#he ignored it and kept working until his companions forced him to go to the hospital because he was too sick

[utskushii-hito]

I have died infected by the Rakghoul plague because I wanted to know how the stages of the disease worked... I didn't think the second stage would have been fatal.

[stayconnecteed]

hi bby <3 i just saw your post and im here to request something 👉👈

i wondering if you could work something with jisung and love at first sight? idk i've been watching too many romcoms lately. it's totally okay if you don't want to write it though, love you <33

🪐˓⠀˚⠀summertime longing⠀@⠀han jisung.

bridgerton au , jisung is head over heels for you ㅤ—⠀⠀at first sight. mention of little wounds ( scratches, really ) & soonie is a paid actor hehe 🫶🏼 this is not a part of my dear gentleman oneshots & it's not proofread. i hate to write on my phone but i don't have my laptop. hope you like it, mana 🤍

SEE MORE.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀2.4k words. ⠀⠀general mlist.⠀⠀join taglist.

The carriage stopped, and Jisung didn't wait for the door to open before jumping out. He was late, and although it wasn't unusual, his old friend Minho would kill him if he didn't show up on time. He didn't bother to look at his pocket watch as he walked the cobblestone path of the Lee manor's entrance, flashing an apologetic smile at the housekeeper who had watched him grow up as she opened the door for him before his fingers caressed the metal knocker. The hall was empty, the only source of noise the bustle coming from the kitchen, and Jisung knew that the guests had already been moved to the garden. Minho was going to notice his absence. Shit.

He hurried through the hallways, the rustle of the fabric of his pants ringing in his ears with each step as the only soundtrack to his march, until he reached the large glass windows of the blue room. He stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath to calm the erratic beating of his heart, flattening the lapels of his suit jacket against his chest. He wanted to think that the shaking in his hands was a creation of his creative mind, but in reality it was just a side effect of his lack of social skills. Jisung closed his eyes. He didn't know why he kept arriving late to places when it made him so uncomfortable to have to enter a room full of people totally alone.

Then he realised that on that occasion the people were in the garden, and he was the one who remained in the room, and he chuckled, shaking his head. What an idiot. He would be fine. Plus, he knew the Lees — it wasn't going to be that bad.

The first to see him as soon as he stepped out onto the terrace was Lady Lee, the Earl of Gimpo, and she quickly gestured for him to come towards her, ignoring the panicked face of the man who should have announced him when he arrived. He did not have to force the smile that curved his lips in reflection of the one that the woman in front of him had, and he responded to her effusive greeting and affectionate comments with easy laughter and lots of promises of meetings with his own mother as soon as possible.

Minho and his family had been travelling all spring, and now that the first rays of sun heralded summer in its most comforting form, they had finally returned, to enjoy the few months of heat before the new season began. And Jisung couldn't wait to hug his best friend again, even if it meant putting up with all the jokes about the experience he had gained in Europe and how little he had been missed. It was part of who Minho was, all the teasing and the sharp smirks, and the least he could do was get to his welcome back event on time, which… Well, he hadn't been able to do it.

Lady Lee's attention slid from her son's friend to the man she had been chatting with before, and Jisung offered a respectful bow, trying to finally find Minho in the crowd. Until he found his broad shoulders moving in silent laughter at his companion's words. And he saw you, the companion, giggling too, covering your mouth with an expert twist of your fan, your cheeks flushed, in front of Minho. Then you looked at him, and for a minute he forgot everything about how to breathe. 

Because looking into your eyes was like listening to a melody. He could hear the quartet that Minho's mother had chosen for the event playing from the little wooden platform by the lake, but it was a completely different tune than that. Your gaze, cheerful and serene, sang of mischievous breezes swaying the treetops at will, of dances without music barefoot on the grass and of the warm rays of the sun kissing your skin. You brought the summer with you, that summer that filled him with life and hope, and as he lost himself in your bright pupils, standing among the crowd, he wondered how his heart had been able to beat until that moment when it didn't had you to beat for.

“Hey, Ji!” Minho called his name, approaching him in a couple of steps, and wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Minho was dry in words, but his actions showed clearly enough how he truly felt about his friends.

Jisung's body reacted with the force of habit, letting himself be embraced and tightening his grip on Minho, as if he was afraid that he would get back on that ship with the desire to travel the world. He couldn't allow it, at least for a long time. Or unless they went together. And after one last squeeze he let him step away, Jisung's hand firm on Minho's back, as the Lees' only son turned to you.

“This is Lord Han, as I told you,” he explained, and you bowed before him, lowering your head with a lingering smile curving your lips. Jisung wanted to kiss that smile into his mouth, but he cleared his throat instead, trying to fill his mind with other — more appropriate — thoughts.

“Milady here wanted to visit our city,” he continued, offering his hand to you, waiting for you to rest it over his, and squeeze it with a familiarity that made Jisung’s heart sting, “so I proposed to her to travel back with us and stay for a while. She was the girl I told you about in my last letter.”

The last letter that had arrived that morning, and that he hadn't read because he was arriving late.

“Then you were absolutely right, my brother,” Jisung uttered, his words withering in his tongue as he linked the word ‘propose’ between you and Minho, “you were going to try to find beautiful views out there in the world. You truly discovered the most breathtaking one.”

Minho gave Jisung a playful punch on the shoulder, his chest filling with pride, ready to affirm any compliment his friend could mutter about you, but he stopped when he saw you addressing Jisung, your voice soft and honeyed, still hidden behind your fan. 

“My lord really praised your composer skills during our trip here,” you whispered, averting your magnetic gaze from his as if you were having trouble bearing the knowledge that Jisung was observing you, completely stunned, but also desperate to have a conversation with you. “He forgot to add how much of a gentleman you were.”

Jisung accepted your words with a light blush covering his cheeks, and he raised his hand almost instantly, narrowing his eyes and waiting, until you released your hold on Minho's hand and let yours rest on Jisung's. His breath got caught in his throat as he felt the soft fabric of your gloves on his fingers, and he wanted to imagine that the way you held your own breath was also due to the touch his lips left on the back of your hand — the greeting of any gentleman. 

And just before either of you could say a single word, you heard Lady Lee scream by the terrace, absolutely stressed, and a spark of orange fur running across the grass like a shooting star in the darkest night. Minho gasped, and Jisung knew. His cats.

You were the one who took the initiative, smashing your fan into Minho's chest and grabbing the hem of your dress in one swift move, following the mischievous creature at a fast pace, ignoring the calls of the rest of the men at the event. Jisung stared at you, starstruck, before running after you. It wasn't the first time he had dealt with Minho's cats, they knew him, for them you were a stranger. It would be his fault if the animal started to get stressed and ended up hurting you. 

The hurried race took him to the forest adjacent to the Lee property, and by the time Jisung spotted you among the foliage, he froze. Your bun had come loose, your hair loose falling over your back, and you had your dress pulled too far up your thighs, fully prepared to climb the tree where Soonie was waiting, curious about what you were doing.

Jisung couldn't think. He didn't know if you had heard him arrive, but he didn't care. He could only focus on the smooth skin he was witnessing — more than he had ever seen in his life — contrasting with the colour of your dress. You didn’t seem uncomfortable being barefoot, your low heels abandoned among the thick roots of the weeping willow, one foot resting on a gap between the folds of the robust trunk and your hands holding tightly to the lowest branches. 

It would be difficult to reach Soonie, because its branch, although low, was too thin for a human, even dangerous with the way it was located above the lake. Jisung could understand why the cat had chosen that tree. He also liked the way its leaves swayed in the wind, and it really did look like a giant feline toy, but they already had scratching toys and little houses in the manor, all handmade by Minho. The adventure had to end before something went wrong.

But before he could warn you of his presence, a leaf creaked under his boots, alerting you, scaring you, and making you lose focus on your tightrope walk along the branch below Soonie's. You lost your balance completely, and Jisung saw your hands trying to grab onto something, anything, before falling into a loud splash on the edge of the lake. Jisung would have laughed if his heart hadn't jumped in his chest, if you had been someone else, if he wasn't so deeply scared that you were seriously wounded. 

He rushed over to where you were, mumbling a string of “I'm sorry’s” as you emerged from the water, taking a breath of oxygen, holding onto the hand Jisung was offering you. Your hair formed spirals in the water, floating around you, just like your dress. Jisung felt so overstimulated that he wasn't able to process how he had just gotten his pants wet, the level of the water reaching over his waist. All he could think about was that your gloves had torn, and that he was touching your skin, the soft but bloody skin of your outstretched hands, and that you were so close that he could feel your rapid breathing on his arm. 

He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the thoughts that were popping into his head, and pulled you lightly so you could stand up. Only instead of getting angry with him, blaming him for spying on you, your lips curved into a smile, and you let out a crystalline laugh, closing your eyes and relaxing your shoulders before him. You were the picture of happiness, cheeks still rosy and your chest rising and falling against the corset at full speed. Even he felt on edge, with adrenaline bubbling everywhere. 

“There’s no need to be sorry, lord Han” you whispered under your breath, your eyes falling over him, Soonie purring above your heads. “It was a funny accident. I shouldn't have tried to climb so high.”

You weren't apologizing for running away but for not thinking about the density of the branch, Jisung noticed, and he couldn't help but widen his smile at it. He was getting lost in your gaze again, too captured by you, and everything was going too fast. He didn't know if it was good or bad, but he didn't want it to stop. Until he realised that you were getting goosebumps, and the first shiver ran through you. He cursed himself for not having acted sooner, and helped you out of the lake with difficulty, the ground on the shore completely muddy. You were cold.

Jisung avoided looking at you as he turned slightly to take off his expensive suit jacket, ready to give it to you, but when he turned to offer it, he saw that you were removing your dress. He was quick to put his jacket on you before you could continue, shame creeping up his neck and leaving a trail of blush in its wake, and you flashed a mischievous smile, fully aware.

“I’m not going to end up naked, lord Han” you assured him, grabbing the thick fabric of your dress and leaving it on the grass, the figure of your body crafted by the thin white nightgown you wore underneath, before snuggling into Jisung's warm black blazer, “you should court me first.”

Your words snapped Jisung out of the haze he was in, suppressing the urge he had to run his hands along your arms to help you warm up, and he picked up your dress and shoes from the floor, keeping his hands well occupied. He was a gentleman, he shouldn't… He had to involve you both in situations appropriate for a young lady like you. Not in an improvised swim, where you were going to end up so... God, so delicate and delicious, looking at him that way. 

He couldn’t. Not when everyone knew where you were, when Soonie was judging you two among the roots of the trees, approaching Jisung with the confidence of having found a familiar human. Before he could get any closer, you crouched down, holding out your fingers so he could smell them. It took a suspicious look and realising that Minho's cologne was still soaked in you to accept being held in your arms, sticking to your body to provide you with more warmth. 

Jisung had to remember to buy Soonie more treats the next time he visited Minho. 

“Are you coming?” you asked, oblivious to the way the vision you were was killing Jisung inside, you in his clothes, with that cheeky smile, your hair a wet mess but still looking so beautiful.

Still, he nodded, treasuring every second in his memory. One look, and you had cast a spell on him. He would follow you wherever you asked as long as you were the one to guide him. He knew he was in love, because you held his heart in your hand as easily as you had taken Minho's cat, and if you broke it it would hurt more than a bad cut with a rusty knife. He had fallen catastrophically, and was now at your total mercy. The worst part, however, was that he didn't care at all.

© stayconnecteed 2024 ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Heya, this is a somewhat specific Glitchy Red x GN! reader request (romantic or platonic; I don't really have a preference). Feel free to ignore this if it happens to be overwhelming.

So, Glitchy Red. We all know him: a vengeful sentient glitch designated wrong by his creator and left to be forgotten and replaced by the next generation. He's nothing but a lone sentient trapped in the endless sea of mindless NPCs whose purpose is to be controlled by a player.

And then we have a streamer!reader who acts like Failboat: a chaotic, happy-go-lucky, and slightly unhinged individual whose humor can be described as morally questionable. It doesn't help that their chat relentlessly takes (light-hearted) jabs at them and gives them Ls every time they mess something up in the game, as well as having a random obsession with Gex the Lizard.

What if Glitchy Red somehow faceplanted into the Pokémon Violet game and meets streamer!reader, who was doing a Nuzlocke? Maybe Red has a one-sided dislike of them until he grows to tolerate them without realizing it.

I got inspired by this video and one of the works you did, fdgdrsgdgdrg ( https://youtu.be/DQsfj3gvd9I and https://clanwarrior-tumbly.tumblr.com/post/702954957291372544/been-binge-reading-your-poke-pasta-stuff-i-dont )

Omg I wish I discovered Failboat sooner bc that nuzlocke video you showed me was hilarious

THANK you for it <333333

.........

"Yes! We caught the Salandit! Sorry I took you away from your family, bud..but you're mine now. This one's a male but it's fine. He doesn't need to be a Salazzle to be strong and beautiful. All he needs is a name..any ideas, guys?"

Looking to the chat for a brief moment, you saw new comments already flooding in, your viewers throwing out several names you could give your newly-acquired companion (who was likely going to be "sacrificed" at some point).

You've been doing livestreams of the Nuzlocke challenge throughout your gameplay of Pokémon Violet. And while you finished the main game without having to start over, you decided to try your hand at the Teal Mask DLC.

You were still early in the story, but you wanted to take your time with it, focusing on catching one 'mon in each area.

With Salandit as the first you came across, you allowed your viewers to name him, and fortunately an overwhelming majority of them already had one figured out:

"Gex!"

"Gex the lizard!!"

"Who tf is Gex???"

"OMG haven't heard that name in years!!"

"IT'S TAIL TIME!!!"

"I like Gex"

"Okay, Gex it is!" Grinning from ear-to-ear, you named Salandit before sending him out to "kill" all the other wild unsuspecting Pokémon. You just laughed, happy to see your son going out and wrecking havoc and destruction...

Until you accidentally made him target a stronger Pokémon that sent his health into the red zone.

