself, to get rid of negativity.  It can signify a period of transition or transformation, a rebirth if you will.  Selwyn Kane has managed to change immensely throughout both books.  He can literally transform by owl shifting.  By the end of Bloodmarked, we see yet another iteration of him as he transitioned more towards his shadow side, his demon nature.  Historical context suggests the scent of alcohol is associated with sacred rituals (Oathing ceremonies) and can be a bridge between the physical and spiritual realms. 

Cinnamon - In the oriental scent family, this scent is exotic and seductive (just like our favorite, angsty, goth).  Some people use cinnamon for protection, prosperity, and healing.  It is said to be anti-viral, anti-biotic, anti-microbial, and antifungal “I don’t get infections.”  Cinnamon has therapeutic properties, it's no wonder Selwyn is able to heal so quickly from injury (bruised ego aside).

Smoke- While a part of Sel’s scent profile, when Bree smells the hint of smoke he gives off, it suggests her closeness to the ancestral plane and the supernatural.  Like Bree, people that smell smoke when there is none can sense the spiritual world.  Selly has an affinity for detecting those pesky Shadowborn that continuously make their way to our world. Its scent is also associated with messages from our ancestors and the divine.

Nick Davis - Scent profile Woody, fresh

“When he catches up, his fresh laundry and cedar scent comes with him.  Of course he smells good.”

Fresh Laundry-Nick’s scent has been described as a bit boring, but I tend to disagree.  Tracy has been extremely intentional with her choices in this series and I don’t think Nick’s scent is any different.  Fresh laundry makes you want to bury your face in it.  After a long day and a nice shower, it feels like home to snuggle into freshly laundered sheets (Is it just me?).  It is comforting to snuggle up in your favorite blanket that smells of your favorite detergent.  It is soothing and in a sense freshly laundered linens are a clean slate.  If that isn’t Nick, I don’t know what is.  He is deeply comforting to Bree and is a soft place to land for her.  Whenever she is in his room, she is smelling his clothes, sheets, she is able to find respite with him.  He is a change of pace in all the chaos happening in her life.  Not only does he serve as comfort for her, but for Sel as well (hello Bloodwalk).  Plus, tell me you haven’t taken clothes out of the dryer and took a big ol’ whiff.

Cedar- I love the smell of cedar.  Symbolically it represents protection, wisdom, strength, and spiritual grounding (come on Nicky!).  In some cultures Cedar trees are considered sacred and are known for their healing relationship with humankind.  The scent of cedar clears the mind, opening it to past memories. Cedar trees in particular are said to store energy, only releasing it when important healing needs to occur.  We know Nick has a lot of inner rage (Max fucked around and found out), but he is also optimistic and seeking correction of the wrongs his father and The Order have imposed on the Legendborn.  I don’t know about you, but I’d bathe my clothes in this for sure.

Scent is such a powerful medium. What do you think of our faves’ scents?  I find it interesting that the spiciest characters (looking at you Bree and Selwyn) are in the oriental/woody scent family and our more level headed bunch is in the fresh scent family. 

In part two, we’ll take a look at Valec, William, and Incense Daddy himself, Erebus. 

Color Theory

Symbolism

[amalia-uwu]

S K Ó L I X

ΣΚΏΛΗΞ

I DONT OWN -> Undertale, Horrortale, Farmtale, the rights go to the respective owners.

Undertale by Toby Fox

Horrortale by Sour Apple Studios

Farmtale by GuinongTale_AU

Cover | Chapter 1 [ you are here] | Chapter 2 here :)

Warnings ⚠️: angst, unrealistic medical stuff, inaccurate medical stuff, blisters, gore, body horror, blood, injuries, bone injuries

Notes: I had many ideas for this and I rewrote it many times!

Moreover, you can blame my mother for igniting this idea in me!!!

Mother! Oh Mother! What did you just make me write? 🤣

I BLAME YOU FOR THIS MOTHER! (and at the same time I thank you mother!)

After 5 whole months... I'm finally posting it! (Thank you Fudgie!!)

-> Ophelia, Agatha, Hermione, Lilian, Daniella, Martha are my original characters ❤️

Enjoy 😘

🌾🌾 🌾 🌾 🌾 🌾 🌾 🌾

The first rays of sun illuminated the room.

Papyrus blinked and stretched. He looked outside the window, while sitting on his bed.

He watched in awe as the sun rose slowly, illuminating the small town.

He always loved the sunrise, sunset. Well, almost everything!

It was a pleasant morning.

He didn't have many jobs to do, most were done. He was planning to return tomorrow morning to the farm.

He got up, got dressed, ate breakfast and exited the apartment ; ready for the day.

He breathed some fresh air. Yeah, the day should be ready for the Great farmer Papyrus.

In the afternoon, he visited Ophelia. He was holding the herbs and vegetables for her and her clinic.

It was quiet so they began chatting about their days.

(At around 18.15 pm)

A nurse rushed into her office  

"Emergency! Dr. Ophelia we need you! Two monsters arrived one of them needs medical attention immediately!"

Ophelia  waved at him and ran "See ya later Harvey! (Papyrus's nickname) ".

He waved back. He prayed that whoever was here, would get well soon.

She entered the room, her heart clenched. She couldn't recognize their face.

Their bones were covered in rash, blisters, cracks, blood. Their left ulna and radius were cracked. The way it looked, indicated fall.

Their neck, face and sternum were covered in a mass of huge blisters. Their skull had swollen, making them unrecognizable.

She couldn't see their eye sockets, nose or mouth. They were that bad.

In all her years, she had to face quite shocking emergencies; this was no exception.

Their breathing was ragged almost inaudible.

She noticed some twitching in their fingers. Blood and magic oozed, soaking the sheets under their body.

They were laying naked on the surgical table. Save for a fabric over their pelvis (that was soaked in blood, fluids and magic too).

Ophelia run to their side and threw a quick glance "prepare anesthesia".

"Their stats are quite low, like really low, I'm afraid to use complete anesthesia" Lilian mentioned while putting on his gloves.

"Then we are going to lower the potency. We will add local anesthesia." Ophelia informed as she put on her gloves and the nurses finished dressing her.

They nodded and got ready.

"Agatha, you and I will start with the face and neck okay? Lilian, Hermione you take care of the ribs, do the best you can. The rest stay close for assistance".

They nodded.

Few stood on the left side and the others on the right side.

They prepared all the necessary tools and began action.

They added some medicine in the IV.

Each doctor and nurse took a hold of a special injection. They lined up.

When they found a spot that was visible they injected the anesthesia.

They therefore used a special antiseptic gel to pat the blisters in all of the patient's body.

Some seconds passed and the blisters broke / popped; fluid, blood and magic oozed.

She checked their stats. The stats were falling. "Nurse?! The HP! Inject the light green medicine in the IV!" the nurse nodded and did what she was told.

The HP stopped going down. It went a little up.  

Ophelia looked at Agatha, "Agatha, clean the face, do what you can. I'll check the neck". Agatha nodded.

Ophelia moved on to the neck. She began inspecting and cleaning.

As she was cleaning she noticed a spot that looked quite different. She frowned and leaned closer to inspect.

She gently touched it. She pushed and removed fluids and a stinger.

She put it in a special case to look at it later. They checked their soul beat. Steady. The doctors added more medicines in the IV.

As she was cleaning, she looked at Lilian and Hermione that were cleaning the sternum.

The rest  of nurses  took care of the hands, legs and offered assistance when needed; just as they were told.

She noticed that the patient was leaking a lot. No matter how much the doctors were cleaning them; the fluids, clotted magic and blood kept coming.

Ophelia was checking their statistics many times.

Ophelia looked at a nurse "Daniella, please keep injecting a small dose of the light green medicine. It will keep their statistics steady". Daniella nodded.

Daniella kept doing that when Ophelia ordered her.

Ophelia and Agatha switched works. Ophelia began cleaning the face and Agatha the neck.

Hermione and Lilian the ribs, some nurses the hips.

She repeated the procedure; they used an antibacterial gel and gently patted it on the patient's body to prevent infection.

As they were working; the patient's body arched upwards.

Ophelia and the rest stopped what they were doing; anesthesia was wearing off.

The poor soul; let out ragged, choked breaths and gurgling sounds.

Their soul beat got higher. Their choked anguished groaning of discomfort broke the doctors's heart.

Ophelia with a gloved hand,  caressed their collarbone and spoke as softly as she could.

"Hey, it's okay! I know! The difficult part is almost over! It's okay, ssshh" She motioned to Daniella and pointed to the IV.

Daniella nodded and injected sedatives and painkillers in the IV.

"You are a pretty strong skeleton!Now I want you to relax! We are here to help you, don't worry! You are in good hands" Ophelia's voice was soft, comforting.

Their movements calmed down and went slack. Their soul beat had calmed down.

"Pretty good! I'll just clean your face now yes?" there was no reply.

Their chest rose and fall softly. They twitched their fingers.

"Was someone else with them?" she asked as she continued cleaning.

Hermione replied "Yes, another skeleton. They teleported here with him on their arms. They begged desperately that we will help him. We assured them that we will do what we can. They are waiting outside".

