#whoops!! more angst!!

[starheavenly]

Poor Drift, the poor guy, is going through so much angst

Yeah... Poor guy....

[egophiliac]

What do you like about the Diasomnia boys if I may ask?

I always love hearing about the different reasons people enjoy characters.

I mean, c'mon. he has split custody over Sebek okay

also, Lilia in particular has maybe the best timeskip character development of all time

[justsigma-bsd]

He comes back by the evening, quietly entering Sigma's room.

- @my-taintedsorrow

*He's not in his room, but a note is*

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ? | fame au interlude

p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 p6

After the Globes both Steve and Eddie's teams decided radio silence was the best. Let people assume what they’re gonna assume. Hope that that assumption starts with D and ends with rugs.

And most people do assume that. It circulates as a listicle oddity for a week then disappears. Written off as some weird celebrity quirk. Hollywood whispers, but they always do.

But then some people, some people start to speculate.

They listen to Penitence, really listen to Penitence.

Through all its torn up apologies, its sorrow & regrets, they hear about someone getting left behind, turned against for the crime of their success & the artist’s failure. Someone the artist would do anything to get back.

And they start to dig through old interviews of Steve’s. The really early ones. Digital archives of defunct genre mags. Where he talks about falling into acting by chance, talks about moving out to LA with a partner and working odd jobs.

It doesn’t line up with the stuff Eddie had touted on late-night. Steve hadn’t moved to LA to be an actor. All his early interviews say so. Lie after lie piles up so they swirl and they speculate and they make their theories.

But it’s nothing to worry about. Their teams both reassure them. Not really. It stays in its corner of the internet. Stays that way for months. Well into the summer. Quiets down a little, even. Well, it does until–

The picture itself is incriminating.

Steve Harrington, leaving Eddie Munson’s NYC brownstone, stretching out for a morning jog. Hickeys littering his neck, a bite-mark visible on his collar bone.

But he's not embarrassed, no. For some reason, he’s grinning like an asshole.

[rip-headphones-users]

You could just leave this here, happy and satisfied as is…

…But thats not how things get to end, right?

Maybe one day they can be happy together. But not like this. Not when Infected can barely remember who he’s with, and not when Lampert is so scared of contracting the parasite himself.

One of these days I’ll do a full summary of how I interpret their dynamic. Both as friends and as a ship. I see them as having a queer-platonic relationship for the most part though.

[nartothelar]

But for the vampire au, have you considered Emmet getting Severely Hurt™️ and Ingo turning him to keep his brother alive?

Or do they have an agreement to just let things happen?

“No.” Emmet responds simply, decisively.

The answer is expected and yet, the disappointment Ingo feels is an unwelcome heaviness, his constant frown turning genuine without it meaning to.

Ingo had asked the very same question thrice times now.

Once was when they were kids. It was casual inquiry that came with little prompting; he had asked out of curiosity more than anything. Ingo had asked Emmet after they had defeated a trio of challengers off hand. Emmet had laughed, light and airy, when he answered. They had gotten ice cream using their winnings after.

The second time had been following a much more harrowing experience. A safety check forgotten, a simple mistake by a depot agent newly hired, had resulted in a derailed train. Fortunately only a few were injured. Unfortunately, one of those few was Emmet.

Ingo had asked him with bags under his eyes, something quite silly since Ingo didn’t even need to sleep. (Was that makeup? Emmet had joked with an exhausted smile.)

Emmet, laying in that hospital bed, IV's in his arm and a cask around his left leg, had responded much the same, a chuckle rather than a laugh. Perhaps his headache had come back to manage much more than that. Ingo didn’t attempt to change his mind and offered him the chicken noodle soup Elesa had brought for him.

And the third time was right now: Ingo sitting across from Emmet in the dining room of their shared apartment. It was morning and even though the windows curtains were drawn, the room was illuminated with a soft glow. In front of his brother was a plate of eggs and toast, him nursing a cup of black coffee. In front of Ingo was just a cup of tea, untouched and cooling.

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

The way he asks shows his cards far to easily. Whoever had said Subway Boss Ingo was hard to read must have not tried at all.

His brother looks at him, assessing him, and then looks away.

Emmet is silent for a minute, simply gazing at the cup in front of him. His food was getting cold.

Most would think Emmet was being hesitant when answering, that this was a sign he didn’t want to answer at all. But Ingo knows him well. He knows he wants to go over what he will day and that he voices his thoughts properly.

Ingo is patient and waits. Finally, Emmet answers.

“I like the sun.” His brother says, looking at him. The color of his eyes haven’t dulled all these years. “It feels warm on my skin. It feels good.”

“I love eating. The taste, the action. Yup!" Emmet picks at his plate with a hum. "I want to eat what I like, when I like."

“I like my independence." Ingo's tea leaves an ashy taste as he sips it - a floral chamomile bag floats at the bottom of it. "I do not want to be dependent on others. I do not want to be dependent on things out of my control."

"I know that I will have to sometimes." Emmet really looks at him now. "And that is ok. But I still feel the same way.”

Ingo squeezes his mug, before he relaxes his grip. Emmet notices.

Emmet lays his palm on his chest, closing it into a fist near the middle.

“I like being human.” It sounds final, the words like a gavel to wood, the way it echoes in his mind. “I do not want to be a vampire.”

Ingo wants to argue. To convince him that the pros outweigh the insignificant cons, but he does not. No. Usually Ingo is more eloquent with his words, but the fear that rises up in his throat makes his usually well thought out words more brisk, more succinct, more honest as he says the obvious.

