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lethalchiralium · 1 year ago

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Drag Me Under | Happiness Series

a/n: ITS THE LAST POST BEFORE THE NEW YEARS!

warnings: mentions of drugging

summary: One moment, you’re home - the next? You’re somewhere you don’t recognize with people you don’t recognize either, holding one of your most precious valuables.

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There’s Simon, the cuddly man who adores being a girl dad and being a good husband. He’s quiet, he smiles, he loves holding either of his daughters for long periods of time - you’d be surprised if Mellie even learns to walk. He loves to kiss your head, loves to hold you, loves to be near you.

He plays dolls, he does tea parties, begrudgingly dresses up when asked by Winnie, but he still does it all with a smile on his face. He brushes little teeth in the morning and night, he changes diapers before you could ever try to, he hates tying his daughter’s shoes since she cries about leaving home and her toys. He kisses skinned knees, fingers bitten by Mellie, and stubbed toes.

That’s your Simon.

So when you come home crying from what was supposed to be a “day off” to go shopping and a spa day, Simon is there. He took one look at you when you came in the front door, four hours too early, he knew something was wrong. He put the baby in her bouncer, gently patted Winnie’s head, and made his way to you.

His hands touched your elbows, your hands were up shielding your face. His hands slid up, pulling yours away to look at your tear-stained face. You told him what happened, that a man harassed you at the coffee shop you went to right before you were meant to go to the spa. You quietly repeated what he said through tears and soft sobs, not wanting to describe how the man touched your back, but still detailing how he followed you - how you remembered what Simon said, wove through back streets until you found a tram and made your way home.

It’s not the first time you’ve been harassed, but it was one of the scariest. You wrapped around arms around your husband’s neck, expecting him to mold right to your body but he didn’t. His hands settled on your cheek and hip, a chaste kiss on your ear before he said he needed to go out for a pack of cigarettes.

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that you found a fresh pack on the kitchen counter, just out of reach of the girls. His wallet, his keys, both on the tile far out of reach - two things were missing from his “pile”. His knife, which has your first date with Simon etched on the side, and a balaclava with a skull painted onto its face.

The man who left your house wasn’t Simon, you knew that for sure when hours after you had put the girls to bed, there was a soft knock on the front door. Three, pause, one, pause, two. The man you opened the door to had bloody knuckles, a ripped shirt, and prideful eyes.

You moved aside, closing the front door and watching the anomaly as it observed you, brown eyes detailing your face. The man who stood in your front hallway, coated in blood on his stomach and arms was called Ghost.

You were always weary of Ghost. Simon disappears under his armor to be someone else, something else - a machine. Well oiled, maintained, and reliable. No feelings, they only get in the way. Ghost was the monster your husband was made to be, but Simon was the man you made into a husband. So when you pulled off the balaclava to a smile full of red, blood beginning to drip from his teeth - your heart sank. Like a dog, he shows you his injuries so you can take pride in them. But you don’t.

“What did you do?”

“I-“

“No.” You shook like a leaf, you weren’t scared that he was going to hurt you - you were scared he had killed someone. For you. “Why did you do that?”

“He touched you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t tell you that.”

“Your body did.”

You fought tears then.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What did you do to him?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you were scared. And it doesn’t take much to see how the armor began to be broken, that Simon was slowly peeking through.

“I didn’t kill him.” He said, hand gently resting on your arm. “He’ll be spending a couple days in hospital, he learned his lesson.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “But no one gets away with making you cry.”

•••

“She’s pretty.”

A cold hand touched your chin, you could barely move a muscle in your body. Your chest clenched with anxiety. Where were you? Who was talking? It sounded nothing like König’s Austrian accent, or anyone else you knew. Not any of the 141, no man you’ve ever heard.

“Did you get that baby to sleep?”

You felt sick at that exact second. Where was Mellie? Why couldn’t you open your eyes? You were holding her before… Oh god. Someone had gotten into the house, you were dragged out with Mellie - right past a bleeding out König. Nausea settled into your stomach like heavy ink, coating everything.

“Out like a light. Nothing a little morphine doesn’t fix.”

You could’ve thrown up at that second if it wasn’t for your body responding to any attempt to move, the air you took in to breathe was little. What did they give me? Why did they take Mellie? Is Winnie okay? Oh god, König. Laswell. Roach. Please have my daughter. Please save this one too.

“Boss said to leave them down here, right?”

“Yep. She should be waking up soon anyway.” There a slight chuckle. “Shame he won’t let us have our way like he usually does.”

