#it really shines just like a thin metal wire too its so pretty!!

[symphonyofeternity]

Hii, Xerophi here, and I sculpt things for fun. I don’t post much in general, but I’m flattered some of you want to follow me and I’m super blown away that people thought it looked official?! I’m into clay these days, so if you don’t mind seeing some clay art floating around every now and then, welcome aboard! 

This is a making-of post, and I’m mostly putting this out there to encourage people to try their own hand at making figurines! It’s also not really a tutorial, though if anyone’s curious I gratuitously watched some Youtube videos that cover most of the way a figurine gets sculpted and put together.

Tl;dr!

Materials:

Super Sculpey Firm (Gray) (about 95% of the project) + Premier Air Dry Clay for patch jobs (when I deemed the polymer would suffer brittleness from further baking)

Tamiya Polyester Putty for patching over cracks, imperfections on the surface

Armature wire- Gotta have a skeleton!

Various Tamiya Acrylic paints

A block of wood to mount figurine to (lol)

Tools:

Pretty typical clay sculpting tools 

Airbrush

Paintbrush

Sandpaper

Long post ahead!

To be honest I’ve always been really interested in how anime figurine garage kits (unofficial, unassembled, unpainted figurines) are produced, but unfortunately, most of the details are in Japanese, so I settled for following a bunch of makers on Twitter and did my best to piece together steps from their postings. Unfortunately I’m not skilled enough yet to go the full way of making molds and resin casts for a piece like this but I think I can say I’ve finally leveled up with sculpting figurines in general with this project! I learned a lot along the way. 

I started with his face. And it was not good. The hat too. Proportions were a bit difficult to maintain when I approached it from such a piece-wise method, so I tossed them both and just... completely redid them the next day using the body as reference.

I pondered a lot about what expression I wanted him to have. Since Legends Arceus gave us the brilliant gem of seeing him smile after battle, I thought it was a largely bittersweet thing to be able to witness. I wanted to preserve the intensity of his expression, but also allow the joy of battle to shine through. So... at certain angles, he does appear to have a bit of a smile! 

A rough addition of muscles to the armature. Clay works remarkably like skin and muscle too, stretching and flexing as I pose him. This let me envision the way his tunic would flow over the torso. Made it look a biiiit tight on him…;) Once the tunic was done, used some 91% alcohol to smooth surface imperfections over the clay, then I tossed it sans arms into the oven. Wasn’t sure how I wanted the arms yet. Legs were easier, Ingo’s pants are a little looser at the bottom now than they were in BW.

Grew a brain and remembered I had perfectly good reference material to size and proportion against and wouldn’t it be cool if my figurine matched the same scale as the Best Wishes Partners series?

Dunno what BW Ingo thinks of his raggedy counterpart though. Prolly nothing good?!?!

Got some sculpting mesh wire and cut and formed it in approximation of how I wanted the coat to be shaped, temporarily stuck it to the body, and then carved the rips and tears in before baking. Removed the mesh after its job was done, you can see the diamond grid pattern it left at the bottom of the coat. No worries, there’s magic for that later.

Top of the coat is sculpted directly over the tunic, and the collar is done in a similar fashion to the coat, clay over mesh wire, mesh removed, then the piece is glued on.

He gained a small metal peg at the back to help temporarily hold up the bottom half of the coat along with some helper tape.

The coat was the main reason why I decided I wasn’t experienced enough yet to attempt making a mold and resin cast. I have no idea how I’d even cast such a thin piece to begin with.

Hands! I took a small piece of clay, flattened it into a square for a palm, and sculpted the fingers individually with a piece of metal in each to stick to the palm with. Damn the Best Wishes figurines for the gloves- meanwhile I’m here trying to get knuckles, bones, and nails to show up because they went hard on his hands in his design so I decide to as well. I also finally settled on paying homage to his iconic over the shoulder pose, finally baking the arms into place. 

The first iteration of the Sneaseler warden bracelet got added. It turned out far too thick to fit in his sleeve with the hand attached, so I wound up having to make a second one (pictured) to replace it. The base of a Hisuian Pokeball got added and later touched up to stupid levels of detail. (You can’t even see most of the damn bracelet in his sleeve >:( why did I work so hard)

I struggled with getting the coat to meet smoothly across the seam, but turned out I didn’t need to. Tamiya putty turned out to be an insanely good filler and masker, I could have done fine after gluing the pieces together but I only realized this at the end. Of course if I were making a proper garage kit, it’d be bad form for me to send people something they’d have to work so hard to attach properly.