"Gex wore itself out and came back to you!" The message popped up as the poor lizard scurried back to your side, and you restored his health.

Your viewers, meanwhile, were spamming the comments with a single letter.

"L"

"L"

"L"

"L"

"L"

"Oh stop it, you guys." You shook your head, amused. "I misclicked.... you gotta give me a break."

They kept coming regardless, so you put your strongest Pokémon as the first member of your party, deciding to battle a nearby trainer: one of the festival kids, as they were called.

Never before have you had an easier time doing a Nuzlocke run in this game--considering it's entirely free roam and you weren't forced into battles by making eye contact. The only issue was that the level-scaling was odd, and you've lost some treasured Pokémon along the way due to being so unprepared.

Of course, this challenge didn't come without you having to make some sacrifices.

Luckily you only ran into that issue with one gym leader who was more overleveled than you expected, but even then your viewers were relentless with their Ls, skull emojis, and the like.

Now that you've accomplished becoming champion, defeating the titans, besting Team Star, and saving all of Paldea from ecological doom.....you got to relax a little in this DLC.

Hopefully you wouldn't lose anyone by the end of it.

.........

"Oof I definitely could use this Pokémon...and the XP candies. What do you guys think? I'm in a new area so it counts."

"Do it!"

"YESSS"

"No they have to be in the wild!!!"

"What about no overleveled pkmn?"

"Oh, c'mon..it's three stars." You huffed at the last comment you read, shaking your head. "That ain't overleveled. Lemme see who can knock them out in one hit, hang on.."

Backing out of the tera raid menu for a moment, you looked at your roster, before checking your boxes for any "living" Pokémon who could take out the raid boss instantly.

But right as you found the perfect one, you noticed the sky glitching in the background, and after closing out of the menu....something rather bizarre happened:

A brief flicker of light in the sky, followed by an unknown entity falling to the earth. It looked like a person surrounded by glitchy particles--like the ones you'd see in old video games.

Of course, you knew Violet was notorious for its many broken animations and whatnot, but that was new.

You've never seen an NPC glitch like that before.

"Did ya'll see that? I'm gonna check that out really quick.."

Now completely ignoring the comments of confusion, you called out Miraidon to go investigate.....whatever you just saw. You had it speed towards the location, thinking that the mystery entity would despawn by the time you got there.

Luckily, it didn't, but you quickly realized it wasn't some Pokémon or even a trainer who belonged in this DLC.

In fact, he resembled the very first Pokémon protagonist:

Red, although this one had black spiky hair and didn't look anything like the lean kid trainer he was in previous generations.

Even so, this certainly gave you a whiplash of memories..as you recalled doing a Sun/Moon Nuzlocke challenge and were pleasantly surprised to see Red in the game.

And even before that, you did a Gold/Silver/Crystal Nuzlocke and almost lost horribly to him.

Yep..fun times, indeed.

"No way...it's Red again, guys! This is--oh shit, whoops."

A cutscene was triggered, although you swore that you didn't press any buttons. But you passed it off as your excitement over the thought of unlocking a hidden secret in this DLC getting out of hand.

Yet that happiness wore off and became replaced by a feeling of....nervousness.

Especially when you saw "Red's" expression.

He looked nothing short of menacing. Of course, he was usually a silent trainer and held a stoic demeanor...however this iteration of him almost appeared angry, for some reason. A dark shadow was hiding both of his eyes, even as he stared directly at you.

No, not at your player character who was standing off to the side.

But you, the player themselves

For a few moments nothing happened, and you thought the game was broken.

Then a dialogue box popped up, with "Glitchy Red" being the name above it, outright confirming your suspicions.

"Where am I?"

Normally, you would be able to respond with one of two prompts. But the box on the right side of the screen only had blank spaces in them, so you didn't know which one to choose.

You had no time to pick, as they quickly glitched out of existence, and Red shook his head.

"Forget it. I already know the answer...I'm in another goddamn prison." He stared at his hands with a bitter-looking gaze. "Why was I brought here? Why am I....in 3D?"

Besides from his swearing catching you off-guard, you were genuinely perplexed by everything else he was saying--especially the fact that he seemed self-aware, apparently speaking directly to you and able to influence your game.

"Is anyone else seeing this? Chat...?" You muttered, briefly glancing to the chatroom, knowing your viewers HAVE to be freaking out over this-

But there were no comments.

They've all suddenly gone offline due to an "internet connection" issue, and the viewer count was at zero. Even though you were still recording, nobody else was joining the stream.

It was just you and him.

"Sorry, I don't like to be watched."

Looking back at the dialogue box, your eyes widened as you read his response. 'How did he know I was doing a livestream? Is this something new from Gamefreak...? Did I get a bootleg copy of Violet?'

"I can't believe this jerk sabotaged my stream-"

"I can hear you, y'know."

"....w-wait..seriously??" You adjusted your headphones and the mic, seeing him nod. "How can you do that? And why are you in my game?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"..I feel like I'm going crazy. Am I going crazy-?"

"Enough questions. I'LL be asking them from now on."

Without warning, Glitchy Red turned to your character and put his hand around their throat, as though attempted to strangle them. Much to your horror, they didn't react with any emotion whatsoever...although upon making physical contact with them, their body began glitching.

It was the same particles he had around himself.

For some reason, you began feeling an intense pressure on your own neck, and you put a hand to it, eyes wide.

'What kind of voodoo shit is this?!'

"So this is what they replaced me with, huh?" He cocked his head to the side, grimacing. "It's bad enough that brown-eyed kid did, but...what generation is this?"

You snapped out of your shocked state, fearing that he'll end up corrupting your whole save file if you made him any angrier. 'I better play it cool and just answer him...'

"You're in um...Generation 9. Pokémon Violet."

"....Gen 9? I've skipped over that much? Interesting...who the hell is this, then?"

"M-My player character. Pokémon's come a long way, so now we can uh...customize our protagonists and change their looks entirely."

"...I see." He let go of your character, who thankfully stopped glitching, before his gaze went to Miraidon. "What the hell...this thing is a Pokémon, too?"

"Believe it or not, yeah. It helps me get around the map waaay faster" You chuckled as he stared at the futuristic dragon type with curiosity. "If I can tell you one thing about it...it loves sandwiches. Just say "sandwich" and see how it reacts!"

He just scowled at you, not appreciating your sudden cheeriness. "Does it look like I'm in the mood for jokes?"

"What? No, it's not a-"

"Then tell me everything about this game, and don't give me any useless crap."

.......

Glitchy Red ended up tagging along in your character's adventures throughout Kitakami. But it was really just him listening to you explain the game in further detail, alongside showing him how battles work.

Obviously, he was very much new to this generation given he was from an ancient bootlegged version of Red, so you had a lot to share. He seemed flabbergasted by fairy types, tera raids, etc..although you did remind him that he wanted you to tell him everything.

His only response was a scowl and making the Pokémon you wanted to catch flee, but you expressed no hard feelings.

In fact, you became less terrified and more thrilled that you were actually speaking to a video game character--and what luck you had for it to be Red, of all people! (despite this version being a grumpy sentient glitch who acted like YOU put him in here)

At some point, the chatroom came back online and your viewers returned, expressing concerns about why you went offline out of nowhere.

However the tone immediately shifted to Glitchy Red the moment they noticed him on-screen, and the comments practically exploded..or at least for a short time:

"Red????"

"Is that Red?"

"Did u unlock a secret character??"

"OMG GLITCHY RED FROM FNF???"

"Wtf hes not from fnf bro"

The flood didn't last long as he forced the comments to switch off, and he made it clear that he didn't want them on again. And he demanded that you stopped recording, too.

He accused you of trying to "use" him for entertainment...which spiraled into him ranting over being in a similar situation back in his old game where he had no choices and was forced to see things he didn't wish to (and even projecting onto your own character a little, too).

It caused him pain and nobody cared, he said.

But now?

Now that he has more power, free will, and the knowledge that he's no longer any player's character to control, he felt liberated.

Of course, he was angry about not being totally free from the video game realm..but this was better than being stuck in that broken cartridge.

He'd rather die than go back to it.

With all that's happened, he thought you would've been more scared of him and what he could do, or even angry that he sabotaged your livestream and messed up your experience with the DLC.

Yet you seemed totally unbothered by his presence now.

You were actually....happy to talk to him, and he didn't know what to make of this. So he just acts completely disinterested, his scowl never leaving his face as he judges pretty much everything you do.

He does, however, start to see the slightly "darker" side to your cheery attitude as you explain the general rules of Nuzlocke challenges--and the ones you've set up for yourself in Violet.

All the while, you're letting Gex mercilessly crush an outbreak of Cutieflies, laughing and praising him for his "kills".

As Glitchy Red watches, he suddenly wonders if you really have gone crazy...and it amuses him a little.

After spending some time progressing through the story, you began to notice that he disappears during the normal cutscene and doesn't disrupt them in any way. He could have easily ruined your first experience with the DLC.

Yet..he stayed out of the way.

His excuse was that he kept "fighting with the code", but you didn't buy it.

He was growing soft...although obviously you weren't going to say that to him.

............

After attending the festival of masks and meeting Ogerpon, you decided to set up a picnic somewhere near Oni Mountain. It was the perfect spot where you could see the other areas of Kitakami.

With your character wearing a jinbei and their own mask, you called out all six of your Pokémon, allowing them to run, play, and sleep.

At that same time, Glitchy Red showed up on-screen. And you were surprised to see him wearing his own red jinbei, along with a Pikachu mask.

Of course, you should have expected that.

"Nice outfit, Red." You chuckled. "I'm stuck with the green one, unfortunately."

"I had to datamine for this..and yet you tout about "customization" like it's the game's best feature.." He scoffed.

"Never said it was, but anyways..." You pressed ZR to summon a ball for your Pokémon to play with, smiling as they did so. "I gotta take care of these guys."

"Is that what you're doing?" Sitting on the bench at the table, Glitchy Red looked all around, watching your character interact with each of them. He noticed the hearts over their heads, prompting an eyebrow raise.

You didn't answer him, instead cleaning the dirt off Miraidon and watching the electric/dragon type shake itself dry, looking happy before it went back to taking a snooze.

Then he notices your character scrubbing soap onto Miraidon, before washing it off with a showerhead. The electric/dragon type growled happily as it shook off the water, a little music note over its head.

"What's the point of doing all of that?"

"To restore their HP, gain XP, and boost friendship levels." You explained. "I try to raise that as much as possible, because if you're best friends with your Pokémon..there's a chance they can survive a fatal hit. The game likes to say they don't want me "feeling sad"."

"...but if they were burned or poisoned, it would be useless." He remarked.

"True, but it's saved me a lot during my Nuzlocke run of the main game's story."

"I suppose it did...why do they name it after a Nuzleaf, though?"

You shrugged. "No clue. I just saw the challenge trending again and decided to hop on it."

".....you've been taking my presence rather well." He pointed out, his eyes becoming more visible now that his shadow wasn't as prominent. "At this point, they usually abandon me, or try to destroy the game...or send it to someone else begging THEM to destroy it."

"Well rest assured, I don't plan on doing any of those three things." Leaning back in your chair, you sighed. "I'll admit, I read a story like yours once as a little kid and it scared the hell out of me...."

He scowled darkly, which was a rather humorous contrast to the smiling Pikachu on his mask.

"...but now that I've gotten to know you better, I..do wanna say I'm sorry you've been treated that way for so long. It must've been lonely for you."

Then his gaze softened, and he looked down at the ground, shoulders slumped. "It was...hearing the same NPCs repeat the same damn lines over and over again was like torture. I kept wondering...why me? Why did I have to be the only one to wake up?"

"I don't know, Red..." You frowned slightly, hating to see him this way, although you perked up after getting an idea. "But I do know what'll cheer you up."

Glitchy Red looked back up at you. "What could you possibly have in mind? Don't tell me it's a stupid sandwich-"

"Agiaaas?"

Hearing the soft growl of Miraidon, he turned to see it now sitting in front of him, staring as though patiently waiting to be fed. And for a moment he seemed genuinely startled, still forgetting that he could be perceived by the Pokémon in this world.

It was actually kinda nice.

Although he abstained from petting it, fearing that he could accidentally corrupt it with his glitches, the legendary didn't seem to mind it one bit.

Instead, it just curled up at his feet, little bubbling z's floating over its head as it fell fast asleep.

'I guess it really does like the word 'sandwich'..'

"Why don't I show you the art of sandwich-making in this game, Red?" Your character went over to the table. "I'll tell you how this makes Shiny hunts easier...but you gotta promise not to laugh at my stacking skills."

For a second or two, he didn't say anything.

Then he stood up and put his mask off to the side of his head a little bit more, allowing you to fully see his face.

He seemed more relaxed, barely holding back a smile.

"I can't make any promises, but show me. I'd like a Shiny Pikachu."

[undreaming-fanfiction]

A companion piece to my previous Shinedown Steddie thingy.

Eddie's last year was...

Yeah, it just was. It existed. That's the best he can say about it.

Sure, there was a ton of touring, awards, interviews and he really tried to keep it together, he really did. But ignoring that he and Steve were no longer together was about as easy as ignoring he was missing an arm or a leg. Sometimes he wishes he actually lost a body part instead of Steve's love.

But that wasn't exactly true, was it? Because Steve told him he still loved him when he left. And hell, if he didn't feel the same. Still does.

Eddie keeps dodging questions about Steve in interviews. Asks for privacy, for space, but never refuses to answer the simplest question - does he still love Steve? "At this point, I'm pretty sure loving Steve is a part of my DNA," he smiles at the interviewer. "I can't even imagine not loving him, not caring for him. So yes, um...the answer to your question is still yes. It will always be yes."

It took him a while to actually get back to working. The first weeks were something Eddie had never felt before, and he's felt a lot of pain in his life. This? This was almost worse, because instead of something sharp and burning he could focus on, there was just ever-stretching emptiness, with no promise of ending, not now, not ever.