She nodded, too focused on her work.

It took hours (around 4) to clean their body.

Eventually they could see,

who they,

Who he was.

Ophelia's eyes widen..

Her hands trembled...

End of part 1!

I'm excited yet nervous for this fic!...

Who do you think is the patient? We'll have to wait and see in next chapter ;)

CHAPTER 2

Comments, Constructive Criticism, Feedback, fanarts, fanfics are welcomed! 💙

[blackjackkent]

It's stupid, perhaps, but writing this stuff out makes it all feel very immediate and intense and I sort of feel like I've run a marathon coming out of this final battle, though not - I imagine - to the degree that Hector does.

We get a very long cutscene of the tide turning in the city, the mind flayers losing their potency and the locals running them over in triumph. It wasn't as epic as some of the previous cutscenes so I didn't record it, but it ends quite epically - a crowd of screaming, cheering citizens in front of a battered Sorcerous Sundries, with a line from the narrator atop it:

Narrator: Everything you did, everything you sacrificed. It was worth it for this.

True enough. Hector can hear the cheering as he and the others haul themselves, exhausted, from the water, and for a little while he just stands there and listens, letting the feeling of victory - of having saved so many - soak through him and slowly start to feel real.

Karlach keeps close at his side as they walk along the dock; she has one of his hands clasped tightly in hers as if she never plans to let it go. He is desperately grateful that, whatever lies ahead for them, that she survived this long, that he can experience this victory with her at his side.

The others, all his friends, everyone who traveled so far with him, are all waiting along the shoreline.

"We did it," Karlach mumbles, as if she still can't quite believe it herself. "We actually did it. And the city's still standing."

Devastated, yes... but standing. In the morning, they'll have to see how much has been lost. But for today... Hector allows himself to think about nothing but what will survive because of them, because of what they went through, what they did.

"My powers..." Wyll comments wonderingly. "They're draining. Just like Mizora said they would." He smiles crookedly. "A small price to pay in the grand scheme of things."

Hector grins, reaches out to slap him on the shoulder. A small price indeed - Wyll is free for the first time in years, free of both the tadpole and the pact, free to choose a new course of his own design.

"I should feel relieved, yet my blood still simmers..." Lae'zel mutters. A pause as she works through her own emotions, and then-- she smiles. Hector isn't sure he's ever seen her smile with such sincerity before.

"The parasite," she says, turning excitedly towards Hector. "It's withered, dead along with the Netherbrain! I am cleansed! I will never be a filthy ghaik!"

She pauses, and then her smile fades, her head dips reverentially as she returns her eyes to Orpheus. "Only mild offense intended, of course," she adds, with just the slightest hint of humor, but it fades instantly in favor of the more serious grimace that is her usual mien. "You did the unthinkable," she says quietly. "And I'm grateful for it."

Orpheus shrugs, turns and moves past them off the dock. "Even when my time in the Prism stretched out like an eternity," he says thoughtfully, "even when escape seemed impossible, I never lost hope. I knew that my destiny was to liberate my people. To return to them triumphant."

He turns back to face them, his tentacles twitching. "I was wrong. It seems I can only fulfill one part of my destiny. My people will be liberated, but I cannot return to them. Not like this."

He pulls a blade from his belt, offers it to Hector, his strange alien eyes showing a clear sadness.

"You helped me destroy that abomination. Now help me destroy myself. You must kill me."

Without waiting for an answer, he kneels on the dirty, blood-spattered cobblestones and turns his attention to Lae'zel, who has moved up next to Hector with a grave, grief-stricken expression. "But first, Lae'zel," he says soberly, "I need your promise."

Her eyebrows lift questioningly. Perhaps she is simply too exhausted, but there is none of that eager subservience that once marked her, when Hector saw her stand before Vlaakith. She simply waits, expectant, for the Prince's command.

"Carry my hope," he asks softly. "Carry my burden. Call my dragons, Quulos and Quuthos, and ride to the Astral Sea. Destroy Vlaakith. Release our people. Be our future and our legacy."

Lae'zel blinks, and blinks again, astonished into complete silence. After so much work, so much struggle - to survive, to be recognized, to reach the front lines of a war for her people's fate - she is being asked not only to join that war but to lead it.

More than ever in all the time he's known her, she suddenly looks like what he has known her to be all along - terribly, terribly young. And as she has in the past, as she's started to realize her respect for him and his for her, she looks towards Hector with a question in her eyes.

But he shakes his head, smiles slightly. "This is your choice to make, Lae'zel. Not mine. I entrust it to you." It would never have been his choice to make - but he is proud to stand at her side as she makes it, a decision that she has worked so hard to earn the right to.

What happens to Orpheus... in truth, Hector is feeling too much and all of it too deeply at present to spare a tremendous amount of thought for the man. But Lae'zel... he is proud of Lae'zel. And he knows that whatever battle she chooses to take on, she will be equal to it.

"Duty," she says pensively. "All my life, I've traveled in its slipstream, not once questioning its path. In its service, I came here. And now... in its service, I leave."

She turns to look towards Hector, and he is surprised to see the weight of emotion in her eyes unlike any he's seen before.

"I will carry your hope, Prince Orpheus," she agrees. "And I will carry your burden. But to that burden I must add my own. The loss of those I leave behind."

Hector looks back at her steadily. With a slow, cautious movement, giving her time to evade, he reaches out and puts a hand on her forearm, holds it there for a long moment. Words seem inadequate. I will find some, later, before you are gone, he thinks to himself. Something that articulates what you have become to me. A sister in violence.

Her lips twitch slightly, as if in understanding.

"La'ch cras'ht h'mak vlek. So be it," Orpheus murmurs. "Now, give me my freedom from this form."

Hector turns the knife in his hands hesitantly, meeting the mind flayer's piercing gold eyes. He knows why Orpheus asks, and that he would likely ask for the same thing in the other man's place. And yet... "You don't deserve to die," he says quietly.

"I will not be ghaik!" Orpheus insists fiercely. "I did what I did to save my people. The rest is up to them. Someone else must rise within the ranks to lead the revolution against Vlaakith. Give me my freedom from this form. Release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own."

Phrased like that... Hector can't deny it to him.

Give Orpheus the honorable death he craves.

Hector so rarely fights with a blade that it always startles him to feel how easily the flesh gives. There's a soft sucking sound as Orpheus gasps for breath, his eyes widening.

"Gith'ka tavkim krash'ht..." he whispers... and dies...

For a long time everything is still. Then Lae'zel turns abruptly and walks past Orpheus's body, out into the open square beyond.

"Quulos!" she bellows. Her voice seems to echo in the silence.

No response, for a moment. Then one of the dragons wheeling overhead comes at her call, coming to a crashing landing before her, pale fire drifting from its mouth.

Quulos. Orpheus's dragon, and now Lae'zel's. How long has she hoped to ride such a dragon one day? Did she ever picture such a case as this?

She takes a cautious step forward, raises a hand in greeting to the enormous creature; it snuffs a greeting in return, cocking its head to one side. Its eyes glint with intelligence, understanding.

She hesitates, looks back at Hector. "I can never forget you," she says, and her voice is heavy with emotion. "Your name will be etched in our slates. You will be called Mla'ghir - liberator."

He smiles slightly. "You will have no need to forget," he says quietly. "I will be here when you have need of me." A pause, and then he fumbles out the words he has learned from her over the months, all filed away in his memory as if for this moment - some ungrammatical, awkward representation of a much deeper feeling. "Chraith'kan zharn, t'lak'ma h'taka, n'gi, n'varsh." May your enemies know agony, my sister in battle, my student, my teacher.(*)

Her eyes brighten. She turns away, and without hesitation climbs onto the dragon's back.

"To the skies!" she calls.

The dragon lifts, its huge wings sending gusts of wind across them as it launches itself upwards.

They all watch, wondering, silent, as their friend disappears, and behind her, falling into line behind their new leader, go the entire githyanki force, vanishing back into the Astral Sea.

------

(*) Critical levels of artistic license; Hector doesn't get to say anything here in game, let alone cobbled together githyanki words pulled from the FR wiki. XD

[thatoneguy031]

Hey! How would y'all like to hear another rambling from me?

So, for those that are aware of the Pokemon anime, you all know about this thing called Battle Bond.

For those that don't know: Battle Bond is a transformation that first debuted in XYZ, and was displayed when Ash and his newly-evolved Greninja's friendship reached it's maximum possible potency(No, I didn't stutter, I said potency), and resulted in a new transformation, creatively named Ash-Greninja(Or Satoshi-Gekkouga for those watching the sub).

Here's what Greninja looks like:

I'm sure that the Kalos Fans really like this big guy. Not that I blame 'em. He's really cool, it's no wonder why he's in Smash. Also, I'm pretty sure this is a screenshot from Journeys, but that's besides the point.

...And then there's Ash Greninja:

The man, the legend, the absolute gigachad. Like, he's just the embodiment of cool. Literally all that was added was sideburns(And a few sunburns), and my mans went from S1 Deku to Titan Luz on the Badass-o-Meter. The embodiment of cool, this rare Greninja wields a large shuriken on his back at all times, instead of having to constantly create new ones on his legs. This is the same pressurized water that is known to slice through metal, btw.