At this point I didn’t want to bake the polymer any more, too much baking and it gets brittle, and I was already working at a tiny scale and with really thin pieces, so I brought in air dry clay (Premier brand), which is reasonably capable of sticking to polymer with a little water, and sands very smoothly later, to help fill in too large gaps. 

Lowest point of the project visually- I’ve never used Tamiya putty (the yellow stuff) to this extent, but I’ve seen some Japanese artists literally slather their whole project in it before seemingly sanding or carving it back down to detail. I have no idea how they manage that except what must be a shit ton of patience, but I tentatively went with the leap of faith, using it wherever I felt imperfections. The underside of the coat, marred by the mesh, got filled in at this point. 

Tamiya polyester putty is a two part putty that cures in roughly an hour and is sandable to nearly a polish. It cures to a hard surface that is easy to carve and incredibly easy to sand, hence why it gets used to fill in imperfections and cracks. It works its way into these places very nicely too, as it basically starts in a cream form.

I sanded everything until it got smooth and flat again, then airbrush sprayed over it with Mr. Finishing Surfacer 1500 gray. This primer has the nice additional feature of settling into small areas of imperfections and smoothing them over as it dries. Places where imperfections show up were continuously patched with the Tamiya putty, sanded, and primed over until I was satisfied.

Still wasn’t happy with the length of the legs or the tilt of the head since I messed up the neck by making the wire connection too tiny to rely on, so his head kept wobbling or turning (or fALlING-). Fortunately nothing’s glued, not even the legs, so I can adjust his height and add/subtract clay to my liking until the pose is good.

Drew in guidelines to the pattern on his coat. Added the buttons, realized he had too much of his coat still to warrant subtracting the lost button, so I shrugged my shoulders and rolled with it. 

Using painter’s tape, I masked anywhere I didn’t want to spray, then airbrushed in the black, then brown. The primer turns out to be the perfect shade of gray for his palette, so I just masked over it to keep it in the places I want. Skin got a bit of realism added to it by shading it in lightly with dust ground from a pastel, then sprayed over with finisher to seal it in.

Printed out the Pearl Clan symbol, cut it out with an xacto knife, and glued it on. My printer sucks, so I darkened it with some paint. It helps at this point the paper juts up just a bit so I could carefully paint over it without touching the tunic below. Added some finisher spray over it to make sure it sticks. 

Nuked the left leg last second, and replaced it with a longer version, because I was unable to stand (haha) the poor positioning of the original. 

Aaaand he’s done! 

One of the most important lessons I learned during this was not to over do it. If I started struggling, started making more mistakes than usual, I just straight up stopped then and there. I wanted to make a piece I could be proud of and forcing myself when I was clearly done mentally wouldn’t be good for me or the end result.

I’m happy to answer any questions or talk about figurines and sculpting! I’m entirely a hobbyist but I felt like it was difficult finding good information on how to sculpt anime figurines in general so if anyone’s curious about this stuff, I’d love to bounce some thoughts on the topic.

Iiiin the meanwhile I want to work on a Sygna Suit idea for Ingo and Chandelure next! Maybe finally give Emmet some love too after xD, Now that we have the butler bros I feel like we’re not gonna see anything else for them for a while longer =A=

[jonnyvangelis]

lyfrassir edda needs hobbies and enrichment

2051 words, fluff, artistic nudity and some implied nsfw. In which Lyf paints nude portraits of the crew of the Starship Aurora. Jonny takes a nap. Lyf gets cuddled. It's a good time.

MARIUS

Marius von Raum is laying nude on the couch in front of them. Their brush stills, and they squint a touch, gauging the distance between his relaxed metallic hand where he holds his wine and his knee where the bottom of the glass rests in a way that should be precarious but looks altogether… Bacchic.

And that’s all they can think to describe him, really, the short man so lovely draped before them with the comfortable, crooked smile on their lips.

Indulgent. Exciting, dangerous, beautiful.

Beautiful… the painter’s hand moves again, detached now from their thoughts, laying thin washes of tempura to be elaborated on in a while in oils.

He lays sideways, one leg crooked as to give their wine-hand a perch and to show thick, dark curls between his strong, soft thighs while the leg closest to Lyfrassir dangles off the couch. The hand that is flesh rests on their stomach, curled loosely around the rise of a plush belly, and the artist’s eyes trace up- following the dark, thin stretch marks that rise from his hips and lower belly- and mull over the surprisingly soft slope of their shoulders and the steady rise and fall of his chest, down to the two lighter scars just under each pectoral and back up to the curling hair between and over their pecs. His head leans back comfortably against the cushions, their beard recently trimmed to show the light indent of a double chin and the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled with their easy smile.