“Apparently this one’s special, or whatever.”

“Sure. She’s married to a special forces operator. Boss knows which one, hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“The guy MI6?”

There’s a creak, a door slamming above you.

“Shit, he’s back already.”

“Let’s go. They’re fine.”

Creaking, more movement until a door opened, slammed shut, and there was a sharp metal thud - it sounded like a deadbolt. You could barely feel your fingers as you listened to the conversation upstairs, it seemed the floor was incredibly thin.

“Are they asleep?”

Lloyd.

Your thoughts were instantly engulfed in flames even though you were freezing cold; the ink turned to oil, your nausea turning into anger. Lloyd fucking Riley. Your father in law was behind this. Then it clicked. He was casing the house when he knocked. Laswell appearing must have thrown him off. He must have wanted to kidnap you himself.

It took all of your might, but your eyes sluggishly opened - your sight blurry, but you could see for the most part. The room you were in was dark, the only light seeping through was from the ceiling - in between rotting floorboards. You could see exactly where the men were standing; all right above you. You couldn’t tell feel much else, but at least you could see and hear. What did they drug you with? Hopefully the morphine they gave Mellie wasn’t enough to hurt her.

“Good.” A laugh. “She’s a darling little thing.”

“What, the baby?”

“Yes. And she’s beautiful too.”

“She is. Not sure why you’re not letting us-“

A step forward, four feet take a step back. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throats.” Silence for just a beat, boot snapped against a shin. “She is my plaything.” He then snapped in Russian, which you couldn’t understand a thing.

You tried not to be an angry person. You were committed to showing your girls that anger isn’t the answer. But it festered like a fever, slowly yet throughly seeping through your muscles. If anything happened to your daughter, you had no idea what you would do. Anything short of murder - you couldn’t even think of taking someone else’s life. That was Simon’s job.

Simon. Oh God, Simon.

There was hushed talking above you, you struggled to look around the room, trying to find your baby. Cardboard boxes, filled to the brim bins, a bookshelf with a broken shelf.

Find what you can use as a weapon. Nothing is off limits. If it can be used to stun or incapacitate your enemy, use it. Don’t let it go unless you have to. You could hear Simon speaking to you. He’d be here if he knew. You’d be out of here if he knew.

It’s okay. Stay calm. Find Melody.

You forced your legs to move, one by one and over the edge of the bed, you clenched your fists as best you could to gain more feeling in your arms. They definitely drugged you more intensely than they could have Mellie, it made you nauseous. You were able to sit up, your head spun and you fought to keep yourself from throwing up. You forced yourself to stand, you took a glance around. The closest things to you were a cardboard box, a broken laundry basket, and a ripped towel. You peered into the large cardboard box pushed against the wall and your shoulders dropped, anxiety flushed out of your chest as you instantly reached down to your sleeping daughter. “Oh Mellie baby.” Your weak arms scooped your sleeping baby, you kept her firmly against your chest as you moved back to the bed. You checked her over, making note that she wasn’t hurt - only a needle mark in her arm. It made you sick.

You kept her there in your arms for an hour, listening to hushed voices with fear in your heart. She barely woke up, forehead still warm - her fever having not broken yet. She was clammy. You were more terrified of your baby dying than you could ever be of the situation you were in.

You put Mellie on your bed for a few minutes after the first hour of being awake so you could scavenge the room for something, anything that they may have brought for you or Mellie. All you found was one of your old diaper bags with a handful of diapers, one bottle, half a bag of wipes and no medicine. You dumped it out into the raggedy quilt on the bed, pulling out all of the pockets with tears of worry in your eyes. You had nothing for her. You put what you had away, then returned to your spot - Mellie in your arms as she quietly slept.

The footsteps grew louder after a few minutes, then a door was opened - it sounded like the one at the top of the stairs. You held your baby even closer to your chest, pulling your legs up and trying to make her seem invisible. You watched as the figure you dreaded appeared - a distinctly harsher looking Lloyd Riley. He had cleaned himself up to case your house, now he was dressed in thick flannels, dark pants, and tattered boots. Clearly bundled up to fight the cold while you were left in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your daughter in a thin onesie.

He reached the bottom of the steps, a sick smirk tugged at his lips before he spoke. “You lied to me.”

You didn’t say a word.

“You are married to my son. You’re my daughter-in-law.” He smiled. “You’re a Riley.”

Your baby moved her arm, you didn’t look down.

“That baby of yours looks so much like my Tommy when he was that small. Can I hold her?”

“No.”