"That's cool and all, but what's your point in mentioning this?" you may be asking, and I'm getting to that. Greninja is the only known Pokemon with Battle Bond as an Ability. Well...

Why can't there be more?

Why is this frog the only Pokemon that can become a cooler version of itself?

There are a lot of Pokemon that could really benefit from Battle Bond, but I'll stick with just one for now, with tidbits of lore sprinkled here and there(Based on some headcannons that I've had, and I'll be taking some creative liberties). If this post makes its rounds(Also, when I come up with more Pokemon that could use Battle Bond), I'll add more Pokemon to the list, and I'm going to display how humans can play a bigger part in this whole shebang.

Feraligatr... We love it, at least a third of us had used one before, it's awesome, right? This Pokemon, like many others, needs a bit more love, and I think that this is a solid place to start. I don't have an image of my concept design on me right now(I drew the image already, but I'm having yet more technical issues), but I can provide a reason for this existing.

In my headcannon, Feraligatr is a Pokemon that has existed for a long, long time, dating at least to the first Ice Age. As a result, this Pokemon has spent a fair amount of time around humans, traveling with them when hunting was involved. Many humans would acknowledge this fact, and begin working with Feraligatrs as a result. A very small few would be able to connect to them on a closer level, and this would cause a change within the Pokemon, and some names that are completely accepting some revisions.

In this form, Feraligatr completely embraces its roots, and dawns a much thicker extra layer of scales in the color and shape of a pelt from another animal/Pokemon, similarly to Croconaw, along with extra padding across the limbs and tail, all of it functioning both for warmth and as a disguise. The spines running across it's back are a deep, blood-red and are much more jagged, as a way to continue attacking its opponents if/when its in a tough spot. To bait its opponents/prey into a false security, they will fake their own death while exposing the bright-red streaks on their torso. When they approach, the Feraligatr will suddenly leap up and clamp its prey with its jaws, waiting for their bodies to give in to blood loss/fatigue, where they will finish them off.

Amber Apex Feraligatr(Based on it's intended trainers to reawaken this form: Gold, or Ethan if you're a HGSS kinda person) will have sharper, longer claws, with the ability to reinforce them with ice or pressurized water at will, alongside being able to materialize ice anywhere in their field of vision, appropriately being given the Water/Ice typing.

The signature move it has is Glacier Barrier, an Ice-type move. It functions similarly to Protect, with a fun twist. If the opponent makes contact with the user while its in effect, it will give them frostbite, cutting their Speed stat while causing small, continuous damage over time. This effect remains in place until the user or the opponent switches out. If the move fails, the user becomes Frozen for two turns, unable to perform any action, not even being able to return to its Poke Ball in that time.

A busted move, but there's a clear-cut a reason not to spam it. That checks out, right?

Now, onto the humans, another big topic in this post.

It seemed kinda weird that the games mention that humans fight alongside Pokemon, with the anime literally confirming that... but don't ever show it happening. Like, I get that games like Pokken exist, and they're technically cannon, but that game in particular sorta relies on something similar to Battle Bond anyways.

Back to my main point, why can't humans have transformations, as well? I'm not saying like, physical changes to them or anything like Pokemon ReBurst(God, that manga feels like a fever dream, check it out sometime), but something like... aura manipulation. Pokemon like Lucario pretty much confirmed that aura can manifest in a physical state. Like, one you can touch, feel, and get whacked upside the head with. Better yet, it can take a form depending on the user's wants and/or needs.

So, it makes sense that, if their Pokemon is the only thing they can think about during combat, surely their aura would take the form of the Pokemon in question, especially if that Pokemon is their ace!

I'm guessing that it'd look something like Naruto's Kurama Link form(Or whatever it's called, I never really kept track with the series), but like, if someone hue-shifted the heck out of it.

I'm sorry if this looks awful, but this is the furthest my latent ability of Photoshop carries me, please don't flame me T-T

Obviously, it wouldn't always be blue. I always hated how the anime basically told you that all human auras were blue, yet Mystery Dungeon literally contradicts this. The color of the aura would based on the human's personality or, in rare cases where the Pokemon's aura overpowers their own, it would take on the color of the Pokemon's aura, or overall color scheme in some situations. If there are multiple colors, it'd be the two most prominent colors, the less dominant between the two simply being a highlight.

In many cases, it could function as a sort of failsafe if a Pokemon or human is in danger of dying, of course only triggering in that context if they've had the best of best of best friendships. And, with enough training, it could even be triggered on command! ...Well, kind of. It's more like the transformation would take less effort to both sense it arriving and activate, but it is overall near-impossible to really use whenever you want. Just... not impossible.

Something else that, while it might be a stretch, could also be really cool, is the idea of the human gaining the abilities of a Pokemon. Again, not physical alterations(At least, on the body itself), but you'd gain the skills and more "passive" abilities of your partner. For example, if you triggered the Bond Phenomenon with something like, I dunno... Samurott, or dare I say, Zacian, you'd gain their expert swordsmanship, meaning that you'd wanna carry a sword on you at all times just in case you need it. Another example of this would be something like Absol. If you were to activate the transformation with that Pokemon, you'd gain its future sight abilities(Something more like Sir Nighteye, if that helps).

And something else would be that you could help a Pokemon with the handling of a move. While we're speaking of Naruto anyway, let's use Noivern as an example(Naruto would totally be a Noivern, fight me). If a Noivern was using something like Shadow Ball, their Trainer would be able to help them keep it stable while using the Bond Phenomenon, since Noiverns aren't well-adept at using Ghost-type moves. They wouldn't be able to add anything to it, as humans obviously can't use moves like Pokemon, but their aura would be more than enough to keep the Shadow Ball in a spherical shape.

It would be pretty awesome, right? These were all the examples I could think of at the moment, but I'd love to hear some suggestions and other practicalities this transformation could have. Heck, I'd like to see some of your trainer OCs with a transformation like this, if your're willing to show me anything.

[messinwitheddie]

When did commander Poki tag along to join Mem? Who else from their empire joined her?

Has any of the male tallest impregnated the shot females? Do they keep them comfy in the tallest chambers or do the service drones keep tabs?

Poki "I ran into Zim by accident when I went searching for my missing blood blade team members.*

Prior to this, the last time I saw Zim was on conventia.*

Zim and I lived together for a while; a year or so. He's a pariah, so I had to house him in secret. She went by Xeem for for a while. That was a fun year.

Zim brought me to earth as a plus one for a human mate unification celebration being thrown for his favorite Dib-monkey. What did they call it? A wed-ding? We had to wear nice gowns and fancy lace gloves, but the bar was bottomless and the humans were an entertaining bunch, so I can't complain. Actually, that wed-ding celebration was one of the funnest nights of my life...

We parted ways shortly after that. Zim decided to stay behind on Earth for a while. He never said why... Something told me I had done something or said something wrong, but I had no idea what and I didn't want to risk the comradery between us to ask or argue.

I had to return to my post or risk getting in trouble for abandoning my encoded occupation.

I kept asking around for leads and diligently watched the news stream for any clues about my blade team. The second my pub manager approved of it, I took time off to start my search again. I eventually found my missing blood blade teammates on the far outskirts of the foodcourtia system. Turns out my ladied were being held captive by Resisty rouges.*

To make a long story short, I attempted to rescue them from the resisty ship, but I underestimated them. My ladies and I ended up crash landing on Mem's planet trying to shake them off our trail. My cruiser's point of impact was a twenty day march away from the others, but we eventually reuinted again.

That's when I met that glorious battlefield of a woman... wish I had known her centuries ago."

*Poki was on a competitive blood blade team with Tak, Tenn, Yeet and their blade-leader, Zee. They showed up for practice one season and the only other teammate not on the public MIA drone list was Yeet.

*Poki, at the time the events of the 18YL au begins, has been demoted from Commander to a service drone because of drunkenness on duty. They work at a shady pub on Conventia as a tap drone (bartender).

Poki's alcoholism began in her early days as an elite soldier under late Lich's reign. They suffered abuse and several traumatic experiences because of their superior co-invader, Ziss, during Operation Stealthy Doom (invaders were sent to enemy planets in pairs then) She became a Commander after operation SD during Miyuki's reign.

So far, the list of Irkens who take refuge on Mem's mystery planet are Tak, Tenn, Zee, Floog and Larb. Skoodge ends up stranded there a little while, but leaves with one of Mem's daughters, Skathe.

Ooh! Didn't answer the second part of the question.

Very rarely is a male tallest able to sire a swarm of his own. They have fertility issues too. (Sometimes they can't form a *sqwak. Others could, but their sqwak "lacks potency" or they're afraid their sqwak might be too long and literally impale a short drone. How attentive they are to their birthing drones depends on the tallest. Some barely interact with their birthing drones at all. They assign service drones and medical drones to tend to them. Others treated their birthing drones like a loving human husband would treat their wife and shower them with attention and perks.