When Gareth basically forced himself through the door of his (and Steve's former) home, he found Eddie curled up in a ball on the bed, smelling like unwashed laundry, dirt and misery. He hadn't showered in about a week or so, only sometimes got up to drink, Steve's voice still ringing in his head - "please don't blame yourself, Eddie. And take care of yourself, okay? I still care about you and I need to know you're going to eat something healthy, drink enough water and sleep. Please, don't take this out on yourself." So that's what Eddie did - once in a while he got up, got a glass of water, nibbled on a cereal bar if he felt like it and tossed the rest in the trash. Then he curled up back in bed, surrounded by the books he loved, used to love, but now couldn't read a single paragraph. He cried the lot the first day, the second too, then less. After a while, he wasn't even sobbing anymore, his tears just did whatever they wanted and the most he was willing to do was flip the pillow so he didn't constantly lie on a wet fabric.

Gareth saved him. It sounds dramatic now, but he really did. He forced Eddie out of bed, opened the curtains and the windows to let fresh air in and sent him to the shower while he ordered pizza. Not the most gourmet and nutritious dish and Eddie kept chewing on his two slices until they grew cold and soggy, but at least he got something warm in his stomach. And as Gareth sat next to him and patiently waited for Eddie to take another bite, come on, just one, he felt a pang of guilt - this was his friend, not just his bandmate. And if Eddie didn't start doing something, he could hurt someone else he loved, their careers, livelihoods.

He promised Gareth to stop by the next day despite Gareth's insistence that he could take as much time as he needed. But Eddie doesn't want to. Steve was already gone so he just had one thing to live for. Well, and Wayne and the kids. But abandoning his work felt like the whole breakup was meaningless and he knew Steve didn't want him to give up on his dream. So he dove back into work and didn't resurface until months later.

The words didn't come at first, but Eddie willed them to, waited for hours over an empty notebook until they seeped through his barriers, bleeding onto the paper. His previous songs were about anger, rebellion, joy of being different. The new ones? They spoke about regret, lost tenderness and love transcending time. He was worried to present them to the band, but they give it a shot and surprisingly, their manager sees the potential. So they go along with it.

During one of their tours, Eddie read the news and his heart did that thing where it squeezed so tight he thought he'd faint. There was a mass accident near the area Steve lived now - Dustin kept updating him, always so convinced they'd find their way back together - and Eddie wondered what if Steve got caught up in it, what if he's one of the victims, what if he'll never get to make things right-

He knew he shouldn't, but he grasped his cellphone in shaky hands and quickly typed.

So sorry, I know I probably don't want me contacting you but I read the news and I got worried. Are you OK?

Just a simple OK is enough

please

just let me know you're fine Stevie

Minutes and hours stretched insufferably and Eddie was already going through the worst case scenarios, but then his phone beeped. He nearly dropped it, but when he read the message, he choked out a relieved sob.

I'm okay

Thank you for checking in, Eddie. Sorry for making you worry

I was helping at the scene, just got home now

Are you okay too?

After that, they kept in touch. Just brief messages, ensuring each other was fine, that Eddie safely landed wherever the tour took him and that Steve wasn't too stressed out from his job and studies, didn't get too much in his head. Small, supportive messages, careful but loving.

And so they're here, almost a year later.

The hole in Eddie's chest is still massive, still bleeding, but he thinks that having Steve in his in any capacity is better than not having him at all. And he'll take anything he can get.

He pours his adoration into his songs, never sending them to Steve, not wanting to pressure him or make him feel guilty, but all the love he still has for him needs an outlet. "The Crow and the Butterfly" just came out and it does fairly well. It makes Eddie feel a bit weird, to expose his feelings so openly, but he will never be ashamed for loving someone. Especially someone as amazing as Steve.

It's late evening and he's home now, even if it still feels half-empty. Working is the only thing that makes sense now and so he's spending his free time perfecting one of the last songs that feels like a small personal breakthrough for him, he feels like he's getting somewhere, maybe closer to acceptance, understanding.

He strums on his acoustic guitar and sings.

Wrap me in a bolt of lightning

Send me on my way still smiling

Maybe that's the way I should go

Straight into the mouth of the unknown

I left the spare key on the table

Never really thought I'd be able

To say that I'll visit on the weekend

I lost my whole life and a dear friend

I've said it so many times

I would change my ways no never mind

God knows I tried!

Call me a sinner, call me a saint

Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same

Call me your favorite

Call me the worst

Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt

It's all that I can say

So I'll be on my way

I finally put it all together, nothing really lasts forever

I had to make a choice that was not mine

I had to say goodbye for the last time

I put my life in a suitcase

Never really stayed in one place

Maybe that's the way it should be

You know I've lived my life like a gypsy

I've said it so many times

I would change my ways, no never mind

God knows I tried

Call me a sinner, call me a saint

Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same

Call me your favorite

Call me the worst

Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt

It's all that I can say

So I'll be on my way

I'll always keep you inside

You healed my heart and my life

And you know I've tried

Call me a sinner, call me a saint

Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same

Call me your favorite

Call me the worst

Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt

It's all that I can say

So I'll be on my way

So I'll be on my way

So I'll be on my way

The tones finish but he's still staring into space, wondering if this is really it, all his life will be.

And then his phone beeps.

Eddie doesn't really want to answer anything or anyone, but he knows Steve had an important exam a few days back so maybe he has the results. And he won't make him wait ever again.

He sees the text and blinks, frozen in place.

What if I told you that you aren't too late, crow?

He can't believe it. But it's Steve's number, it's him, and Eddie is laughing like a madman now, tears streaming freely from his eyes. It isn't a victory, still pretty far from it, but it's like a first stitch for his wound, a promise of healing.

He grabs his phone and quickly types back.

I'd tell you that I'd chase you forever, butterfly, I'd wait as long as you needed. Do you need me to wait longer?

In seconds after answering, his phone makes a sound again, but it's not a message this time, it's a call.

Eddie has never answered a call this quickly in his life.

"Hi," he chokes out and holds the small lifeline to his ear with both hands, as something incredibly fragile and precious.

"No more waiting, Eddie," says Steve and maybe he's crying a little too, from the soft shift in his voice that only Eddie knows from evenings spent together, romantic tragedies and broken friendships on screen giving Steve the same vulnerable tone. "You've finally caught me and I'm...I think I'm ready to be caught, too. If you still want me."

The "yes" that Eddie gives is the first of the two most important ones in his life.

Even if he doesn't know it yet, he will give the same answer two years from now, to kneeling Steve. But that's another story and another song.

[rhamrhanch]

Shepherd of Death, Don't Herd Me

Part Five: Lucky Gambit

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter

A/N: I'm running out of Ramattra gifs guys send help

chapter under the cut ↓

---

"Do not make me talk to him again." Then, after a moment, "Please."

Winston peered at you from beneath his glasses, calmly folding the briefing notes he was reviewing between his hands as if he did not just saddle you with the worst assignment imaginable.

It wasn't only the idea of spending even more time locked in a glass prison with such a volatile companion that lingered bitter in your mouth. It was the way Winston declared it, too, the cadence of his voice what you expected from a person asking you to fetch the newspaper. You simply needed to give it another go—his own words.

The scientist's eyes turned serious once he noticed the dread clouding your expression. "What happened? Did he threaten you?"

You crossed your arms, trying to tamp down the simmering anger that bubbled in your chest at the reminder of its source.

"No, he's just—" Being a jackass sounded childish, but it was the most accurate phrase you could think of to describe Ramattra's behavior. You pivoted to its more professional equivalent. "Being difficult."

Leaning forward intently, Winston furrowed his brow. Regret built in the back of your mind as you watched his concern morph into interest.

"In what way?"

You shifted in place uneasily, withering under the shine of the scientist's inquisitive gaze.

When you had first appealed to Overwatch with the request to join their ranks, you had waved away the question of Talon's bounty on you as a simple hazard of your occupation. You were originally a skilled engineer in the highly sought-after field of robotics, after all.

Overwatch was in no position to be picky, though, a fact that worked splendidly in your favor. Your loosely constructed explanation was happily accepted, standard procedure only requiring something to fill the blanks in your paperwork. The hard kept secrets of your past now sat filed and packed away in storage, never to raise an issue again—until now.

If even Null Sector had knowledge of you, that meant the price tag on your head was starting to circulate outside of Talon's inner circle. It was only a matter of time before the true nature of your history would be forced into the spotlight, and the cloak of safety Overwatch provided became nothing more than an illusion.

Selfishly, you reminded yourself that it was no longer just your head on the line anymore. You had collegues now, many of whom much more altruistic than you, blindingly so. They would stop at nothing to help you, and you knew what Talon did to those who stood in their way.

"He's… insistent that we give him information in exchange," you answered finally, praying that Winston wouldn't catch the hitch in your voice.

You thought he would shoot the proposition down immediately, allowing you to conveniently close the book on this chapter of your life forever. Instead, his brows furrowed as he reflected on your words, unaware of how flimsily they were conjured.

"I see," he said, before eventually heaving out a resigned sigh. "I suppose we'll have to figure something out."

"What?" You weren't proud of the way your voice echoed around Winston's office and would normally be mortified by the flagrant lack of decorum you were displaying, but the implication of his words was too much to ignore. "You want to cooperate with him?"

"We don't have any other choice," he confessed, instantly quelling the flurry of objections you were ready to unleash. He spoke almost regrettably, as though finally admitting a serious truth that he had up until this point ignored. "We're not strong enough to stand up to Null Sector right now."

You bit your tongue, knowing you couldn't argue with him.

Overwatch was already working with limited resources as a result of the recall, and there were barely enough agents to fill the one airship it had left. Not to mention that the organization was technically a rogue entity right now, operating against the UN's orders in secret and under worldwide condemnation. It could stave off the odd invasion here and there, as it had done in Gothenburg, but you remembered the dire state everyone returned in. Pure luck was the only thing keeping Overwatch afloat, and it was an infamously flippant bedfellow.

Simpering beneath the stern look on your face, Winston cleared his throat. "Look, I'm as happy about it as you are, but right now is our best chance at stopping Null Sector. I—we need you to keep trying, at least until I can find a way to work with him."

Your finger tapped against your elbow as you lifted your head to the ceiling, hoping to find some loophole, some rebuff to his words in the pale tiles, but there was nothing.

Dropping your head back down, you huffed in concession. "Fine, I'll try again. But don't expect much, he's exceptionally withholding."

---

Ramattra knew your face well at this point, though not due to any personal interest. He could not care less about the so-called "standards of beauty" that humans insisted upon measuring themselves by. No, what stood out to him about you was something different.

Usually, every human he met inevitably faded into an endless sea of blank, unimportant faces—yet yours persisted. Every minute detail of your face was maddeningly inscribed into his circuits. You were so… expressive, every muscle in your face demanding to be involved when displaying any emotion.

When you were angry, your eyebrows pulled close together and you clenched your jaw. That was the expression he was most familiar with.

When you were stressed, hurrying from one place to the next, your eyes were wide, alert and searching for where you were needed.

Sometimes he saw you late at night, still working, never resting. But there were moments when you would stop, would find a stack of crates or a hidden staircase and tuck yourself away, closing your eyes and dropping your head into your palms for a brief respite. You looked more and more tired as of late.

But the expression that persisted most in his memory was that moment, what felt like an eternity ago, when he bore witness to a look he hadn't known from anyone until then. It was distinct to him, that day in your workshop. Your eyes had sat half-lidded, lips parted slightly in awe as you brushed your fingers up his forearm.

You gazed at him as if he was something precious.

No one, not omnic nor human alike, had ever looked at him like that. The overwhelming sensation of his processor surging to life as it computed the rise of an emotion he had never felt before would have been hard to forget.

And then you had turned your gaze up at him, and his disposition nearly crumbled entirely when your eyes pierced right through the steel shell of his face, meeting his optics dead on.

You always, always made eye contact with him.

When he had inevitably crossed paths with humans on his pilgrimages, long before his desire for connection was crushed underfoot, he had found that even those most sympathetic to his people's plight could never look at him directly. Their eyes would flit across his body in a panic before meekly settling on his chin or neck, a poor facsimile of his gaze that they could not bear to return. No matter the fact that he was adorned in the robes that denoted peace, no matter the fact that he carried neither weapon nor malice, his body, his face alone would always be unwanted reminders of the pain from times best forgotten. For so many years, he never knew what direct eye contact from humans felt like—only what it felt like to have it avoided.

But with you, it was a constant. It didn't matter what you were doing—repairing him, arguing with him, even gasping for life against his hand. As certain as the sun was to rise in the east, your eyes would always find him.

He dared even admit that it flustered him at times, how he could never manage to shake your gaze. Yet after having been denied it so long, he could not help but yearn for it, to feel the way your eyes burned him with their intensity. Perhaps that was why it bothered him when you passed by as if he wasn't there, having finally picked up the habit that had become second nature to the rest of your species.

What a ridiculous notion. As if he could be encumbered by something so sentimental. If anything, he was more frustrated at your stubborn refusal towards gaining anything of import from him at the expense of your own privacy. Only humans could be so illogically inefficient.

A series of beeps chimed from the keypad outside the door, a sound he had grown to expect from the ape's repeated visits, and which barely caught his attention now. But it was when he saw the muted blue of his visitor’s coveralls that he realized who had come to see him.

You were as easy to read as always, tense jaw and rigid shoulders betraying your discomfort. But there was a smudge of grease on your cheek, a humbling blemish that undercut your apprehensive expression.

His optics lingered on you for a moment, before his head turned back to face the wall. "I believe I said your presence was unnecessary."

Your reaction was exactly what he expected. You clicked your tongue in annoyance and crossed your arms over your chest, though your eyes remained locked on him.

"The matter is out of my hands now," you muttered. "So I suppose we're both disappointed."

Ramattra did not respond, studying your appearance. There were flecks of paint speckling up the legs of your coveralls and up to your abdomen, stark against the dark fabric. Black tinged your fingertips, and he could see every trace of their touch left in shadowed impressions on your forearms and face.