“But you are aging.” Ingo says. You are dying, Ingo tries, fails, and a refrains to add.

Ingo hands are smooth, his face without a wrinkle. He looks as the same as he as when he first became a subway boss. He has since he was sent to Hisui. Forever youthful. And Emmet.

Emmet's hands are calloused, wrinkled from years of maintenance at gear station. His hair is thinning and his temples were turning white. His stride not as brisk as it was years ago.

“I am.” Emmet replies. “And I will continue to age.”

Ingo knows Emmet. He is stubborn, just like himself. That is how he is. He knows he will not change his mind. And that makes him clench his jaw, look down at his cup with furrowed brow.

“Ingo.”

Ingo snaps his head up, fear turning to anger that makes him feel sick. He should not be angry, but he is.

“Then you plan to reach your final stop?” Emmet’s smile dims. Ingo continues anyway. “Leave this station?” Without me? Ingo clamps down before he utters the accusation.

“You....you will have me wait here for you to die? And do nothing?!”

And there it is. Ingo barring his greatest fear since he got turned. The thing that has plaguing his mind since he stood at the grave of his old clan leader in Hisui, at the cemetery where his other wardens were laid to rest. What he had realized as he saw time passes by, years of constant goodbyes and tearful farewells.

It was that, no matter how grand his ideals, the simple truth of the matter was that he was utterly powerless to the passage of time.

Ingo doesn't realize that he has stood up until he is already towering over Emmet's seated form. His fangs barred and he suspects his eyes are slits.

And despite that, Emmet looks calm. He looks...sad.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Ingo says softly, deflated as the anger leaves his body. To live on as those around him pass. To see enjoy his life without the people he cares most around him.

Ingo feels arms wrap around him and he wraps trembling arms around Emmet too, his head laying on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, simply holding each other, not letting go.

"I'm sorry I never gave you the choice." Emmet finally says. Ingo's hands grip at Emmet's shirt. "We were young. You were dying. And I was desperate. I did not want to lose you..."

Emmet pulls back after that, not all the way, but enough to look into Ingo's face. His fangs have retracted, his eyes normal again. "But those details do not matter now, do they?" Emmet sighs out, that sad smile still there.

"They matter. Of course they matter." Ingo protests, but he doesn't elaborate pass that.

Emmet looks at the floor, thinking about his words and looks at Ingo again before saying, "Everything reaches its final terminal."

"Not me." Ingo says. It comes out bitter.

"Everything does." Emmet repeats, shaking his head. He squeezes Ingo's forearm before he lets go. "I did not give you a choice. but you can choose for yourself now."

His brother’s crows feet, a result from decades worth of smiles, crinkle at the edges as he looks at him. "Just as I choose for myself."

Ingo dwells on those words, on what his brother is offering. A choice and a decision to make. Emmet looks at him and Ingo understands.

With a sigh (a concession, a compromise), Ingo nods and accepts Emmet's answer.

That heaviness Ingo feels is not fully gone from his mind, but it has lightened, the tension of the room dispersing like the morning fog.

Emmet notices, smiles, and sits back down to finish his breakfast. Ingo follows. And then the silence is filled anew with his brother's latest retelling of yet another dealing he had with a rude passenger yesterday.

Ingo listens and they both laugh and talk and all is right and as it should be that morning, in their shared moment of time.

Him and his brother were a two car train, always have been, no matter their differences. And no matter what, he was going to be there with him until his brother's final destination.

And then after that, once that engine has long gone cold, Ingo would decide when his last stop was too.

[dysfunctional-doodle]

So we've got the Leos thinking 03!Leo is really cool, the Raphs having mutual respect for 03!Raph because they understand each other, and the Donnies having respect (and low key fear) for 03!Don and his peaceful ways.

Last but not least, the Mikeys. Gotta ask how they feel about 03!Mikey. Do they aspire to be like him, hoping to one day be able to bring as much chaos as he does?

Yes. Hail Father Micheal, Humble Servant of Mother Klunk

(Without the context of my text/chat fic this makes no sense and I am not going to try and explain lol)

I actually do think he’s kind of adopted all the other Michelangelos (specifically the younger ones) to try and stop them from getting caught up in the whole “funny guy” face that he has had to his whole life - intentionally or not, his brothers rely on him to be happy and carefree, and he wants to be the support he never got to the other Mikeys so they can express their own feelings and vent at him. He also wants to wrap them all up in bubble wrap and stop them from all the trauma sprinting towards them, but he understands he can’t and instead solidifies himself as the supporting pillar they need.

(Also they absolutely follow him around like ducks as he teaches them all the ways of pranking and mischief. He takes them under his wing to all become pranking gods.)

[grab-my-digits-dude]

For @may-blade day 2: As a bit beast Oh hell yeah I love bit beast merge aus! How about the more use of Dragoon the more corrupt Tyson gets YEAH ! ! !

[sagau-my-beloved]

Death At The Hands Of A God

Warnings: general sagau, imposter au, light descriptions of violence/gore, you die/are killed (by Venti), angst

-

It seemed as if the rain was particularly heavy, almost unusually so as it fell in sheets, occasionally catching the light of the moon, making it look no different than strands of silver.

That should have been a sign, the rain, the fog, the agitation of the weather. Mondstadt hadn't faced a storm this bad since before their current Archon, even the winds of Dvalin paled in comparison.