*sqwak; a temporary, sharp-ended appendage that forms in irken males during mating seasons. Sqwaks break off after successfully penetraiting a females shmizz (a fleshy layer on the irken pelvic floor that forms a temporary uterus after being peirced by a sqwak.

Yes, if done improperly, mating for Irkens can be painful and cause death.

[avignadiagnostics]

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[scotttrismegistus7]

SOLVE COAGULA: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE WHOLLY GRAIL, THE CHRISTOS, AND THE BLOOD OF THE CHRISTOS

IF YOU CAN FIGURE OUT HOW THE ELEMENTS IN THE PICTURE FIT TOGETHER, WELL, YOU MIGHT JUST BE AN ALIEN GODDESS OF THE SUN.

THE LEFT EYE BECAME THE MOON, WHILE THE RIGHT EYE STAYED THE SUN. SO WHAT WAS THE LEFT EYE ORIGINALLY SUPPOSED TO BE BEFORE IT BECAME THE MOON? OH DON'T YOU SEE, THAT WAS THE REMOVAL OF PO PILI, THAT WAS THE DEATH OF THE INNER WORLD FOR THE JACKAL HORUS MARDUK AFTER THE SERPENT NUMMO SET-ENLIL ATE HIS HEART AND PULLED OUT HIS EYE IN RETALIATION FOR HIS CASTRATION (WHICH IS SYMBOLIC FOR A LOSS OF POTENCY) BECAUSE OF THE REBELLION HORUS MARDUK LAUNCHED AS AKHENATEN AGAINST THE DIVINE FEMININE ANCIENT ONES, WHO ARE THE RIGHTFUL CARETAKERS OF HUMANITY. HE TRIED TO LOCK THEM OUT, HIS AQUATIC ANCIENT PARENTS, SO THAT HE COULD ENSLAVE THE WORLD...

THE CHRISTOS REFERS TO THE INNER AND THE INNER WORLD, AND THE CHRESTOS REFERS TO THE OUTER AND THE OUTER WORLD.

THE REAL WHOLLY GRAIL, THE DIVINE FEMININE PAGAN WHOLLY GRAIL, IS THE HEART, THE REAL CHRISTOS IS THE HEART, THE REAL BLOOD OF THE CHRISTOS IS THE BLOOD OF THE HEART.

THE PAGANS STILL HOLD THESE RECORDS EVEN THOUGH THEY WERE DESTROYED BY CONSTANTINE AND ROME IN AN ATTEMPT TO FABRICATE A HORRIBLE RELIGION FOR POLITICAL REASONS, PROSTITUTING SACRED THINGS FOR MATERIAL GAIN.

THE CHRISTOS WENT FROM BEING THE HEART TO A HORRID FATHER GOD THAT WOULD KILL HIS OWN CHILD ON A CROSS, AND TRY TO JUSTIFY THE MURDER AND VIOLENCE IN THE NAME OF LOVE. THIS IS THE WORK OF AWFUL EVIL PEOPLE IN THE ROMAN GOVERNMENT TRYING TO CRUSH A JEWISH REBELLION. THEY GOT JOSEPHUS TO WRITE PROPAGANDA FOR THEM TO HELP THEM CRUSH THE JEWISH REBELLION, THAT PROPAGANDA IS THE NEW TESTAMENT, AND IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY REAL SPIRITUAL TRUTH, ALTHOUGH IT'S A FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER PIECED TOGETHER WITH DIFFERENT FRAGMENTS OF SPIRITUAL TRUTH FROM DIFFERENT PLACES, THE ORIGINAL INTENT WAS TO SUCCEED IN CRUSHING THE JEWISH REBELLION BY MANIPULATING THEIR SPIRITUALITY THROUGH THIS PROPAGANDA.

THE HUMAN RACE WAS CREATED BY AQUATIC BEINGS MUCH MORE ADVANCED THAN HUMANS ARE, THAT ALL SHARE ONE MIND AND ARE OF THE DIVINE FEMININE, WHICH MEANS THEY ARE NOT JUST ATTACHED TO NATURE, BUT THEY ARE A PART OF THE MECHANICS OF NATURE AS WELL.

WHAT EVERYBODY IS DOING WRONG IS LOOKING TO THE HUMAN BRAIN, BUT THE BRAIN IS NOT WHAT WAS LOST. WHAT WAS LOST WAS FACULTIES OF THE HEART. WHEN THE AQUATIC BEINGS CREATED HUMANS THAT WERE TO BE THEIR CHARIOTS ON LAND, THEY FOUND TO THEIR CHAGRIN THAT THE HEARTS WERE WEAKER WHILE THE BRAINS WERE STRONGER. SOLVE COAGULA.

After capturing and safely assessing 34 dolphins in Barataria Bay during the month of July in 2018 an interesting trend began to emerge. All of the dolphins had heart murmurs. A prior trip to Sarasota Bay, where the population of dolphins was not impacted by the oil spill, showed similar results, as did research including the Navy dolphins. It would appear that the dolphin heart makes extra sounds due to its immense strength—in a way they are musical.

“Essentially, their athletic hearts pump blood out so quickly that we can hear it with a stethoscope in the form of a murmur,” said Linnehan.

https://ocean.si.edu/conservation/gulf-oil-spill/musical-hearts-dolphins

SO WHAT DOES THAT ALL MEAN? IT MEANS THAT THE INFERNO OF OGO HORUS MARDUK, THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL THE ABRAHAMIC RELIGIONS, NOT SET-ENLIL, WHERE IT HAS BEEN STATED THAT HE (OGO) ENDED UP WITH NO WATER, WHICH SYMBOLIZES THE INNER WORLD AND THE ENTIRE SPIRIT WORLD, HAS ALREADY HAPPENED, AND IS STILL HAPPENING. THE INFERNO BEGAN AT THE MOMENT THAT THE SERPENT NUMMO SET-ENLIL TORE OUT THE EYE AND ATE THE HEART OF OGO HORUS MARDUK.

IT MEANS THAT THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH AND THE OTHER ABRAHAMIC RELIGIONS HAVE NOT GOTTEN AWAY WITH THEIR ACTS OF VIOLENCE IN MURDERING AT LEAST 80 MILLION INNOCENT PEOPLE AND COUNTING, BECAUSE THEY ARE CURRENTLY BURNING IN OGOS INFERNO, AND ANYBODY WHO FOLLOWS THEM WILL BE LEFT WITHOUT THE SPIRITUAL ELEMENT OF WATER AND WILL BURN WITH THEM. THEY WILL NEVER SEE AN AFTERLIFE OF RELIEF AS LONG AS THEY FOLLOW ANY OF THE ABRAHAMIC RELIGIONS WHOSE HANDS ARE COVERED IN BLOOD, ALL THEY WILL SEE IS ONE HUMAN LIFETIME RIGHT AFTER THE OTHER IF THEY REINCARNATE AT ALL WHERE THEY ARE SLAVES TO WHOEVER HAPPENS TO BE THE MOST EVIL ONE OF THEM BURNING IN THE PIT, UNTIL THEY HAVE FULLY BURNED THEMSELVES OUT WITHOUT WATER AND THEY ARE NO MORE. THE SECOND THEY DIE BELIEVING THAT THEY WILL ONLY GO TO BLACKNESS AND NOTHING, THAT IS THE TIME THAT THEY WILL INDEED DO THAT, AND BE RESOLVED INTO THEIR ORIGINAL ELEMENTS TO BE NO MORE.

THEY ARE ALL ALREADY BURNING IN THE INFERNO THAT THEY ARE USING TO TRY AND TERRIFY EVERYBODY INTO AVOIDING BY JUMPING INTO THE FIRE WITH THEM, IT'S ABSOLUTE MADNESS AND INSANITY!

THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH THE GODDESS AND THE DIVINE FEMININE BLACK SUN, SO IF THEY NEVER ACKNOWLEDGE THEIR CRIMES THEY WILL SIMPLY BURN AND SUFFER UNTIL THEY ARE NO MORE, THEY WILL GET AWAY WITH NOTHING!

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY LOVELIES, KEEP DARING TO DREAM! YOU WILL BE ABLE TO FIND ME IN THE SEA OF DREAMS, THE SEA OF THE HEART, IN MY NUMMO FORM MAKING WAVES!

LONG LIVE THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION AND THE COSMIC EGG OF THE GODDESS, LONG LIVE DIVINE CHRONOS, LONG LIVE THE DIVINE FEMININE EMPIRE OF THE BLACK SUN AND ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF!

BLESSED BE!

~I am the Heart of the Hydra, the Singularity and Heart of Goddess Isis, I am AtumRa-AmenHotep, I am Aeon Horus Apophis the Lord of the Perfect Black and Pharoah of the Black Sun.

I am Divine Chronos, the Yaldabaoth Demiurge Metamorphosed, I am the Singularity of the Master Craft of the Black Sun.

Azazil-Iblis-Maymon, Abzu-Osiris-Typhon-Set-Kukulkan, Nummo-Naga-Chitauri,

Mégisti-Generator Starphire~

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[destinyapostasy]

The Gang Throws Revolution...Kind of

In which our Storyteller causes pain and suffering, feeding off our tears. The conclusion to our current story arc!