The light Aurora provides from two angled overhead lamps casts soft shadows on his golden skin. They are divine.

Lyfrassir presses their thighs together.

Marius takes another drink.

(Later, they lay next to each other in their bed and Marius braids Lyf’s hair and he doesn’t have the energy to talk, but they laugh at one of Lyf’s jokes and hum happily when their fingers make their way into his hair and he murmurs, in the morning, how much they love Lyfrassir and the latter kisses them and whispers back the reply in the breaths after and they are wordlessly happy.)

IVY

Ivy Alexandria sits on the same couch a week later, book in hand, and Lyf nearly forgets how to breathe.

But they paint her nonetheless.

Roving eyes wander over round pink cheeks, the slightest knit in her brow as she focuses on the story in her hand, the way her free hand rests on her chest and fidgets with the necklace there, resting between small breasts. She sits cross-legged and leans back into the couch, giving them a view from the front, and they note the resting downturn of her lips. Her sides roll with the way she’s curled up, and with the positioning of her surprisingly strong legs, nothing much else can be seen. The same lamps are dimmed for her pale complexion, and she nearly seems to glow against the wine-dark fabric she lies on.

Her portrait is more… closed, than Marius’. The moment is for Ivy alone, and where the previous pirate beckoned in every inch of their canvas, Ivy sits for Lyfrassir alone.

Ivy turns the page.

Lyfrassir smiles and rinses their brush.

JONNY

They were not expecting Jonny to be third. They’re more surprised by his request at lunch that morning, though— the mate asks if he can sleep. Lyfrassir nods, a touch puzzled, and when they sit at their easel and wet the canvas, there Jonny is, asleep on the couch and stripped bare.

Jonny d’Ville is… calm. His hands folded over his chest— his right thumb occasionally rubbing back and forth over the skin over his heart, arms too loose and surprisingly un-calloused hands too alive to show any real resemblance to the bodies in caskets he mimics. His pink lips hang parted, small sighing breaths slipping past that bring with them the rise and fall of what Lyfrassir would lovingly be inclined to call a bear belly, blonde hair in a line from the thicket between his thighs to the one on his chest that isn't quite thick enough to mask the white scarring around his nipples. His hair— longer now than when they first joined the crew, to his shoulders maybe— is splayed on the pillow under his head, framing round cheeks and what was a goatee, now a short beard. The most rowdy thing about him is his makeup, smeared from two days’ wear, and even that seems faded some in the quiet of the moment.

Aurora provides no extra light for Jonny’s portrait— Lyfrassir works by the light of the aged sun she passes, casting a dull red on his skin.

Jonny looks almost peaceful. Almost, if not for the weariness etched into every line of his face.

Lyf thinks about the nineteen year old who died on New Texas and chokes up, and Jonny— for all his usual bluster— just gestures for them to come lay down next to him and pets a hand through their long hair, letting them weep into his firm, ticking chest without a word.

ASHES

Ashes O’Reilly is next, a cigarette on their lips.

Ashes’ gaze is caught on Lyfrassir, and though they seem genuinely interested in their working hands, the artist still feels their face grow hot.

Ashes is less stoic than they had expected. The quartermaster is comfortable, a flickering curiosity in their dark eyes and the quirk of their pierced lips. Lyfrassir can’t help but wish they could stand and walk over and cup those round cheeks, brush their fingers over the curling peach fuzz at the sides of their face; they stop themself, though. They’re painting wet on wet, the break would show. And so they paint, and let their gaze wander, and fight with the flicker of the candlelight they’re working by, glad at least that Ashes looks positively dreamy in their element, the tips of their coiled hair diffusing the warm light nicely on their round face and thick neck.

The way their legs part, the way they slump comfortably back into the couch, and the hand not holding the cigarette behind their head all scream power; the hang of their belly, their plush breasts, the shine in their sharp eyes and the thoughtful furrow of their brow… that’s all just Ashes, laid naked without any great scheme or alias.

It isn’t their expression the painter finds themself lost in, though. It’s the lightning-strike stretch marks on their thick inner thighs and on their strong arms and the stretch of their fat belly, sharp lines on plump flesh that catch their attention like a cat watching a laser pointer. Ashes huffs a pleased laugh, drawing attention to their glossy lips and the shimmer of firelight on their dark skin, in their eyes.