Venti was so ignorant not to pick up on the clues laid out before him by his own nation as he trudged through heavy rain, his bow at the ready and a sinking feeling in his chest.

He would never say he disliked the rain, despite what unpleasant memories linger in the back of his mind from those times. But everything carried a harsher weight when was faced with his current task, one assigned to him by no other than his creator.

Venti stopped to rest a moment, leaning against a tree for partial coverage, though it did little to shield his already soaked clothes. He felt something heavy and unpleasant in his chest as he reflected on the situation, an unshakable sense of wrongness, one that clouded his mind and dulled his senses. You were what he was after, you who posed a threat to the divine order simply because of your face.

He thought back on his creators’ honeyed words, a sickeningly sweet tone that he had never heard them use before, not that they very commonly addressed him at all, which made this particular summons out of place, a mixture of excitement and worry bubbling in his chest as he walked through their temple. To kill someone impersonating them, that is what they ordered him, hinting at the possible consequences his nation may face if he didn't comply with the utmost enthusiasm, the threat of which rang particularly loud when faced with what they had done to other nations in fits of anger.

He knew deep within him that this wasn't remotely justified, that he might as well be punished alongside you if the crime was simply stealing a face. If only you chose to look like another human, or even an Archon, he would have taken your mimicry of him as a complementary. But alas. Those feelings were pushed down and covered by the vow he made to his nation, one born of nothing but love and a promise for a brighter future.

Venti had considered alternatives, confronting you with your motive, begging you to make yourself scarce, making his own judgement on your reasons and framing his response accordingly, but those were all fleeting thoughts, quickly pushed away as soon as they arose. He couldn't get attached, he couldn't afford to think of you as human, and he certainly couldn't afford it getting back to his creator that he failed them.

He had heard about your existence from other sources, apparently being so bold as to walk directly into Mondstadt. You weren't met with pitchforks and torches, his people were more civilized than that, but the hostility was as sharp as a knife. You had left of your own accord after having no luck obtaining food or a place to stay, he had only heard after the fact from gossipers drinking late into the night, the faces of which were forced into his mind as he once again thought of his creators’ threat.

Venti was pulled from his thoughts due to a subtle noise, one almost unnoticeable through the heavy onset of rain, but it was there. A branch and a pile of leaves, something big enough to break them, and no one in their right mind would be out in this weather, except...

He swallowed what little apprehension he’d not already buried, reverting his mindset to something it had been five hundred years ago with the quick draw of his bow. The Archon saw you in the distance, just as soaked as he was, clothes tattered and foreign, scared. A quick death was the least you deserved, one free from suffering, and maybe your next life would be more forgiving.

He aimed for your head, a clear shot even now, but it seemed the moonlight that glinting off his bow caught your attention as you quickly turned your body to face him in a defensive stance, eyes wide, fearful, as if you could see what was about to come to fruition.

Your mouth moved, only fragments of the noise it produced were carried to him, broken syllables and muffled notes the very wind urged him to listen to.

You had said his name.

Venti faltered before the arrow released, for the first time in centuries, its' path no longer as steady or sure as it had been.

It hit your throat.

Venti's legs were moving before he consciously realized, forcing his body to where you fell, as if collapsing in on yourself, until he could finally see you clearly, drenched in rain and golden liquid, mixing together indiscriminately as they soak into the ground below.

There was a feeling of shock, which developed in his throat first, spreading evenly throughout the rest of his body, as if it were in his bloodstream. He looked at your terrified expression, a pained and now lifeless one, holding only fragments of the fear you felt.

What had he done.

Venti felt himself fall to his knees, hands immediately going to where his arrow lay firmly lodged, feeling for a pulse in an act he knew to be worthless.

"No. No, n-no— no. Please!" His voice cracked as his mind caught up with what his eyes were forcing him to behold.

You were the divine creator, Teyvat's one true God, and he had—

No. He couldn't even think it, the word that was on the tip of his mind carried nothing but pain, anguish and insufferable heartache, the likes of which he hadn't felt, well since...

Without thinking, Venti wrapped his arms around you, laid his head on your stomach, forced his eyes closed, and prayed. For your return, for forgiveness, and if not for any of that, then simply for a form of retribution.

He hadn't realized he'd started crying, tears and rain alike falling from his face onto your form, pooling at his eyes until the world around him became harder and harder to see.

The position you both rested in was not unlike that day long ago, forever etched in his memory and resurfaced through reflections.

Was this simple his fate? To find himself holding in his arms the corpse of someone he loved so dearly, over and over again. Was it written in his very being that all good things would be torn violently from him with little care to how it left him shattered, scrambling for the pieces of what little piece of mind he had left.

There was no coming back from this, no form of atonement. He could feel the shackles encasing his wrists, invisibly tying him to this moment, to where you had stood alive moments prior. His days of living freely died with you, forever encased in the space between where your souls had briefly met, and it was no more than he deserved.

It was only a moment later that your body was gone, dissolved into the stardust it was born from, slipping through his arms and carried by the wind that no longer obeyed him. That didn't stop him from reaching desperately, gasping and clawing at the air for what remained, heart in his throat as he begged for mercy, for anything but you depriving him of your vessel even after death.

You couldn't really be gone, not fully, you who so powerfully morphed this world from willpower alone, who disappeared for an infinite stretch of time only to descend again. Even if your vessel may have been no stronger than human, your soul was as old and powerful as existence itself, it would linger on in whatever form it had existed before, watching, waiting.