The coterie goes to Elysium, prepared with allies to overthrow Prince Oya

What Could Go Wrong

Oya mistakenly believes Grier is on her side

Grier gives an Inspirational™️ Speech 

Oya does not give in gracefully

She blows up

the fucking

SPACE NEEDLE

The space needle which is the source of Jaz’s Grandsire’s power, likely shattering his mind into a million pieces with its destruction

the space needle which was collecting ley energy for years and years and now snaps it all back into the city with a vengeance. 

Jaz frenzies at Oya

It’s less dangerous than it sounds. She is a noodle, physically

Grier effortlessly holds her back and kisses her head while she hisses like an animal, until she returns to her senses

There’s some movement to try to catch Oya before she escapes, but when the buildings start to shake everyone gets out of the building

By the time Lachlan beheads Oya, there’s no audience. He is annoyed. 

MOUNT RAINIER FUCKING ERUPTS

Kris is dead

Their Zelani friend Issac is blind, the current surge of energy causing him to experience several different futures at once. 

Lorna, the original Zelani, tells them she can help if they can reach a safe place

Everyone rushes into the van, after a tearful goodbye between Min and Drew

The city is on fire and about to be completely consumed by tidal waves and volcanic ash

They manage to drive through the chaos to a storage unit

Alyx crows, intending to go find Connor

Jaz dominates, forces her to stop and carries bird Alyx into the building

Most importantly, Jaz’s ghoul Lucien is with them and therefore is safe

Lorna does Something and everyone blacks out

Grier, Min, Lucien and Alyx wake up in an abandoned lot

Lenore wakes up in a basement 

Jaz wakes up in her old apartment

it’s 1994

IT’S 1994

WE TIME TRAVELED 

WE HAVE NO HAVENS, NO HERDS, NO MONEY

ALL OUR BELOVED NPCS NO LONGER KNOW US

OR ARE BABIES

also we found out Lenore is a fairy too 

[negative-zerospore]

I'm unsure if you are aware but there is an excerpt from flesh and steel that really puts the process into perspective of how fucked servitorization is.

‘The manufacturing floor,’ Djelling said. He put his hand to a palm lock, and the door opened.

The cold smell hit me like a brick. Like a meat store, where astringents can’t hide the smell of incipient rot. There were notes of faeces to go with the blood and decay. The sound was the worst. Shouting, screaming, praying, weeping, all the cries of human terror and misery.

I’m not a squeamish man, and nor do I spare tears for those who deserve punishment, but what I saw in that processorium haunts me still.

Naked human beings were standing in a switchbacked line between high fences. Outside the fences Adeptus Mechanicus menials in environment suits stood guard with shock goads in hand. The people, all mature men and women, were shepherded down the caged walk like livestock. And they were food beasts being led to the slaughter, meat for the ravenous appetite of the Machine-God. (...) The manufactorum produced servitors, but it was more akin to an abattoir than a workshop. Every surface was easily cleanable. Large plastek flaps divided areas from each other. Servitors with spray units surgically attached to their backs prowled about, hosing filth into slit drains set into the perfectly smooth, slanted floors. We walked above all this, past sentry pods on spikes occupied by galvanic rifle-armed snipers. Our path went from one end of the hall to the other, and I could see pretty much the whole sorting process, beginning to end.

As the line slowly advanced, the people were passed through various scanning devices, most of them mounted in ugly, functional arches that let out a constant series of acceptance chimes. Occasionally, one would let out an angry blare, and the indicator lumens would flash red. The rejected person was then swallowed up by a trapdoor opening beneath their feet. From these pits wafted a hideous stench, and the grinding sounds of industrial mincers. One rejected man grabbed on to the lip and hung there, arms and hands bloodied, shouting a stream of defiant profanities. Guards lined the grating either side of him and shocked him until he fell. The adepts wouldn’t even waste bullets on these people.

The trapdoor flipped up, and the next terrified person was ushered forward.

A number of pneumatic gates separated the people from each part of the process, snapping open and shut with bone-crushing force.

Violent metal arms snatched them up and spread-eagled them in the air, and a servitor shearer shaved them all over. At another they were subjected to a high-pressure counterseptic wash whose chemical stink made me choke from a hundred feet away. More scanners, more rejects winnowed out. Machines forcibly dressed them in the heavy rubberised garments common to all mono-tasked servitors. These were saggy on them, all one size, until another process force-shrank them to fit their bodies where metal cuffs, sockets and collars bit into vulnerable flesh. The last few prayers gave way to screams at that point, and even the most stoic shouted in pain. They were ushered over a floor buzzing with power that made them shriek with every footstep.

‘What’s that for?’ I asked.

Djelling answered only reluctantly. ‘Follicular inhibitor. To stop their hair growing,’ he said.

(...) . I watched numbly. The shivering lines of terrified men and women reached a final series of gates, where a high-energy augur beam of such potency it made my dataslate buzz passed over them. Dazed, they were manhandled into different queues, and then hustled from the room to their fates.

This is only a small portion of it but it shows how like in the end Life is so truly unfair that the "good guys" the Imperium are doing stuff like this on a scale that is unfathomable to humans. like Trillions of people being processed through this system.

". . . I've got better things to do in life than look at furniture."

I missed this little detail in my first playthrough, and it makes the concept and fate of servitors so much more horrific than I had realized. I certainly never understood the Imperium to consider servitors as actual people, but it seemed that they at least saw them as machines. "Furniture" is much worse to be than a machine. I mean, I like my roomba, puttering around, always getting stuck in one particular doorway; I look after it and I show it care. I don't give a shit about my fridge unless it's stopped working. I have never given a friendly thought to an A/C unit or a thermostat. Imagine a century trapped in a box and the only relief from your entombment is when someone cracks the lid just to kick you because "it's making that wheezing noise again."

[ryttu3k]

Time for Sins of the Sires! Going to liveblog my first run here. The writer's last game emotionally ruined me so this should be interesting.

My character will be Elias Katsaros, or, essentially, AU Pyre XD Fixed computers, went dancing in clubs. Let's go with Julian as an ex! Disciplines... not seeing Blood Sorcery there. Going with Obfuscate for the first one, then Celerity, which should hopefully lead to it. Third discipline... hmm, Animalism, Auspex, Dominate, Fortitude, or Potence... fuck it, Auspex. Then Animalism. Damn this is one tanky neonate. 9 dots in disciplines already!

Oh yeah this definitely has similar vibes to Rent-a-Vice so far, writing-wise.

"No. I believe in justice, not authority." Hashtag just little Banu Haqim things.

Vole didn't laugh at, "Your pizza's here!" :(

Interesting that he came back from the Beckoning.

I love the aesthetic choices tbh. Soft goth, death metal, quirky librarian, hipster dude, indie pop rock, boho, corporate sleek, "...just, normal?". Let's go with... hipster vibes for Elias!

"But right now, you're a Hipster sipping from a blood bag like it's a goddamn artisanal coffee drink."

Persa please be nice :(

This whole situation is sad. Poor Selim and Andre.

I do like Gor. He seems to be a romance option (along with Persa and Markos, so far), although I'll just keep it relatively platonic for now.

Fuck it no matter what version Pyre's a softie. That's a Masquerade breach, probably XD;;

omg bat. Bat bat bat bat bat friend. Your name shall be Batty Koda and I shall love you <3

lmao whoops wrong choice of name XD 'Martha motions you in. "This is Elias, a friend." The stumble of hesitation before the word "friend" is almost imperceptible. "Elias, this is Elias."' Other Elias seems sweet, at least.

Elias just deathstaring the murderous seneschel godspeed bby. Oh hey, Dio looks funky but the words, "It was me, Dio!" just slammed into the side of my head.

Re: Kapriel, the Banu Haqim primogen and Gor's sire:

'Why do you have the feeling he knows you? And even more than that, that he dislikes you?

And that, maybe, you know him, too?'

I mean I am gunning for Banu Haqim. Maybe he's our sire?

Neoptolemos sounds like the kind that may turn on the Prince. Hmmm!

Oh the casual misogyny and cover-ups. FUCK HIM UP GOR.

'"I don't need you to defend me to a bunch of monsters," he spits.

The only thing that saves your relationship is how bad you actually are at diplomacy, which he finds almost endearing.'

An attempt was made XD;;

Oh boy. If the BH Primogen is our sire, I already dislike him XD;;

'Savvas smiles, showing off his bloodless gums. "First of all, I'm vegan, so cows are safe with me," he says. "But, more importantly, a cow cannot consent," he continues. "I can, and I did."'

Savvas said animal rights. Probably not so much human rights, but animal rights, at least XD;;

Poor guy :(

Ooh man. I wonder if the greyed-out options after Markos marks a blood sigil means I ended up with Banu Haqim and Elias' bane is about to kick in? Oh never mind it was a vision.

Bat baby survived <3

Usurper? :( Not the result I wanted, oh boy XD;;

Well this is fucked up! Aristovoros' cult, maybe? This is a hell of a Masquerade breach if it is.

'Quickly, you unfold the piece of paper. "Amphitryon is dead," the message reads. "Gor is wanted for murder."