The portrait, in the end, is as stunning as the quartermaster, and they kiss the painter gently in thanks. Lyfrassir feels their heart melt a little.

(Later, Lyf makes a point of having dinner with just Ashes; lights some candles, makes their favorite dish, and they talk for hours, giggling from good company and whiskey.)

TIM & BRIAN

Gunpowder Tim, like Marius, doesn’t sit still long enough normally. So he is laid against Brian’s side with a large metal hand in his hair and another splayed across his flat tummy, nimble fingers occasionally tracing light circles into his skin.

That keeps him still enough.

Tim is dozing off as time goes on, idly chatting with Brian whose hands appear to do wonders on his scalp and general tension. In the same way, his whole countenance loses some of its… high-strung nature— his jaw unclenched, limbs loose, metal eyes slipping closed. Metal eyes surrounded by lines of metal like veins where they couldn’t fit under the skin, still doe-eyed and gorgeous. His hair tumbles loosely around him on the pillow, auburn curls like rolling gunsmoke, trailing over his thin cheeks and well-kept beard and muttering lips. The gunner’s own hands rest on his small breasts. The smooth V of his hips leads to a bit of pudge just under his navel, the bulge of it sitting pretty on his otherwise lithe frame. His long legs are crossed, hairy, all smooth muscle and usually ready to break off in a dead sprint at a moment’s notice— for now, though, they’re almost limp. He is small in Brian’s arms, no matter how tall the painter knows him to be.

Brian, wrapped around Tim as he is, is partially hidden by the smaller man (everyone’s smaller than him, he’s got to be over seven feet tall). And for all the hardness the brass and copper of his body should hold, he’s inarguably… the man is shaped like a friend. Round face; kind, drooping eyes; a neat mane of waving copper wire. Whoever sculpted him did so with love and skill— every curve and contour Lyf finds is natural. He peers out over the top of Tim’s head, presses a soft kiss to the gunner’s head, and cuddles him just the slightest bit closer once he’s confident that Lyf has solidified their poses. They look longingly over his barrel chest, the way his sides still somehow form a roll above the hip.

Lyf has to blink to pull their attention back to the canvas.

Brian and Tim have their few quiet hours together, until Tim gets antsy again and the portrait is done and Brian lets him go, sitting for Lyf to sketch him one last time. He kisses them as he goes, and they hum happily into it.

RAPHAELLA

Raphaella la Cognizi proves the painter’s theory that the crew of the Aurora just never sits still, and that Ashes and Brian are anomalies. (Lyfrassir has reached the point of accepting that they can’t get a portrait of the Toy Soldier for a different reason; without its animated movements, it just looks wrong and lonely. They settle for giving it a few dozen sketches of itself in action with its companions, and it delights.)

Raphaella wakes late in the morning cycle to find Lyfrassir sat beside her in the bed— they had been cuddled up together, her wings around them, and she nearly whimpers for them to lay back down before she sees the canvas in their lap and the tray of paints on their knee. She hums, remembering their conversation about this from the night prior, and rolls over onto her back with a wing pulled up around her side and a hand on her stomach, her head turned to face Lyf on the pillow.

They smile fondly down at her and brush a hand through her curls, letting out a coo when she presses her head into their hand. They ask if she’s comfortable, she nods, and they pull away to start their work.

They’ve heard vague descriptions of angels in their travels, heard Raphaella compared to them over and over again, but they don’t think any comparison is right. Raph is Raph, with her slightly crooked lips and wide face and dark brows that they want to pepper in little kisses. She radiates a sleepy sort of contentment, and everything about the scientist is so soft and lovely (at this point in any of the other portraits they would have stopped themself— but she said they could fawn over her, so they fawn). Her breasts are uneven, as their own are, and the smooth curves of her body lead into wide hips, thick thighs, and a pillowy tummy that they’d do anything to rest their head on. Her legs are thick, sturdy, and her arms soft and Lyf is forced to think of the stolen paintings of sprenaissance women that Marius keeps in his quarters. Her pose is simple, and they’ve drawn her so many times before, the painting goes quickly.

Raphaella waits for her painter to set their canvas and paints and brush on the nightstand before tugging them down into the bed with her, pulling a yelp out of them.