He would be ready for when you decided to give this world a second chance, he would wait an eternity and more to see your face again and repent a thousand times over, bear any hardships in the time between only to fall to his knees in complete acceptance at whatever you deem an acceptable punishment when faced with your light again.

But first...

It seemed as if there was a loose end to tie up, a deceiver bearing the ultimate sin, one much more deserving of his arrow, and one that would suffer a fate worse than death in your name.

Venti roughly brushed the tears from his face, eyes darkening as he shakily pulled himself from his knees, feeling as if his body couldn't decide between flying or collapsing.

His ‘creator’ would soon face all the fear and pain that was forced upon you, the wrath of a god who had lost everything for the second time, a goal he planned to pursue till his dying breath.

[dreameatingparasite]

relationship ended with sixer gotta find someone new i guess

[literarystarfish]

Voodoo Doll - part one

Villain has Hero under their voodoo doll-like powers and is nearly ready to enact their plan against Superhero. Until, of course, they are forced to pause that plan by some curious, unforeseen events.

Part one ~1900 words

Part two (Final) here

Kind of dark, not really a hero x villain since there's not really a relationship unless you squint really hard at the end, angst with a happy(-ish?) ending, a few curses, heed warnings in the tags (more to be added in the next part)

This will be two parts

~~

What? No… How?!

Villain gasped as a burning pain in their shoulder ripped through them as if their arm was being twisted the wrong way, feeling as if it would pop from its socket at any moment. They watched in surprise and pain as small red marks appeared that would surely turn to finger-sized bruises along their arm where a heavy, painful pressure was holding just too tightly.

What’s happening? 

The person they have under their voodoo power at the moment is Hero. They were sure it was Hero. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

But Hero was safe, back at home. Villain made sure of it. They had silently followed the defeated do-gooder as Hero had retreated and made their way back to their home, where they lived with Superhero.

With Superhero, for gods’ sake! That was the safest place they could be in this damn city.

How were they getting hurt?!

Villain had wanted to be sure they could keep their voodoo spell connected with the hero so that the next phase of their plan could go smoothly. Which meant Hero had to stay out of trouble and out of any fights or else Villain would have to sever their connection. They can’t have Hero getting hurt and, in doing so, hurting themself in the process as well while their spell over Hero was intact. 

I’ve been careful. They can’t have figured out my power works both ways... The villain’s thoughts ground out just before the pain started to let up in their shoulder. They let out a sigh of relief, though the finger shaped marks and bruising pressure remained.

For all the heroes knew, if someone was under Villain’s voodoo powers, then the masochist that was Villain could hurt themself and cause that damage to the one under their influence. Villain had carefully built up their pain tolerance for years to have this advantage. 

It was a wonderful distraction mid-fight to have their opponent taken off guard by sudden wounds opening up on their skin. The hero would look up in terror and see Villain holding eye contact with them with a sinister smile spread across their face. The villain would slide a knife across their own body and an identical bright red pool would slice itself open on the hero's own body. 

That fear from the heroes was priceless.

The dense patchwork of scars that littered Villain’s body only added to the disconcerting aura that their opponents feared. Each one a clear indicator of what they were willing to do to win in a fight.

Villain had heard whispers of the fear it brought the heroes to see the marks littering their skin. The violent masochist. The scarred villain. They wore them now as a badge of honor.

What kind of person would willingly hurt themself to the point that their body was more scars than skin just to win a fight. They were even missing half a finger for god's sake! Though the story of how Villain had sustained such an injury was lost to the heroes, it didn't stop the rumors spreading about it. Surely it was done to get the drop on some poor, unsuspecting hero who perished in their fight!

Never mind that Villain, themself, had never once killed a hero on purpose unless that hero had forced Villain's hand for their own survival. Though the death toll of heroes who fought them was steadily growing, it was no skin off their back to have less of them crawling around the city. It was less vermin to drain the city of all its worth and infect its citizens with their righteous disease as far as the villain was concerned. 

The people were too blinded by the dazzling brightness of the hero's fools-gold exterior to see how much the heroes leeched from them in the name of doing good. Like a frog in slowly boiling water, they wouldn't know until it was too late.

So Villain took great pride in making sure to annoy and torment any and all heroes who participated in such blatantly fake morality. Unfortunately that left little more than a handful of heroes that they considered truly good.

And if it wasn't for their association with Superhero- head of the "Superhero's Guild" and one of the most corrupt of them all, though they have yet to gather any true proof until they soon pulled off their plan-, Villain would even consider Hero to be one of the more moral heroes.

And until Villain could pull the rug out from that corrupt kingpin, they would have to continue to annoy the heroes and foil any underhanded 'heroism' in any way they can.

The desperation and terror that Villain could watch form in their faces from not being able to control what was happening to themselves as they fought them was an amusing bonus.

And even better were the ones who didn’t know... The ones who had come into the fight blind to what Villain’s power was. They were the fun ones to torment. It was all over for those heroes with one measly touch. That's all it took. One moment of contact with Villain and they were at the mercy of their power. 

The immediate confusion and pain and then the slow realization of what was happening as every attack they landed affected themselves as well. Watching the slow shift in their tactics to see what the limitations of Villain’s power might be as they fought only for them to inevitably come to the same conclusion: they cannot harm Villain without harming themself. 

Villain's power terrified them. Why would you hurt the person if it means you were hurt too? How do you fight an enemy like that?

God, that fear and desperation was addicting. Delicious.