"Were you working on something?" he asked, feeding the spark of curiosity.

You tilted your head, confused, before finally glancing down at your hands and noticing the grease caked on your finger pads. It seemed to embarrass you, as you brought your left hand up to grasp the side of your face before remembering and quickly dropping it back down again. Of course, that only left even more fingerprints behind.

"It helps me think," you answered finally, wiping your hands against your legs.

The words struck him with a strange feeling—a strong sense of familiarity that sat heavy in his chest. A long time ago, his brother had asked him something similar after he spent a day cooped up in his room in the monastery. Your answer was the same as his.

"That, we have in common," he murmured softly.

You lifted your chin, eyes carefully studying him. Though he lacked facial features like yours, the way you watched him made him feel as though his thoughts were plastered on his face plate, plain as day. It was unsettling, and for a moment he feared that if you stared at him any longer, you would unravel everything that he was thinking without uttering a single word.

But your shoulders only slackened, rigid tension softened by his admission. You sat down in front of him, mirroring his cross-legged position.

"I can't tell you why Talon wants me… for now."

For now. Those two words seemed to fall out of you unwillingly, as if they had clung to your tongue until the very last moment. Such a simple phrase, yet it changed the entire meaning of everything that preceded it.

Ramattra's chest rose, somewhat pleased with the implicit promise hidden in your words. But it still wasn't the answer he wanted, so he decided only to answer the question you had not asked.

"I was not in Oasis for you."

"Then for what?" you asked. "Business, or…" Your tongue poked out between your teeth coyly, as if you just couldn't help yourself. "Pleasure?"

Ramattra scoffed. Frivolous companionship was not a priority of his, and certainly not something he would ever waste time and resources traveling for.

"Coincidence," he deflected succinctly, and you frowned, clearly disappointed.

"Then why were you at the university?" Denied a reaction to your jape, your sharp interrogation quickly refocused. "I don't mean to insult you, but," you said as you leaned back, peering at him through narrowed eyes, "I find it hard to believe it was for scholarly purposes."

Ramattra was not sure how your words could be taken as anything other than insulting, but he had to admit that your observation was not entirely incorrect. Still, his internal fans whirred a bit faster as they vented out the heat circulating his chassis.

"I was in the area when I heard an explosion, so I went to investigate."

Your eyes lit up instantly. You had proven to be much more observant than he originally gave you credit for. Every word of his was scrutinized, not a single drop of information slipping through the cracks of your perception.

"So you were nearby, then? What were you doing?"

Ramattra nearly let the answer slip from his synthesizer, teased out of him by the alluring rhythm of your voice. He rushed to delete the task from his internal stack, stifling the process immediately. Thankfully, you seemed not to have noticed, and he allowed himself a moment to resume his mask of impassivity.

"Ask me again after you return the favor."

Your face twisted in annoyance instantly. "Are you serious?" You gestured at the empty room surrounding both of you, eyes wide with disbelief. "There is absolutely nothing else for you to do here, and you still insist on being this stubborn?"

But Ramattra ignored you, manually dampening his aural processors until the muffled sound of your voice gave way to a dull buzz. He was getting too comfortable talking to you, enough that he had nearly made a grave error. If things continued like this, it would only result in the loss of all his leverage.

Your mouth was still moving, but Ramattra heard nothing of what he assumed was a particularly rude admonition. You snapped your fingers in front of his face, as if his continued silence had something to do with his ability to see.

Eventually, you surged to your feet and stormed to the door, leaving him with the vibration that shook the ground as you slammed the door behind you once again.

---

You considered yourself a reasonably patient person. Of course you had your limits, but you always thought that your countenance was particularly robust. As an engineer, you had plenty of experience fielding the random requests and persistent questions you got from clients, all with a relative degree of patience.

But this was infuriating.

Winston told you to stall, but at this point the task was untenable. It had been a full two weeks of petty silence from the omnic while you nearly burst a blood vessel trying to weasel out any scraps of information you could from him.

You could be doing so many more useful things, but instead you were now splitting your time between sitting in silence with someone who would no longer acknowledge your existence and working your anger out through the many tedious repair requests piled so kindly for you on your worktable. Every day, the few remaining threads of your sanity wore ever thinner.

You rubbed your eyes, exhaustion setting in as you reached for the mug on your worktable. It was an extra treat on top of an already awful day when you took a sip and found your coffee stone cold, abandoned for too long while you were distracted with work. Staring down bleakly at the liquid swirling in your cup, you dropped your elbows on the table and took another swig. At the end of the day, even bad coffee was still coffee.

You were so tired that you didn't bother moving from your position when you heard footsteps approaching, only turning your head once the sliding door automatically opened with a soft hiss. The bright green glow of Genji's visor burned against your weary eyes.

"Oh, hello. Are you picking up your short sword?" you asked.

"Yes, thank you."

You placed your mug back down before reaching beneath your worktable. As tired as you were, professionalism ensured that you still made the effort to handle the weapon carefully, carrying it in both hands as you presented it to him.

Genji unsheathed the sword immediately, gently dragging the edge of the blade against his thumb. A small flurry of sparks erupted from the point of contact, and he let out a quiet hm in observation.

"Is it to your standards?" you jested, though there was a slight nervousness to your tone. You had excellent faith in your skills, but metalwork was not your specialty, and Genji was notoriously protective of his swords. The fact that he even trusted you at all for this small repair was the highest compliment you could ask for. It would be greedy of you to expect anything more.

He slid the sword back in its scabbard before twisting his arm behind him, securing it at its place on his lower back. "Your craftsmanship is excellent, as always."

You grinned, pleased with the praise, though part of you couldn't resist asking him the same question you always did. "Have you reconsidered letting me take a look at that katana of yours?"

Genji laughed, shaking his head in amusement before patting your shoulder good-naturedly. "Sorry, that's still a no. And besides," his head turned to look at the mess of scrap metal and loose wires littering your workshop, "I think you're busy enough already."

You shrugged your shoulders, fatigue making them feel as though they weighed fifty pounds each. "It isn't so bad. Once I rest for a bit, then��"

You raised a hand to your mouth and barely stifled the egregiously long yawn that came out.

"I'll have plenty of energy," you finished with a sigh, glancing around lazily for a moment before realizing that your workshop lacked a clock. A problem for later. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It's seven in the morning," Genji answered.

You groaned, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. It would take forever to recalibrate your internal rhythm to a normal sleep schedule again.

"Why are you working yourself so hard?" he asked after a moment, his question laced with concern.

You rolled your shoulders out, sighing in relief as they popped. "Blowing off steam, mostly," you replied honestly, continuing your stretching as you lifted your arms above your head. You relished the taut pull of your muscles and the satisfying burn that accompanied it.

"Ah." Genji nodded, suddenly understanding. "I assume you haven't made as much progress as you hoped with your… assignment."

The way he tiptoed around the topic was to be expected. You were the only one on base besides Winston who had even spoken to Ramattra. All your coworkers had to inform their impressions of him was your mood after you left the conference room every other day. Needless to say, it was never good, which you assume led to your fellow agents believing that the leader of Null Sector was as cruel and hateful as they imagined.

You didn't bother correcting them.

"None at all." Leaning your elbows back against your workbench, you pinned Genji with the most pleading eyes you could manage, though with how exhausted you were you hardly felt your face move. "You must be patient and wise, right? What do you think I should do?"

Genji contemplated for a moment. Then, he drew his katana from where it hung at his hip and brought it closer to you, close enough that you could see the serrated emerald inlay that rippled in the shining steel of the sword's edge.

You leaned forward slowly, now wide awake. You wanted to say something, but in your current state, the most you could manage was a soft sigh in awe.

Genji ran a metal finger over the flat edge of the sword. "My blade is sharper than any other. With it, I can cut through even the strongest metal," he explained. "But it is best suited for slashing. If I strike my opponent's sword edge to edge, it will chip my blade as well."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he repeated, returning the fine sword to its scabbard, "perhaps you are approaching from the wrong angle."

You turned the words over in your head, trying to parse meaning from the incredibly vague statement, but it ultimately escaped you.

"I suppose," you acquiesced, before flashing a small smile at him. "Did Zenyatta teach you that?"

Genji chuckled softly. "No, he…" But he only trailed off. You straightened up, set on edge by the way he stilled. "I must go. Thank you again for your work." Genji bowed curtly in thanks before disappearing through the door of your workshop.

That was odd. But you did not linger on it, instead letting his advice ring in your ears again. Approaching from the wrong angle, he said.

You felt the tiniest murmurs of an idea brew in the back of your mind, but you were too exhausted for any of them to come to fruition.

Weakly slapping your hand against the light switch, you left your workshop and headed straight to your quarters. The leader of Null Sector could stand to wait for a few more hours.

---

Why were you so nervous?

Your heart was beating unusually fast as you stood at the junction where the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room met the wall. Ramattra couldn't even see you from this position, yet your mind was still restless.

Steeling your resolve, you lifted your chin and strode confidently to the door of the conference room. As usual, Ramattra did not acknowledge your entrance, sitting on the floor with his back straight and staring ahead at the wall opposite him. But instead of cycling through the same questions you always did, you abruptly sat down and set the square wooden box you brought in front of him.

Finally, his head tilted down at you. Already, you'd made more progress in five seconds than you had over the past two weeks.

"What is this?"

"Chess. We're going to play."

He was silent for a long moment, long enough that you worried he had gone back to ignoring you until he finally spoke again.

"You want me to play a game with you?"

You tried not to let his tone shake you as you began setting up the board. Flipping the golden clasps of the box up, you opened and rotated it until the side housing the board faced you. The board was crafted from a gorgeous rosewood, finely polished, and paired with chess pieces carved out of quartz. It must have been incredibly expensive, you realized, having found it shoved in the back of the bookshelf in the recreation room. You almost felt guilty for breaking it out in a situation as unrefined as this, but, well, what else would you have used it for?

"Yes," you answered bluntly, sliding the box to the side to make space as you unfolded the wooden board and set it between you. He looked at the board, then back to you, crossing his arms.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you refuse." You collected the pieces from the box and began placing them in their proper positions. They made gentle clicking noises as they tapped against the shiny wooden surface of the board. "But I'm tired of getting nowhere with you, and you must be bored sitting here every day." You set the last piece down and straightened back up, fixing him with a stern look. "Even if you refuse to talk, at least this way we have something to do."

No response came, and you were waiting for the inevitable rejection at this point. It was a last-ditch effort that you conjured in the dregs of sleep deprivation. It was not a sturdy plan, with the potential to be undone by any number of things.

But to your surprise, he did not. At least not immediately.

"Why chess?" he asked.

"I've been trying to beat Winston for ages, and I thought this would be good practice. I mean, weren't you built for this sort of thing?"

A growl echoed from his synthesizer, the hum of his fans increasing to a rumble. "I was built for tactical precision and strategic battle planning, not as a toy for humans to practice with."

You smirked at him, an unspoken challenge hidden in the line of your lips. "But you would be good at it, right?"

Ramattra went silent once again, but it was not long before his pride ultimately won out. "Of course I would. But the chance of you winning against me is so improbable that you may as well not bother."

"Then let's play," you shot back quickly, undeterred by the implicit dig at your intelligence. "If you're so much better, then it shouldn't take that long to defeat me. Unless," you narrowed your eyes daringly, "you're worried I might beat you after all?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, and for a moment you feared you may have pushed too far. But the indignant rush of air from his body quieted back down to a gentle buzz. "What are the rules?"

Silently, you stretched over the board, plucking a yellowed paper from the empty box and handing it to him. He only glanced at it for a moment before returning it to you, a woeful reminder of the fact that your opponent had the equivalent of a supercomputer for a brain.

You prayed this wouldn't backfire horribly.

Leaning forward, you considered the onyx pieces on your side of the board as you waited for Ramattra to make his opening move. If you wanted to stand any chance at beating him, you needed to play perfectly—a Herculean task considering the almost infinite number of choices you had and the severe disadvantage of lacking a processor to instantly analyze all of them.

But to your bewilderment, Ramattra did not touch any of his pieces. He only placed his hand on the edge of the board, rotating it until your pieces were on his side.

The words stupidly left your mouth before you could stop them. "You know white goes first, right?"

"Whether or not I move first changes nothing of the probability of your victory against me," he replied. "But you wish to defeat me, correct?"

You nodded hesitantly, and he chuckled in what could only be perceived as condescension. It lit a flare of irritation within you, before you were suddenly struck with the realization that it was the first time you had heard him laugh since his imprisonment. The sound curled around your spine, its deep bass and sinister lilt sending a shiver down your back.

"Then you will need every advantage you can get."

[whirlwindimagines]

Heya, it's me again! Sorry for bothering you 🥹 can i request the 2nd part with Nai of the Vash!Sister reader?

Yes! I was hoping someone would ask for this! I know the first part was more canon compliant this will not be! Because I take canon and do what I want lol just because things are happening so quickly in the show, and I need to shoehorn in a reunion lol I don't think it's as good as the other one but it's something! Part 2 to ‘Oh if the sky comes falling down’ also spoilers just in case!

‘Do you still believe in one another?’

Nai x Sister!Reader

You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, it’s not like you meant to in the first place. You’d had been spending as much time with Vash as possible, but he had his traveling companions that also wanted to spend time with him. And well you were still so awkward with humans, so you let them have their own time with him.  

Just wanting to visit you heard him talking with the others, you were going to leave, but then they started talking about Nai and well you wanted to hear about it.

It was still a little hard to wrap your head around everything, that Nai had become this cruel person this Millions Knives because that was nothing like the older brother you knew. Who while he liked to tease you, made sure you felt safe and protected, who taught you how to play piano, who cared so much for you and Vash. You just couldn’t understand, but then again it had been 150 years.