Lyfrassir dobs a dot of paint on her nose and she gasps, mockingly affronted, before rubbing up against Lyf’s face like a cat and smearing a bit of yellow paint across their cheek. They grumble lovingly and pull her a little closer, tugging the sheets over their heads.

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 10: Trust

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

warnings: nudity, mildly suggestive language

words: 4000+

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note: For… reasons, this is an alternate universe in which space ships have actual showers with water, not just sonic showers. Also, Maul’s cybernetics are waterproof. I don’t make the rules... wait- I do. Also, make sure to read the end notes today :)

_____

Stars, you hate it here.

Everything, from the endless nights to the lack of clean water and the ever-looming prospect of going to prison increases your motivation to somehow fix the communicator yourself and run off before Kenobi can take you with him, leaving him stranded on the planet.

For exactly a decade, just to be even.

“It should work,” Kenobi remarks with very apparent annoyance. “Everything is connected and the power source is on.”

“Well, it’s obviously not working.”

“Thank you for your observation.” He drops his hands into his lap, looking quite defeated. And tired.

While you’ve been keeping some structure in your days, he’s been working tirelessly on repairing that communicator. Until he did tire out, occasionally.

Now was one of these occasions.

“I’m losing focus and I can hardly see anything. It’ll be best to continue when the sun comes back up again.”

Which is precisely what you were hoping he’d say, but you still force yourself to make another snide comment. “Maybe it’ll fix itself while you’re resting and we are magically transported off this planet.”

He pays you no mind and heads to what’s become his sleeping spot over the past days - or has it been over a week already?

“I trust you’ll keep watch?”

You just huff, but don’t refuse his request. It is an agreement you’ve come to quite early on when you both realized that the death of one would make the other’s survival significantly less likely. So while he sleeps, you make sure no animals sneak up and attack him, which, apart from the “dinner” incident a few days ago, only happened once, but still rattled him enough to make him remind you of your duty evry time he went to sleep.

Except tonight, you plan on shifting your attention to something completely different. 

You have not, in fact, come to terms with the probable reality that you’ll spend the rest of your days in a prison of the Republic. Instead, you’ve been observing what exactly Kenobi is doing to repair the life-saving device and despite your lack of aptitude in such things, you, too, see that the communicator should - in theory - work. Kenobi is overworked and agitated; it would only be natural for him to miss something.

Something you might be able to catch and use to your advantage.

 You remain still where you are until you hear his quiet breaths evening out, indicating he has fallen asleep.

“Kenobi?” You whisper into the silence, a last test to check if he is still conscious.

No response.

Your heart beats fast in your chest, all too aware of how pressing time is. For some reason, this man rarely sleeps more than two hours at a time, which could be partially blamed on you for always nagging at him when he isn’t trying to fix the communicator. But then again, you have the feeling that he usually doesn’t have very different habits.

With the kind of stealth only someone who has been trained in these arts could bring up, you sneak across the clearing to where the source of all your troubles and hope lies on the ground.

The device has been taken out of the starfighters cockpit and thus looks pretty out of place and… unfinished. But you know better, having watched the Jedi dismantle and reassemble every little piece.

The metal glints in the shine of your flashlight as you crouch to be on eye-level with the device. At first glance everything seems to be in order, just like the Jedi remarked, but that is not acceptable. Fixing the cursed thing before Kenobi is your only way to freedom and you will not allow your own incompetence to stand in your way.

So you look again. And again.

You shine light into every little corner, every port, under every wire and in between each panel. Time is passing too quickly, you are aware, and your chances are dwindling.

But then you see it.

Tiny and inconspicuous, something organic - a seed maybe - is blocking one of the loose wires from connecting with its respective port. 

You bite your lip to suppress a victorious exclamation, looking over your shoulder to check if Kenobi is still fast asleep.

Heart thrumming in your ears, you take a deep breath to calm your nerves and steady your hand for the task ahead. Cautiously, you lift some of the metal paneling to give you access to the section, fingers weaving through the wires with extra care since many of them are not firmly in place due to the crash and were only pinned to their receptors by Kenobi.

At last, your fingertips graze the disruptive piece of forest that has made it so far into the technology. Slowly, you remove it from its spot, moving the wire back to where it was supposed to connect.

Now let’s try this.

You turn the power on, holding your breath and praying to whatever force there is out there that it won’t make any noise.