“She speaks.”

“I need medicine.”

Lloyd’s arms crossed, you felt your chest grow tight with fear. “What for?”

“My baby is sick.” Your voice was quieter than before, anxiety settled in heavy increments in your body. “I almost broke the fever but then you fucking took us from our home.”

Lloyd took a step back, nodding slightly. “Fine. That’s the only thing you get to ask for.”

“I don’t care if I don’t get to ask for anything else. She needs medicine.”

He doesn’t say a thing, only turning and walking back up the steps. You heard the door slam, the deadbolt click, and the creaking footsteps. You would’ve used your energy to keep listening to him, but your daughter began to stir in your arms. You looked down at her, silent tears ran down your face.

Simon, please hurry.

•••

“Hey darling, you didn’t answer my calls yesterday or today. I know I’m probably reading too much into it and being paranoid, I’m just worried.

“I um- I’ll be going dark for a few days, and I’d like to hear your voice before then. So call me back when you can, yeah?

“I love you. Kiss the girls for me.”

Simon ended the voicemail, pulling the phone from his ear before slipping it into his pocket. The cigarette between his fingers felt heavy as he pulled it up to his lips, taking a long drag before flicking it onto the ground. He ground the cigarette butt into the tarmac before he pulled his balaclava back down, his hands gripped the rifle attached to his front.

He normally would keep his phone in his locker, but now he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He walked towards the overhang, where Soap stood with a concerned look.

“No answer?”

Simon fished the phone out from his pocket, handing it to his sergeant. “No. She’s busy with the baby.” His friend gave him a look, one Simon knew wouldn’t go away until he investigated further. But Simon was confident in the security of three operators in his home. “She’s fine. Laswell would call me and tell me if she wasn’t.”

“I gotta bad feelin’, LT.”

“Your bad feelings have been wrong before.” He stared at Soap, annoyed. He wasn’t more anxious than he already was about leaving them, why is everyone making such a big deal about it? “Soap-“

“Hurry up, Soap, put that phone in your locker.” Price barked as he marched in between Simon and the sergeant, Soap gave him one last look before disappearing back into the barracks. Price was quickly followed by Gaz, who waved for Simon to follow as well.

“Shit.” He muttered, knowing he was late. “What happened?”

“Spotted one of the goons near Piccadilly Circus.” Gaz answered, Simon began to jog towards them. “Overwatch thinks they have eyes on their hideout.”

“Let’s go get ‘em, then.”

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#happiness series #happiness #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader

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pfctipper · 6 months ago

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[ tipsy ] hilldane for the kiss prompt? 👉🏻👈🏻

ohh ty so much for this one! i haven't written hilldane before but i adore them <3

[ tipsy ] for a drunken kiss

Andy looks different, in Melbourne.

Mostly, Eddie thinks, staring at him through unfocused eyes, it’s that he’s clean.

Without the dirt and sand of Guadalcanal smeared across his face Eddie can see the faint blond stubble on his jaw, the lighter flecks in his hair appearing and disappearing as they weave between the warm light of the streetlamps. His soiled combat fatigues have been discarded for his service uniform, slightly disarrayed this late in the evening, sleeves rolled up on his forearms but the silver bars on the jacket slung over his shoulder still gleaming brightly.

It still feels strange for Eddie to look down at himself and see his own there, and he lifts a hand to touch it almost without realizing, the movement of his hand unsteady.

Andy had touched it, too. Not when they’d pinned it on – that had been Eddie’s old company commander, a weary-faced old breed who had clapped him on the shoulder afterwards and said the boys will miss you, son in a way that had made something twist in Eddie’s stomach – but that night, when he’d caught him by the sleeve of his jacket to half tug him off the barstool he’d been sitting on and then pressed his palm to Eddie’s lapel.

‘This is my lieutenant,’ he’d said, smiling with what Eddie thought almost looked like pride in the dim light of the bar, head ducked down to say it half into Eddie’s ear, and the pretty girl he hadn’t noticed on Andy’s arm had laughed and tipped her head up so Andy could turn the smile to her and kiss her again, one hand on her waist and the other still resting on Eddie’s lapel.

Now, when he stumbles on the tram lines, not watching where he’s treading, Andy catches him around the waist and smiles in that way that’s broad but soft all at once, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

His fingers tighten in Eddie’s jacket when Eddie takes a longer step up on to the sidewalk, and Eddie hesitates for a moment before he puts his arm around Andy’s broad shoulders. It feels nice, having Andy tucked against him the same way the girl had been tucked into Andy as they’d left the bar, before Andy had kissed her on the cheek and held her hand to help her up on to the tram.