How many of these heroes had never felt what their own powers could do? What they had put each and every villain or criminal through that they had ever fought in the past? Never knowing what kind of harm and pain and fear they could do first hand? Some of them—the moral ones at least, bless their righteous little hearts— were hesitant to use their powers again, full strength or otherwise, after they had felt what they could do for themselves. Some even retired completely. 

But, unfortunately, the voodoo spell goes both ways. If their victim sustains damage, so does Villain. It was easy enough to sever and then reestablish the connection if Villain ever wanted to do any true damage to the hero without receiving it themself as well. Just a quick thought to dispel it and a simple touch to connect it again. This is what made it easy to hide this unfortunate side effect. 

And this was the part of their power that they knew they had to keep silent. A hero with that knowledge? One that was feeling a bit too self-sacrificing? That could be dangerous. Villain would cut off the connection before anyone could truly kill them by taking their own lives, of course, but it was dangerous nonetheless. Too many close calls already. 

But now… Villain suddenly wasn’t too sure if their carefully kept secret was as secret as they’d hoped. Why else would Hero be taking damage in the safety of their own home? 

In a home they share with Superhero no less! If there was anywhere Hero would be safe, it was there. 

Villain was ripped from their thoughts as the breath was knocked out of them and they fell to the floor gasping for air. Villain felt as if they’d just been punched in the gut. Hard. 

Maybe Hero did get into a fight?! Villain hadn’t actually watched them go inside. They couldn’t get close enough to the house to see the door without fear of getting caught by the tight security measures of the heroes’ home. But they saw Hero walking up the path that couldn’t lead anywhere else but that front door. 

Were they ambushed? 

The spell’s connection was silent for a while. If Hero was in a fight, they must have finished it already. Or perhaps Hero’s opponent was monologuing, as so many of the more ridiculous villains in this city seem to do. 

But, if it was over, then Villain’s plan could still work, as long as Hero went home… now! 

Villain willed the Hero to get to the safety of Superhero’s residence, wishing their voodoo powers also influenced the will of the other person and not just their physical being, but knowing it did no such thing.

The next hit Hero must have sustained wasn’t what Villain would expect from a fight with a villain. It was a slap across their face that took them fully off guard. Villain’s hand shot to where they had just felt the phantom hand hit. Their cheek burned at the force, the hand print sized spot was warmed to the touch, their jaw ached. 

Who the fuck is Hero fighting that would hit them like that? What a useless attack! Villain would have found the idea of Hero being slapped shitless by some villain like that hilarious if it send a jolt of confusion through them. Something about this wasn’t right. 

Villain has felt what others have felt when the other was in a fight. This didn't seem to be the same.

What the hell has that damned hero gotten themselves into now?

Then, the moment oxygen was being restricted from their airways by an invisible grip around their neck, Villain dropped the spell, sputtering for breath as they coughed and heaved in shock. 

Why did it feel like Hero wasn’t even putting up a fight?! There was no stinging on their hands or legs from any counter punches or kicks. There had been no straining of their fingernails if Hero were to scratch and claw away from the hand trying to squeeze the life from their throat. 

What was going on? Surely Hero wasn’t that exhausted that they couldn’t fight. 

How annoying it was that Hero had a pension to get themselves into the middle of fights so often. Why do they have to stick their nose into everything? 

Or perhaps they really had figured out Villain’s secret?

This put a damper on Villain’s plans either way. They’d have to make contact with Hero again now, if they want to get away with their next phase. Preferably without their knowledge if their secret was compromised. 

What a hassle.

Villain grumbled to themself, cursing the hero’s inability to take a damn break from their crime fighting for even just a few hours. Surely, they would want to rest after their disastrous battle with Villain just a little while ago. Why would they want to go into a fight while still so weak?

Probably a desperate attempt to save their ego, Villain thought with a slight grin. Pathetic. That's why they weren’t putting up a fight as well. That must be it. Hero didn’t have much left to put up. They were trying to save strength until absolutely necessary. Villain had left them weak. Not completely unable to defend themself but definitely hindered.  

Regrettably, Villain’s plan would not work with just any other hero. They needed Hero specifically. After all, they were looking to go after Superhero. And what better way than to get the person closest to them.

So Villain gave Hero two days to recover from their fights and gleefully went out to create enough havoc that they knew Hero would come to ‘stop’ them. 

——————————

Hope you enjoyed part one of my inaugural tumblr posts! Part two up shortly.

[starheavenly]

Uh oh.

[whatwooshkai]

2!

Blades isn't sure if First Aid is still alive. After Groove died, the bond became chaotic and muddled- he's not sure who's thoughts and dreams and nightmares he gets anymore, if they're in real time or just echoes. He's learned to tune them out, when he once believed it unthinkable.

But in moments like this, Blades is sure he's alive.

Because it's First Aid's voice screaming in his processor as he tries to patch a torn fuel line in Heatwave's torso. Because of course it's Heatwave. Again.

"Would it kill you to develop some self-preservation skills?" Blades snarls when Heatwave flinches, nearly reversing all his hard work. "I swear to Primus, it's once a week! How are you not dead?"

"We wouldn't live to be millions of years old if were weren't at least a little resilient," Boulder points out from where they're doing damage control, and Blades has never before wished such violence on the bot.

Sparking wires, Blades! Focus on the issue at hand! First Aid's voice centers him, and Blades takes a deep vent and wiggles his rotors. Boulder's more useful conscious right now, anyways. Keep those out of the way of the fuel line- mixing those is BAD BAD BAD.