A quiet whir is the only indication that the power is flowing, causing a small smile to creep over your hidden features. The display comes to life, faintly glowing blue. You throw looks over your shoulder every few seconds, hastily pressing the buttons to type in the private comm information Maul and all his commanding warriors kept as a backup for emergencies. You have no idea how many emergencies must have occurred in these past weeks, but you hope your message won’t be drowned out by others. This is the only shot you get.

You pick some coordinates that, if your knowledge of space navigation isn’t misleading you, should be a few miles north of your current location, then sign the message with ‘ -S ’ .

You stare at the numbers, forcing your mind to absorb them, then you hit send and a series of green lights tells you it at least went out successfully, meaning all you can do now is to hope that it will be received the same way. 

Kenobi is still fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. You almost feel sorry for what you’re about to do, but there really aren’t many alternatives. 

You take out a small vial from a pocket in your belt, filling a syringe with it. It’s been a while since you last used it, but you made sure you always have some tranquilizers on you, and now you’re thankful for that.

On your tiptoes, you sneak to Kenobi’s sleeping form, narrowing your eyes to make out the exposed skin on his neck.

The needle is buried in his neck in a matter of seconds and his eyes shoot open in shock and confusion while his hands fly to his neck.

“Why-”

“Nothing personal,” you assure him when his eyelids droop and his words lose coherence.

Normally, this should knock a person out for at least three hours, but you don’t know how a force sensitivity might influence that. One way or another, you should take off now and get as big a headstart as you can. But first, one more thing.

You give the heap of beige robes that is the Jedi knight one more almost regretful look, then you crush the communicator beneath your heel. Can’t risk him calling for Republic forces while you’re still in the area after all, and you’d have no way of taking the device with you, since it’s hooked up to the ship wreckage.

Why you spare his life, you don’t know, and you’d rather not spend too much time thinking about it. Perhaps you should kill him, after all he’s done to Maul, and why your conscience decides to pipe up now of all times will remain a mystery. You have killed people in less honorable ways, but…

“Ugh,” you grunt, finally turning your back on the Jedi and starting your journey north.

 *

 “Maul! Maul, come here!”

He jerks up, briefly having fallen asleep leaned against the wall. For a second, he fully expects to see your gleaming eyes staring back at him, that’s how familiar the voice is. It takes him a moment to understand that it’s not you, but Loa calling him.

Which is supremely peculiar, because the young woman rarely ever addresses him, let alone command him.

He is out of the room, your room, in a flash, looking over Loa’s shoulder at the message displayed a second later.

Both of his hearts seem to skip a beat.

The message consists of nothing but a set of coordinates, the only indication of its origin the ‘ -S ’ with which it is signed.

S as in… Spectress?

It must be you. There is no one else with access to this line of communication who would send this kind of message.

Loa gapes at the writing. 

“It’s… It’s her, isn’t it? It’s gotta be her, I’m…”

“Set course,” is his only response, sitting down in the copilot’s seat, several scenarios already running through his mind.

“Looks like some type of… forest moon,” She remarks, readying the ship for hyperspace with outstanding speed and routine. You weren’t exaggerating at all when you said she had become a good pilot.

He ponders for a minute. If you are somehow stranded there, they won’t need reinforcement, with their forces stretched thin as it is. But if any threats lurk nearby and he puts your little sister in danger…

He will die by your hand, then. Or his own.

“How long?”

“Estimate of four hours.”

“Very well. I will try to find out what to expect when we arrive there.”

 According to his sources, there has been no Republic activity in the system in question over the past month - that’s what he found out after two hours of vehement research. Really, he already knew that after thirty minutes, but you being so close yet so far from him drove him to bury himself in databanks and records by his spies.

His thoughts travel to a darker place.

He doesn’t know what state you’ll be in when he finds you - if he finds you. And even if you’re fine, everything else is far from fine. Mandalore, the crime syndicate and most of all, Savage…

Something on the dresser that takes up most of the cramped space clatters to the floor when he loses control of the chaotic force inside him and he flinches, immediately worrying he broke something of importance to you. After all, he has taken up residence in what used to be your small quarters on your ship, before everything happened, before you joined the Death Watch, before you saw him again.

When you were still living relatively safe, off the Republic’s radars.

Out of Master’s reach.

It’s been torturing him every waking moment to think that you might meet the same end that Savage did. The speculation of what could have been if he hadn’t reentered your life has become a constant in his mind. Because if he ever has to see the life fade out of your eyes, the way he saw the nightsister magick leave Savage when he exhaled his last breath, he isn’t sure he could forgive the galaxy. He vows to himself, already vowed to himself few days after he first laid eyes on you, that he will do anything to keep that fiery soul safe.