‘You coulda gone with her,’ Eddie says, suddenly, the words coming out a little slurred, and then, belatedly, ‘Sir.’

Andy does laugh then, head turned so it’s half-against Eddie’s neck. ‘Maybe,’ he says, only there’s an ease to it that Eddie knows means yes. ‘But after I went to all that effort to get you?’

Eddie stumbles again, only this time there aren’t any tram lines beneath his feet to trip him up, just the warmth of Andy’s breath against his neck. They’ve turned down an alleyway – nowhere near their billet, and nowhere Eddie recognizes at all, to the point he wouldn’t be sure they were still in Melbourne if it wasn’t for the faint screeching of a tramcar somewhere in the distance – and Andy catches him with his other hand now, too, pressing him back into the brick with a palm pressed flat over his lieutenant’s bar.

‘Y’didn’t have to go to any trouble, sir,’ Eddie says, after a beat, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t need to say it any louder; he can’t see Andy’s face without the light from the streetlamps, but he can feel the stubble he hadn’t noticed before against his own jaw, and he isn't sure Andy is listening, anyway.

‘Lieutenant Jones,’ Andy says, the way the Australians say it, lef-tenant Jones, and then he presses his mouth to Eddie's even as they're both still laughing, mouth tasting like rum and warmer even than the hot summer air around them, and hand still covering his lapel.

#prompts #slightly short-circuited my own brain thinking about ack-ack with his sleeves rolled up #ack ack haldane #hillbilly jones

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imaginatorcreates · 5 months ago

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All Aboard The Stagways, Little Ghost!

21 July 2024 — 21 July 2024

Summary: Ghost meets some new faces in the stagways, then proceeds to fight them. In the name of excitement.

Word Count: ~2.5k words

Author’s Note: Inspired by The Stagways Masters by @chipper-smol Important!: Please keep in mind that my knowledge on Pokemon is close to zero. I'm mostly here because of the Submas Twins. Most knowledge comes from Detective Pikachu (which I should rewatch), absorption of basic terms via mild osmosis (TY to my close friend of over a decade), Discord friends, and infodumps to my Tumblr inbox. Feel free to expand my knowledge though!

Also on AO3

If there was something that was true in the kingdom of Hallownest, it was that there were bugs who loved to fight. Sometimes they lived to fight and died carrying that purpose until something decided to finally dismantle them forever. Sometimes the bugs themselves didn’t wish to fight, but instead are influenced towards physical force through the infection within their minds. Their flimsy limbs reached out towards any and all moving things with wild, swinging motions, trying to protect themselves while a dream-like nightmare soothingly whispered in their mind. Sometimes, such bugs don’t so much enjoy fighting, but were born and raised to fight, so their dismissal quickly turns into joy when fast-paced nails are thrust.

Then there are others who are clearly still alive, in whatever sense that means, and who lived for the thrill of the battle. Those who lived to hear the crunch of exoskeleton and the metallic clash of nails against each other. Who let out glorious cries when a parry successfully saved them from injury. The examples that came to mind first for the Knight, the little Ghost of Hallownest, were the Mantis Tribes and the bugs in the Colosseum of Fools. It knew all too well how much those bugs valued physical prowess over one’s nail and body, may that be out of respect and protection or for geo. It had lost a good amount of geo, time, and sanity trying to battle the bugs. Its voidlike body was littered with small scars from nails puncturing its softer exoskeleton, alongside burns from acid and the bright orange infection.

It didn’t mind those scars too much though. It was proof that it was still out here, kicking and fighting. Ghost found these scars to not be a point of pride nor shame, but instead as something that just happened. It traced a faint, almost indiscernible crack down the middle of its skull-like head. That too, was a reminder that it was still fighting. How many times has it died? It didn’t know; all it knew is that it’s been enough times that the crack was certainly there under close inspection.

Ghost was a strong fighter, it knew that. It was also a very small bug in Hallownest, so one can imagine how long it took for it to fully traverse the fallen kingdom. As a result, it also valued the transportation system in Hallownest, despite the time and geo it took for them to fully restore it. There was nothing more relieving than finding a safe bench near a tram or stagway station and sitting on it. It was only there that Ghost could let itself fully relax, adjusting charms that they have equipped and moving its void around itself to heal up. Occasionally, there would be another bug sitting with it. Quirrel was one of them, and his quiet knowledge and wisdom soothed Ghost like no other. Quirrel wasn’t at this stagway station bench, so Ghost could only guess that he was out observing the ruins of the Hallownest.