> Good for Gor, if he got that asshole.'

Fuck him up bby <3

Oof. Was that a frenzy? Kicked in very... gently, hm.

Oh, hmm! Maybe siding with hunters for this ending? Elias invoked his humanity and said there were worse than him around, and offered to help work with the woman to find them. That could be interesting, actually!

Persa where the fuck are we going :|

Oh goodie they want me to kill Gor. Preeeeetty much already decided I'm Not Doing That XD;;

I s2g every time Batty Koda shows up I get anxious he's gonna get hurt ;_;

Hell yeah made it out. Kinda wonder how this'd go on a romance route, too.

'Gor hesitates, but then you see something settle inside him. He's made up his mind, and he's going to see this through. "I know who your sire is," he says. "You're not going to like it."

"Why?"

"Because I know him well. Because he's mine, too, and I know first-hand the burden of heredity."'

OH. CALLED IT. I guess each clan has a different sire option? Along with Banu Haqim, there's also Tremere, Ventrue, Malkavian, or Thinblood; not sure about Thinblood, but the other options may be Markos actually being your sire for Tremere, the Prince for Malkavian, or Sophia for Ventrue? "Unmask your true sire. Is it the Prince Peisistratos? One of the city's Primogen? Is it Aristovoros himself?" Hm, do we know what clan Aristovoros is?

Sibling found <3 Kinda glad didn't romance him, haha. I'm liking the familial vibe, honestly. On our way out of Greece, with our sibling and bat friend!

Aaand it's our sire. Time to run away!

Interesting, seems like we're officially going to affiliate with the Anarchs?

Mm. Not great circumstances. I'm noting some interesting themes along the same lines of Rent-a-Vice, here - agency and having the ability to choose your own bad choices. There, it's the Feeders; here, the ghouls.

Hey this guy is a dick :( (Also, Gor? Definitely the MVP, and I totally want him to meet Raul.)

...augh :( Gor dies defending Elias. Elias escorted back to Athens to be sacrificed. Okay this isn't good.

Hm! Okay, so that sire option is definitely. Not an option lmao

Okay that plan didn't go so well. Got chills at the Beast speaking.

Persa's letter ;_;

That was a ride! Lots more achievements and endings and paths to do, but that's the first playthrough done!

[singtotheskiies]

dried blood on smooth skin // five hargreeves x reader

summary: five hargreeves really needs patching up—in more ways than one.

words: 1655

warnings: brief language, descriptions of blood, otherwise just that sweet touch-starved fluff we all crave

a/n: i’m a klaus kinda girl, but this is me working through why i find five so goddamn attractive

✖️✖️✖️

Normally, when Five Hargreeves blinks into your room, it’s because he wants to escape from the stifling presence of his father or because you’ve begged for his help with your math homework (the man has no right being so smart). He always manages to sneak out on your birthday and bring you a donut from Griddy’s and something you value even more—his companionship, even if only for a few minutes. Sometimes, you tell him he should be more careful—his father has eyes all over the house; he must suspect that something’s going on. Five always dismisses your protests, telling you not to worry about it—he’s got it under control.

He comes to you because you’re a constant for him, a sense of normalcy. Whenever he needs an escape from the constant hierarchy and trauma of his house (which is often), he can come to you and relish in your laughter and friendship and caring aura. Of course, he’s never said all of this to you outright, but you understand anyway. You know Five well enough to know that underneath all his bluster and know-it-all attitude, he appreciates you—the only person he can really call his friend.

Today is different, though. When the blue flash of light materializes in your bedroom, you jump, dropping your book to the ground. “Christ, Five, didn’t we talk about—“ You trail off as you see the state he’s in. His clothes are torn and disheveled, something he would normally never allow. The parts of his face not covered in blood are stark white, matching his knuckles as they clench up at his sides. God, there’s blood everywhere. Is it his? There’s so much—there’s no way his body could produce that much, right?—and it’s thick and clotted onto his normally pristine skin and suit, concentrated especially on a spot on his right side. You notice he’s barely moved in the several seconds you’ve been gaping at him, merely swaying side to side weakly.

“What the fuck happened?” you begin, but are cut off by his knees buckling. You catch him just in time, guiding him to your desk chair before he can ruin your carpet.

“Mission—gone wr-wrong,” he pants, barely able to get the words out.

“Why didn’t you stay with your siblings? They know how to handle this st—“

“I don’t want their help.” He cuts you off, managing to instill an incredible amount of venom in his words as they stutter past his gritted teeth. “Their fault.”

“Okay, well, why didn’t you jump to a hospital, or your mom, or someone who could actually help!? Jesus, Five, you could—“

“I—I did come to someone who can help. It would be really—nice—if you started,” he breathes, brow drawn tight in pain. Sweat and dried blood mix together in the furrows of his dusky skin, and something about that sight kicks you into action.

“Okay, I need to get this jacket off you. Can you lift your arms?” He grunts in what you take to be an affirmative response, and you manage to wrestle the piece of clothing off him without jarring him too much. You’re left with the sight of blood pouring out of him, staining the weave of his bright white dress shirt, and you tighten your jaw as realization sets in. “Uh, Five? I need to—um—take your shirt off,” you almost whisper, trying to ignore the rising flush in your cheeks. He barely summons a weak nod, and you take that as your go-ahead.

Hands shaking, you start at his neck, working your way down. With each button unfastened, more and more tanned, smooth skin becomes visible. After what seems like an eternity, you reach the last button, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders to ease his sleeves off. You take in the expanse of freckled, smooth skin now exposed to the air. You wonder how he hasn’t got more scars on missions—every inch and plane of skin you can see is soft-looking and somehow catches the light as he breathes in and out laboriously. But then your eyes land on the bullet wound spilling blood onto his side and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “Shit,” you curse. “I’ll be right back.”

You run into your bathroom, grabbing the first-aid kit you have for emergencies. Your breath is coming quickly—you know that every second is crucial to Five’s wellbeing. Coming back into the room, you grab gauze and disinfectant. “This is gonna sting,” you warn, and he merely rests his head back onto your desk, clenching his jaw.

There’s far too much blood to wipe off completely, so you focus on cleaning the area around the wound quickly. You can’t see the bullet, and a quick question to Five confirms that it’s not lodged inside—just scraped up against some things and went on its way. You grab a few gauze pads, placing them securely against his torso with medical tape. The softness of his skin makes your heart soar and drop simultaneously, but you push the thought out of your head. You need to get him feeling better.

Once the gauze is on, you focus on cleaning up the rest of his bloodied torso. After a few minutes, Five feels the strength to sit up and take ginger sips of the water bottle you’ve offered him. The water seems to do him some good, and you sit back from cleaning his skin for a moment, relieved at the sight of some light returning to his eyes.

“Better?” you ask, sliding his shirt back on gently. He merely nods in response, lips pursed in a half-smile. His dimple is covered in sticky dried blood, and that sets you on your next mission.

“I’m gonna clean up your face, okay? You don’t want anything getting in your eyes or mouth,” you say. Five tries to protest, but you cut him off. “If you came to me for help, then you’re going to sit there and get it,” you say sternly.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Guess I brought it upon myself.” You shoot him a look and get busy.

There’s quite a bit of blood at his hairline, and you clean up the series of cuts there. His normally perfect, shiny hair is sweaty and slightly matted in spots. Before you can stop yourself, you bring a cool hand to his forehead and sweep some of the dark strands off his forehead. He makes a soft noise in response, green eyes fluttering halfway closed in relief. Your heart clenches at the sound. You take in the weary and touch-starved boy before you, all dusky skin and stirring limbs. Bending closer, you press a feather-soft, lingering kiss to his hairline before you can think better of it. His eyes shoot back open and he regards you with a look so intense you can barely decipher what’s going on.

“Okay?” you ask in a whisper.

“Please—“ he mumbles hoarsely. “Don’t—don’t stop.” Your brows draw together in both pity and overwhelming affection, and you begin to softly clean up another cut on his cheek. After the blood is soaked up by the disinfectant, you place your lips on the small wound. You give the same treatment to a spot on his chin, then to a bruise under his eye, and then to his dimple—the dimple that’s tugged at your heart every single time he’s smiled at you in the past. As your lips leave the freckled spot, you meet his eyes again.

His lids are hooded, tired. They barely close when he blinks, his eyelashes dipping down to brush the freckled apples of his cheeks. His eyes, though, are less drowsy and more intense. They regard you with something akin to both sorrow and want. You blush under their gaze, wanting to look away from their intensity but finding yourself unable to. Your hand reaches up, your middle three fingers tracing an impossibly soft line from the shell of his ear to the corner of his lips. Your fingertips pause, hovering just over where the tip of his mouth is curving into the smallest of smiles. Five’s hand comes slowly up to meet yours, his fingers enveloping yours splayed over his cheek. He breathes in, once, and the look in his eyes breathes with him. Then, the space between you is filled and your mind is narrowed down to two things: the overlapping of your fingers and lips.