His fingers run over the cold piece of metal that has fallen, curiously examining it. No, not normal metal, beskar . There are letters forged into it, but they look like traditional Mando’a scripture, which he is still unpracticed in reading.

He contemplates putting it into the uppermost drawer, lest it get lost during more daring flight maneuvers, but he hesitates. He’s never opened any of the drawers, despite the very persistent curiosity he felt. The last he’d want is to invade your privacy; you hadn’t even consented to him sleeping in your private space (although he doubts you would mind after he has literally slept with you).

Maul makes up his mind and pulls the drawer open, not intending to even look, but his gaze still gets caught.

He expected to find clothes, maybe, or, knowing you, weapons. What he finds instead is a collection of… trinkets. 

It’s not new to him that you have a tendency to collect items, sometimes out of sentiment, sometimes as a trophy. He didn’t realize you kept them so meticulously stored.

It’s quite endearing, he thinks.

Some of the items he recalls you talking about, but others seem entirely random. His eyes linger on a piece of flimsiplast that looks like a child has drawn on it. 

He is tempted to take it out and hold it into the light, but quickly realizes that it would go against his original decision not to pry.

There is so much personal history collected in that small space. Dozens of untold stories, so many parts of your life that he missed.

He won’t rest until he knows you’ll still be able to tell them.

 *

 Oddly enough, you miss Kenobi. More precisely, you miss his ability to sense danger before it has reached you.

Every little noise startles you, every swish of wind making your heart stop and you increase your speed a little.

By now, you’re nearly running through the woods, less than half a mile away from the coordinates you chose.

Chances are, he has woken up by now. And you’re not stupid; you know it’ll be easy for him to track you down when there is no civilization around. From what your understanding of the force is, he should be able to sense your force signature from a larger distance when there is nothing else to disrupt it. That also means that he will be hot on your tail, so whoever shows up to rescue you better hurry .

With a heavy heart, you turn off your flashlight and lean against a tree while you remove your mask for better air supply and allow your eyes to adjust. It still takes so kriffing long, you wonder if that’ll ever change.

If Kenobi finds you first, it won’t make much of a difference.

You get moving again, slower but also less of a beacon in the dark.

The trees start coming in more sparsely now, until you can actually see farther than twenty feet without trees blocking your view. This allows you to pick up speed again and thus make up for the darkness that is slowing you down, until the landscape is so open that you’re actually running now.

And that’s when you hear them.

Branches cracking somewhere behind you. 

Probably just the wind. Keep going.

The dull thud of feet hitting the ground makes your breath catch in your throat.

So maybe he did wake up earlier than anticipated.

You whirl around, seeing nothing but his black silhouette and desperately wishing for a lightsaber, which you - unwisely - have sworn off after the Naboo incident. That, and running around wielding a lightsaber wasn’t exactly the level of subtlety you were going for at the time.

But now, you could really use it.

“I spared your life!” You yell.

“And destroyed my only way away from here,” he responds, sounding almost hurt as he makes slow steps towards you. You take just as many backwards.

Something in the sky beyond him catches your eye and suddenly, the situation looks different.

“I’ve got to look out for myself first,” you argue. “Surely, you understand that.”

“You know I can’t let you go.”

“I do,” you say serenely, taking a deep breath, then whirling around to make a run for it.

You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know he is following you and, even worse, gaining on you.

The small headstart you got, combined with the distance between you two in the first place isn’t nearly enough, even though you are in great shape and a truly fast runner.

The ship you spotted earlier now flies over your head, approaching the ground and you could laugh and cry at the same time. It’s not just any ship, it’s your ship. Your home, and aboard, you hope, your family.

It doesn’t touch the ground, but it flies low enough to be accessible from the ground while slowing to a speed that should allow for you to jump on, if you could only run a little faster.

Damn, ten years ago this would have been easier.

The blast door in the back, only about twenty feet away from you, slides open, revealing a figure that even in the dark you can make out to be…

Maul.

He extends his hand and you instantly know what he wants you to do.

So, you take a deep breath and jump .

The moment your feet leave the ground you feel the tug of the force pulling you to the zabrak while your own hand reaches forward and you fly through the air, until your hand finally reaches Maul’s.

You are not safe yet, still hanging from the edge of the ship when you suddenly feel a different pull on one of your ankles. Your eyes widen in shock and you try to tell Maul that it’s Kenobi, he is pulling you back, but all that you manage is a terrified shriek when your hand almost slips out of his at a particularly strong pull backwards.

