#idk i keep reaching out and trying to build a support system outside of my angel to hopefully have means of getting out safely and it keeps

[teethcore]

i'm so jealous of everyone online who describes having breakthroughs while tripping and coming out of it with significant mental health improvements and whatnot. i feel very hopeful and confident about my future if i start introspecting while i'm actively high but it all goes away after.

[that-disabled-radfem]

Happy back-to-school y’all

I’ve attended and worked at a couple of super liberal universities. I avoid the gender studies departments for obvious reasons and I still had a lecture in which the female prof gave a brief overview of TERFs and proclaimed her hatred of JKR. Being openly critical of gender ideology, the porn industry, kinks, and ‘sex work’ are the kind of things that can ruin your future in academia. Not to mention the fact that any speech or actions that could be labelled transphobic (ie. defining woman as adult human female) can get you a suspension according to many universities anti-hate-speech policies. 

So, here’s a list of small and smallish (small in terms of overt TERFery, some may require more effort than others) radical feminist actions you can take as a university student:

(this is a liberal arts perspective so if you’re a stem gal this may not apply. but also if you’re in stem maybe you can actually acknowledge that women are oppressed as a sex class without getting kicked out of school. idk)

(Note for TRAs hate reading this: One of the core actions of radical feminism is creating female networks. This is not so that we can brainwash people into being anti-trans. This is because female solidarity is necessary for creating class consciousness and overturning patriarchy. It is harder to subjugate the female sex when we stand together.)

Take classes with female profs. Multiple sections of a class? Pick the one taught by a woman. Have to chose an elective? Only look at electives offered by women. When classes have low numbers they get cancelled. When classes are super popular, universities are forced to consider promoting the faculty that teach them

Make relationships with these female profs. Go to office hours. Chat after class. Ask them about their research. Building female networks is sooooo important!

Actually fill in your end of year course feedback forms. Profs often need these when applying for tenure or applying for a job at another university so it is very important (especially with young and/or new profs) that you fill out these forms and give specific examples of how great these women are. Go off about what you love about them! Give her a brilliant review because you know the idiot boy in that class who won’t shut up even though he knows nothing is going to give her only negative feedback because he thinks any woman who leaves the house is a feminazi b*tch. 

(note: obviously don’t go praising any prof - female or male - who is blatantly racist, homophobic, etc.)

(Also if you have shitty male profs write down all the horrible things they have done and said and put it in these forms because once a shitty man gets tenure they are virtually untouchable)

(also also, leave a good review on rate my profs or whatever other thing students use to figure out if they want to take classes. idc if you copy paste your feedback from the formal review. rave about the class to your friends. do what you can to get good enrolment for that prof for reasons above.)

Participate in class. Talk over the male students. Say what you mean and mean it. Call out the boys when they say dumb shit

Write about women. If you have the option to make a text written by a woman your primary text in an essay, do it. Pick the female-centred option if you’re writing an exam-essay with multiple prompts. (Profs often look at what works on their syllabus are being written about/engaged with as a marker of whether to keep those texts the next time they teach the class. If there are badass women on your syllabus, write about them to keep them on the syllabus) Use female-written secondary sources whenever possible. 

(pro tip: many women in academia are more than happy to talk to you about their papers. expand your female networks by reaching out to article authors through email and asking them about their cool shit)

Get your essays published! Many departments have undergrad journals you can publish in. This will ensure more people read about the women you write about and will demonstrate to the department that people like learning about women

Consider trying to publish your undergrad essay with a legit peer-reviewed journal. If you can do it, your use of female-written secondary sources boosts the reputations of the women who wrote those secondary sources. Also this helps generally to increase scholarship about women’s writing!

Present your papers at conferences! Many schools have their own undergraduate/departmental conferences that you can present at. Push yourself by submitting to outside conferences. Bring attention to women’s works by presenting your papers. Take a space at a conference that would otherwise be reserved for mediocre men

Talk to your profs and/or your department and/or your university about mandating the inclusion of female works in classes if this isn’t something they do already

Sit next to other women in your classes. Talk to them. Make friends. Form study groups. Proofread each other’s essays. Give each other knowing looks when the boys are being dumb. Just interact with other women! Build those female networks!

Be generous with your compliments. A female classmate and I were talking to a prof after class and the classmate told me (out of the blue) that I always have such interesting things to say. I think about that whenever I’m lacking confidence about my academic skills. Compliment the women in your classes for speaking up, for sharing their opinions, for challenging your classmates/profs, for doing cool presentations, etc.

Talk to other women about sexist things going on on campus. Make everyone aware of the sexist profs. Complain about how there are many more tenured men than tenured women. Go on rate my professor and be explicit about how the sexist profs are sexist

Be active on campus and in societies. If a society has an all male executive or is male-dominated, any women who join that society make it less intimidating for more women to join. Run for executive positions! Bring in more women! 

(Pro tip: Many societies’ elections are super gameable. You can be eligible to vote in a society election sometimes just by being a student at that university — even without having done anything with the society before. Other societies might just require that you’ve taken a class in a particular department or attended a society event. (Check the society’s governing documents.) Use those female networks you’ve been building. If you can bring three or four random people to vote for you, that might be enough for you to win. Societies have trouble meeting quorum (the minimum number of people in attendance to do votes) so it is really super achievable to rig an election with a few friends. And don’t feel bad about this. The system is rigged against women so you have every right to exploit loopholes!)

(Also feel free to go vote “non-confidence”/“re-open election” if only shitty men are running. Too often people see that only candidates they don’t like are running and so they give up. But you can actually stop them getting elected)

Your campus may have a LGBTQIA+alphabetsoup society. That society definitely needs more L and B women representation. It may be tedious to argue with the nb straight dudes who insist that it’s fine to use “q***r” in the society’s posters and that attraction has nothing to do with genitals, but just imagine what could happen if we could make these sorts of societies actually safe spaces for same-sex attracted women and advocated for our concerns

Attend random societies’ election meetings. Get women elected and peace out. (or actually get involved but I’m trying to emphasize the lowest commitment option with this one)

Write for the campus newspaper. Write about what women are doing - women’s sports, cool society activities, whatever. Review female movies, books, tv shows, local theatre productions. Write about sexism on campus. We need more female by-lines and more stories about women

Get involved with your campus’s sexual assault & r*pe hotline/sexual assault survivor’s centre/whatever similar organization your campus has if you can. This is hard work and definitely not for everyone (pls take care of yourself first, especially if you are a survivor)

(If your campus doesn’t have an organization for supporting survivor’s of sexualized violence, start one! This is probably going to be a lot of hard work though, so don’t do it alone)

Talk to your student council about providing free menstrual hygiene products on campus if your campus doesn’t already do this. If your campus provides free condoms (which they probs do), use that as leverage (ie. ‘sex is optional, menstruation is not. so why do we have free condoms and no free pads?’)

If you’re an older student, get involved with younger students (orientation week and such activities are good for this). Show the freshman that you can be a successful and well-liked woman without shaving your legs, wearing heels, wearing make-up, etc. Mentor these young women. Offer to go for coffee or proofread essays. 

Come to class looking like a human being. Be visibly make-up less, unshaven, unfeminine, etc. to show off the many different ways of being a woman

Talk to the custodial staff and learn their names. (I know there are men who work in this profession, but it is dominated by low-income women) Say hi in the hallways, ask them about their lives, show them they’re appreciated

Be explicit with your language. When you are talking about sex-based oppression, say it. Don’t say ‘sex worker’ when you mean survivor of human trafficking. This tip is obviously a bit tricky in terms of overt TERFyness, so use your best judgement

That’s all from me for now! Feel free to add your suggestions and remember that feminism is about action

[blackhatandfriends]

I absolutely love your writing (the villain bar owner story is 👌👌👌! May I request a doc where reader gets captured by a group who want to use them as "leverage" against Black Hat so he comes and wrecks shop, but accidentally scares reader because he's never been *that* level of wreck shop before?

A/N: Thanks for the request and the compliment Anon! I really liked writing the bar stories. :)& Anyways! Here’s your request, hopefully it’s what you were looking for!

Warnings: Gore, Blood, Torture...idk man this one is fairly violent.

Black Hat shot you a glance.

“Going out to that garden of yours?”

You nodded, “It’s coming along. We’ll see how fruitful it ends up being.”

“Indeed.” He said, going back to flipping through paperwork. You turned to leave, but Black Hat added, just before the door closed, “I’ll need to see you back in here in a few hours.”

“Okay.” you said, rolling your eyes. He didn’t need you for anything, you knew that. But you wouldn’t dare say no. Besides, spending time with him was nice as you’d grown to enjoy his company.

_________________________

You sat back, dusting your gloved hands off and admiring your work. Despite the constant dramatic weather on Hat Island, you’d managed to begin growing a small garden and your first flowers were starting to bloom.

However, while you were sitting there, triumphantly basking in your defiance of the island’s weather, something hit your neck.

You tried to stand, already woozy from whatever had just been shot into your system. You reached for the gun at your hip, but didn’t find the target in time. A few more rounds of darts shot out of multiple points in the trees. You tried to doge but two more planted themselves into your leg. A shot in the direction of one earned you a cry of pain, however the world went black shortly after.

__________________________

When you awoke, voices faded into your conscious. They were all to your left, faint at first but soon you were coherent enough to make out what they were saying.

“Are you sure you got the right one?” a gruff voice asked, “They don’t look all that special.”

“No, this is the one, for sure.” another, more articulate voice said, “Our spy network is fairly certain that this one is the most valuable asset out of all of his underlings.”

They were talking about Black Hat. You chided yourself for being so careless. He’d never let you hear the end of this. Or rather, he would have, if you ever saw him again.

You let your eyes open, quickly taking in the details of the space. Your kidnappers had you strapped onto a large metal table. There was an IV in your arm, which you decided not to look at for too long. You couldn’t tell what they were feeding you anyway, though you assumed it had something to do with how drained you felt.

“Ah,” that was the voice of the articulate man. You could now see that he looked the part, wearing a pristine button down shirt and slacks, even his tie seemed crisp, “You’re awake.”

You squinted at him, hoping that maybe if you did so hard enough, he would burst into flames. The other voice, wearing a similar outfit to his companion but with a suit jacket and no tie leaned into you.