Ghost hopped off the bench and was about to raise its nail to ring the bell to call the Old Stag to the station when it spotted something else. Attached to the metal pole where the golden bell hung was a pair of smaller silver bells. They looked newer than the older, sturdier bell that Ghost had always rung. More fragile too, its luster similar to a particular flower that gave the Knight more trouble than it was even worth. Ghost, being itself, decided to try and ring them to see what these bells might bring about.

Ghost unsheathed its nail, a strong weapon reforged multiple times by the Nailsmith, and lightly agitated the bells. The pair of silver bells rang at a higher pitch than the golden bell, but they rang for twice as long. Soon, from deep within the stagways, a rumbling sound started to echo. Ghost turned towards the opening, nail at the ready as the familiar rumbling of one stag multiplied into the rumbling of two stags.

From the dark tunnel, two stags burst forth and rumbled to a stop in front of the elevated station. They were distinctly stag-shaped, though one stag carried purple-blue flames atop holders on its body while the other had bits of yellow on its body that seemed to crackle in the air. They snorted and shook their heads out as two bugs gracefully hopped down from their back onto the platform in front of Ghost.

The bugs looked nearly identical in shape: four spindly limbs with defined digits and joints, a fluffy collar around each bug’s neck with a diamond-shaped broach nestled safely within, a hat atop each of the bugs’ head, and a long coat-like set of wings (at least, that was what what Ghost assumed). Where the bugs differed was in their coloration and small details. One bug was mostly white while the other mostly black. The white bug’s mask had its eyes carved up upwards to make it seem like it was perpetually smiling, while the black bug’s mask had its eyes carved downwards, giving it a frowny appearance. The two simultaneously leaned over Ghost, their light eyes glancing between the small vessel and each other.

“Greetings, little one!” the one in black said. His voice echoed through the station and caused a few smaller bugs to disperse from their hiding place. If Ghost could flinch from surprise, it would. “You’ve summoned us by ringing the silver bells. I am stagway master Ingo.”

“I am Emmet!” the one in white jumped in. His voice was a lot more static than Ingo’s, but what he lacked in intonation he made up for in circling around Ghost, his upper limbs moving about to accentuate his stiff words. “I’m also a stagway master. I’m with my older brother.” He swiftly crouched down into a squat and peered closely at Ghost. “You seem verrry strong! Like a good fighter!”

Ghost brandished its nail, holding a similar pose to when it challenged the Mantis Lords. Yes, it was very strong. Nothing that skill, learning, some SOUL, and some charms couldn’t help it with. What about it?

Emmet looked towards his brother, bouncing around in place as his eyes narrowed behind his mask. “You’re challenging us! Verrry gusty!”

“That is admirable of you, little Ghost,” Ingo said as Emmet started muttering something that sounded like, “Battle battle battle!”

Ghost shrugged. Its name got around quicker now that it had gotten around to earning the respect of the Mantis Lords, fighting in the Colosseum of Fools, fighting its half-sister Hornet…the list went on. The long story short was that it’s a bit well known among those who weren’t infected yet. It was given quite a few names, but its favorites were ‘Ghost’ and ‘Knight’. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising when Ingo and Emmet knew of its name and reputation.

The vessel brandished its nail once more.

“I am Emmet! Prepare for battle, little Ghost!” Emmet flourished his white and brown striped wings as he pointed to himself.

Ingo’s black and brown striped wings fluttered as he pointed outwards with one limb and downwards with the other, Emmet joining along with perfect symmetry. Ingo’s voice boomed, echoing through the entrance of the underground tunnels. “Please keep all weapons and limbs inside the moving stag at all times!”

“Filling out paperwork for that will be verrry tedious!”

“Battle will not proceed until the stags have reached a minimum cruising speed. After such, we only ask that you give it your all!”

“You’re not going to fall off. We’ll save you!”

The pair of identical bugs, one white and one black, simultaneously leapt onto their stags with a flap of their wings. They pointed towards the entrance to the stagways as their stags let out a deep grunt of preparation. “ALL ABOARD!”

Ghost leapt onto the closest stag and situated itself before the stags started to race down the dark tunnels. The purple-blue flames on Ingo’s stag held steady as the stags built up speed, while lighting crackled across Emmet’s stag.

“We have reached cruising speed!” Ingo announced. He unsheathed a large nail from a pouch on his stag. It was solid in shape with two small prongs on the end that quickly became engulfed in the same purple-blue flame emitted from his stag.