July that’s where Nai was, maybe the decision was rash but you felt like you needed to do something, to understand to see for yourself. You’d leave Vash a note, and then you’d be back. You had just found Vash and you weren’t going to disappear, but you needed to tie loose ends.

Writing the note quickly, and explaining briefly what you were doing and going, signing it was a promise. You left it in your room, figuring once you were gone Vash would come looking for you, he would start here. 

Not wanting to lose your resolve you left, trying not to think your actions through. But you couldn’t let doubts set in, forcing your mind to be blank your borrowed one of the Thomas’s and headed to July using the map you had also borrowed.

The trek was boring, but you were good at shutting down your mind forcing yourself to just keep going and survive, it’s worked this long. The city was like nothing you’d seen before, you tried to avoid humans it’s not that you hated them, but you didn’t hold much love for them either. Rem would probably be the only human you’d ever truly love, and she was gone. 

You kept low while in the city, you had made sure to listen in on Vash’s conversation to get as many details as you could, but it wasn’t many. You wonder briefly if you should just start shouting in the streets, but that would be unwanted attention. Then you thought about what Vash said, Nai had been collecting a lot of Plants surly if you tried you would be able to feel all of them. 

Taking a deep breath, you blocked all the noise, sometimes you would feel the surge of your ‘sisters’ powers, their cries of pain, but you were selfish and ignored them you didn't even know how to help them in the first place, and that hurt more than anything. Shaking your head you forced the thoughts from your head, you could feel it the pulse of something. So many plants in one place it was hard to ignore really. You opened your eyes, not knowing you even closed them in the first place, but you found it, the source. 

Sneaking your way through the city, and towards the source. You couldn't just walk through the front door, so underground it was. Sneaking through the sewers wasn't pleasant but you ignored it, upon entering the pristine building your heart began to race, was this even a good idea? No, it really wasn't, you didn't even know where you should be going. 

You don't know how long you walked through the halls until you heard it, the familiar keys of a piano. It brought you back instantly to your youth, the ship, Rem, and your brothers. You could feel tears begging to form as you raced ahead. Entering the room you skidded to a stop, and the person at the piano instantly stopped playing.

“Nai.” you voiced, your tone was nervous and unsure, the figure turned and your eyes meet so familiar you were crying now, so many emotional moments in these past couple of days. “You shouldn't be here.”  You are snapped out of your crying at his tone, it's cold. You walked forward and he didn't move, you stood right before him, Nai, your oldest brother. 

“I thought you were dead, and that’s all you have to say?” your angry, how could you not be? You had lost everything, you thought you lost your family for good and well it wasn’t the truth your brothers were alive both of them and you just wanted them back. And the longer you stood here the more you feared that was impossible. 

Knives sighed pulling his hood down and reaching out a hand he touched your face gently, “What did you expect by coming here.” his voice wasn’t as cold, he looked so much older so different but you could still see in his eyes that slight gentleness. “I don't know.” you answer honestly, voice quiet. You feel like a little girl again, so unsure looking to Nai and Vash for guidance and reassurance, but you’re not finding any now. 

He laughs and removes his hand, “Come here.” he says moving back to the piano bench to sit down, you join him sitting down beside him looking over the keys. “Do you remember how to play?” he asked softly, of course you do. You nod reaching for the keys and starting the song slowly you’re a little rusty but the tune plays. Nai joins in, he doesn’t look at you but you can’t help but smile at him all the same. 

The song continues, you get better the keys coming to mind quicker and quicker. The song ends, your hands rest on the keys. “I am glad your here.” you startled, “But things can never be the same.” you reply sadly, Nai laughs and answers “No, but things can be better than before,” 

You’re unsure by what he means by this, and for a split second your worried you don't think Nai would hurt you, but you don't know him anymore. “I'm glad you’re alive, you and Vash I can’t believe I found you two again-” Nai stands suddenly grabbing your wrist and forcing you up alongside him. You meet his gaze, it's cold and his grip on your wrist tightens. It's a sudden change and you’re on guard your whole nervous system lights up. 

“Enough of that.” his tone his sharp, but before you can say anything he continues speaking, “Vash you’ve talked to him, does he know your here?” You feel you should lie, but you can’t you never could not to Nai, he always knew how you were feeling your true emotions. “Maybe, I left a note.” 

“Which means he’ll come for you; you’ve just made this easier.” Your blood goes cold, you have no idea what Nai is planning maybe you should have listened to Vash, but it's too late now. “You’re scaring me, Nai.” you say it quietly, he scoffs as he meets your tearful gaze. But his gaze falters for a moment, “Stop.” he demands, but you can’t stop the tears. “Don't tell me after all this time you’re still such a crybaby. I don't have time for this.”

He begins to move, pulling you along down the hallways you try to protest the movement but his grip is too strong on you. He reaches a doorway opening and tossing you inside, you land hard on your side. You scramble to stand as the door closes, getting to your feet you begin to pound on the door, it won’t open. “Nai let me out!” you yell. 

“This is for your own good, I can keep you safe here I can do what needs to be done.” You don't know what he means by that, and you’re afraid to know the truth. You just keep yelling for him to open the door, but it doesn’t let up. You drop to your knees, Nai needed Vash for something and now because of you, he was going to walk right into a trap. How could you be so stupid, all for a childish dream? 

Clenching your fist you force yourself to calm down, you are not a little girl anymore you have survived for 150 years on the planet you will continue to survive. Standing you take deep breathes, you don’t know what Nai is planning, but you can’t just let Vash walk right into a trap. You don’t want to be rescued anymore, you can save yourself you just need to figure out how. Then you’ll try to save Vash, your mind wanders to Nai again is there any hope for him? Can you have both your brothers back? You don’t know and it scares you.

You had to get out here, you just didn’t know how. You needed to save yourself, and you knew you could. You’ve been living on this planet for 150 years, without Vash and Nai by your side. With some resolve, you made a promise to yourself you would get out of here and you would not let Nai hurt Vash. If you could only save one of them so, be it. But first, it was time you save yourself.

[brainddeadd]

Chapter Five: Breaking Point

The next few days are a blur of avoidance. You stop answering Matt’s texts, letting them pile up like unresolved emotions, making excuses not to hang out. It hurts too much to be around him, knowing he’ll never see you the way you see him. Every time your phone buzzes, a flicker of hope ignites in your chest, only to be doused by the reality that he’s probably just checking in about something mundane.

Your routine becomes a careful dance of distractions—binge-watching shows you’ve seen a million times, diving into work, and spending late nights at home with a pint of ice cream that’s starting to feel like your only companion. Yet, no matter how hard you try to drown out the thoughts of him, they seep through the cracks, whispering reminders of the warmth of his embrace, the laughter you shared, and the way he made even the worst days feel bearable.

But Matt isn’t one to let things go. One night, you’re curled up on your couch, wrapped in a blanket, attempting to lose yourself in the plot of yet another rom-com when a sharp knock disrupts the silence. Your heart races, and your stomach churns as you recognize his familiar rhythm. You consider ignoring it, letting the sound fade into the background, but something in you knows he won’t give up that easily.

With a heavy heart, you force yourself to open the door, and there he stands, looking uncharacteristically serious. His expression is a mix of confusion and frustration, the lines on his forehead deeply etched as he takes you in.

“What’s going on, Y/N? Why are you shutting me out?” he demands, the urgency in his voice pulling at something deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage that feels like it’s slipping away with every heartbeat. It’s now or never. “Because, Matt… I love you. And it kills me that you don’t feel the same.”

The words tumble out in a rush, raw and unfiltered, as if they’ve been waiting at the edge of your lips, desperate for release. For a moment, he just stares at you, stunned into silence. You can see the gears turning in his mind, the realization settling over him like a heavy blanket. The air around you feels electric, charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled feelings, and you hold your breath, waiting for his response.

And then, to your heartbreak, he says the words you’ve been dreading: “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know. I never meant to hurt you.”

His voice is steady, but the impact of his words hits you like a freight train. It’s the answer you knew was coming, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. The warmth that used to radiate from your heart is replaced by a cold emptiness, a void that stretches wide and deep. Your mind races, replaying every moment you thought might have hinted at something more, every inside joke, every lingering touch.

“Matt, I—” you start, your voice wavering as tears threaten to spill over. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I just—”

“I know,” he interrupts gently, stepping closer, though the distance feels like a chasm. “You’re my best friend, and I care about you so much. I never wanted to put you in this position.”

His sincerity almost makes it worse, the way he looks at you as if he’s trying to shield you from the pain of it all. But his gaze only amplifies your heartache, making it harder to breathe. “I thought… I thought maybe there was something there, something more,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I was wrong. I should have kept my feelings to myself.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his features. “Y/N, it’s not that simple. I didn’t realize… I didn’t see it until now. I’ve always been so focused on hockey and—”

“On your life,” you finish for him, the bitterness creeping into your tone. “I get it. I just… I thought maybe we could have been something more. I thought we were building toward that.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, he stands there, the tension palpable between you. “I’m really sorry,” he finally says, his voice softening. “You mean so much to me, and I hate that I’ve made you feel this way. I never wanted to hurt you.”

The sincerity in his voice breaks something inside you, and you feel tears begin to flow freely down your cheeks. “I know you didn’t mean to. But it hurts, Matt. It hurts so much to know that I’ll always be just a friend to you.”

He steps forward, his hands instinctively reaching for your shoulders, his touch gentle yet grounding. “Y/N, please don’t think that way. You are so important to me. I just— I’m not in a place to give you what you want right now.”

You nod, swallowing hard as you try to suppress the sob that threatens to escape. The reality of it all sinks in like a heavy weight, pushing you further down into a pit of despair. “I need time,” you whisper, your heart aching with the thought of stepping back from the one person you’ve always leaned on.

“Okay,” he says, his thumb brushing away a tear that has slipped down your cheek. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

And as you stand there, the weight of your unfulfilled love hanging heavily in the air, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be able to return to the friendship you once cherished. But for now, you need distance to heal the wound that has been so unexpectedly opened, and the thought of that distance fills you with a sorrow that feels unbearable.

[argisthebulwark]

TES Summer Fest Day 5: forgotten/devotion

summary: Watching from a safe distance, Miraak loves every iteration of the Dragonbornborn that forgot him lifetimes ago. gn ldb warnings: non graphic mentions of death & grief @tes-summer-fest | day one day two day three day four

Miraak must be okay. It was his duty to withstand all the loneliness and regret that built up inside of him. Giving into his desires was not an option. His choice had been made ages ago and there was no going back.

He learned to placate the yearning that refused to cease. There was no harm in watching. The first true Dragonborn lived and fought, laughed and cried, all under his watchful eye. It became an interest that bled into obsession. He observed them through the eyes of others, ignoring the gnawing hole that had taken up residence in his chest upon parting from them.

Their love had been swift, cut short by a hunger he couldn't quell. Miraaak knew he was meant for much more, shedding the title of Dragonborn in search of something greater. He'd watched them drift farther away from him until the divide grew too great, reduced to spying on them through the eyes of their companions.

The Dragonborn's death ruined him. Miraak stood uselessly at his desk in Apocrypha, unable to do anything more than witness it. He could not intervene or comfort them as they passed, surrounded by those that had served dutifully as his lens into their life. Those that had not abandoned them as he had. Miraak watched helplessly as the one person he'd ever truly loved passed away.

Miraak fooled himself into thinking that the years had healed his wounds. He believed that he'd moved on. Loving and losing was something all beings had in common, even in his cage he was not spared from this. He carried on with his routine, scouring Mora's pages in search of what would allow him to ascend to the godhood he craved so badly.

Rumors of another Dragonborn being discovered caught his attention but he bided his time. Fear of being hurt once again kept the curiosity at bay. Miraak continued his work without daring to look, dreams haunted by what could have been.

Once the new Dragonborn was summoned by the Greybeards he reasoned it was only rational to peek. Miraak knew that the Dragonborn was the only mortal with power that rivalled his own, if he were to gain a new adversary it was only wise to see their face. Giddy with anticipation he returned to his desk, spying toward the continent he'd left long ago.

Their face was different, hair that had once curled was straight and braided back but it was them. Miraak caught glimpses of his Dragonborn in their mannerisms and the unflinching way they spoke. They smiled at something one of their guards said and the joy of recognition quickly burned away in the wake of Miraak's jealousy.

It was not the same face but Miraak recognized their soul, the fire burning in their heart. It was the same that had once loved him so dearly. He watched as unfamiliar lips spoke with a voice he knew so well, a body he'd never touched moving in ways etched into his memory.

Ages dragged on, empires rise and fell, but Miraak remained frozen. He became a silent observer to Dragonborn after Dragonborn, all different in their own ways but bearing the same soul. One had eyes that were so staggeringly similar to his Dragonborn Miraak bitterly began to wonder if the gods were toying with him. Perhaps watching them was a curse for turning his back on all he'd swore to uphold.

Jealousy became a constant passenger when viewing the Dragonborns. He watched them live, compelled by no force other than his own burning interest. He witnessed so many of them fall in love, aching with the knowledge that none would love them as truly or deeply as he had.

Learning that the current Dragonborn was intended to be the last finally spurned Miraak to rise from his desk. He would see Skyrim with his own eyes instead of through those of some random civilian. He would not let the last Dragonborn slip through his fingers without one final goodbye. Hope clawed somewhere deep in his chest that despite all the lifetimes that had passed they would somehow still know him.

Standing before the Last Dragonborn, heart in his throat and mask tucked under his arm Miraak's ancient heart broke once again. The one person he'd loved above all others peered up at him without a hint of recognition. Their face was different but that confused divot between their brows was there, the intensity of their stare. As he stood before the Dragonborn he loved so dearly he knew he'd been forgotten.

Miraak realized he'd become a stranger to them. His heart ached with the need to kiss them, to cradle that face until he knew it as well as the first Dragonborn's. He wished Apocrypha's texts had shown him some way to unlock past memories of the life they'd led together but his search yielded nothing. The Dragonborn looked through him, no recognition or love in the eyes he'd carved into his heart.