No shit, Sherlock, Blades thinks ruefully, but his rotors wiggle again, a little pleased he's had a reason to use that phrase.

"Aren't you glad you get the practice?" Heatwave offers in strained voice, not bothering to look up at Blades. "You've gotten so much better lately."

"I'd rather practice new techniques before I try them out on you," Blades snaps back, trying not to preen at the praise. Heatwave's trying to distract him from being mad, and Blades is not going to let him get away with it.

You are getting better, First Aid's voice offers, and Blades relaxes into the familiar tone. Real or not, it's nice.

He turns his attention back to the sparking wires and gets lost in his work.

[uselessmicrowave]

Ooh either tfp shockwave realizing he’s in love with Starscream, or screamer realizing he’s in love with KOBD!

how about both?

shockwave + screamy

Shockwave… doesn’t think that he should be feeling like this. He’ll procrastinate on putting a label on this fuzzy warm emotion he gets when near the second in command.

After he weighs the pros and cons of confessing, Shockwave decides he wants to tell Starscream. The only reason why he hasn’t done it yet is that when he’s about to tell Starscream, his vocalizer seems to shut off or fill with static.

Shockwave finds this all very illogical. His emotions and the nervousness, it’s unnecessary, why can’t he just tell Starscream without worry or shaking?

Shockwave, to get over his fears, sends Starscream a long comlink message about how it would be logical to know eachother better work together and cuddle have more interactions.

Starscream’s response is cautious, but he agrees to meet Shockwave in his lab and drink stolen high grade from Megatron’s stash discuss Project Predacon.

screamy + kobd

Worried, longing glances.

He’s completely new to poly relationships, so when he considers the possibility that they all could love eachother, Starscream worries that one of them will feel left out and be upset.

His confession is rough. Starscream barely drags himself to the medbay after he angered Megatron, and neither Knockout nor Breakdown were on shift in the medbay. When they came back, the air commander was curled up on the floor, barely conscious but still attempting to put pressure on his wounds. After the two patch him back up, Knockout offers to polish his wings while Breakdown does his servos, then he decides to be brave and confess.

KO’s response to this was, “You should join us for energon sometime, Star.” Breakdown is quiet, he just blushes and smiles.

[crybaby-bkg]

sadly and soggily thinking about dating gojo and being so deep in the relationship, that you think you two were made for each other. two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole, two severed souls connecting once more. so perfect for each other that you don’t even think about mentioning marriage and kids, convinced that you guys are already on the same page.

all until it comes up in conversation and things aren’t as perfect as you thought they were. marriage—yes, absolutely, gojo is ecstatic about tying the knot, giving you the wedding of your dreams, calling you his for the rest of you guys’ lives.

but….kids? he’s thought about it and the answer has always been a clear no in his mind. he couldn’t even dream of bringing another him into the universe, fears that it might throw off the balance of the world. that he can’t exist if his child does, but why exist at all if his child’s lesser abilities will only result in them being shunned? of being told how much of a disappointment they are? of being isolated?

and sadly, it’s a breaking point for you. you just wanted one, at least, with your forever partner. and if he can’t give it to you, then he must not be the one for you. you didn’t wanna trap gojo or coerce or manipulate him into giving you the baby you always so selfishly desired, so you leave him.

and how broken does it make him. makes him resent a baby never even conceived or planted, makes him hate what used to be and would have never been.

but…it also makes him think. if his fears would come true, if his hesitance is justified. would he be able to go long lengths to protect his baby? to protect you? would that target his whole family having a weak spot? and is it…is it even worth it at all?

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Febuwhump Day 9 - Alternate Prompt, "I love you"

More emotional pain fun with the predecessors of Hyrule Warriors! This one gets a little steamy and suggestive, but there's nothing explicit, FYI.

XX

The courtyard was more beautiful than he'd ever seen it. Lanterns held the evening shadows at bay, the flowers were in full bloom, the water in the fountains sparkled in the light of fairies that had come with the great fairy's blessing. Magic was sweet in the air, little pops of it sending showering rainbows cascading down on the guests.

Link gazed at it all, entranced, temporarily pulled out of the usual dark exhaustion that numbed him to his core. For just a second, he genuinely felt alive, and for a moment longer, he recognized the gravity of the situation.

A baby. A baby.

The young king consort wandered through the gardens, barely noticing people bowing or nodding in acknowledgement to him. He had lost sight of the queen, and he knew he was supposed to be close to her.

He had walked through these gardens so many times in the past. It had been a while since he'd been outside, apart from going to the training grounds. He couldn't recall them ever looking so enlivened.

He wondered if the rest of the kingdom looked this bright. The last time he'd been outside the castle, Hyrule Field had been scorched earth.

Queen Zelda appeared ahead of him, standing on a slightly elevated part of the courtyard, and Link went to her. She was talking to Impa, who noticed Link's approach first, and the pair watched him as he climbed the stairs. Link looked Zelda over, a little unnerved at the swelling of her belly, at how it was emphasized by the dress she wore.

So many emotions flooded him. Guilt, pain, fear, hope, excitement, dread. He didn't know how to process this, how to look at the physical proof of what he'd been hearing for months. He hadn't seen her in months.

A baby.

The queen extended a hand, the motion holding gentle confidence despite the clear hesitancy in her gaze, and he automatically took it, letting her guide him towards the center of the courtyard. Impa's eyes never left him.

Crowds began to gather, more faces than he could count or focus on, and Link grew dizzy. He remained steadfast by his queen's side as she spoke to the people of Hyrule.