“Oh I can’t wait to see what your boss forks over to get you back.” He smiled, you could smell smoke on his breath.

“You’ll never get anything out of him!” you spat, pulling away from him.

“Oh we don’t need to get anything out of him.” the other one smiled, “You’ll do all the work for us.”

___________________________

Flug could hardly stand to watch as they skewered your side on the tape, made even worse by the anger that radiated off of Black Hat in curling, twisted waves, like a black fire in slow motion. You were trying to keep yourself from crying out in pain, but the look on your face spoke volumes.

“Doctor.” the “r” of the word hung on his boss’s tongue, “Where is this signal coming from?”

_________________________

The abandoned warehouse sat on the edge of the city, an old and terribly cliche hideout. Not to mention that Black Hat could clearly see some of the modifications they had made to the building from the outside. That giant ray gun was poorly concealed at best.

He made his way past the perimeter with ease, killing the boy they had posted at the gate and both the men in the booth near the door. He didn’t bother to take a key from them, opting instead to slide through the wall, startling the two guards on the other side. He grabbed one by the shirt, holding him up and flashing his pointed teeth.

“Where..are...they?” the guard in his hands fainted at the question. Black Hat looked up to his partner, who simply pointed a shaking hand down the hall and mumbled out a nearly unintelligible, “Room 44”.

He killed them both of course, moving down the hall as more and more guardsmen poured into the hallways.

Fools. He smiled wickedly. Absolute fools.

__________________________

You heard the determined shouts of guardsmen outside the door, then you heard the hopeless screams. It was the first distraction from the pain in your side in a while, and you found yourself focusing more and more on it as the screams drew closer. The guards watching you, along with the few organization higher ups that were playing cards to your right started talking to one another. One of the leaders, the one with the suit but no tie, approached the door. But it opened with a bang just as he reached it.

Black Hat stood there, holding a disembodied arm with a key card. There was blood on his clothes and an unnerving smile on his face. His eyes moved to you for a moment, then to the man in front of him.

“What...What did you do?”

“Nothing you won’t soon know yourself.” his voice carried the wail of thousands behind it, “Bud Pine.”

“H-How do you know my-” but he never got the chance to finish that question. Instead, Black Hat all but disappeared, and left carnage in his wake.

He was terrifying, like a dark whirlwind of malice. You felt yourself push back into the metal slab in an effort to get away from the overwhelming feeling of pure evil that had overtaken the room.

Walls were coated in blood as he moved from person to person, their bullets were useless.

He wasn’t human.

You’d known this before, of course, but now...being confronted with it so blatantly...it scared you.

When he finally got near your slab of metal, you flinched. It was slight, but he noticed. He always noticed. There was a look to him, covered in blood yet seemingly unfazed, eyes lit up in a strange tangle of anger and excitement. It made you uncomfortable when struck against the feelings you had for him.

“I’m sorry.” you apologized as he released you from your restraints, slicing through them with ease.

“Did I...scare you, my dear?” he asked, waiting patiently with an outstretched hand. You could tell he noticed you wait just a moment longer than normal, but you did take it. He helped you up, but seeing the struggle it was, opted to lift you into his arms instead.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You said, looking up to him, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” he said voice stern, but there was something underneath the hard tone….something softer.

You opted to accept that response, and relaxed in his arms, feeling surprisingly safe as the darkness radiating off of him dissipated.

_______________________

Black Hat could see you were expecting to be reprimanded. It’s what he would have done if it were….if it were someone else he’d come to rescue.

You seemed to be over your fear of him. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to indulge in that much violence, let alone have anyone see him in such a state. He wondered if it hurt your opinion of him. But then you began to cuddle into his chest.

He let you do so grateful that you wouldn’t be seeing the corpses that lined the halls and dotted the building’s perimeter as he walked the both of you back home.

_____________________

Black Hat and Friends Master List

Hey! If you’d like to support me and the work that I do here and on my other blogs, please consider checking out my support page or consider buying me a coffee!

[sparklingpax]

Tales From Iacon - Part 2: Intentions

A/N: 

-Part one can be found here and I also have a wattpad where I’m posting updates as well as other stories! (user is @/kunixjiro)

-Idk if this was an appropriate title for this part but the idea was that they both had their own intentions and well....you can see how it turned out.

-Sorry if this is badly written (and for any typos, mistakes, weird phrasings, etc)

-Also sorry that this is long af O//O’’

-This part isn’t so fluffy ^^’’ But dw I promise I’ll resolve everything in time....anyway, hopefully nothing got too ooc or anything! Enjoy!! <3

///

It was no secret that Megatronus was a gladiator.

He was not ashamed or afraid to admit his purpose—to kill both beast and bot alike.

For the entertainment of the crowds, and in accordance with Cybertron’s corrupt caste system. 

            Such a life was a choice he’d made long ago, when he rose up from the mines and cast away the life of a meaningless energon miner. With it, he’d cast away a name given to him—a name which held no meaning anyway.

             D-16 was no more—he was Megatronus now.

///

            The wild cheering of the crowds invigorated Megatronus, fueling his drive to utterly mutilate the monster hulking before him. All he could think of was the desire to fight stronger and harder than ever before—to show off his power so he could bask in the glory of the hundreds all around calling his name.

             “Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus!”

               The deafening roar of the onlookers filled his audio receptors, causing Megatronus to grin wildly, and the injured monster to bellow in terror. It stumbled forward hastily, only for Megatronus to dodge and deal another blow with his sword. Much to the delight of the crowd, the beast cried out in pain and reared up to attack Megatronus again.

             There was no fear as Megatronus gazed into the black eyes of the beast, lit only with primal rage. They bored into him for only a moment before it shook its head and charged.

             Call my name! Call it louder—shout it to the skies, Cybertronians!  

             He stood in battle stance, breathing hard but not yet tired. Bright lights all around blazed down on his plating, making the grey and burgundy glow as silver and red. His optics were alight with a wild look, as if he knew the battle was over and victory was in his very grasp.

             Megatronus tossed away his shield, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. He released a savage cry and charged right at the monster. Screams of excitements and fear sounded from every angle as he neared the gaping jaws of his opponent.

             The gladiator swung the sword and neatly sliced off half of the grey tongue that greedily reached out at him. The monster instantly recoiled, writhing in pain. Blue blood sprayed everywhere. The warm, sticky liquid showered Megatronus as he slid the weapon into its holder at his hip.

             He paid no mind to it, for he had known the tongue would bleed the most.

             Megatronus took a running leap off the dirt and landed on the back of the beast. With his own servos, he grabbed its snout and yanked it towards him, bending its neck backwards to injure it further. It tried to swing him off, but Megatronus stabbed his sword into its body. The crowd collectively shrieked with anticipation upon seeing the legs of the monster buckle beneath him.  

             Before it could scream in pain again, he vaulted off its body to the side, twisting its neck with a fatal, sickening crack. There was a brief, abrupt silence while the monster moaned more quietly, attempting to move. It crumpled inward with a low huff.

               A pool of energon gushed out from its wounds, soiling the ground around it as Megatronus backed away to watch it die. He grinned with pure delight—breathing heavily, limbs quivering with exhaustion—at his work. Only seconds later, the beast went totally limp.

               It was done.

             The volume of the crowd was loud enough to sound as if the whole of Cybertron had packed into the small stadium.

              Megatronus was victorious again.

             He felt pride and joy rush through him as he raised his sword and cried out to the masses before him.

              “I AM MEGATRONUS, KING OF THE PITS OF KAON!!!”

             “Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus! ”

             “I AM LIVING PROOF THAT ONE DECIDES HIS OWN DESTINY!!”

               Hundreds packed together in the seats raised their servos and shouted as loud as they could, amazed by the skill of the gladiator before them, and filled with inspiration. Megatronus felt something warm in his spark, for he knew Orion was one of the many voices.

               There was no disputing it now, D-16 was truly no more.

///

             Outside the arena’s seating, there was a dimly lit, blue corridor. Various clumps of bots milled around there. Some were making their way out from the seats, conversating excitedly about the fighting, or were making their way back in. Others stayed outside for whatever reason they had. A quiet murmuring filled the space, contrasting greatly from the deafening roar of the arena.

             Orion Pax had his back up against the wall, breathing hard. He tried to steady his breath, attempting to erase the images of the brutal murdering of that beast from his mind.

             He had never seen anything so violent in his whole life.

             Orion couldn’t bear it a second longer, hearing the crowd cheer hungrily for the monster to suffer more, and chanting all the louder for its death. All of it had felt so…wrong. For a second, he had wondered if everyone in there had lost their senses. Surely a society of civilized people wouldn’t bee chanting for the death of a living, breathing creature? Or will it to be tortured?

             And yet…they were.

             He had slipped out to regain himself a little, and decided he’d return to his place when the act was finished. At least, if Orion didn’t watch some of the real fight, he’d see the aftermath. After all, Megatronus had invited Orion as a…somewhat esteemed guest. It was only fair that Orion, too, should raise his voice to cheer his friend on.

              I’m here for Megatronus.

             I’m here because he invited me.

             I’m…here to…support him….

             His stomach turned upon thoughts of what he was doing to the creature at the moment. He heard a loud roar of pain and the noise of the crowd increased greatly. Orion shook his head and slid down to a sitting position.

              I’ll…I’ll wait here until it sounds like it’s over…or else….I just might purge…

///

             “So then, Soundwave,” Megatronus shook hands with the quiet mech and nodded. “I’ll be off. I’m meeting someone now. We can speak again tomorrow, if you like.”

             Soundwave nodded, then turned and left. Megatronus watched him go, interest dancing vaguely in his gaze.  

              What an interesting bot, being so quiet and yet saying so much.

              The gladiator was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and it seemed the adrenaline that had pushed him through the fight was finally fading. With a small grunt, Megatronus stumbled and fell against the corridor’s wall for support. To Megatronus’ frustration, his legs were tremoring a little. He let out a sigh, straightening again after a moment with a small wince.  

             I suppose I…expended a bit too much of my energy today…

             He still felt pride and joy in his victory.

             Even still, all my efforts were worth it. I stand alive once more.

             “Good evening, Megatronus!”

             Orion’s voice reached Megatronus before he sighted his friend at the other end of the corridor. Orion picked up pace and jogged down the hall to meet him.

             Megatronus immediately felt his exhaustion dissipate.