“Let’s battle, little Ghost!” Emmet exclaimed as he brought out two nails. They were identical, shaped more like large prongs (or Hornet’s head, if Ghost squinted). Yellow electricity sparked up and down the twin nails, causing Ghost to already feel like it was in over its head. What was that, three nails it had to defend itself from? And let it not mention that it was fighting two possibly very skilled masters of the nail on top of a moving stag.

Ghost, however, didn’t give up easily. It only prepared itself before rushing towards Ingo. It channeled its knowledge of the Nail Arts and performed a great slash towards the flaming darker bug.

Ingo fluttered away from the vessel and blocked the attack with his nail. “Bravo, little Ghost!” he exclaimed. Despite his mask making him look displeased with everything, his voice betrayed how excited he was with this. “But remember — !”

“I am Emmet! There are two of us!”

Ghost barely registered the movement of the other stagway master before it felt two nails pierce through its exoskeleton. Then, sharp shocks ran through its body before the nails were removed, damaging its body even more.

Ghost quickly charged up a cyclone slash and used its luminescent monarch wings to travel to the other stag. It had no time to heal as the two bugs were already hot on its trail. This time, it prepared a dash slash to Emmet before using some stored SOUL from its previous battles to send a shade soul towards Ingo.

Clearly, at least one of its attempts to damage the twins was successful as it heard a cry of pain. It felt itself gathering more SOUL and concluded that it hit Emmet. However, in retaliation for that, it felt fire pierce through its exoskeleton and burn away at some of its void.

Not good. What was that, at least four hits? It could only take around nine total before its exoskeleton broke and freed its shade. It was already a hassle to have to find its shade again, but in the depths of the stagways too? Ghost would consider that shade lost by then, along with the geo it collected.

It leapt and gained enough altitude before using its nail to bounce on the heads of the stagway masters, gaining more SOUL in the process and risking a few precious seconds to focus and heal some damage away. It barely managed to heal one stab that Emmet gave it before said bug rushed towards it with his nails brandished.

The two performed a series of hits and parries, the sound of metal ringing through the stagway tunnels enunciated by the crackle of lightning dancing on Emmet’s weapons. Emmet laughed and started to pressure Ghost to the ground, the combination of strength and weaponry starting to win over. “I am Emmet, and you look like you’re struggling!”

Ghost powered up another spell before letting out an abyss shriek.

The lights in the tunnels flickered as the dark spell wracked the younger stagway master. The electricity on his nails disappeared for a moment as he knelt there, stunned.

Ghost managed to get one hit in before a fiery nail plunged itself into its exoskeleton and started to burn away at its insides. “Rules of the stagway battles,” Ingo exclaimed, “mention that we don’t fight to the death.” His voice was tinged with anger at the vessel, but also slightly with breathlessness, as if he was curious as to where this might lead. He removed his nail as he added, “Hold your ideals steady, little Ghost! Would you kill or provide mercy?”

“That’s a killing machine, big brother,” Emmet said as he regained his senses. He laughed and stumbled up, hitting his nails against each other to reignite the lightning. “It’s verrry good at killing other bugs. That’s the truth.”

Ghost didn’t deny either brother. Fighting to the death was usually how it fought if nothing else was clear. Fighting to the death meant freedom from the infection. However, it knew when to stop. This would be like fighting the Mantis Lords or Hornet. Fighting for honor.

Ghost brandished its nail once again.

The fight from then on became less of frantic clashing of the nails and more of a very intense spar. It reminded Ghost of a mixture between the Nailmasters and Grimm. The stagway masters were treating this fight like a spar, encouraging towards not killing or dangerously harming Ghost (as demonstrated when they both knocked the vessel back towards the stags when it leapt a bit too close to the edge of the larger moving insects). But they still loved to show off akin to Troupe Master Grimm. Both demonstrated years of battle prowess both as separate units and as a pair. Both were skilled with a nail (or two), with or without the extra flourishes of fire and electricity. Still, there were a few surprises, such as when Ghost dodged Ingo’s fiery nail only to get hit with fire from behind.

“Oops!” Emmet laughed. “Not sorry, little Ghost!”

So, the brothers were well-versed in each other’s form of spells too. Good to know.

Eventually, the lights of the stagway tunnels cleared to the lights of the station up ahead. Ghost was battered and a bit tired, and the twin brothers appeared the same, though they both tried to hide it. Emmet’s fluffy collar was made extra fluffy with all the lighting he had surrounded himself with, while Ingo’s hat was slightly singed at the edges. There were also hints of lightning and fire burns on the twin’s upper limbs from casting the other’s spells.