"Thank you for coming to celebrate with us," he heard when he tuned in. "The road has been perilous, but together, we are rebuilding. Hyrule will thrive once more, stronger than ever. May this child be a symbol of the goddess' favor, of the prosperity of Hyrule that is to come."

The crowd cheered, shouts of joy and praise and long live the queen and other phrases that Link could no longer decipher in the noise. His eyes wandered over the people aimlessly, letting himself be simultaneously shown off and ignored, until his gaze settled on a familiar face.

Amber eyes, captivating in their intensity. Dark brown skin, smooth and silky and glowing in the light. Fiery red hair, as bright as the sun, held out of a face with a high ponytail, spilling over bare shoulders in numerous small braids that were decorated with beads. A crimson bodice decorated with jewels and embroidery, with wide brimming baggy, silky pants and a shimmering red train laying overtop it that slid to the floor and pooled around like water.

The chief of the Gerudo.

Hemisi.

Link felt the blood drain out of his face. He hadn't seen her since... since... everything.

Although the Gerudo entourage around her applauded with the crowd, Hemisi was still and silent, just watching him, only him. Link wanted nothing more than to melt into the earth.

Something changed in the atmosphere. Queen Zelda released his hand, and the crowds moved. People started to mingle, many vying for the monarchs' attention. Though most flocked to his wife, Link still found himself suddenly surrounded by strangers, congratulating him and trying to make small talk and curry favor. Link did his best to fumble through the conversation, keeping his responses to smiles, nods, or a couple words, before the bombardment was interrupted. The crowd parted as if by force, and Link saw Hemisi approaching him, his party guests watching her uneasily.

Hemisi stopped a mere two paces away from him, but it felt like a canyon was between them.

"Your Highness," she acknowledged with a tip of her head.

Link swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Her name came out of his lips as a whisper, inaudible above the din, and he nodded his head to cover his slip up.

"I must say," one of the nobles who had surrounded him piped up. "It is quite the surprise to see you here, Gerudo. You were not present for the royal wedding - I assumed you would not wish to set foot in Hyrule once more given what your people have done to this land."

Link felt the bottom drop out of his stomach while his skin crawled. His hands twitched, rage pushing him to throttle the man while anxiety of the repercussions held him in place. He couldn't help the glare that he threw in the noble's direction, though.

Hemisi's seething look far surpassed it. Despite the murderous intent in her gaze, though, and the way the noble cowered, she had an impressive amount of restraint. Her words dripped with venom as she replied, "Ganondorf led the assault and caused the war. I fought against him. I understand these things can get confusing to you, as I know for certain none of you partook in the war, instead hiding away in your riches while your people bled. But I bled with my people, the Gerudo suffered just as Hylians did. And I not only defeated Ganondorf, I helped your princess and hero split his soul into shards to ensure this never happened again."

The noble had no rebuttal, too busy shrinking away, and the others left with him.

They were alone.

Link wanted to scream, to apologize, to hunt the noble down and slit his throat, to slit his own throat.

"You really do suck at this whole political thing, don't you?" Hemisi asked, a lesser bite to her tone.

Link finally felt his chest stop tightening, allowing him to take a breath and let out a small, pathetic laugh. "Yeah. I... well, you know."

"Yeah. I know."

What should he say? What could he say?

"Let's walk," Hemisi suggested, not waiting for his consent before she started to guide him away from the center of the party.

They walked in silence for a while, Link's mind whirling, unable to formulate a sentence, wondering what was happening and what he was about to have to handle. His heart raced at her touch, his mind screamed at her proximity.

Farore above, why did this have to be so complicated?

Link started to grow dizzy, but finally, finally Hemisi found a hidden corner and tucked both of them into it. The music sounded so far away, reality sounded so far away.

Here, in the darkness, away from politics and pressure, Link found his voice. "I'm sorry for that. I--that was completely unacceptable."

"Will you kill him?" Hemisi questioned, crossing her arms.

"What? No, I can't--"

"I'm joking, stupid," Hemisi interrupted with a huff, before cocking her head to the side and asking, "Would you, if you could?"

The heat surged him in once more. "I'd certainly like to beat that entitlement out of him."

Hemisi remained silent, watching him longer until he started to squirm under her scrutiny. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, or even where it should go - they hadn't spoken since--

"I'm sorry," he said before he realized it.

"You already said that."

"No, I--" he stumbled, caught between wanting to backtrack and wanting to follow through. How could he possibly apologize for everything? "I mean--I--"

"You did your duty," Hemisi replied in a monotone, as if to explain some unimportant detail, as if to hammer a point home, as if it didn't matter or mattered too much.

Link's head dropped, shame blushing his cheeks. But a bit of hope sparked in his heart too - if she could understand and accept it, then maybe he could too. Maybe they could salvage this.

"She looks fatter than I thought she would," Hemisi added dully, making Link's gaze snap back to her. The chief shrugged. "She does. Hope it hurts too."

"H-Hemisi," he chided halfheartedly, heart racing.

"You're going to defend her?" she snapped, ire returning in a heartbeat.

Why did this have to be so complicated? "You shouldn't--you shouldn't wish ill of her--"

"You don't?" Hemisi hissed back.

Link bit his tongue.

"You don't understand, do you?" she continued, taking a menacing step towards him. "How could you not understand--I thought you--after everything we've been through--"

"Hemisi, please--"

"Your people mock me and fear me despite everything, and that bitch is at the root of all these issues!"