"Do I know you?" They spoke in a voice so similar to the one that had once professed their love for him. Miraak watched his beloved tilt their head and knew that he'd been forgotten by the one person he needed above all else.

"You do not," gloved hands twitched at his side and Miraak wondered how much he'd changed in their absence. "But I would like you to."

[missmeasured]

Miss Measured's Bedtime Stories

I was telling myself a story to fall asleep to, I do this every night. Sometimes I repeat them. (SOTS readers I used to tell myself Blackfeet every night for about ten years.) I think I'm going to start sharing some of my bedtime stories I tell myself. So maybe this will be a part one...

This first one is about travelling with Severus on a train. You're on a mission, I've left it up to you to decide what team they are on a mission for. You're pretending to be married and when a man starts acting like a creep to you, you find yourself having to ask your fake husband to help you out. His surprisingly defensive response leaves you a little... turned on.

Snape x Reader (called 'wife/girl' no body parts mentioned) Rating: Mature

Untitled Train Day Dream

You can’t remember if this is your third mission with Severus Snape or your fourth. All you know is you work well together and compared to everyone else you would choose him again as a mission companion without question. This one seems like it will be a long haul. A lot of travelling the old fashioned way over distances too far to apparate. That’s how you came to be on this train in the middle of some European forest. The trees look black as the night outside the windows you can see absolutely nothing. 

The mission had several goals, small and big, a lot to do, to keep track of. You were travelling under fake names and in the guise of being a married couple. Not so much for this leg of the journey but later it would matter, in old parts of the world where you did not go alone into a hotel room with a man who was not your husband. You needed to stop spinning your fake rings around your finger, but it was currently soothing you. 

During dinner a man had been staring at you from across the dining car. When he smiled at you he just looked wrong, his mouth had too many teeth angling for position in the frame of his lips. His eyes never left you, but in the dining car Severus had his back to him and you didn’t want to risk trying to whisper about it when the man might read on your lips what you were trying to say. So you ignored him and held your mug of tea a little closer and played cards with your fake husband to pass the time.

The trip was booked at the last moment and for this part of the journey there had been no compartments available that would suit pretending to be married, so you were making do with two berths. He had taken the lower bed and you were going to be on the top bed. The little ladder to yours in front of his. 

While Severus was brushing his teeth, that man slunk up and began to talk to you. Talking was not a crime in and of itself but he had waited until your feet were up on your ladder and you were digging in your suitcase for your nightclothes. The way he positioned his feet blocked your escape down the ladder. You were forced to make niceties with the traveller who kept looking at your suitcase like he was hoping to see something lacey fly out of it for his viewing pleasure. He licked his teeth when it was your turn to talk. He made your skin crawl. Your escape came when you said “I think my husband is almost done in the lavatory if that’s what you were coming this way for.” The man eventually takes his leave when that door opens and you shiver off his presence. 

You collect your nightclothes and your tooth brush and wait for the lavatory to be free, positioning yourself in your bunk so you can see when that man is gone back to his own and it’s clear. Still, when you open the door to head to bed after you finish, he is back again blocking your path once more. He leans over you with his ‘fancy meeting you here’ routine. When you once again evade him you walk over to your bunks and find Severus’ curtain already closed. “Husband?” You ask.

One half of the bed curtains open by magic to reveal him tucked in and reading under the lamp on the wall of the berth. “Yes, wife?” He asks as he looks up.

You perch on the edge of his bed and lean in so you can whisper about the man. He has thoroughly creeped you out now and you think you ought to tell Severus in case he tries something. “Get in here.” Severus instructs, pulling back his blankets. You see the lavatory door starting to move at the end of the train car so you hop in as your fake husband suggested, and let him pull you in against his chest. He rubs your back and from that position you get to look up and watch your pretend husband glare at the man pointedly as he makes his way back to his bed.

“Do you want to stay down here? Or we could switch bunks in case he comes sniffing around. I know several defensive charms I could put around your bed to keep you safe.”

“I hate to ask you but can I stay for a few minutes until I calm down?”

“Of course.” He answered and his bed curtains closed themselves again. You count your breathing as you rest your head on him. You should probably stop cuddling the poor man but the bed is small and where else are you going to go? You read his book since it’s open to your eyes as well, something about historical potions ingredients. It makes you feel sleepy.

When he closes the book he places it in the little storage nook you know you are going to have to shift and maybe now is the time you should take your leave. You’re about to suggest you should go but then you smell that man’s cologne. He's outside the curtains you’re sure. You tell Severus, sitting up and brushing his hair behind his ear, your lips making contact with his ear so you don’t have to make a noise louder than a breath in order to explain. 

Severus switched off his lamp and you both peer at the shadows of something moving in the corridor. Could be anyone walking to the lavatory, but it isn’t. You hear the distinct noise of the broken latch on your suitcase and you almost fling the curtain open to hex this asshole right that second, but Severus is moving and suddenly he’s on top of you. He presses his fingers to your mouth to tell you to be quiet. 

He runs his wand all along the seam of the bed curtains. You want to tell him to stop, don’t just defend the bed, he’s likley up there stealing your underthings as we speak, but he keeps those fingers over your mouth while he works. Finally he leans down to whisper in your ear. Your fake husband’s weight on top of you is pressing you into the mattress, his leg between your legs, he comes down on his elbows and says “Trap.” In your ear and you are confused and make a face then realise in the dark he cannot see it.

You’re about to whisper ‘What?’ back to him but he puts a finger over your lips again. Something inside of you clenches at having his hands all over your lips, it's a strange kind of feeling. He hasn't touched you very much before tonight. In the dark you take inventory of this feeling, the weight of him, you remember him rubbing your back while he played the protective husband. 

Nothing could prepare you for your fake husband suddenly groaning, a sound purely sexual, inches from your face. “Yes…” he hissed. “Just like that. Oh good girl…” he moaned and you laid under him, eyes wide. What the fuck was he doing?

He quieted for a moment, pushing up off you to get a better view of the length of light at the top of the curtain. There was a shadow the approximate width of a man, no longer by the ladder. 

“Oh yes, you are my good girl, aren’t you? You do that trick so well, my love. Yes darling.” Severus moaned. The shadow moved, contemplated. You understood now, Severus was tempting the man to try to peek inside. 

You thought maybe you should help. So you let out a little closed mouth moan of excitement. Your mission partner took his finger off your mouth. He leaned back down and groaned “Yes… a little more. That’s my girl.” Him saying these things was making something happen inside you you hadn’t expected. You were getting a little too excited by his fake moans. His knee between yours was too enjoyable. 

You use your inappropriate excitement to fuel a slightly louder moan. That clinches it, the corner of the curtain slides on its track and then the man screams. The curtains fly open so you can watch the set of brass teeth the curtain rod had grown chomp down on his hand. Blood started spilling as he clasped at it and looked at you with hatred in his eyes.

“Let that teach you to keep to yourself. Accio stolen items.” Severus casts and several pairs of your underthings come flying out of the man's pockets and into your mission partner’s hands. “If you come near my wife again I’ll end you.” Severus threatens and then magics the curtains shut again and the lights on. 

“For you.” He hands off your items, which you shove into your robe pocket with ample embarrassment. “If it’s alright with you, I think you should stay down here just in case he has ideas. That way it's easy to wake me if you need an escort to the water closet. I don't want you alone on this train until we are free of him.”

“You are a very protective fake husband.” You tease.

“You are a very cherished mission partner.” He smiles. He climbs under the covers again. “Now. Does my wife want to be the little spoon or the big one?” He asks.

“Little.” You answer, and as his arm wraps around you and pulls you in you find yourself still affected by his deception from before. The way he had said good girl painted a picture in your mind you were having trouble shaking. The way it sounded in his voice had vibrated deep into your bones and now as your ass was pressed into his lap for the night you found yourself thinking about having sex with him. You needed to clear your mind of these thoughts about your mission partner. You two had a job to get done. 

A few minutes pass of thinking quietly in the dark. Trying not to let yourself enjoy this cuddle too much. It was just necessary, the bed was too small to lay side by side. You can't get comfortable, you’re fidgeting and probably keeping him awake in the process. 

“Stop wiggling.” He scolds and his lips are much closer to your ear than you anticipated. 

“Sorry.” You whisper. “I’m not trying to keep you up. My heart is racing.”

“I’m not worried about being kept up.”

“Sorry, I’ll keep still.” You repeat and clench your muscles into stiffness. It doesn't occur to you for several moments what he could be worried about if it's not about being kept awake. “This trip was so rushed I didn't really think about what it means to play a convincing married couple.” You whisper.

“It's a bit late to try and pass as siblings.” He laughs. “Why? What kind of convincing do you think we need to do?” 

“Do you think… we should practise kissing. Just incase?” You turn your body slightly, rolling in place, wishing you could make out his face in the dark for his reaction. 

“Oh little wife, I thought you might never ask.”

I'm picturing berths like Some Like it Hot. So that was the story I fell asleep to! Want more bedtime short stories? Let me know!

Sending love as usual to @5everus for beta reading my every silly thought.

[stromuprisahat]

I something I don't understand are darkling's mothers motavations. Why does she do what she does? Why does she force darklings hand? What does she get out of this? Does she not want the grisha to have a home? I'm so vonfused about her motavations

No.

We sort of came to the conclusion Baghra's immensely selfish person, who doesn't give a flying fuck about Grisha- she calls them "dust" just like other mortals- and keeps reproaching the Darkling for caring. She doesn't see a point in compassion or empathy, because one day everyone will be gone, only they will remain.

She literally kept producing and discarding children, until she got the one, who fit her requirements... 'till he developed personality that doesn't fit her needs. Baghra goes on hunger strike of sorts- she doesn't actively work against him (in books, as far as we know), but she's refusing to summon, therefore withering in front of his eyes.

The trigger for her actions in TGT is Alina's discovery. She's no longer relevant. The Darkling finally has a hope for permanent companion, who's not her (I'm gonna ignore the Kos2 sudden appearance of whole shitload of immortals.). First she tries- successfully- to turn Alina against him. When it only makes him angry and more stubborn than ever, she "guides" Alina to her doom- knowingly or not-, and commits pretty theatrical suicide to wound the Darkling one last time.

She does have childhood trauma, but my sympathy run out the moment she decided to keep being horrible person and damage others for no reason at all (How many of her students had some totally fucked up story about her "teaching methods"?).

I wanted to add few links to other analyses, but I stopped, when I got to ten and counting, so for more just go through (mostly older) posts of my anti Baghra tag.

[galionne-diging]

You were asking for Arukenimon/Mummymon prompts? Well here's some - 1. The duo meet their alternate universe counterparts (y'know, X-Evolution and Ghost Game for Mumm, Survive and Ghost Game for Aru). 2. An AU take on their relationship, where their feelings for each other are inverted (i.e. she's head over heels in love with him, he's far less interested) 3. An AU where everything's the same, except Aru's a guy and Mumm's a girl (but NO abuse!)

Oh thank you so much! These are all so good!

I'm going to do just one for now and save the others for later (otherwise this will take forever) ; but know that I already have something written down for each prompt!

Linen Fascination

(Mummymon & Archnemon's relationship- reversed)

A cloud of dust followed the buggy as it roared through the empty, deserted landscape. Nothing stood on the horizon for miles except for the occasional cacti and dried up bushes dotted here and there. There was no road ; not even a cleared out path to follow. Mummymon had to remain completely focused on his surroundings to avoid potholes and rocks sticking out of the arid ground. As a result, it took him a little longer than usual to notice the movement on his left- until a face framed by delicate silver-gray hair appeared in his field of view.

Arukenimon’s face crept closer and closer, to her companion’s annoyance. Mummymon rolled his eyes. She rested her chin on his arm, looking up at him, grinning.

“-Put your seatbelt back on, the man in blue sighed, If something happens to you, Oikawa will have my hide.

-I’m not scared of him, she teased playfully, If he gets mad I can protect you, you know.

-Seatbelt.

-Hm… And what if I don’t want to?”

Arukenimon watched as Mummymon lifted his right hand without looking at her, keeping his eye on the road and his left hand firmly on the steering wheel. Before she could say anything, two linen wrappings shot from the inside of her driver’s sleeve with such force it pushed her back against her seat. She felt them wrap around her upper-chest and shoulders and slip behind her seat, effectively tying her down. She let out a cry of surprise- followed by a loud and dramatic huff.

"Ugh, you're so mean…”

She gave an almost comical pout- one which unfortunately went ignored by her target. When she realized she was not going to garner any reaction from him she resorted to removing the wrapping herself ; groaning and twisting in her seat until it finally slid off. She clutched the linen in her hand and looked over at Mummymon- and couldn’t help the grin that reappeared on her face.

There was something… Exhilarating about him.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was many different things. Maybe it was just one. All she knew for certain was that she loved him.

She wished she got to see his face more. He always hid it under his hat and behind his tall collar, upset at how inhuman it looked. Ashamed, even.

She didn't understand.

His face had always captivated her.

She loved the sharpness of his teeth and the way they rested so delicately over his lips. She loved his eye, golden with gentle specks of amber, piercing her with a stare she had never seen from any human. She loved the color of his skin, dark gray like a rolling storm.

He didn’t need to look “human”.

“Human” was nothing. “Human” was boring. “Human” was Oikawa, their boss, a pathetic man who only knew to sulk and yell orders and be upset. Mummymon was so much more than that… She always admired his devotion to their work. The cool temper that allowed him to keep a clear head no matter the situation. His will to push forward. Even the way he kept her at a distance gave him a kind of mysterious charm she could never get enough of. It was like a game ; one she had to win before he drove her mad…

“We need to find BlackWarGreymon quickly, before he throws another tantrum like the child he is…” Mummymon sighed irritably.

Arukenimon hummed playfully and leaned towards him again, earning a groan and a huff from her companion. She nestled comfortably against him (or at least as close as the seatbelt allowed) and rested her head over his shoulder. She brought two fingers above his arm and pressed them down, slowly ; ever so slowly in a pretend strut over the blue fabric of his coat.