He’s soft, and so so warm—almost feverish, but it just adds to the potency of every tiny movement. His mouth is both quiet and everywhere, filling up the backs of your closed eyes. You change the angle slightly, nosing his cheek as you reconnect your mouths with gentle hunger. He smiles softly, and you pull away a fraction to kiss at his dimple as it imprints itself on his cheek. His hands come up on either side of your head, softly combing through your hair before stilling at your jaw. He rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel his eyelashes brush against your cheeks as he kisses the bridge of your nose. His lips are lingering and filled with so much love it makes you want to cry.

“Thanks for patching me up,” he whispers, voice husky due to the quiet volume.

“If that’s what’s waiting for me every time you get hurt, I’d almost tell you to get in trouble more often,” you manage.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, and you straighten his unbuttoned collar before going in again. He moans this time, soft and low, and you smirk at his exhalation.

“That good, huh?” you quip. He grimaces, indicating where you’ve accidentally pressed on the bloody gauze. Giggling an apology, you reposition yourself so that your hands are around his strong, wiry arms.

“Guess I’ll have to take another look at that,” you say.

“If you must.”

And his eyes regain their roguish light.

[animeweebslut]

Aromatherapy

Summary: You have an aromatherapy quirk and nothing seems to phase you until one day Dabi comes in and looks like he’s been through hell and back.

Warnings: a little angsty, suggestive themes but minute, FLUFF, comforting Dabi.

You have tough skin and somehow always stay calm in the most stressful situations. It’s a benefit of your quirk, Aromatherapy. You’re able to secrete calming scents from the pores in your skin to calm others down. It’s extremely beneficial to have when you work with the LoV. The atmosphere was pure anxiety and stress when you first joined, you changed that immediately. As the months went by you started to get closer and closer to a colleague of yours, Dabi. Once you got to know him he’s an interesting person to talk to. You two eventually decide to become an item. Though your own anxiety started to heighten when Dabi went on missions, not knowing if he will come back or not but Dabi is always quick to ensure that he will always come back to you.

Dabi fell in love with you for your calm nature and he found it absolutely fascinating that you can stay so collected in times of extreme stress. You always ensure that the team is calm and that they feel safe. You were the rock to this team. Without you the team would have been absolute chaos. You were always there to offer a helping hand and to tend to anyone who needs it. If Toga had injuries, you were there to clean and bandage them. If Shigaraki needed some help to strategize you try your best to help. When Twice is having a hard day you’re there to calm him down and talk to him to distract him from the voices in his head. And lastly, when Dabi needs anything, you’re there in an instant, comforting, bandaging, cleaning him up. Anything and you’re there. He loves how selfless you are and your calm composure. He was sure that nothing can get to you until one time.

“When are they going to come back?” You ask Toga. Your gut was telling you that something doesn’t feel right.

“They should be back soon, it’s a big mission.” Toga replies, not taking her attention off her knife in her hands. You nod, trying to convince yourself that everything’s okay. This is Dabi after all, he’s strong and powerful.

Not long after the doors to the hideout blast open, you jump out of your seat to see Shigaraki and Dabi. Your face paled at the sight of them. Shigaraki has Dabi’s arm around his shoulders, trying to support a batter and bruised Dabi. He’s covered in blood and you don’t know if it’s his or someone else's. The staples on his face have been torn off and the wounds are streaming blood that drips onto the floor. His eyes are black and blue and are half open, clinging onto conciseness. His hand is clutching his side which is also seeping blood.

“Take him, he needs help.” Shigaraki says to you. You’re quick to walk towards them.

“Oh my god. What the hell happened?” You exclaim in panic. Taking the position Shigaraki was in, slowly walking to the couch. You have never felt this panicked before in your life.

“This guy thought he could take on more people he clearly couldn’t handle. Wanted to be a tough guy.” Shigaraki explains, his tone annoyed.

You place Dabi on the couch, you reach under the couch where you keep your first aid kit. Your thoughts are racing and you’re trying to secrete your calming aroma. You couldn’t begin to comprehend what pain Dabi is feeling. You need to calm him down but you can’t seem to get the scent right, it smells.. off. Dabi can see your obvious struggle and gets your attention.

“Hey doll face, don’t worry, I’m fine.” He rasps out. Your head snaps up to look at him.

“You’re not fine Dabi, your severely injured and looking at you like this, i-“ You need to get a grip. You have to be strong for him.

You put the first aid kit on the couch next to him, you look over at his injuries. The amount of blood seeping out of his body is what scared you the most. He’s trying to stay awake but it’s clear that he’s losing blood and way to fast for your liking.

“Toga, get me a damp cloth quickly.” You exclaim, not taking your attention away from Dabi.

You unzip the first aid kit and pull out a pair of scissors. You shakily take Dabi’s shirt in your hands and try to cut the fabric in the middle so you can see what you’re dealing with. You thought that his injuries couldn’t get worse but you were wrong. You body freezes at the sight before you. Blood. Everywhere. His blood. You couldn’t see where his staples begin and where they end. There’s a large gash on the side of him, he’s going to need stitches.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Toga dropping a damp cloth in your lap. You take it, your hands shaking violently and try to clean the blood off of him so you can see the gash more clearly. Dabi takes your shaking hand in his hand presses a light kiss to the back of it.

“I will be okay, baby. I have the best medical person here.” Dabi says playfully. He’s trying to calm you down when it should be you calming him down. You need to be strong for him. He’s losing blood fast and you need to act. You take a deep breath and set your mind only on fixing his injuries.

You take to cleaning up the blood. You can see his injury more clearly now. You don’t waste time to disinfect and suture the large gash. You move to his face, you find a spot on the towel that isn’t covered in blood and gently wipe his face. The atmosphere has changed from panicked to tension between the two of you. You wipe the last of the blood on his face when you suddenly feel hands underneath your thighs and you’re settled on his lap. Your legs straddling his hips and his hand resting on your ass.

“How am I doing, doc?” Dabi asks with a smirk on his lips. You let out a soft chuckle. He seems to be doing a bit better.

“You’re going to be okay.” You respond softly, your eyes locking with his. Your hands come up to cup his face gently, your thumbs gently caressing his cheek. He leans into your touch.

“I have to suture your cheek because I don’t have extra staples, i’ll go tomorrow morning to get some.” You explain while getting the needle and thread ready to close up his cheek.

“Do what you gotta do, doc.” Dabi says before leaning forward with a groan to press a kiss your your lips. You revelled in kissing his lips because with the state that he was brought in you thought you were never going to feel your lips against his again. You pull away to finish doing what you need to do.

“Let me stitch you up, warning, this will hurt.” You warn before leaning forward and piercing his skin with the needle. You feel his body stiffen and his hands squeeze your ass in pain, his eyebrows furrowed at the discomfort. You secrete your calming aroma with a higher potency so it can calm down him down a bit more. You feel his body relax a bit after smelling the sweet lavender from your body.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Almost done.” You say, finishing up the last few stitches.

You finish the last stitch and cut the excess thread. You wipe some disinfectant over the stitches to ensure it’s clean. You move off his lap to Dabi’s disagreement.

“Come, let’s go and shower so you can change clothes and clean up” You say. You take his hands in yours and gently lift him up off the couch, walking to you two’s shared bedroom.

You lead him to the bathroom and sit him on the toilet, you turn on the water so it can warm up. You peel off his shirt and throw it in the trash. You pull off his boots and socks. You then go to unbuckle his belt.

“Hey, at least buy me dinner first.” Dabi jokes. You chuckle in response.

“Very funny.”

You unzip his pants and pull it down his legs. You tell him to lift up his hips so you can take off his underwear, once he does you take it off and put it in the laundry heap.

“Do you do this with all your patients, doc.” Dabi smirks. You roll your eyes playfully. It’s impressive how much he can joke around when a few minutes ago he was losing so much blood.

“Yeah, Shigaraki’s my favourite.” You rebuttal, a smirk on your face which soon turns into a full on grin at the shocked expression on Dabi’s face. Though his shock soon turns into a smirk.

“Is that so? Maybe we can ask him to joi-“

“Just get in the shower.” You interrupt, not wanting to hear the end of his sentence. You help him up and enter the shower.

“Just shout if you need anything.” You say before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

You flop on the bed, the reality of what just happened hitting you like a truck. He could of died. What if he didn’t make it? What if he died out there? What if Shigaraki wasn’t fast enough in bringing him here and died in his arms? All of the could have beens are swirling through your head making your eyes teary.

“Y/N!” Dabi shouts for you, shaking you out of your thoughts.

You get up from the bed and enter the bathroom at your boyfriends call.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, peeling back the shower curtain so you can see his face.

“It hurts to lift my arms and I need to wash my hair.” Dabi explains.

“I’ll come and help you, give me a second” you say before stripping off your clothes and walking into the shower with him. The warm droplets hitting your face and body.

Dabi turns around to face you. His arms wrap around your waist and pulls you against his body. His hair flat against his face. You pick up the shampoo and squirt some into your hands. You go on your tiptoe to reach his head, Dabi tilts his head down and rests it on your shoulder to help you reach. You start working the shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp. Soft hums come out of your mouth to sooth him. You lift his head so he can rinse it under the water.

“Thank you.” You hear him whisper.