"Don't call her that," Link snapped in return, the fire igniting inside him once more.

"I had to not only kill my own father, but tear his soul to pieces - he can't even rest in the afterlife, I helped condemn him to eternal hell, after already losing my mother and brother. And in the end, my reward was to lose the love of my life and let Hyrule punish my people for a war I didn't even start." Hemisi glowered. "I have every right to fight, every right to hate her, every reason to destroy this land, to take what is mine."

The air seemed to have frozen, alongside Link's blood. His ears were ringing, heart racing. This was spiraling out of control quickly, and his mind and heart were at war, sympathizing so much it hurt while also hearing Ganondorf's voice in her words.

Every right to fight, to destroy this land, to take what is mine.

Before he could retaliate, Hemisi backed down, just a hair, just enough to remove the danger from her words. "But I chose to stay my hand. People always say thank the goddesses when good things happen, but I assure you, the goddesses are thanking me."

The air was electric, and then the tension trickled away as Hemisi sighed, looking away. "Damn it. I wasn't--just forget it."

Link leaned against the stone wall, also averting his gaze. He was so tired. This wasn't exactly how he'd wanted a reunion between them to go, but he wasn't surprised that it was going this way.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, sincerely.

A calloused hand touched his cheek, making him flinch. He wasn't used to physical contact anymore, having hid himself away for so long after everything. But the touch was familiar, skin smelling of oils that she used when they'd first met, the caressing akin to how she'd touched him before the war. He melted into it for a moment, looking at her as she watched him. Although Hemisi was an opinionated woman, she didn't seem to have any kind of reply to his apology, and the world grew quiet around them. Link let his hand rest overtop hers, and eventually he noted softly, "Your hand's cold."

The Gerudo chief snorted. "It's cold here in Castle Town."

Link reached and took her other hand, guiding both of them to his chest while his hands rested overtop them to warm them. Hemisi tilted forward, leaning her body weight against his as the wall supported them both, her softness making his entire body tingle. Their faces were inches apart, and Link lost his breath as she leaned in and kissed him.

Goddesses he'd missed this, he'd missed her. His skin felt electric, his blood like fire. Memories of time spent with her flooded his heart and mind, of nights stargazing and pointing out different constellations they'd learned with the stories behind them, of days sparring, of discussions on culture and ideas and duties, of adventures exploring and sneaking around, of comfort as tensions rose, of anguish as war broke out, of despair and relief and hope and--

Link let her pull him to the grass, lost in the moment, wanting this more than anything, when he heard the music off in the distance.

The party. The queen. The baby.

"Stop," he whispered, trying to regain his voice.

Hemisi paused, looking at him from overtop him, her hair spilling over her and creating a veil between them and the rest of the world.

"Why?" she asked just as softly, hands massaging his scalp. "We deserve it. You've done your duty, the queen has her victory kid, the kingdom's in love with it. Come back to the desert with me."

Link was losing himself in the relaxing motion, his body's desires overpowering his senses, and he held his breath, pushing against the earth with one foot to flip them over so he had her pinned gently to the ground, hands holding hers down at the wrists, keeping the temptation at bay.

I'm better than this. I can control myself. "You know it's not that simple, Hemisi."

"But it is that simple," she argued. "You married Zelda because she demanded it, because she needed the kingdom to think the royal family was strong. You did the gig for a year, there's a baby now, the family will live on. She doesn't need you anymore. You did your duty."

"She's still my wife," Link argued, moving away from her to sit by the stone wall.

"Did you mean it when you took the vows?" Hemisi demanded, sitting up. "Did you actually want to marry her?"

"I--I didn't want to marry her, but--"

"Then it doesn't count!"

"It does," Link snapped, rising. "Because I meant those vows, and I take my promises seriously."

"How can you be this--this idiotic?!" Hemisi yelled, also shooting to her feet. "When you first said you had to marry her--we were promised to each other, Link, and--I waited, I waited, I even let her take you because I didn't want the war to continue either, but the war is over and she has her token child, just leave her!"

"I already told you I can't!" Link argued. "Don't you understand what would happen? I meant those vows for a reason, Hemisi! This isn't just about Zelda's demands, it's about the entire kingdom! You're not the only one who had to sacrifice for peace! If Zelda and I hadn't married, it could've destroyed the Sheikah, the stability of the crown, and Hyrule along with it."

Link shook his head, feeling nauseous, and looked away. "If I were to leave her, especially for you, there will never be peace."

"You think Zelda will start a war again," Hemisi growled.

"Not her," Link replied. "But everyone else."

"You're defending her?"

"Hemisi, please," Link begged, getting the courage to look her in the eye again. "Please. I don't want anyone else to die. I especially don't want you to get hurt."

"You think I'd let them kill me?" she asked challengingly, though her tone was quiet and the way her eyebrow rose was as cheeky as it could be.

Link had to smile at it, complications forgotten temporarily, and he hugged her so tightly he could barely breathe. She held him just as fiercely. "I love you so much."

Hemisi's breath tickled his ear, shaky and vulnerable, and she buried her face in his shoulder to hide the tremble in her tone. "I love you too."

The pair stood there for what felt like hours, clinging to each other for comfort, desperate to express their care for each other, terrified to release each other, wanting nothing more than to make the rest of the world melt away.

Voices came ever closer, and eventually they let go. Hemisi dipped down to pick up the crown that had fallen off Link when they'd tumbled to the ground, and she silently placed it back on his head.