             Orion had seen the fight!

             He was eager to know what Orion had thought of it all. He knew it Orion’s first time seeing something as graphic and epic as this.

             But more than that, Megatronus was eager to know what Orion thought of him. Battle brought out his truest form, and that form was Megatronus’ greatest pride. Having somewhat of an ego, Megatronus knew that deep down, all he needed to keep going was some sort of praise.  

             After all, who wouldn’t? Validation is a beautiful thing, especially in one’s own art. 

             “Orion, it brought me much joy to know you could make it tonight!” He and Orion shook servos and greeted one another, then started slowly back up the hall so they could leave the building. Megatronus continued, “How unfortunate you could not have seen me last week, when I, with great fervor, slayed—”

             He paused, sensing Orion tense up next to him and look away.

             Odd.  

             “Never mind. Anyway, you are usually too busy with your studies or your work. How is it that you came tonight?” Orion sighed.

             “My apologies. I hope to be a master archivist one day, and full commitment to my studies is essential for me to reach that goal.” He looked up at the sky speckled with thousands of stars and smiled. Shifting his gaze to Megatronus, who was listening intently, he nodded. “I did get time off tonight, though. I have Alpha Trion to thank for that.”

             Megatronus patted him on the back.

             They continued through the quiet streets of Kaon—well, the backstreets, to be specific. Megatronus knew how ugly the main streets could get with all the crazy bots running around at night. He wanted no part in it tonight as long as Orion was with him.

             And Orion is no fighter.

             “Megatronus, uhm…” Orion’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked a little nervous. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I…I hope you can be patient with me.”

             “What?”

             “You might feel offended.” Orion tried elaborating. Megatronus, however, was not following. “I am only asking that if you are mad, that you don’t take it out on someone else…or that you can understand what my reasoning was.”

             Offended? It made little sense. Yet his friend remained tense, and would not meet his gaze. Megatronus immediately felt guilty. Have I said something wrong?

             “Orion, I do not understand what it is you refer to!” He picked up his pace, trying to think of changing the subject. He so desperately wanted to know about what Orion had thought of his battle with the monster!  

             “About the fight tonight…” Orion’s gaze dropped to the ground and he halted. Megatronus, who had walked a few paces ahead, stopped and turned. Oh, he read my mind. How funny; I was just about to ask!

              “Listen, Orion, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not—”

              “I had to leave halfway through the fight. I…” He slowly lifted his gaze to meet his friend’s. As he’d suspected, the beginnings of frustration had already begun to spark into it. He mustered all his confidence to finish. “I waited in the hall because I couldn’t take anymore of the violence…or the bloodthirsty crowd. It…did not feel right at all.”

              An uncomfortable silence weighed on the pair.

              At last, Megatronus turned away and sighed quietly, breaking the silence. Orion felt guilt and embarrassment to the depths of his spark. He opened his mouth to say more, then thought it better not to. He figured Megatronus would have something to say to him.

             “So…that’s it?” Disappointment was fully evident in his voice, causing Orion’s spark to twist more. Megatronus turned back to his friend and moved closer. His hands were folded behind his back. Orion swallowed.

             My intentions were to be honest, but I fear I have taken an imprudent course of action…

             Orion decided not to voice the thought. Instead, he quietly responded, “Yes.”

             “I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’m…very hurt, Orion.” Megatronus kept his voice level as he gazed into the archivist’s eyes, yet Orion could still hear dejection in its tone.

             He realized he had to fix this.  

             But how? What do I say? Orion Pax, you foolish child!! He scorned himself internally.

             “I am sorry, Megatronus. I understand that words will do no good, but for the moments I was there, your courage in the face of the beast was admirable.” Megatronus looked away. Indignance and annoyance welled up inside him.

              He’s probably making it up.

             “And that is the honest truth.”

             Orion looked earnest.

             He also looked and sounded guilty.

              Is it? Or are you telling me what I want to hear? Why did you come if you knew you couldn’t stand violence and a crowd’s wildness? Orion, you anger me…or rather…

             Megatronus then remembered his friend’s quiet plea for peace and patience beforehand. To lash out at him would wound their friendship forever, and give Orion the wrong impression of Megatronus. All that aside, Megatronus realized he…felt no anger towards his friend. The heated emotions faded, quickly replaced by pangs of rejection.

             …such is my fate, being a lower-caste bot raised in blood, darkness and cold steel. Of course Orion does not find it beautiful, and I should not have forced him to witness such things.

             It seemed they would have to allow time to do its work.

             Megatronus began to walk away, saying nothing more. Orion called after him, but received no reply. His friend disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving Orion feeling guilty and ashamed.

              I won the battle, but I now feel…defeat.

              Megatronus felt exhaustion creep back into his limbs.

///

             On his way out of the city, Orion paid no attention to the tranquil, moonlit nature around him. He was instead lost in thought.

             Had I said nothing, I’d have lied.

             He shook his head.

             I can’t lie. I won’t lie. I know it would have come out eventually, and he would still be hurt. 

             A pang of sadness twisted his spark again. 

             Why couldn’t I bear it even for his sake? It is because I do not understand it that I fear it, I know. But...it is his joy...his art....and I was not there for him.

             As he reached a train station, Orion still did not have any real thoughts in mind as he punched in the location for his ticket.

             When the train arrived, Orion boarded and sat by the window.

             I realize now that my intentions were faulted. It would have been better to stay quiet, becuase then I would not have hurt him.

             He closed his eyes.

             Time will have to heal this wound.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled.)

[SPOILERS FOR SWORD & SHIELD START HERE].

Oh Hop, my sweet, sweet summer child.

I've used a similar setting in three fics already. Time to get original bitch. Anyway! This story was a test run for a Postwickship fic for me and it's a success: I've had tons of fun. This is supposed to be set post-game but in an AU where Shieldbert and Swordbart or whatever their Eng names are didn't show up to steal old rusty held items idk. I just really wanted to write hurt/comfort for them lol I headcanon the player character and their crew as 16 in SwSh so they're 16-17 here. I wouldn't puncture the lung of a 10-year-old, jeebus. This could be a little incoherent because I wrote it in more than one sitting and while doing some research on the side at times, so I hope this is satisfying to someone out there.

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Anima Curanda (A Soul Who Will Be Cared For)

Summary: Hop tries finding his way back to civilization after a trip field gone wrong, Gloria finds her best friend injured in Postwick and the air surrounding them is filled with unanswered questions, undisclosed pain and concerns. A lot of concern.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield Ship: Pre-rel Hop/Gloria (Postwickshipping)

Wordcount: 3.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Hahaha, it hurts! It just hurts!

What hurts? Too much to keep track off, frankly. He just aches all over, from head to toe; from the migraine of having barely slept to the pain of having walked and biked for days and days; from the dark thoughts he tries to keep buried from the outside world and the hazards on the ground that he stumbles over when he starts to overthink things.

 Despite how many times he’s been curb-stomped to the ground, how many times he’s flown in the air after the shockwave a move can make, and how much all of these hurt afterwards, he’s kept rising to his feet over and over again. He’s lost to his rival ten times already, he’ll never shine as bright as his brother or the friend he spent his childhood with, unbeatable as they are and ordinary as he is. He’s nothing special, nothing shiny, just nothing.

Portraits of Lee decorating the living room and countless discussions between his own family aside, there’s a lot of other things that tell him he’s the inferior product. A lot of other little, tiny things – of details, even – that ache to think about, that pinch his heart to the point of being slightly nauseous.

 Everyone on his team has fainted, aside from Dubwool who’s courageously fighting the hail with him. He regrets having ever taken his first partner, his most loyal one, away in some PC box out of the sheer mass of his insecurities, of that constant will to improve despite nothing good ever coming from that. He hangs onto its Ball as firmly as he can, the strength of it making him afraid he’ll make it shatter if he clenches it too strongly.

He’s actually surprised he feels this strong to begin with. After trekking for days, fighting everything he could, trying to find new members to reinforce his team, it’s surprising he can still think of himself as strong enough to do that. If it wasn’t for the pain bolting in his chest, he wouldn’t be clenching that ball as if his life depended on it.

 And what a pain it is! It started with the missed Psycho Cut of a wild Gallade, whom Corviknight had narrowly the assault of shortly before getting taken down itself, hitting right into the left side of his chest and most likely at least making some internal damage in there. That was around two days ago, if he isn’t wrong, and it’s shown no sign of hurting less anytime soon.

It bruised rapidly, or so he thinks compared to those he’d often get when he was younger (and also not unlike the ones Lee got during the Eternatus incident, on second thought…). Pressing a hand against it too strongly makes him yelp in pain while his skin keeps worsening in colour around where he got it. He was lucky for it not to have bled on the spot, but that doesn’t make anything much better: it still hurts a ton and he still has trouble breathing because of it. If it’s not getting better after a couple days, when will it do so?

 At times, black dots appear all over his vision, for some reason, and he starts swaying and staggering until Dubwool catches him back with its fur. He used to apologize verbally, the first times that’d happen; but he’s found himself having less and less breath to give his excuses with. Sentences became a couple words, words some syllable.

It doesn’t help that he’s constantly lightheaded and easily gets dizzy. If he moves a little too rapidly, his vision goes for a swim and may not come back. If it wasn’t for Dubwool fending off the Sneasels that take interest in them at times, he’d have been a goner for sure. He has the feeling this is all related to his injury, to that toxic-looking bruise that’s festering under his miserable layers, but doesn’t see exactly how. Well, that’s not entirely true: he can easily suppose it’s because that injury makes it harder to breathe, so much harder, because of the pain it fires up in him every time he tries to speak and breathe.

 The city is in sight. Wyndon’s lights and tower are in view, and he finally feels some relief, Dubwool seemingly bleating in agreement. However, right as he charges his legs to rush there, he trips over some ice, his damp sole gliding for a split second, losing his balance and falling again. Dubwool doesn’t have the time to react properly and stop him, so he falls right on his chest from all of his height, a sickening thumb resonating with his fall. The air gets propelled out of his lungs in one fell swoop, dizzying him even further.