“Mmh… I know BlackWarGreymon is quite the handful, but he's still important to us, don't you think?"

Mummymon paused for a moment, thinking. After a moment he nodded. Arukenimon grinned.

"-You're right… He's a strong Digimon, if we can regain control over him we could-

-We made him together!"

Oh. Right. That’s what she meant…

“-You made him, I had nothing to do with-

-We made him together. We created him, we gave him life… When you think about it, we’re just like parents to him… He’s not just any child, he’s our-

-I hate children.” he cut her off dryly before she could finish her nonsensical rambling.

Arukenimon was so taken aback by his tone that she fell silent. Then again, she didn’t know what else she was expecting from him…

She let out another dramatic sigh and slouched back into her seat.

Right, she had to win the game before he drove her mad…

It was just a shame she wasn't very good at said game.

[liminal-storage]

Blind Call

Bit of writing thanks to a plot thread given by @punches-and-cream-puffs.

Warnings: Mentions of violence/violent urges?

--------------------

The scent of wet leafrot pervaded the air, just as a feeling of rot pervaded her mind. 

Well, not rot precisely, but something else. A distraction. Worry dancing intimately with something else. There was rage there, of course. Rage in its proper place. 

Her footsteps carried her rapidly down the paths of the Lavender Beds, feet contacting paving stones with more force than was necessary. As if she were on a mission. As if she had no mission at all and merely needed to expel some pent-up energy before it killed her. The stones glistened, slick and dark after rainfall, but she took no notice as the autumn-chilled water splashed up around her boots. 

Since the day of the auction, wherein the bids had been high and the tensions even higher, one thing had been plaguing her. Something vital found amongst the sea of taffeta and gilded masks. Where she had expected to feel awkward amidst the well-dressed and wealthy echelons of Ishgardian society, she found distraction instead. 

Certainly there were sights aplenty to serve as that distraction, but lack of need outweighed any actual interest. Artifacts and artwork couldn’t pull her focus from the task at hand, and she’d remained unswayed in parting with contents of her gilpurse. Yet distraction came all the same. Not in bidding but in gossip, in facts that sent her reeling in a way that bid silence be her companion for that night. 

A good investigator never let go of a solid thread, and while she certainly had not done that, she had perhaps pinned said thread for another day, another worry. 

When the time came for fighting, she’d moved almost automatically. Instinct and muscle memory, rather than actual thought or strategy. Slash, move. Blood flowed, weapons clashed, arrows sang through the air. But the information that had reached her ears echoed over and over again long after the enemy had fallen. 

Those echoes made her blind beyond that night, too. Blind to another problem presented thanks to Arafel. Blind to evidence within the cave on Priarch’s scouting mission. Ignorant to the answer to a simple bit of wordplay. Underneath everything, the worry and anger, there lingered a burning desire…no, a need to tell someone of what she knew. 

"I heard Marcelloix chased off another pretty little thing; he has an eye for fine things and fine women, but his temper..... Heard he was following her straight out of the auction before it could even start! Think of the scandal; I hope my Eloisa finds a better match than -that-."

The name had, of course, caught her attention immediately. It was a name she’d kept an ear out for going on moons now. To hear it at the auction came as something of a surprise, but the rest of the statement bade her dismiss that particular line of gossip. The Marcelloix she’d heard of seemed careful in keeping up an air of humility and kindness. How else would he hide what he had done, had been doing for years?  Her gaze had shifted from scanning the nearby book titles to the small group of masked women standing nearby. It was from that group that the sound of that name had drifted, but it was a couple speaking near the piano that stole her attention. 

"It's a shame Ser Vadeboncoeur couldn't make it; Marcelloix would have loved these scenery paintings. But you know how hard it is to pull him from his humanitarian works; heard he's pouring his gil into some orphanage project now." 

And there it was, the lingering distraction. The name Marcelloix again, but linked now to a profile more in keeping with the picture Teagan had painted of who he was. What’s more, that name had a second, a surname that she’d been hoping in vain to hear until that night. The gossip could’ve made her feel sick. Humanitarian? Him? It was almost laughable. The talk continued. 

"I hear the Vadeboncoeurs couldn't make it, but you know how they are. I'm sure they have one of their servants here to pick out some fine pieces to add to their own collections, while the master of the house does what he does best. Heard he's been tracking down some assets that were lost a few years back; I admire his determination. It's no wonder his ventures are often so profitable."

Something horrible seized her then, a fury so great that she hardly realized the bidding on the amphora was beginning. While the words came to her ears on gentle whispers, it felt more like someone had inserted needles into her nerve endings. 

Heard he’s been tracking down some assets. 

Assets. 

Teagan and her shaken demeanor. The knowledge that the man had the audacity to touch her, to try to lure her away for a ‘friendly chat..’ 

Assets. 

More water sloshed underfoot as Kuni made the last turn towards the bridge and the ferry out of the Lavender Beds. She needed rougher terrain for her wandering. She needed to tear into something. She needed to get away from houses and lights and people. 

Everyone had different facets to their personality. Faces they presented to the public. Secrets they only showed their loved ones. Horrors they’d never tell their loved ones about. 

Did Marcelloix’s family know what kind of monster he was? Did they know, and support his endeavors as complicit supporters meant to keep up the charade? Or were they oblivious, convinced that he was as kind and gregarious as the public thought him to be? 

She’d kill him. 

She’d drag him underground and bind him there, fated to die alone and forgotten. She’d skin him alive and leave him under the desert sun. She’d let her companions have a turn at him, drawing out his punishment day by day by day. There was no forgiveness for the things he’d done. 

Even if some might argue otherwise.

Perhaps that was simply one of her own facets. Cruelty and wrath to contrast the kindness and tenderness given to her loved ones. And where she truly existed lie somewhere in between. 

That was fine by her. If her place somewhere in the middle of kindness and wrath meant that she could track down this beast, it suited her well. 

His name was a prey’s scent, and now that she had it, she would never let it go.

Now, if only she could do something about the anxious fury thrumming in her veins.

[achilleasfury]

Sangyao Week Day 3: ghosts

@sangyaoweek

The temple barely stood anymore. Its pillars were broken and breaking, fabrics long ripped up and eaten. The statue had been vandalised again and again, face ruined beyond repair. The only thing remaining was a coffin, covered in chains, bound deeply to the ground, yet shaking and groaning as if the metal were to break down like rotten wood any second now.

No one really came to that temple anymore. It was a scorned place, devoid of life and hope - nothing where anyone would want to spend their time.

Yet twice, maybe thrice a year, the temple would receive a visitor. A cloaked figure, their face hidden behind a simple mask. They would sit down next to the coffin, uncaring of its furious shaking, and shed their coat, revealing quite mismatching robes. A dark grey, imposingly cut outer robe draped over much lighter ones, the belt not sitting quite right, somehow just a tad too big. Always the same old bloodstained robes. The stain was on the right, hovering awkwardly just above the spot where the heart was on the left.

The resentful energy would swirl around them in circles, going tighter and tighter and tighter. They would watch it float, sometimes sluggishly lifting a hand to dissipate it with a waving motion. It would always grow back almost immediately, pushing against the hand until it was lowered again.

Sometimes it would curl up on their shoulder, a mimicry of an old friend and ruined chances.

Sometimes it would curl around their neck, a mimicry of a never-would-be lovers embrace.

Sometimes it would close around their wrists, a mimicry of a scolding brother, forever lost to damned.

……

Huaisang didn’t know why he kept coming back to the temple. It was filled with memories he did not want to retain, the coffin filled with a corpse he never wanted to see again, never wanted to think of again. It was a comforting lie at least.

Not very effective, with how he was wrapped up in the robe of his biggest enemy, his dearest companion. He liked to pretend Meng Yao wasn’t Jin Guangyao. That his beloved friend had been replaced by an imposter, a fake taking his place to sow discord and hatred. (Huaisang was no liar, but he’d always been exceptionally talented at deceiving himself.)

He leaned back, head now resting on the coffin lid. His gazes turned upwards, studying the half standing ceiling. Maybe, if he just continued to count the stones, he could ignore the resentment taking a human shape next to him.

……

What are you doing here, A-Sang? Are you hiding again? From what? Your mistakes? Your brother? Me?

Oh, don't be childish, stop ignoring me. Your

hands won't keep my voice from reaching you, you know that. It's foolish to try, so why continue?

Sit down, little bird, we're not going anywhere. We have time.

Sit down, little bird, no need to rush. We have time.

Now, now, don't pull that face, you came here first. No one forced you to, dearest. It was all you and your own will.

You can't say you didn't miss me, can you? I certainly missed you. It's so boring when you're not here. All there is to do is watch the coffin shake and rattle. Sometimes I can almost hear his voice, but he stopped talking to me a long time ago.

A-Sang, if you keep making those grimaces, your face is going to get stuck in one someday. That wouldn't be good for your health.

I'm sure Da-ge wouldn't like it either - well, if he would still talk to either of us.

But you ruined your chance with that, didn't you? Well, don't be so down about it. He would not do much other than rage and rage either way.

We know him. Always filled with that unchainable fury, it truly wasn't good for his health.

Nowadays he doesn't know more than his anger. He isn't anything more than that anger anymore. It'll burn out eventually, don't worry.

I'm interested to see what will become of him, once all his emotions have worn down.

Oh, put those silly tears away. I have no hands to dry them anymore, A-Sang and you know no one else would. It's just us, like always. No Da-ge to yell at you, no Er-ge to fail at peace making.

Close your eyes, my dear nightingale, you look the sweetest at rest. The blade’s fury won't get to you, I promise. I'll gladly take the cuts meant to break your precious skin.

[sugolara]

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

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"Shit!" Katsuki yelled out, groaning in annoyance as he aimed his pistol towards rotter's who were heading his, and his companions' ways. This was supposed to go smoothly, but like a genius, he thought moving in the dark would be better considering the dead sleep like actual human beings. Would he also be the cause of Eijiro's and Denki's death? Because nothing seemed to be going his way, "Hurry the fuck up, Shitty hair!"

The said red-head frantically grabbed the duffel bags of supplies from the RV before any of the rotters could get inside. The fragile door could only do so much as Denki had to almost run over dangerous people who shot at them. They had managed to escape, but the RV suffered consequences as the door's glass had been shattered and a few bullet holes grazed the engine.

Unfortunately, the firing guns had caused commotion, allowing a dozen rotters who were standing by for their next victim to aim for the trio. The big vehicle stopped working as smoke was puffing out. They had to quickly retreat as they could hear the moans, but Eijiro was too stubborn to leave their supplies that they had to risk for. It wasn't much, but the bags contained items that Tomura's community had asked for.

"Shitty hair!" Eijiro could hear the gunshots firing and his friends yells. He was trying to be quick, shoving all the cans from the cabinets into already heavy bags. His rifle that hung on his back kept getting in the way, annoying him as he had to shrug his shoulders so the gun could move. Beads of sweat rolled from his head as he zipped up the bag, but upon hearing the door rattle, he quickly ducked so he wouldn't be spotted. He stayed quiet, hoping that the rotter would disappear, but he didn't notice the empty glass salt behind him rolling off the table.

His focus was on the door until he was startled by the glass crashing on the floor. It had caught the ears of the rotters' attention as its rotten, bloody torn of fingers tried to rip the door open. His moans caused other rotters to join in, ignoring Katsuki.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Eijiro quickly looked around as he thought of a plan. He looked to the back where the beds reside, a window above the mattress. He could escape through there, but the dead were on the other side as he could faintly see their decayed fingertips. He then looked to the bathroom where an emergency trapdoor was held. He wasted no time in moving, throwing the duffel bags inside and himself. He closed the door and took his rifle off, setting it aside and instead grabbed his knife.

He got on the toilet to help as a step and desperately used his knife to take the mesh above him where an emergency exit was placed and reached in to pull the lever, but it was difficult as it refused to budge. He grunted, his hands slipping from the red lever as his hands were sweaty from how close he was to death. He could hear the rotters pouncing on the door and when he heard a loud crack, he knew the RV's door had been broken through. He tried to keep quiet, but it was hard due to his boots being big and the toilet seat being flimsy.

"Katsuki!" Denki yelled as he returned from securing a building where they could all stay. Upon seeing Eijiro and the blonde shooting towards the vehicle, the yellow-haired male assumed the worst as he lifted his rifle and began shooting at the dead hung outside, "Where's Eijiro?!"

"He's still inside!" Katsuki took down two dead, "He won't come out!"

"Seriously!?" Beads of sweat rolled off Denki's forehead. He wasn't sure how long they would have until other rotters nearby decided to join, making the dozen into a horde. They also couldn't continue to back up the red-head as they needed to save their ammo for the entire trip. And speaking of Eijiro, he clung onto the lever. Though he realized he had to push onto the trapdoor in order to open and he did so, cringing at the bangs that were being let out. The rotters had definitely heard and he tried his best to ignore them as they trampled onto each other. He instead focused on controlling his panic.

He was lucky that the door was made out of wood instead of plastic as he would have been long dead by now. He was also lucky that after four pushes he was able to open the emergency exit and quickly grabbed the bags before throwing them on the roof. He threw his rifle next and then pulled himself up with his knife in hand just in time as the door had been broken through. A rotting hand was just inches away from grabbing his shoe. He didn't have time to feel relief as he looked around for Katsuki and Denki and upon seeing them he quickly grabbed everything and looked down to the dead who stared at him.

"I got a plan, stay here!" Denki said and quickly left, leaving Katsuki to wonder where he was going. He knew he wouldn't just run off and leave them to die so he hoped that whatever he had in mind was good as he got on top of a truck as a few rotters were heading his way.

"You idiot." Katsuki mumbled as he replaced his pistol with his rifle. He didn't want to use it, but he had to, as his friend's life was at stake, "Just drop the damn bags!"