The moment the stags came to a stop next to the elevated platform, Ghost hopped off and rested on a bench. It started the slow process of healing its numerous injuries when it felt itself being sandwiched between two bugs.

“Super bravo, little Ghost!” Ingo congratulated the vessel. His voice was still as loud as ever despite carrying a tired tone to it. “You were a formidable opponent, and I wouldn’t object to battling against you again.”

“Good job!” Emmet added. “I am Emmet, and I am very tired and sore. But I will soon battle you again!” He poked at Ghost’s skull-like head before he let himself relax into the bench.

Ghost was sure that it would find the two stagway masters again. After all, it was very small and Hallownest was very big. It needed public transportation, so finding the twin bugs wasn’t a matter of ‘if’.

It was a matter of ‘when’.

#Ima Writes #writing #my writing #original writing #crossover #hk #hollow knight #hk ghost #pokemon #submas #ingo #emmet #stagway masters

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unpopularvivian · 22 days ago

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New Ttte Fusion AU: Protocol 4774

GUESS WHAT BITCHES???? IT'S THE GORDON-TOBY FUSION CHARACTER YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR, IT'S ROBERT!!!!!!

(All thanks to @jessythebunny for giving me this wonderful idea to create this wonderful character)

Lore:

Robert was initially created during a natural disaster on Sodor, specifically a tsunami with all of the engines trying to help everybody to get to safety. Gordon and Toby almost ended up dying when saving Sir Topham Hatt's grandkids and in a last ditch attempt to save them, Lady decided to fuse the two together to make them stronger, faster and better than before.

Initially, it ended up working! Robert was able to save Stephen and Bridget Hatt and was renounced as a hero. But.....Because fusion NEVER happened in Modernly Classical or even in Classically Modern and Gordon and Toby were basically the patient zero of the whole process, Lady never figured out how to separate the two once the disaster was over.

So with Gordon's and Toby's conscious trapped in this unknown and strange body, they began to start panicking and that led to Robert embodying the two's worst flaws and faults. Becoming emotionally unstable and would often ravage through Gordon's and Toby's clothes to try and get some sort of Tobyness or Gordoness back into him.

Eventually, the two engines in Robert's body would learn how to work together and cooperate and Robert started to form his combined personality of the two.

Fun Facts!

Robert is a cheerful but serious engine who is deathly loyal to his friends and loved ones. But be careful, he can be prideful and has a sharp tongue. (So you better not insult his ass) He can also be very fussy. Sometimes it's cute and sometimes it's not.

He's a transgender asexual bisexual with a male preference.

He's a NSGWT Steam Tram (It's a placeholder, let me know if there are other classes that can be used for him)

He is very protective of his coaches, that includes the Express coaches and Henrietta. Really likes to shunt his own coaches but refuses to let anybody else do it because they'll "damage them". Henry is unfortunate enough to get slapped in the face or by the wrist by Robert every time he approaches the coaches. (On Robert's defense: Henry is an ass shunter)

If Robert get injured, the pain is felt both through Gordon and Toby.

When Robert speaks, his voice is a combined voice of Gordon's and Toby's voice. Toby and Gordon are able to take full control of Robert's body whenever they need to. When Toby is in control, Robert's eyes turn completely brown and his voice and mannerisms are more akin to Toby. When Gordon is in control, Robert's eyes are completely blue instead. (Think of Ying and Yang from II)

Has two nicknames. Robby for when Toby is in control and Robertson when Gordon is in control.

#ttte #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte gordon #ttte toby #ttte oc #ttte robert #ttte human au #ttte humanisation #ttte human #ttte humanised #ttte headcanon #ttte fusion au #protocol 4774 ttte au

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shamebats · 7 months ago

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The trams have little progress flags now, Pride is upon us

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dwellordream · 1 month ago

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“Medieval scholars inherited the idea from ancient times that there were seven primary colours: white, yellow, red, green, blue, purple, and black. Green occupied a central position, symbolically balanced between the extremes of white and black. It was also regarded as a soothing colour. Scribes often kept emeralds and other green objects nearby to rest their eyes. The poet Baudri de Bourgueil even suggested writing on green tablets instead of white or black ones for this reason.

Michel Pastoureau writes that “the true medieval opposite for white was not so much black as red.” This can be seen in the way Europeans adapted chess. When the game was adopted in Europe, the pieces and chessboard were painted in white and red, contrasting with the black and red sets common in India and the Middle East.