He has no time to lose, especially not what he’s that close to the city, so he tries getting up on his arms. The pain that has been dully brushing against his ribs is now acting in an even fuller swing, the black dots not leaving his line of sight, almost preventing him from breathing altogether. He could stop to take a taxi, but what if he’s to pass out before it even comes? No, no, he has no time to lose…

 His legs have endured a beating of their own before, decorated with scratches and bruises from the rocks he didn’t see coming and the claws of the local wildlife, tired of pushing on themselves to make him keep going. As a result, he has to use Dubwool as a support, failing to rise up once or twice before managing to finally regain a footing and continue his route to Wyndon. He’ll be there soon, he’ll be able to know what’s wrong and to finally give himself actual rest. Arceus, doesn’t that sound amazing?

He suddenly coughs violently, not even having the time to say anything or even put a hand in front of his mouth. He’s left gasping for air, unable to really make oxygen enter his chest anymore, especially once he sees what has just gotten out of his system, spread on the snow like an unremovable stain on an immaculate carpet. This is it: he has to go forward now or he’ll never see the light of day again.

 With tremendous efforts, he makes it to Wyndon, out of breath; legs shaking in instability and arms tired of holding a hand against an injury that most likely doesn’t get any better from getting pressed. He’s still coughing, even if it hurts him even more to do so, and he’d just like to laugh it all off. He’d have done that if the pain wouldn’t get even more excruciating from such a gesture alone. The Centre is very much near now, and he can get there if his chest doesn’t give up on him too. Still, there’s another sight that makes him stop for a few seconds, and a shiver goes down his spine.

In the distance is his childhood best friend, his journey companion, his (former?) rival, waving at him vigorously. She’s smiling, grinning even, as he runs towards him. It’s only when she notices the hand clutching the hurtful part of his abdomen that Gloria drops the smile and immediately worries. It’s kind of hard to say for sure when most of his vision is blurry from the tears that are flooding it by the second.

D-dammit, he doesn’t want to worry her of all people!

 “Hop, are you alright?” She asks, voice hesitant, in a tone he hasn’t heard in a little while.

“Y-yeah, I… I should be… real soon…!” He’s breathless and speaking hurts even further; yet tries smiling, only for his face to follow his chest.

“You’re sure about that? You look like you’re in pain!”

“It’s nothing…! I pro –”

Before he can pronounce his false oath, he starts coughing again, despite all his best efforts not to. The thing building up in his airways gets out anyway, no matter what he wants, and his vision starts swimming again. He’s afraid he’ll blackout before he can reach the Centre, so he should quickly stop that conversation and…

“Let me see.”

 He stares at her for a millisecond, eyes squinting. He was just about to grab a tissue and clean the inside of his palm.

“Hop,” her voice strengthens, reminiscent of the Champion who’s beaten his until then undefeatable brother. “Please, Hop, let me see. It really doesn’t sound right.”

He reluctantly gives her his hand, the black dots dancing around them like will-o-wisps. She doesn’t respond to it, her reaction instead cementing itself in silence. That is, until she finds what words she wants to put on it. It drops in a glacial, no-nonsense tone, raw and undignified:

“…I’m calling for help.”

 Before he could interrupt her attempt at doing so, the quick move he tried to pull off to do so makes itself felt and he collapses on his knees, the pain in his chest unbearably intense. It’s like he’s been kicked in the abdomen, and then someone was twisting something inside of it. Breathing is becoming impossible, or at least barely, from how painful it is to inhale and exhale, from how difficult it is to simply focus on that with such a hazy mind. He wants to cry, but that sounds like choking himself even further…

Gloria seems to be over with her call rapidly, as she next kneels down to his level, her warm hands on his cold shoulders, then on his forehead. Her touch is delicate, as if she’s stroking crystal, while he’s busy not strangling himself with whatever’s happening inside of him at the moment. She gives him soft words of reassurance, shelters him with her arms from the rest of the world, tells him he doesn’t have to lie or suffer anymore. He likes that. He wishes his arms could do the same for her, but she simply is so much stronger than he is, and there is nothing he can do about it. Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to pay her out…

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon,” is the last thing he hears before his vision fades to black.

  Gloria wishes she could have been waiting with Dubwool by her side, both so she wouldn’t be alone and because it’s her best friend’s closest partner; but, naturally, that’s not possible in a hospital, so she instead fumbles with its Ball.

She tried calling Leon and Sonia earlier to warn them about what had happened, but neither of them responded. If she’s to assume, she’d say Leon is busy with managing the Battle Tower and Sonia is head-deep into her studies, may have had a sleepless night and is now snoring over her desk, left unable to be awaken by her phone (which she most likely put on Plane Mode anyway…). She’ll have to wait for them to pick them back up and call her back, then. Ah, that sort of stuff happens. Plus, they can’t have known.

They really can’t guess what happened.

 She can’t quite put back the pieces, at the moment, because of how little she knows about the sequence of events that brought Hop to Wyndon, on a fairly sunny day with cold air, with most of his party fainted, an exhausted Dubwool and, most of all, a couple broken ribs. If Hop can communicate with Dubwool, then she really can’t, even if she’s never wished that much in her life that she could understand bleating. She hadn’t even considered the question until today!

What worries her the most is the blood he was spitting when he was trying to talk to her. Is that a symptom of broken ribs? She can’t remember having ever broken such a bone in her life, or known someone who did. Truth be otold, there may have been that one time where that could have happened, but she never got to know why. A few years ago, the neighbours suddenly went to Wyndon for a week, taking Hop with them, and Mum just kept saying that things would be back to normal soon. She didn’t lie, but the sketchiness of it all makes her suspicious… It doesn’t help that, that year, the Gym Challenge finals got postponed.

 Still, there’s something inside of her that just knows something’s gone terribly wrong. She can’t exactly pinpoint how, or why, or if it’s even possible that such a feeling could be right. All she knows is that she’s having an awful impression of it all and that her heart is beating in overdrive. Winding out is not exactly the easiest thing to do when she’s stuck in a waiting room, having to choose between pacing indefinitely or sit on a chair and play around with her fingers or her phone.

She’s tempted to go outside to wait for the news to be given to her, absolutely; but she’s afraid that, if she does so, the doctors will have nobody to give it to if she’s still outside by then. That’d be underestimating how much she wants to see him, to know what exactly happened and how she, as a Champion and as a friend worthy of such name, can fix things. That’s part of her missions as Leon’s successor, right?

 Set on staying here until someone gets out of the operation room, the bright red light of the “In Use” sign sitting over the doorframe whose direction she regularly glances at still shining over the daylight pouring through the windows, Gloria settles on studying her surroundings yet again. The walls are still white and pristine, with barely any spot or stain to be noticed. The floor is covered by a layer of grey linoleum, as boring to comment on as it’s functional. If she can guess such a room is regularly cleaned, she can also tell there’s been a couple stretchers that have wheeled through it to the operation room today already. The lines and stains left by these, unlike the walls, are still visible.

The room is empty and, aside from her unnerved breathing and impatient footsteps, silent. The soundproof walls make it so she can’t hear a thing, even if she puts her ear against the wall, morbidly curious, trying to keep herself from dipping into some seriously messed-up thoughts that have been trying to assault her mind ever since Hop started showing signs he wasn’t as fine as he’d have liked her to believe.

 In a way, it’s funny that he’s doing exactly the same thing as his brother. They both said “I’m fine, don’t worry” at times where they knew they weren’t. Still, she doesn’t think that Hop did that on purpose, now that he’s tried freeing himself from Leon’s shadow. It’s more of a thing that she sees herself doing… As hypocritical as that may be, and as much as she dislikes knowing he purposefully lied to her thinking it’d be the right thing to do for her sake, she can understand it. She can understand it and that has to be why she hates it so much…

Gloria’s back hits the wall as she glides down to her feet, crouching with her forearms on her knees. Time’s too long and she’s getting nauseous from the anxiety that keeps piling in her throat and chest, heart throbbing. Trying not to cry is already a behemoth task in itself, so she focuses on that, only for her thoughts to change back to what could be happening and questions she can’t have an answer to.

 She snaps back to reality when the red light turns off and the door finally opens, revealing a gurney getting wheeled to the other side of the room and a surgeon, still wearing his stained scrubs, walking up to her. She stands back up, rising herself on stiff and yet trembling legs, and lies back against the wall, gulping. Her mind rings and burns with a thousand questions; but her voice can’t catch up, not even a whisper exiting her mouth. The man gives her a tired, yet soft smile back:

“Your friend will be fine. Absolutely is the brother of the former Champion, his fighting spirit showed in the OR…”

 She has to retain herself from hugging the man right in front of her and give him a waterfall of thanks. Instead, she remembers for a split second she’s the current Champion, shakes her head and keeps the waterworks from unfolding for a little while longer:

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

  There is a silent horror seeping in her veins from being here. Everything about the room is eerie: the slow, somewhat regular beeps of a monitor; the oxygen mask sitting there, accompanying an otherwise soothing breath; the abnormal serenity of the air around her, the whiteness of a room that reminds her of the snow and the smell of antibiotics.

She remembers waiting in a lobby with Hop decorated like that in Hammerlocke, his hand clutching hers while he tried not to bit his thumb or cry in stress, the both of them tired and battered yet the lucky party of the fight against Eternatus. She remembers the horrified yet relieved look on his face as they discovered in what state his brother was. She remembers the words that got out of his mouth, how he found it so creepy to have Lee lying there, almost lifeless.

Surely there is some irony to be found about Hop now playing that role.

 It hurts to be there, to see the time standing still yet again, as she waits for him to wake up. A part of her does like him to be resting after the nightmare he must have endured to end up like that. With the injuries he’s sustained, it’s only normal he doesn’t wake up immediately. She’s trying to combine that with the effect of sleeping gas, but as a girl who’s never had a surgery, it’s hard for her to estimate such a thing. She’s got to wait and…

“Gl…”

 She’s about to drift off when she realizes Hop’s head is now turned towards her, the faintest smirk on his lips. He looks beyond tired, exhausted by the experience and the trauma of the surgery, pale all around, but he’s still here, safe. The light press she feels on her hands makes her realize she’s been holding his all along. That’d be embarrassing if she wasn’t trying to get her priorities straight.