The blonde's attention was then brought to the two-story building next to him. Gunshots were firing from the roof and Katsuki had to give credit to Denki for thinking of such a plan, "Nice work, Dunceface."

He then waved his hand for Eijiro to look at him, "We'll cover you! Stay off the ground!"

Eijiro let out a scoff, "How the hell am I supposed to do that!?"

The gunshots and moans had deafen his comment, so the red-head looked around, a lightbulb went off on his head as he saw vehicles around him. He clutched the bag's strap and made sure that his rifle was secured on him. He looked down to the truck beside him and then to the rotters, "Don't die, Eijiro. You didn't come this far to die here."

With a prayer he jumped off the RV and landed on the truck, his foot slipped but he was able to catch himself as he let out a sigh of relief. The blonde let out a smirk as he watched his friend jump from car to car. It was almost like he was watching an action movie and he had to regain his attention on the rotters, his rifle sniping through almost everyone, clearing a path for Eijiro. Denki was doing the same, but he had a harder time seeing as it was dark, most likely past midnight. As long as they all made it back safely, he didn't care if he had to waste his sleep.

When Eijiro was close, Katsuki shot those nearby before getting off the truck where the red-head soon followed and they both ran to the building where Denki was placed. The male on the roof covered them and though his aim wasn't best he managed to get his friends to safety.

Seeing Eijiro and Katsuki get in the building, Denki ran to them and felt relieved to see they were okay, "I for sure thought we were dead. That was intense, guys."

Katsuki let out a couple pants before his eyes narrowed as he looked at Eijiro, "What the hell were you thinking!? You could have died!"

Eijiro scoffed at him, trying to regain his breath, "Me? I did what I had to do! I wasn't going to leave all this stuff we found!"

"There's barely shit in there!" Katsuki yelled, "We could have returned early morning to get it, but you decide to risk your fucking life for a few fucking cans!”

Eijiro dropped his stuff and got closer to the male, his eyes narrowing, "This shit is stopping people from dying! I thought you would understand after who we lost! After everything we lost! You wanna be the reason for more people's death!? Do you!? You're the one who's going to get us all killed, get F/n killed!"

He knew he shouldn't have let the comment bother him, but he did as Katsuki swung his arm and let it connect to his long time friend's cheek. He didn't hesitate to throw in a couple more punches as Eijiro regained himself and pounced at the blonde, both falling to the ground where they brawled.

"Stop!" Denki tried to get the redhead off Katsuki, "Cut it out! This isn't the time!"

His movement made little effort to break the fight as he was almost tripped when Katsuki was able to get Eijiro off of him then proceeded to sit on his stomach, throwing in more jabs. Their struggles were loud enough for the dead outside to hear as they gathered around the board up windows and doors.

"Get off of him, dude!" Denki grabbed the blonde's hand though unfortunately Katsuki had managed to sock him in the nose. The younger male let out a hiss as he clutched his aching nose, his own anger growing as he narrowed his eyes and quickly grabbed his rifle.

With the end of the gun, Denki smacked it across Katsuki's head, "Knock it off!"

The action had caused Katsuki to stumble off the red-head and let out a groan as he held onto his head, "..What the fuck!?"

The door breaking caught all of their attention. Seeing rotters coming in had them all gather their stuff and enter the second floor where Denki closed the door, grabbing dusty furniture to secure it. He then looked at the other two. Their faces were red and they were bleeding. It had Denki scoffing and shaking his head, "What the hell is wrong with you guys? Seriously. I thought the dead were worse, but you guys? You guys are something else."

Eijiro wiped his nose with his jacket sleeve. He sniffled as he could feel the blood trailing down. From the corner of his vision, he saw Katsuki offering him water. He wasn't petty, so he took the water and chugged it, his throat feeling refreshed from the cooling sensation.

"Sleep it off." Denki said as he walked towards a window and sat down, "I'm going to sleep and I better not wake up to you two fighting."

Katsuki then moved to the other side, letting his back rest against the wall. He bent his knees and let out a sigh, acknowledging as the other male sat next to him, "I was in the heat of the moment."

Eijiro shook his head, looking out the window that sat above Denki, "I had no right to say what I said. I was mad that you—out of all people—would go off on me for trying to get the supplies that he had asked for. I assumed you just didn't care, that you finally gave up, and that made me angry."

He scoffed, putting his arms on his knees, "Give up? Yeah, right. I didn't come all this way to give up and let some fucking lunatic win. I just..."

He hesitated to speak his mind as he didn't want to perceive himself as weak, so he tried to word it in a way that sounded like himself, "Its fucking exhausting to see people die. See the ones you grew up with leave. See everyone cry because they've lost someone they loved. All everyone wants is to be happy...but how can you even do that with how shitty things have been.

"Everyone's got someone they care about, so quit trying to get yourself killed otherwise the people back home will have to dig out another grave specifically made for you." Katsuki hoped Eijiro understood where he was getting at. That he cared about him as he is his best friend and he didn't need him to go dying on him. He was his partner in crime, first above Denki.

Eijiro let out a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving the bright star that was in his view, "From now on, I promise I won't do anything reckless, but you have to promise that you won't either."

"In your damn dreams." Katsuki playfully scoffed, but he mentally nodded, respecting his friend's wishes. He then looked at a sleeping Denki, "We should get him on board too. Knowing him, he'd probably die without us."

Eijrio laughed, "C'mon dude don't be mean."

[bytesnbolts]

Nanostorm’s interactions with Requiem felt sinister in retrospect as they searched the smeltery.

His willingness to take up the work of kindly giving the off-lined their last rites transformed to easy access to spark crystals for whatever nefarious purpose he had and no questions asked of him about disappearing for lengths of time into the Quarantine Zones.

Worst of all, in their quiet companionable moments, Requiem observed enough to know they were different from the others. Every moment they had spent together, he spent watching, noting, analyzing. Nanostorm took some relief that he had been off-basis with his sparkeater theory; the truth was not better, but it was a small comfort to their disarrayed emotional array.

A temperature warning flashed across their HUD, but they ignored it along with several pangs for initiation from their base coding; they couldn’t stand to lose any more of themselves right now.

Nanostorm stepped around the corner of a smelter, finding the space beyond devoid of car-haulers.

Was Requiem still here even? He might have escaped up and out of the catacombs already. He could be attacking the civilians or the Construction Hub now that his cover was blown.

The invisible jet turned their pedes toward the exit, trying to hold the panic, that they had made a fatal mistake yet again, at bay.

They needed back-up and a mass warning to go out, but Nanostorm still had no signal for communications; they suspected that was by Requiem’s design now. They could not call until they were out of the catacombs, and back-up couldn’t call for them in turn if Requiem was destroying the surface.

Nanostorm’s arm, once frozen, broke away from their side when they pulled once more. Their guns were yet stuck and their harpoon panel froze over, but both stingers were mobile now.

They were just checking that they could transform their second stinger as they stepped through the exit when half a car-hauler swung pedes first into their chassis from out of the darkness of the corridor beyond. The force knocked them off their pedes and sent them skidding backward across the smeltery floor to slam their helm into one of the vats. Their cloaking failed, and they shimmered back into view, somewhat stunned. Static frizzed before their optics, but they could see something monstrous skittering across the floor toward them in a blur of pastel paint.

Nanostorm swung their stingers up despite being half blinded by the static. Neither stinger connected; instead, their stingers were yanked to either side and held away from their frame to a painful, almost breaking point that has their shoulder joints whining.

The jet did not dare reset their optics, viewing the world through the static.

Tendrils surrounded Requiem’s frame in a swarm of deep green, reinforced cabling. Two of these had wrapped firmly around Nanostorm’s forearms, but more were looping through their clip-on points and heading for their shoulder joints and throat cabling. Requiem’s weight on their legs and pelvic span kept them pinned, but they tried to tip them both over and wrestle free.

“Enough of that, Commander. Fail with dignity.”

Nanostorm’s processor blanked, a full blue screen, for several nanokliks before they could rally themselves, but it was too little too late.

The free tendrils grouped up and slammed downward, connecting against Nanostorm’s chassis like an armor-piercing missile. A warning error for a punctured fuel tank and several severed connections popped up. The jet could feel the energon seeping through their frame and oozing across the floor of the smeltery below their backstruts.

The tendrils withdrew with tips a vibrant violet and flexed; barbs stood out from them and sunk into seams between plating and into delicate cable. Two tendrils wrapped around the jet’s helm, over their visor and battlemask. The mass squeezed as one, denting Nanostorm’s frame and sending it sparking; it was a miracle the spilled energon did not catch.

Nanostorm’s HUD was nothing but pained threads, refused weapon requests, a buzzing of confusion and horror, several requests from the base coding (still declined), and error messages, specifically damage and overheating from being pressed against an active smelter. Theirs vents tried to click on in an attempt to cool down, but reboot was imminent. 

They were vaguely aware of the barbs in the seams of their sparkchamber pulling in opposite directions. Part of the chamber plating crumpled like a thin aluminum sheet, came loose with a screech, and went tumbling away into the unknown when the connections were mercilessly ripped away. The warm air of the smeltery rushed into their sparkchamber.

“One spark after all. A pity, truly. The color is a novelty, at least.”

Requiem’s voice sounded several hics away in Nanostorm’s audio. What was left of their processor was dedicated to other programs, chiefly trying to preserve something to send to Nitroxide to warn the others. Their base coding demanded permission, but, even damaged and pinned and facing the high probability of being extinguished, they denied the requests.

“When I granted you access to the backrooms, my expectations rested that our paths would converge, but part side-by-side harmoniously as partners. Unfortunately, it cannot be. Be at peace. You shall no longer be alone for all become one in the end.”

While the car-hauler monologued over their prone frame, staring down intently into their sparkchamber, Nanostorm swiveled their left stinger just enough for one last act of defiance, delivering a [dull] shock to the tendril holding their forearm, before their system fell into reboot.

[huntinghags]

6.Letters Never Read

[Campaign context: Adder has begun her adventures in Otari, a town not far from her village of Kelias. She took on a job that had her explore the old lighthouse, and upon returning it shed a ghostly green light that turned the dead loose from their graves. In a harrowing brawl, her group staved them off, but not before several guard were felled and several ghastly injuries were incurred. Her group of adventures have been summoned to a town hall meeting, likely to be asked further tasks, and her companions have spent most of the in between times talking of how much to charge for their services. Adder takes the time in the night after the conflict to reflect on the day, and her missing mentor’s teachings]. 

There was only one thing to be missed about Kelias, and that was the ring. That makeshift area, stumps set within a circle made by the dragging of feet, had been a sanctuary for Adder, who now found that the road and adventuring left little room for privacy. The call had been worse at night when the bustle of the day couldn’t drown it out into a dull hum. Adder would drink with Bakar and converse with him before he’d left, and it had always helped. In his absence, she’d kept the habit. She’d take two steins of ale to the ring and sit one upon the empty stump he’d left. She’d carry on, telling him of her day, as if he was still there. She was sure the villagers thought her mad for it, but they already thought plenty of other things about her, so what was one more?

There was no ring to retreat to, and Adder knew better than to carry on a conversation with less than a ghost around strangers, and so she’d taken up a new habit to replace the old. Since leaving Kelias, she’d written a letter each night. She supposed it was really a journal. The whispers had grown into a din of noise within her skull, and so she took out a fresh sheet of parchment. She stretched and tried to make herself comfortable, but the soreness of the day made it nearly impossible. She would write, nonetheless.

Bakar,

It is the cruelest twist of fate that I only truly start to understand your teachings now that you’ve been gone for three years. How often I scoffed, mocked, and ignored the wisdom you so patiently doled out to me. I wish I could do more than apologize on a piece of paper that you’ll never read. Maybe I’ll do it in person if I ever find your sorry ass, but we both know I’ve never been very good at owning up for my actions out loud. I always hoped you knew when I was sorry, all those times I knew I was wrong but was too proud to admit it. The apology would always be on the tip of my tongue, but I’d rather spit at your feet than say it.

Well, I’m getting mine now, aren’t I? I picked up adventuring, and you were right about it, it truly is sorry work. Muscles I didn’t even know I had hurt, and most of it is watching other people die or nearly die in gruesome ways. It isn’t at all like it’s told in stories and songs, none of them bother to mention how a leg looks when it’s been half chewed off, or how terrifying it is to watch someone succumb further and further to a poison you have no cure. They don’t tell you how young the guards and heroes are, or how they will be cowed by the first blood and then forever scarred by it. You told me, though, I just didn’t listen. I don’t have anything better to do, so I’m going to continue doing this. I guess when all you know is violence and magic, that’s all you can do. Maybe that’s why you never quit, and I won’t either, at least not until I find what became of you.

I’ve met quite a few new folks since I left my sleepy village, and I think you’d hate my traveling companions most of all. How ironic that I have been forced to be the responsible voice in this company that I now keep. They care only for money and are full of pride, speaking mostly of what they deserve for their deeds and of their worth. This town only seeks to survive, and while it has its fill of assholes, there are many kind souls that have offered us shelter and aid. It seems wrong to fleece them for their coin, at least to me. I can only hear your endless fucking nagging when they speak and it’s maddening. I bite my tongue, so I don’t sound like the crotchety old man that you were, but it bothers me all the same, so I suppose you get the last laugh. To seek glory is to seek death, that’s what you inscribed upon my blade. Funny that the more I use it, the more I see its meaning.

Farewell for now, Bakar. I hope wherever you are, you’re sitting in smugness knowing how miserable your terrible student is, but my guess is that you’re just as miserable, that was ever your talent.

Adder

Adder finished the letter and read it once over and let out a sigh that contained the remainder of her worries. This process was a form of venting, she could spill all she felt inside onto the paper and wash her hands of it. She walked to the fireplace and placed the paper within it, setting it ablaze with a small flame from her hand. The paper curled and burned, until it was ash. There was no use into holding onto letters written to a man that was probably dead. Tired and spent, Adder rolled into bed and fell asleep, the call retreating to whispers once more.