“Of course, baby. Just please don’t be so reckless next time. You really scared me today.” You whisper back, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Thank you.”

After you two are done cleaning yourselves you help dry Dabi’s body and then your own. You two dress in comfy clothes and move to the bed and get underneath the covers. You lay on your side and Dabi wraps his arms around your waist, laying on the uninjured side. His head tucked under your chin and resting on your chest. Your hands in his damp hair, massaging his scalp. You let out some of your calming aroma to nudge him to sleep. I didn’t take long until you heard a soft “I love you” fall from his lips until he was out like a light.

“I love you too.” You whisper softly before falling into a deep sleep knowing your love is okay and in your arms.

[jujulebee]

sooooooooooooo okay

so like a while ago i was talking 2 hubie and i was like just talking 2 him and having a nice time and i mentioned haha o yea like the nightmares vampires have and he was like what and i was like o yea i have nightmares every single night about like the end of the world and stuff like where im like a butterfly effect catalyst and stuff and hes like dude what??? and im like o yeah so like im a thinblood and stuff and i kinda forget all the deets now but like he mentioned that the sabbat are like totes not cool about thinbloods and like i was like damn ok and like he was like u should talk to this salubri and i was like dang ok so okay like i went to ask antonia about the salubri and like she told me a toooooooooon of words but like its soooo many words and it was kinda like overwhelming so i totally skimmed and stuff but like i never ended up talking to them bc i was like totally unnerved bc i like totally dont do subtle and discreet really well??? anyway so like that was a total bunk avenue so i start talking to my adoptive mom freya and shes like ok so like lets talk abt ur nightmares and we can like totally like figs out which of these we should b worried about and we like totally went thru sooooo many and it was supes nice to like b like ok these could like totally nvr happen and stuff so like we dont gotta worry abt them and like so there were a couple that WERE potentially supes worrying and like one of them involves this lady named delilah bc ive seen like her in my dreams and like ive seen her lab thing she has and like i was like telling her this and we were like well figure this out and stuff and so like it kinda just became me trying to keep like calm abt stuff cause i mean like if the world hasnt ended yet it prob wont immediately right like so its not a big deal and so like i went to hang out with melc at some point and he showed me his like flesh lair and stuff and i was like so totally fascinated and i became like super hyper obsessed with the idea of like totally doing that too like the fleshcrafting stuff and whatever but i dont wanna like become a full vampirid and stuff and like i dont wanna like hurt anyone or do like diablerie or anything and so like i was like dang what other options r there and melc was like sorry kiddo theres nothing u can do u rnt a real vampo and i was like dang and i asked freya and she was like sorry theres nothing u can do but i was like theres GOTTA be something i can do and i realized id seen null talking 2 delilah abt how like she isnt a vampire but she can do flesh crafting and i thought like whoa what like if she can do it i can totally do it right and so i like, remmeber seeing her at this local book store and i went to meet up with her and i was like i wanna learn how to do this and she was like bet ok and she was like but its gonna b hard to learn ur gonna have to learn like chemistry and stuff and i was like cool ok totally down for that and so like i totes started learning chem and stuff and anatomy and biology n stuff but like its gonna b a while before i can actually practice and stuff and i wanna b able to like practice with like stuff and like i was talking to her abt it and she was like hm well if u wanna do that u gotta like do like potency blood from a methus and i was like dang i dont rly know any methus w like flesh crafty blood and i was like o WAIT i could like totally do like null right and she was like lmao sure yeah if u can survive it and i was like what and she was like shyeah so like nulls bloods totally toxic and deffo hard to survive and so like i was like dang ok so now i gotta find a methus with like supes strong tank bods so i can like totally survive drinking nulls blood and stuff and i was like looking into my options of ppl i know and ur like one of the few ppl i know who are like so totally old and probs like methus levels i think u r anyway and like i love that 4 u love it fr and i was like wondering if u knew where i could like get that or if u could help me at all :(

i rly wanna learn how 2 make things i just think it like would totally be so fun and stuff i just wanna like ya kno do cute things and stuff and like i just need like, a lil vitae from like supes fort'd methus ya kno? idk idkidk do u think u could help me :(

i wouldnt ask 4 help for free!!! like, im down 2 like trade for help n stuff

[private]

heyyyyyyyyy grandpaaaaaa i haaaaaaad like a liiiiiiiittle question and like am like wanting 2 like tell u a biiiiiig secret in the same kinda like sweep ya kno??

@grandpa-dragon

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Golden Nights: Chapter 20

Warnings: Swearing, kidnapping, drugs mentioned, voyeurism mentioned

Word count: 928

Bakugo was furious. He quickly grabbed your phone and dialed Taya.

Nothing.

He dialed Reirei.

Again, nothing.

He dials Tony.

Nothing.

Where are you?

He runs outside and starts screaming your name "Y/N!!! Y/N baby are you there?"

He's heating up and not in a good way. He wants to blow something up. Hes so angry!

"KIRISHIMA, KAACHAN" Deku screams as he runs down the street with Shoto "Where are the girls?"

Kirishima and Katsuki looked at each other. They were ready to destroy whatever they could. Katsuki sends his fist into the ground causing an explosion. Deku and Shoto looked at each other.

"Im going to call the police" Shoto says as he takes his phone out of his pocket. Deku looks through the building.

Like Katsuki and Kirishima stated, all the key pads were fake. Everything was a fraud. Deku continued to check all of the doors. He reached a door in the back of the club. Another key pad. Deku prepared to open it but this one, this one was locked. Deku busted through the door with his strength easily.

He looked around "Holy mother of GOD" he says to himself and he screams for Katsuki and Kirishima.

Shoto waits for the police as Kirishima and Bakugou run to find Deku. They round the final corner as they see Deku just staring. The room was filled to the brim with empty vials of quirk drugs. Not a single drug remained. They had all been labeled with the potency and type of quirk enhancement. All top tier drugs, illegal for everyone. Katsuki was sick to his stomach.

How could they have missed this?

Kirishima walks to the side as his eyes widen. "Oh fuck" he says as Katsuki races to his side.

In front of him is an entire wall of monitors. Each monitor linked to a camera, except these didn't loop. These cameras were something else. Each of the 15 cameras showed different sections of the girls dressing room, even the bathrooms.

Katsuki was fucking FURIOUS. Some freak was watching you and the other girls? Kirishima sat down trying to figure out how to work the monitors. Deku is looking at all of the drug containers trying to piece something together. He notices a piece of paper below one of the boxes. Picking it up his eyes widen as he calls for Kirishima and Katsuki.

The newspaper article was from 1965. The title read "Former Drug King Pin Escapes Prison". Katsuki couldn't breath.

He looks below the title to see a picture of none other than Tony. Only Tony wasn't "Tony". Tony was Yuu Sing. The police arrive as Kirishima looks at Bakugo.

Tony.

It was Tony all along. He welcomed the heros into his club like nothing was a foot, all while laying his trap. It was almost like saying "I'm always one step ahead".

The police were searching for clues. Any evidence to find out where the girls went. A police officer walks into the back room where Bakugo is standing completely still. He's stunned, he's broken and he's fucking PISSED.

"Excuse me Red Riot, Deku, Dynamight? Can you follow me?" The officer said as he led the heros back the changing room.

"It seems like the girls were knocked unconscious. We found three chloroform rags. 2 in the back alleyway and one here in the dressing room. We also found blood in the alley way. Not alot but enough to know someone put up a fight".

"Taya" Kirishima whispers.

He was right. Taya would have put up a fight.

And fuck she was hurt?

Katsuki was shaking. He was so so mad. Worse than he was the night of your assult.

Wait does this mean Tony knew about the assault? What about Gigi and the others?

"DEKU, RED, DYNAMIGHT COME QUICK" a voice yelled from the control room. Shoto was siting at the desk looking at the cameras with a glazed look. He looked at Katsuki as Katsuki watched the monitor.

It was you.

There you were reading his text messages. The time stamp said "1:28am". They continue to watch the video and soon Tony appears. Bakugo clenches his fists. He watches as you look at Tony.

You knew something was wrong.

He watched as you struggled as Tony placed the rag over your mouth. You were still in your outfit from the performance. He watched as the guards carried your lifeless body from the room.

Then they saw it.

Tony looked up at the cameras and smiled wide.

"THIS MOTHERFUCKER" Katsuki screamed "HE HAD THIS PLANNED ALL ALONG."

Kirishima was raging. He couldn't speak. Bakugo looked at the police officer as he spoke "there's nothing more after that until you walk in."

Deku is scrolling his phone looking for something. He is trying to find out what he can about Yuu.

"It says Yuu is expected to be dead. According to this article, since they never found him, they assumed he died in the river trying to escape. They said they found shoes and a white jacket from the prison... HOLY SHIT" Katsuki runs to Deku.

"Look" he says as he shows Katsuki his phone. Katsuki can't believe it. It's a picture of Mai and Gigi.

Mai was his wife? Gigi was his son?

This whole club was a farce. A fucking fake set up to be a cover for their drug ring! Katsuki moves the hall way, punching a hole in the wall with his fist.

"Kaachan" Deku looks at him "there's one more thing. His quirk, it's ..."