“Hop, you’re awake!” That’s beyond obvious, what’s the point of saying aloud like that? Maybe it’s just from the sheer happiness of this being a fact…

“T-thanks…”

 His voice is weak, low and raspy, barely more hearable than a whisper; quite the opposite of the roaring tone he’d usually speak in. Still, that’s his voice, that’s him being able to breathe yet again, and it’s more than enough for now. Of course, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t wish deeply for his recovery to happen soon; that’s just settling down for a sustainable goal for now. Better not rush things in, for she has a feeling that may have happened to her good old friend over here…

“How are you?” She asks, keeping her own voice down.

“Huh… Sore…?”

“Better than gone, I suppose.”

“…Yeah…”

 Hop inhales deeply, wincing slightly when he does. A slow hand strokes the left side of his chest, trying to calm something down.

“A-again… Thanks for… y’know… saving me…”

“That was nothing. We have to look out for each other, don’t we?”

“Ha… Yeah…”

The mood sinks with his smile, dragging her heart with it.

“Sorry for… that…”

 Gloria doesn’t reply immediately, letting a silence settle itself, uncomfortable and thick.

“You’re having problems breathing, right?”

He nods.

“No wonder you do, with what you got for yourself… How did you even go for that long with these injuries?”

“I wanted to… make sure my… team would be safe.”

“The good news is that they’re safe, now. Dubwool seemed really worried about you when I found you two!”

“He’s such a great ’on, right…?”

“He sure is.” She clears her throat. “Anyway. I meant to ask you to be easier on yourself from now on. It was really heart-breaking to see you like that struggling to even breathe.”

“Sorry for being such a klutz… Got hit by a Gallade… Slipped on some ice…”

“…and pierced your lung.”

 He freezes.

“So, as I said: don’t do that again, okay? You deserve a lot more than dragging yourself like that, Hop.”

He looks aside.

“You… think?”

“Of course I do! What am I to you, a liar?”

He almost laughs until his pain catches back to him, causing the fit to immediately stops in its tracks.

“’t wasn’t what I meant…!”

“I guessed so.”

 It’s to Gloria’s turn to look aside and feel something burn inside of her, scratching her chin with her finger.

“I meant to say, you’re amazing, Hop. I don’t want to see you go like you almost did. What’s a Champion without her rival?”

“Huh…”

“That’s right, not the same person! You matter very much to so many people! So, please, can you take care of yourself?”

Hop still doesn’t reply. He looks like he’s lost his words somewhere along the way.

“Not for anyone either. For yourself. I… I hope you’ll one day understand how important you are.”

She can understand she’s being confusing and emotional. Trying to pull strings together is harder than usual.

“I’ll try that, then…”

“Good.”

 The two of them settle in a comfortable silence. She’ll have to ask him when he’s better what happened to him in case such a disaster is to happen again (which she really hopes it doesn’t). For now, he’ll recover, and she’ll be by his side as he does so. Too bad for her Battle Tower scores and public interventions, some things just matter more than clout and fighting experience.

You know, once she’s sure they’ll be safe and sound, she can tell what’s truly on her mind and heart. It seems like he still doesn’t have a clue as to what’s hiding under the rocks…

  “Hop!!”

Busting through the door, not even waiting for a yes or a no, Leon enters the room his baby brother is stuck in. Soon, however, his intense concern turns into a sort of awkwardness and utter surprise when he realizes he’s facing his brother and his best friend sleeping against next each other, their hands fiddled together.

 Before he can mellow out and smile at the sudden sight of safety and softness, Sonia’s voice comes from behind his shoulder.

“Let them sleep instead of screaming like that, you big idiot.”

He has to agree with her, so his shoulders untenses as he lets her enter and closes the door behind them.

[nitewrighter]

for your overwatch prompt thing on ao3 could you do sombra getting discovered by the eye thing? (or not, idk how easy that'd be to write)

I think I could manage something! I really love Sombra’s origin story, and I love the concept of her having an undercurrent of well-earned paranoia.

—-

It was a night like any other. 17-year-old Olivia Colomar was perched, cross-legged in her swivel chair, fingers racing across the keyboard. She had a few names for her portal–the rabbit hole if she was feeling posh, combing through the offshore accounts of CEO’s sapping the life from her city, Mictlān if she was feelng more dark, turning over the internet’s rocks and seeing the predators and traffickers and the assassins writhing underneath, and there were invisible threads connecting both worlds, drawn taut. 

She followed a handful of criminal organizations’ servers like one might have accounts on different social media platforms. The Shimada data servers were always entertaining because it was a bit like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. She gleaned what assets she could without their noticing, but mostly just used them as a jumping-off point for a whole network of numerous off-the-book bookkeeping for an impressive number of Asian, American, and Pacific corporations. There was a money-laundering casino in Monaco that had a host of all sorts of interesting friends. She gleaned what she could from these organizations, and she would (internally, at least) emphasize the word ‘glean’ because she was only grabbing what no one would notice, the runoff and the little forgotten numbers. If anything she was keeping the books cleaner for them. She kept tabs on a good number of governments as well–Overwatch’s digital defenses were practically Swiss cheese, fitting for their Zurich base, but really only a handful of individuals from the organization really caught her attention: Reyes, O’Deorain, and LaCroix–they seemed like the only people who really knew what they were doing, but that was just off of what Olivia could get from the emails. She gleaned what she could from Overwatch and a handful of messy political official’s accounts as well. She reasoned that if governments needed money to support the people, she was just helping the government do its job… even if it was just one person (her), and all the while her invisible threads were there–like that line of half-consciousness drifting through a daydream. She knew they were all connected at one source. It wasn’t a hunch so much as a pattern she could follow, the priorities of one singular, powerful, unseen force, pushing everything towards… something. 

Some things only needed the right nudge–a Shimada assassination here, a shipment of rare minerals needed to construct hard-light projectors there, and a chain reaction would be set off—a building collapse in Numbani, a multi-antibiotic resistant virus escaping past the confines of a hospital in Giza, a gas explosion in the Rockies, the effects were seemingly random, and yet, the trails of money and resources bursting forth in the aftermath of these found their flow, found their way into the most unassuming pockets. Old money–money that survived the Omnic Crisis, money that somehow hid away from all the government’s reconstruction efforts after the crisis, but it wasn’t sitting stagnant. No, it was feeding back into the cycle– perpetuating itself, but still moving towards that unknown center. But oh she was getting better at tracking them down. She was getting faster at it, too. She had drawn out complex webs  in cheap black and white composition books of different organizations and where they were sending their money and resources. She hid them behind her processors. She felt a bit silly for going analog for the most vital bits of data-tracking, but she chalked that up to whatever the Omnic Crisis and its aftermath had done to twist up her childhood psyche–that wasn’t important. What was in the notebooks–that was important. What was on the screens–that was important. Being the unseen watcher–that was very important.

Which was why a cold panic spiked through her body when, after just a few keystrokes, no more daring than any other night, all of her screens suddenly blared red. Her music distorted and folded over itself, its catchy beat turning to a groaning ripple. This wasn’t a virus. It couldn’t be a virus. She had too many safeguards in place for a virus, and any virus that could get past her defenses would have to be one she wrote. All the fans on her processors were whirring with the strain of whatever intrusion this was on her system.

Then words appeared on her main monitor.

>Hello, Olivia.

Olivia flinched back from her screen hard, her breath catching in her throat, fogging warm over her fingers as she covered her mouth, not sure if she was trying to suppress a scream or quiet her breathing.

>You’re very observant.

Olivia was hammering away at her keyboard, unsure if she should reset the system or if that was what it (what was it?) wanted, but trying every combination she could to try and pull out of whatever she had just stepped in.

>That isn’t going to work, Olivia.

A bolt of electricity rippled over her keyboard and Olivia cried out and yanked her hands back from the keyboard as more words started appearing.

>You’re going to watch, Olivia, and you’re going to remember.

> It’s okay. 

>You’re good at it. 

>This is what you’ve been doing nearly every night for nearly 10 years now.

>You got your nice, fast, strong, computer and all its neat little parts from it. 

> You got your pretty clothes from it. 

> You’re very good at it and you’re going to keep doing it.

Olivia’s chest was rapidly rising and falling with her breath and she was shaking her head as if whatever was putting the words on her screen could see her right now. Could it? How would she know? She could access classified CCTV as easily as tying a shoe, what could they do? And then the words started their dance across the screen again.

>You can watch, Olivia. 

>You can watch all you like.

>But just know we’re watching too.

>And that we’ve been watching for much, much longer.

>And we can do a lot more than just watch.

There was a horrible fizzing sound and all of Olivia’s screens were suddenly displaying a stylized eye symbol, glowing candle white against screens that were the same red as the back of your eyelids after staring into the sun, Olivia could smell smoke as another ripple of electricity shocked out from her processors and suddenly her room went completely black. She shrunk in her seat, some primal part of her, some screaming little Omnic Crisis orphan with the logic of ‘they can’t get you if you’re small enough,’ overriding half her senses for a solid minute until she notice the light outside her window had shifted. She got up from her seat and went to the window. The streetlights were out. Somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking, and out there in the dark were the partially glowing skeletons of a few Los Muertos members puzzling under a burnt-out stoplight. Whatever had just made contact with her had sent a message by knocking out the power for her section of the city grid.

She slumped back into her seat, but panic threw her right back out of it again and on impulse she seized her composition books from their hiding spot behind her now smoking processors. She flipped them open, her eyes blurring with tears–she wasn’t sure if it was the smoke or the panic–as she looked over her notes. This wasn’t safe enough. Analog wasn’t safe enough. Nowhere was safe. Head still buzzing with panic she yanked out her wastebasket and set it in the middle of the floor, then rifled through one of her drawers and seized a lighter. She held her notebooks at arm’s length over the wastebasket and flicked the lighter underneath them. One click, a spark, and nothing. Two clicks, nothing–stupid, panicking, shaking hands. Four clicks and a little flame sprung up on the lighter and she brought it shaking up to the corner of the notebooks, but then she stopped before flame could meet paper. 

This was her work. This was what she could do. This was her. And they thought they could stop her–what, because they had been around longer? They thought they could scare her–they had scared her–no they had to scare her. They wouldn’t have reached out to her if she wasn’t a threat, or shaping up to be one. She had to keep going. But now she had to be smart about it. She set the notebooks down on her desk next to her smoking monitors and paced around in the dark. She looked back around her dark apartment.

“They just turned some lights off…” Olivia said quietly, “Anyone can turn some lights off.”