It was only towards the end of the Middle Ages that the white versus black dichotomy became more favoured. A key factor in this shift was the advent of printing, where black ink was used on white paper, reinforcing the perception of these colours as natural opposites.

Arthurian romances, one of the most popular forms of literature in the High Middle Ages, frequently employed colour symbolism, particularly in the depiction of knights. Pastoureau notes that these narratives used colours to convey deeper meanings and character traits. He writes:

The color code was recurrent and meaningful. A black knight was almost a character of primary importance (Tristan, Lancelot, Gawain) who wanted to hide his identity; he was generally motivated by good intentions and prepared to demonstrate his valor, especially by jousting or tournament. A red knight, on the other hand, was often hostile to the hero; this was a perfidious or evil knight, sometimes the devil’s envoy or a mysterious being from the Other World. Less prominent, a white knight was generally viewed as good; this was an older figure, a friend of protector or the hero, to who he gave wise council. Conversely, a green knight was a young knight, recently dubbed, whose audacious or insolent behavior was going to cause great disorder; he could be good or bad. Finally, yellow or gold knights were rare and blue knights nonexistent.

During the Early Middle Ages, monastic rules stipulated that monks should not concern themselves with the colour of their clothing. However, over the centuries, their attire became increasingly darker. The Cluniacs, one of the most influential monastic communities, believed that black was the appropriate colour for one’s habit. This perspective faced backlash in the twelfth century when the Cistercians adopted a white habit.

The debate over monastic colours was intense among the leaders of these orders. Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, argued that black represented humility and renunciation, while white symbolized pride and was suitable for holidays and resurrection. In contrast, Bernard of Clairvaux, abbot of Clairvaux, claimed that white stood for purity, innocence, and virtue, whereas black symbolized death and sin, even likening it to the devil’s appearance.

Green is widely associated with Islam, but this association only developed in the twelfth century. The Quran mentions green eight times, always positively, as a colour representing vegetation, spring, and paradise. The Prophet Muhammad favoured green garments, including a green turban. While green was linked to Muhammad’s descendants, different colours were associated with the ruling Islamic dynasties: white for the Umayyads, black for the Abbasids, and red for the Almohads.

Pastoureau believes that green became a unifying colour for Muslims in the 1100s. He writes, “Its symbolism is associated with that of paradise, happiness, riches, water, the sky, and hope. Green became the sacred colour.” Consequently, many medieval copies of the Quran had green bindings or covers, a tradition that continues today. Religious dignitaries often wear green, whereas green gradually disappeared from carpets to avoid trampling on such a venerable colour.

Michel Pastoureau’s book on blue begins by highlighting the neglect this colour faced among the ancient Greeks and Romans, who rarely wrote about it or used it. He even explores the intriguing question of whether ancient peoples could perceive blue at all! This neglect persisted through the early Middle Ages until the twelfth century. “Then suddenly,” writes Pastoureau, “in just a few decades, everything changes – blue is ‘discovered’ and attains a prominent place in painting, heraldry, and clothing.”

The first significant shift in the ‘blue revolution’ was the use of blue to represent the clothing of the Virgin Mary. The scene of Mary mourning Jesus’ crucifixion was popular in the Middle Ages, and once artists began depicting her cloak in vibrant blue, it quickly became the standard. Additionally, artists, especially those working in stained glass, overcame technical limitations in creating blues, allowing the colour to be used in various mediums and clothing. Pastoureau notes that by the thirteenth century, monarchs such as France’s Louis IX and England’s Henry III began wearing blue, leading it to become the colour of medieval royalty.

Yellow initially benefited from its resemblance to gold, which bolstered its reputation. Many medieval heraldic symbols incorporated yellow, and possessing blonde hair was considered highly fashionable. However, in the Later Middle Ages, yellow began to acquire negative associations, including envy and heresy. Judas, the apostle who betrayed Jesus, was increasingly depicted wearing yellow clothing. Consequently, it was unsurprising that when the Catholic Church convicted the Czech reformer Jan Hus of heresy in 1415, they dressed him in a yellow robe for his execution.

Yellow also became associated with Jews, and as European Christians enforced clothing regulations on Jewish communities, yellow was often (though not always) included. By the early modern period, yellow fell out of favour, perceived as gaudy and unpopular.”

- Michel Pastoureau, “Colour in the Middle Ages”

#michel pastoureau #medieval #fashion #christian #muslim #religion #cw: antisemitism

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