They could find her. They already knew where she was. She could memorize it—it was practically already a memory web in her head already–but without the data, without her processors to back it up, these were just the notebooks of a conspiracy theorist. And the processors weren’t safe anymore, she knew that. No hardware. No analog. Definitely no cloud. That only left…

She curled the fingers of her hand inward and outward. The human brain was capable of storing terabytes of data… it could probably store more. It would probably have to store more. She would have to be more.

—

It was the next morning in a dingy back-alley Augment shop. 

“You’re talking about a second brain,” said the cyberneticist, folding her arms, “I’ve done plenty of spinal implants and neural data drives, but you’re talking about grafting a goddamn hard-drive onto yourself.”

“With my other specs–” Sombra started, almost completely swallowed up by her hoodie.

“Yeah, and your other specs are insane–” said the cyberneticist, pressing her hand to her forehead, “It’s like you’re trying to turn yourself into a–a human data lamprey. I don’t know how I could implant them without crippling you.”

“…I have some neuroprosthetic blueprints ripped right out of Ogundimu Prosthetic’s R&D department,” said Sombra, pulling out her holophone and displaying them, “The procedure’s safe. If the babies in Numbani can manage it, so can you.”

The cyberneticist studied the blueprints. “I mean, procedure wise, yeah, doable, but I’ll need to whip up a lot of the components in-shop and the amount needed to offset the amount of lathanum alone—”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” said Sombra, pressing another button on her phone and showing her a number.

“…not really,” said the cyberneticist, “But,” she pointed at the number on the screen, “That? That’s good enough for me.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” said Sombra.

—

Olivia Colomar died on Wednesday, November 8, after throwing herself onto the tracks of the Metro de Dorado. Suicide by train had been significantly cut down all over the world thanks to advances in station safety design in the past few decades, but not every city could afford to install such preventative measures, especially not in the wake of the Omnic crisis. A crisis orphan herself and a savvy freelance tech security consultant, Olivia Colomar lived a quiet, solitary existence, but had handfuls of friends in a few reform- and Crisis-reconstruction-minded forums online from her days in Overwatch’s UN-sponsored orphanages, a handful of foster homes, and Adawe Foundation-sponsored boarding schools. Everywhere she went, she was one of hundreds, thousands. A face in the crowd, no more remarkable than anyone else. 

That was the narrative Sombra went with. To her own credit she anonymously wrote herself a very touching obituary, though she doubted anyone would read it. It was a lot easier to make a death without a body than one might think, especially with her new augmentations. First fabricate the CCTV footage–the same technology that could remove crowds from photo frames could add new randomized crowds pieced together from months of footage before. Then came the legwork: shut down the station for maintenance, shut down the train for a certain amount of time, spill your blood that you’ve been draining out of yourself from the three weeks of healing from your augments onto the tracks. Hypertrains. Barely left enough to cremate. Fudge the right paperwork at the morgue and from there you were just a stamp on a piece of paper in a dusty filing cabinet in archives no one gave a shit about. It would have been harder, she reflected, if she had people who cared about her, but, lucky for her she didn’t. But that didn’t matter.

The eye was right. She would keep watching. And now, with neuroprosthetics itching under her skin, hungry and sore and tingling, with neural implants scorching along the side of her head, with the remains of Olivia Colomar’s life burning behind her, she would do a lot more than just watch.

[moonlightjinko-kun]

Saviour (Q Fic)

Done for @kyusakuyumenoprotectionsquad Q’s debut commemoration event! 

Rating: Trigger warning for depictions of violence and verbal abuse (idk what is everyone’s tolerance level for this but please be warned!)

Genre: Angst/ sort of good ending (?) (again idk what to put for this)

Words: 3300++ words 

Summary: Q gets rescued by the ADA after the events of the Guild abduction. Upon saving them and having made sure that they was alright and for the safety of the ADA as well as for everyone else, the ADA found a safe location to temporarily hide them away. Not before Q decides to break out. 

Read it on AO3! 

A/N 1: This is something headcanon-ish I had for Yumeno for a while, and also I just wanted to portray Yumeno being able to be their own badass and being able to fight for themself. This is another warning that this work contains depictions of violence (towards Yumeno and Yumeno showing it) and also verbal abuse towards Yumeno, if you are uncomfortable with any of such depictions, please absolutely scroll past this post. Also, would like to caution about one of the guards using the wrong pronouns for Yumeno, because I felt it would fit the guard’s personality more. 

My eyelids fluttered open slowly, greeted by the darkness that enclosed me within. A metal door fitted with a tiny window was in my line of sight. Nng… this isn't Mori-san's door… it isn’t Dazai-san’s place too… A feeble streak of moonlight shone through a window high up on the wall behind. To the left of the window, the silhouette of a simple desk was discernible with the help of the moonlight. I turned my head a little, towards the far left corner. A dark shape resembling a toilet came into view. Confusion flickered in my eyes as I tried to make sense of my surroundings. Where am I… now?  Questions flooded my mind as I pushed myself to a sitting position. I leaned against the metal bedpost, and darted my eyes around nervously, trying to find answers to the tide of questions in my mind. My gaze lingered at the door and I slowly formulated a plan to get some answers. I stood slowly, legs wobbly, and held the bedpost for support. With my arms outstretched, the right sleeve slid up my arm slightly and a flash of white caught my attention. A scream tore from my throat when I realised what was covering my arms.

                                                                                          ****

Clong clong. The harsh knock on the dull metallic door resounded throughout the corridor. 

                                                                                          ****

With what little strength regained in my legs, I scrambled to the door and pounded back. Curses spewed out of my mouth, the anger at them removing my doll and razor blades that had flared inside me being directed out.

A pair of dark pupils loomed in front of me, looking down through the tiny window. Ignoring the pain shooting through my arm from the fist and encouraged by the audience outside, I pounded even harder. 

Klik!

Before I had time to react, the door slammed into my face, knocking me over. Droplets of blood trickled from my broken nose, staining my white gown. I hurriedly wiped my nose on the right sleeve of the gown while retreating further in. He stepped into the room, an enormously built man with a square face and dark eyes. Lifting me up easily with one hand, he tossed me back to the bed like a rag doll. The thin mattress did little to cushion the impact, and pain grew in my lower back. A sharp cry of pain escaped me, inciting a harsh laugh from him. I curled up into a fetal position, tuning him out, as I felt the pain searing through my body. If only I had my doll, if only… The pile of bodies that my doll would bring, the hurt that this man would feel, the pain that he would cause… A crooked smile twisted my lips at the images of destruction flashing through my mind. The shut of the door snapped my attention back and I stared around, hoping that he had thrown my doll in. Of course, he wouldn’t. A small sigh escaped me at the realisation.

The soreness in my body stung. Bitter hatred coursed through me with each stab of pain I felt as I moved. The thin blanket I had pulled over myself was barely keeping me warm, as the cold night dragged on. I let out a soft whimper as tears rolled down my cheeks. Tired and aching all over, my eyes started to droop close, and I finally gave in to a dreamless sleep.

I need to get out of here. 

                                                                        

I stirred at the sharp knock at the door. The bright rays streaming through the window landed on my face, waking me up. Instinctively, I raised my hand to shield from the glaring sun. The door was pushed open and the guard from last night walked in, carrying a food tray. He set it on the table and without a glance at me, headed out of the room. Spurred by my hunger and curiosity, I found myself hoping for a decent meal and crossed the short distance to the table. I narrowed my eyes in dislike at the pathetic meal served – rice, soup and a tiny portion of vegetables. I took a sip of the soup. It was cold and disgustingly bland. Eww, this is... gross.  I crossed the short distance back to the bed and sat, staring at the door.

The door opened after sometime. A wave of revulsion washed through me at the sight of the ugly smile plastered on his face. He walked to the table and picked up my barely touched tray. He stopped right in front of me, putting his face inches from mine. “Ho, starve to death then.” His breath stank of stale cigarettes, the foul smell choked me. I stared back and saw the same hatred in my eyes reflected in his. “Starve, you –“ I jumped and flipped the entire tray, spilling its content on him.

Adrenaline surged through my system. I leaped out of bed and squeezed past him, reaching the door. I reached my hand out, the handle almost in my grasp, when I felt a hard blow to the back of my skull, knocking me to the ground. Blood trickled from a scalp laceration, my head throbbed with pain from the impact. A weak groan rose from me, as I tried to push myself up. The next moment, an ear-rending scream of pain reverberated in the room. My scream.

“ – dup, shaddup – “ The rest of his words were drowned out by my screams of pain. “- fucking brat!”

Without warning, another sound of bone crushing sounded. This time louder and from my left. My eyes darted to the left, and a monstrous scream wrenched from me at the horror before my eyes. Two of my digits were horribly splayed to the left at an unimaginable angle. Tears slid down my cheeks at the unimaginable pain. The large man pressed down on me and covered my mouth with his thick, callused hand. My shouts were reduced to mere groans.

The door was thrown open again and two new guards ran in. “Andou, Yamamoto! Tie him down!”

I felt the weight shift, before I was pulled up and dragged limply to the bed. The large man stood by the bed, arms crossed, his face twisted with anger. Shouts tore from my throat at the impending horror that would befall me. The thicker one of the pair pinned me down while the other quickly secured a white strip of cloth over my mouth. With the makeshift gag in place, only groans issued from me. I kicked out in anger and frustration. “Andou, tie his legs first. Yamamoto, push down harder on the legs,” barked the large man. My legs were pushed close together. Yamamoto, following the large man’s directions, almost broke my legs with the enormous strength exerted on them. I felt the coarse cloth on my ankles, as it was wrapped around them. I felt a quiver of hesitation before the rope was pulled tight. My eyes met those of the guard who had bounded my ankles and I saw a flicker of unease in them.

“Andou, ball his hands up.”

My eyes widened with shock and horror. I looked at Andou, a silent plea shining in my eyes. Andou shot a quick glance at my damaged hands, and uttered, “Okamoto-san… I…” Okamoto held up his hand and fixed him with a menacing glare, silencing him.

“Hurry.” Okamoto barked.

Andou placed his hand gently atop mine. His hand was quivering and his gaze was on my broken fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was trembling with hesitance and uncertainty. “Okamoto-san, this isn’t right. We can’t do this.”

A tense silence followed as Okamoto glared at them.

“Andou. Get out.” Rage exploded behind Okamoto’s eyes. Cowered, Andou dropped his hands and dashed out like a dog with its tail between its legs. Okamoto crossed my arms together in front of my chest and held them down. “Yamamoto, get the thick ropes.” The force on my legs lifted for a second before it was replaced by Okamoto. A moment of silence settled between them before the clang of the door broke it. Okamoto picked up the cloth and touched my hands. Madness gleamed from his eyes, a wicked smile twisting his face.

“Ah, you fucking brat.” The smile on his face widened. “God has finally delivered you to me. 9 years. I’ve waited for 9 fucking years.” A muffled shout escaped my lips. “Shhhhh, no one’s coming. An unloved brat like you deserves to rot in here. Fucks like you always do.” I could feel another bout of tears coming. “Trash like you should have never been born.” Fresh tears flowed at the touch of his hand on mine, as I knew what was to come. “For my son.” I felt the crush in my right hand. Black spots flared across my vision, and darkness came.

                                                                                          ****

The constant pain in my fingers woke me up. How long…? I could feel a tight compression upon me and I realised that I was tied down to the bed. I couldn’t feel any trickle of blood from my scalp. I wondered if the bleeding had stopped. Would I die? Why isn’t anyone from Port Mafia coming? How do I get out? The endless list of unanswered questions swarmed through my brain. I need to get out, I hate this place. I hate it, hate hate hate hate hate hate hate it, I hate it so much. I started to think, fighting the building pain in my head. There was only one way, one weak link. I forced myself to think and perfect the plan, through the pain pounding in my head. My lips twisted into a small smile at the plan I had formulated, knowing that it would put the people who had hurt me here into an unstoppable, burning hell.

The pain in my head peaked, escalating the hatred and anger I had felt with the words of the large man. The image of the blonde who had me bound surfaced and the hatred I felt intensified. No no no no no no, I… I… I am… Tears streamed down my cheeks. Everyone who had abandoned me, who had hurt me, who had not love me, I will drag you down to hell myself. But I don’t want to be unloved anymore. I just want …  I want it too. I carried the thought into my sleep, hoping to seek comfort in my dreams.

I want to be loved too.

                                                                          

“- keep the kid asleep –“ A flash of white. “- not gonna –“ A streak of black. “ – out, every – “ A pair of yellow wings. Darkness enveloped me yet again.

                                                                                          ****

I stirred at the thud of the door. I rubbed my eyes wearily and stared at the door, trying to make out the figure. A… woman…? “You’re finally awake.” Finally? How long had I slept?

The staccato clicks of the heeled shoes echoed off the floor as she made her way closer, her eyes fixed on me. My gaze flickered over her face before settling on the gold hairpin on her hair. Butterfly not just wings. It was her.  

“Are you feeling better?” She sounded different from then, softer and warmer now. I gave a small nod. “Can you eat?” My stomach growled then, drawing a small chuckle from her. “The food’s coming, wait a little.”

She crossed over to the table and sat, her eyes once again riveted on me. I stared back, while the gears in my mind churned out questions. My head tilted a little to the right as my brain worked at the questions.

“Do you have something you want to ask?”

My head shifted back at her words. I drew in a deep breath and voiced the biggest question that had been lingering in my mind since I first woke. “Where am I?”

Her face remained expressionless while she took a moment. “A cell.” My eyes rolled upwards instinctively. A tinge of annoyance flashed in her eyes and a sigh followed. “A cell in a medical institution.” Shock flitted through me even though I had expected the answer. I wanted to probe further at the location but she had turned her head to the door. A moment of silence settled in the small cell.

“Um,” I started again, breaking the silence and gaining her attention back, “how long has –“

The click of the door brought her to her feet. I turned to look at the door and saw the guard from the other night walking in, his hands leaden with a meal tray. His mouth was open, ready to speak, when the woman waved him off and pointed to the table instead. He nodded his understanding. Drawn by the sight of the brightly coloured dishes, my eyes tracked them as they were carried to the table. I watched as he set the dishes down, the smell of the food filling the air in the tiny cell. My mouth started to water as I waited for the small table to be filled.

With the table filled, the guard sunk into a bow, greeting the woman. “Sensei, you need to go. Your colleague’s been waiting at the gate for a while.”

“Thank you, Andou-san.”

He returned another bow. The woman turned and walked back towards the door, the click-clacks of her heels ringing in the cell. I climbed down the bed and shuffled towards the table. The guard, Andou, shifted away from the table, following silently behind the woman. The click-clacks paused for a moment, and the click of the door resounded in the quietness of the cell. Then, she spoke again.

“Four days. That’s how long you’ve been here.”  I turned my head back in surprise at her. A twinge of what seemed like sadness crossed her face. My mouth dropped open, ready for me to put my gratitude into words. But, my throat tightened into a knot, trapping the words at my throat. I closed my mouth and just stared at them. The clicks of the heels resumed seconds later. Once out of the cell, Andou pulled the door shut behind him.

I stood frozen for another second before moving over to the table. I sat myself down and took in the spread before me. Rice porridge, miso soup, pickled radish, grilled mackerel, egg roll and sautéed vegetables. I pushed the vegetables away and pulled the egg roll closer to me. That revealed a piece of paper. I picked it up and read it. Now, this is interesting, but it can wait. I put the note aside and pulled the bowl of rice porridge towards me. I took a spoon of rice porridge and let its warmth spread in my mouth before putting a piece of egg roll in. The egg roll was soft and sweet. A satisfied smile formed upon my lips as I ate. Happiness flooded through me with each mouthful I take.

                                                                                            ****

I sat on the bed, knees to my chest, my hands clutching tightly at the tray hidden under my blanket. The note had already been torn into shreds and mixed in with the vegetables, and I hope no one would dig into it and find it. Success is near, I can’t fail now. I was done waiting for people to save me. I’d waited and waited for so long in the previous facility, but no one came. So now, I will save myself. Determination built in me, lending me strength to finish this.

The click of the door heightened my senses and I waited with bated breath, hoping that the guard who would step in would be the one I was waiting for. Adrenaline coursed through my system and I shifted my right leg slightly forward. The door was pushed open and he stepped in. Andou.

His gaze flickered over to me, knees drawn up tight against my chest and an innocent expression on my face. His tough demeanour cracked a little and sympathy flitted across his face. He turned to the table and stood with his back to me for a moment, before tilting his head to his right.

“Hey, the tray –“

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the dull clang of the metal tray on his head. The blow was enough to confuse him, and he staggered a few steps to his side with his hands clutching his head. I kicked out several times at his knees with increasing force and finally his knees weakened. Andou sunk to the floor with a pained groan. I leaped off the bed and smashed the tray over his head again and again until he had fainted. I sat to the side, breathing hard. My fingers relaxed and the metal tray fell to my side with a loud clang. Its once shiny surface was now spattered with blood. The realisation of what I had done sending waves of shock through me, but I had no time to stay shell-shocked. I took a deep breath and reached over to Andou, trying to ignore the stream of blood that was flowing from a laceration on his skull as I searched his pockets for any keys or cards that would get me out. Finding both, I took them. I stood up slowly and was about to walk towards the door when I heard it. 

BAM BAM BAM. The loud knock on the door resounded in the small cell, stopping me in my tracks. Surprise overwhelmed my shock and I stood rooted to the ground by the bed. Shit shit shit shit shit!

“Oi Andou, get to the main building once you’re done! Emergency there!”

I looked towards the door, my gaze meeting that of the man across the small window. He banged on the day once more, a cruel smile twisting his face. “Sit down, kid, or I’ll smack ya til ya cry later!” He banged on the door again before he left.

I listened and waited for the sound of his footsteps to fade into the silence. I stood on my tiptoes and peeked through the window. The corridor outside was empty. I put the key in and turned, hearing a click. I pulled the door open and stepped through into the empty corridor.

The lights in the brightly lit corridor blinded me momentarily as my eyes adjusted from the dimness of my cell. I looked to both ends of the corridor and saw the bright green ‘exit’ sign atop the steel doors to my right. I ran towards it and swiped the card at the reader beside the door. The reader blipped green and swung open.

A soft breeze flowed toward me, lifting my hair. I sucked in deep breaths of the sweet night air, I was almost out of this place. I just need to find a way back to the streets now! I ran towards the left, away from the cluster of buildings. I saw a thick plume of black smoke rising into the sky from the direction I had come from. An orange fireball was engulfing one of the buildings, and it was quickly spreading to the neighbouring buildings. The fire was lighting up the area, and I could see a small side gate a short distance away. I ran towards it, and swiped the card at the reader. It blipped green again and there was a click. The card slipped out of my hand as I pushed the gate open. I took a tentative step forward before running towards the forest which bordered the facility.

                                                                                          ****

A soft hum filled the air around me as I walked down the empty streets, dressed in nothing but a blood-stained white gown. My hair was disheveled from running through the forest, and the twigs had snagged at parts of my sleeve, leaving tiny holes. It’s fine, I look kind of cool with it. A bright smile lit up my face as I stared at the moon shining above with the stars twinkling. It was the most beautiful night I’d seen in a while.

I was my own saviour.

A/N 2: I hope this was enjoyable (?) I kept working on this on and off because of the angst and pain. Please do let me know any comments that y’all have after reading it. This is based on my take of Yumeno as a character and I admit that there might be differences in how everyone sees them, but it’s also based on what I really wanna see from them. If I screw up the formatting on tumblr, I’m sorry but it would probably get fixed on AO3. Thank you as always for reading to the end!  

[sidhewrites]

World Building. I got super carried away with the dwarven culture of Nashoth, so here’s about 1,000 words on the subject. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about. 

It’s also a myth that the dwarves in cresce all live underground spread by ignorant historians from the past. Their main settlements ate in the mountains between Cresce and Gaelgallah (that I have yet to find a satisfying name for), and their largest trade center is in Nashoth, a largely underground city lit by glowworms, crystals, and lots and lots of scented candles. However, the mountains themselves provide plenty of homes and while many dwarves have carved their homes into the mountainsides themselves, terraced farms, shepherds, astronomers, and many others spend their lives largely above ground. Humans also often weren’t dressed for the harsh winds often found on the mountain slopes, so they usually stayed within Nashoth and didn’t interract much with dwarves who live in different places.

Dwarven hospitals and medical centers are also usually located within the mountains. It’s considered unhealthy to keep babies in the open air for too long when they’re first born, and sick and injured folk are similarly protected -- this is because the mountainous terrain can see countless thunderstorms and snow storms in the winter, and it’s safer to keep them in a room that can be controlled.

Personal hygeine is very important to them, and there are beauty contests every now and then to see who has the loveliest beard -- the main symbol of dwarven health and prosperity. It’s easy to keep a person’s hair clean and brushed, as braiding it back keeps it safe from the wind and sweat and most other things, and while hands can often get dirty, it’s important to wash them at least twice daily, and before and after every meal. Calloused hands are always preferred over dirty hands, and they usually find it less attractive people who have perfectly smooth hands as it means they aren’t contributing to their community one way or another, though that does not mean people who are ill, infirm, or disabled don’t have a place.

Dwarves with wheelchairs who are still able to use their hands without issue still have nearly every trade option available to them that doesn’t require terrace farming, or other occupations that require the use of legs -- though plenty have made simple machines and pulley systems to get around it anyway. There are also plenty of prosthetics that have been rigged to help with many things as well. Those who can’t use their hands as well often become story tellers or community planners, as well as shepherds, scientists, and teachers. Ear muffs and special gloves are provided for people who attend social events but have sensory overload issues. There’s a dwarven sign language as well that all children learn -- both because it’s hard to hear each other during heavy winds and storms on the mountain tops, because it’s hard to communicate on crowded market days, and because some dwarves are deaf and they need to communicate with people, too. Accessibility is incredibly important and plenty of dwarves with disabilities are able to get along just fine.

And those who are unable to work are still treated with love, as they are still members of the community. If a dwarf has depression, they’re included in the prayers for the infirm and sick. Those who are ill, elderly, or in chronic pain are cared for by the community, even if they have no surviving family, though I haven’t decided on what I want to do for funerals yet. Something to do with being returned to the earth that provided for them though i’m not sure how well burials would go on/inside mountains.

However -- it’s considered odd or disconcerting if a dwarf doesn’t attend any social events by choice. Community is important, and people who don’t participate in any way to the community are thus seen as outsiders and not as important. If someone was previously a member but pulls away, people are sent to reach out to them and see what’s wrong, but if someone just doesn’t participate idk. It’s seen as a moral failing to separate completely from the community, and not to provide anything in return.

Anyway back to beards: Beards grow in just about when the coming of age ceremonies take place, and are braided intricately, but when poorly taken care of can be matted or full of crumbs (A common problem among young dwarves who are trying to rebel against their elders. There’s a folk song that talks about the little pigsies that live in unkempt dwarf beards, stealing crumbs and slowly weighing the dwarf down until they can’t walk any longer and starve to death. Dramatic, but effective, as every child grows up knowing that they must keep themselves clean.)  There’s probably a whole thing about how many times you’re supposed to undo the braids in your beard, how to wash it, and how to brush it, before putting the braids back in. Maybe a weekly thing idk yet

As for the gemstones and precious metals -- well, they live in mountains. It’s expected that they have a wealth of these things. However, the value people from cresce put on gemstones and precious metals, and the value dwarves put on precious metals vary widely due to supply and demand. For dwarves, they’re still considered luxury items, but glass and handmade jewelry is considered far more valuable as they were created, rather than found from the earth -- see below for more info.

It’s also a “matrilineal” society, for lack of a better word, in that people who give birth largely identify as women, but not always. Creation is celebrated by dwarves, so people who give birth are among the most celebrated, and become the head of the household. Midwives  often, though not always, double as spiritual leaders, and it’s not uncommon to see someone giving a sermon with a baby on their hip or breastfeeding. Artisans of any kind, especially builders, inventors, and weavers, are treated with more respect than those who have trades that don’t have to do with the making of something -- warriors, shepherds, travellers, etc. No trade is outwardly disrespected, but there’s still a heirarchy.

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[hemmovation]

Better For You (Byun Baekhyun)

Prompts: “Remember when you promised we’d always be together? Because I remember when you meant it.” and “Did you honestly think I cared? It was all an act.”

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun x reader

Genre: College AU, Fratboy!Baekhyun, angst, fluff

Warnings: alcohol, it’s really cliche, maybe swearing idk

Word count: 1429

           The beat of the music pounded through my ears, the vibrations rumbling in my chest as I followed my friend through the crowd of people occupying the frat house. A party was the last place I wanted to be, but I was dragged here without much choice. I’d much rather be curled up in my bed watching Netflix, but my friend decided I needed to get out of my room more. lately she’d been dragging me to the mall or to events on campus, and this party was one of the things she deemed was a necessary part of a college experience as well as something that would take my mind off my recent break up. The further we got into the frat house, the louder and more cramped it got. The air reeked of weed and various types of alcohol, and I had to refrain from covering my nose.

           As soon as we reached the kitchen, she was mixing me a drink of whatever they had on the counters, thrusting it into my hand and telling me to chug it. I did as I was told, figuring I may as well try to have some fun while I was here, but the only way my mind would actually be able to forget about Baekhyun would be if I managed to blackout from the alcohol. Soon enough I’d downed nearly four drinks, and I was on the verge of being drunk. I had lost sight of my friend quickly, assuming she had found some guy to dance with. So much for having a girls’ night.

           Sighing, I made my way back towards the living room of the frat, wanting to find a place to sit down for a bit. I could feel the effects of the alcohol in my head, and I felt like I was spinning. Leaning against the wall next to me, I shook the feeling away, doing my best to hold myself up. Luckily for me there was an empty chair next to one of the couches, and I quickly tried to make my way to it before someone else could. Before I could sink into the comfy-looking chair, my eyes wandered to the couch next to me, and I gasped, nearly breaking into tears right then and there. Sitting on the couch was Baekhyun, his eyes now locked with mine. Some scrawny chick dressed in what looked mostly like a bra and what had to be the shortest skirt known to man was practically on top of him, clearly trying to get his attention.

           My mind went blank as I stared at him, the tears beginning to well up in my eyes as I fought them back. I couldn’t cry here, especially not in front of Baekhyun. But I also couldn’t keep my brain from going back to our break up.

           “Honestly, you’re just not good enough. I could do so much better than you. You’re clingy and annoying, and honestly, I don’t know why I bothered with you anyway,” he sneered, rolling his eyes as he barely looked at me.

           My heart was shattering into a million pieces, a lump forming in my throat as the tears spilled over. “B-Baekhyun, what are you saying? How could you say those things to me? Remember when you promised we’d always be together? Because I remember when I thought you meant it,” I sobbed. My shoulders shook, and my legs began to give out, barely able to support my weight.

           “Did you honestly think I cared? It was all an act. I don’t want you.” His voice was cold and firm, the complete opposite of how he normally sounded when he spoke to me.

           His words caused me to break, and I could no longer hold myself up. I collapsed onto the floor, sobs wracking through my body.

           At the memory of our recent break up, the tears spilled over, running down my cheeks. Baekhyun looked surprised to see me crying, and I couldn’t quite tell in my drunken state, but he appeared almost…heartbroken. Not willing to let him see what he had done to me, I spun around, desperately trying to shove my way through the hundreds of people crammed into this tiny space. I had no idea how I was supposed to get out of the house. I hadn’t paid enough attention when we were coming in, and with the alcohol inside my system I had gotten even more turned around. Frantically moving throughout the building, I took random twists and turns, hoping I could find my way outside.

           Somehow, I had ended up going down a hallway that must’ve led to a bunch of the bedrooms for the frat because every time I opened a door, it only led to dark rooms filled with clothes strewn about. When I turned back around to go back towards the way I came from, my heart stopped at the sight of Baekhyun standing in the hallway. He was blocking my path and carefully walking towards me.

           “Are…are you alright? Do you need help?” His voice was soft and soothing, like he knew what I was going through.

           I rapidly shook my head, intensifying the feeling of the alcohol. “No, no, I don’t. Especially not from you. I hate you.” I had hoped my voice would come off strong, but it sounded weak and my words were beginning to slur.

           “I’m sorry,” he told me quietly, his eyes cast downward as he took a few steps towards me. “I know you’re hurting, because I am, too.”

           “No, you aren’t. You don’t get to hurt, Baekhyun. You’re the one who did this to us. But it doesn’t even matter to you that you ruined what we had because you didn’t even care. You destroyed me, Baekhyun. I don’t even know what to do with myself. There’s a constant pain in my chest, and you think you get to hurt because of this? Fuck you, Baekhyun.” I couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore, and I fell back against the wall, sliding down against it. Covering my face with my hands, I tried to calm myself down, not wanting him to see how badly he had hurt me when it was clear I meant nothing to him.

           “I didn’t mean it,” he cried. The whimper in his voice caused me to look up at him, and when I did, I could see the fresh tears falling from his eyes. “I-I thought that you deserved more, and my frat brothers all wanted me to go to the club with them. They were telling me that I was missing out on having fun and partying, so they pressured me, and I broke up with you! I know you probably hate me, but I still love you. I love you more than anything, and it’s been killing me not to be with you. I want you more than anything, and none of what I told you that day was true. I just want to be with you, please.” He knelt on the floor in front of me, timidly making his way to me, testing to see if I’d reject his touch. When I didn’t, he pulled me into his lap, tucking me into his chest and resting his chin on top of my head.

           Whimpering, I curled into him, gripping his shirt in my hand as I pulled myself as close as possible. When I finally managed to calm my sobbing, I spoke. “I still love you, Baek. I always will. But how do we come back from this? I don’t want to keep hurting.”

           Pressing short kisses to my forehead, he turned me, so he could look into my eyes. “Let me prove to you how much I love you. I’ll do anything to show you that you mean everything to me. Please, Princess, just let me show you that I can be better, that I’ll be anything you need,” his tone was desperate, knowing that this was his last chance with me.

           Nodding, I closed my eyes, leaning back against his shoulder. “One chance, Baekhyun. Don’t screw it up.”

           “Never, I promise. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you, baby.” With that he pressed his lips against mine. His lips felt soft against my chapped ones, and I could tell how much he loved me. While it was slow, it was sweet and desperate, like he needed to show me how much he loved me right then and there.

           “I love you, too, Baek. You’re my everything.”