Not this time, Kenobi.

Your determination sets in and you look down to see Kenobi standing still, arms extended to manipulate the force. With your one free hand, you reach for your blaster, aiming and-

The hold on your ankle abruptly loosens and you are yanked on board at once, the blast door sliding shut immediately, drowning out the deafening sound of wind.

You are panting, sprawled out on the floor, not even realizing that you did it .

“Hyperspace, as soon as possible,” you distantly hear Maul say, but the thrumming of your heart is too loud to properly hear his voice, until he somehow sits you up and…

Embraces you. 

Warm fingers run through your messy hair, soft murmurs that you can’t quite understand coming from right next to your ear.

“I’m filthy,” you protest weakly, half-heartedly trying to free yourself from his hold but he only holds on tighter and at last you melt into the affection, burying your face in his neck.

“Is Loa…?”

“In the cockpit,” he instantly calms your worries and you sigh happily. For a moment, everything is alright.

“What did I miss?” You eventually muster up the courage to ask.

His grip tightens so much you can feel his fingertips dig into your hip and you immediately know something bad happened.

“It was… Master. He killed Savage.”

Your heart sinks, the previous relief replaced by a dark type of sadness. There is anger and, most dominantly, fear.

The Sith lord doesn’t intend on letting Maul off, which by extension also means there is a target on everyone he surrounds himself with.

You can’t even find words to console him, only taking in a shaky breath against his skin and whispering, "I'm sorry."

"He's free now."

Eventually, you find the strength to get up, tiredly patting over to the cockpit.

“Hey.” Loa presses a few last buttons, then jumps up and crushes you in a tight hug.

“I thought I would never see you again.”

“You know me better than that,” you retort mildly.

“I suppose so,” she sighs, holding you at an arm’s length. “You need a shower,” she assesses, plucking a leaf from your hair.

Self-consciously you run a hand through the tangles, then look down at your muddy clothes.

“I agree.”

 Maul waits for you when you leave the cockpit, immediately taking your hand as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

“Missed me?” You joke half-heartedly, doing nothing to hide the way the tension seems to melt from your body at the touch.

“Every minute,” he answers earnestly, not a hint of a joke in his voice.

“Come with me, then,” you offer, making your way to the refresher and pulling him along. As expected, he follows you all too willingly, thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

You don’t even bother undressing all the way before getting under the water stream, suddenly realizing how much you’ve been longing for it. While your clothes soak, the water pooling around your feet turns a muddy brown as the dirt from the forest is finally washed off.

Maul steps in the small shower behind you, holding a hand into the falling water.

“That’s cold,” he states.

“Not for me, it’s not.” You eye his frown. “But we can turn the temperature up.”

The heat does feel good, and not much later you finally attempt to peel off the remaining layers of clothing. Red tattooed hands come to your aid fast and within seconds, your skin is completely exposed, the stress of the past weeks running down the drain along with the dirt and… blood?

You bring a hand up to touch your forehead at the same time that a scowl makes its way on Maul’s face.

“Kenobi,” he growls, but you shake your head.

“That’s from when I crashed the starfighter.” You examine your bloodied fingers with moderate interest. “I think it’s healed already, that’s just dried blood coming off.”

He huffs, lightly running a finger over the area on your face.

“Any other injuries?” His eyes roam your body, not in a sexual, but in a concerned manner.

“None I can think of,” you sigh as he gathers soap in his hands, closing your eyes for a moment as the warm water runs over your face. When you don’t hear another noise from Maul, you open your eyes again, only to find him staring at you with something like bewilderment in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

He responds by crashing his lips into yours, expressing so many emotions through his actions that he otherwise can’t find the words for. You very nearly fall at the suddenness of it, but his arms are wrapped around you in a heartbeat, pressing you into his chest and giving you the skin-to-skin contact you’ve been missing so terribly.

Your eyes water as emotions overcome you, the relief, the sorrow, the uncertainty and… guilt.

When you break apart, his are shining in a similar way.

 You lean against the weapons locker, facing the ceiling while you let the details of your situation soak in. The havoc that was wreaked on Mandalore by the resistant Mandalorians, the coming and going of the crime families, and the looming threat of Sidious’ grand plan finally coming together.

“I have a suggestion,” you begin slowly. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Go on.”

“The Jedi are not our main enemy anymore, if what you foresee comes true.” You recall him talking about the envisioned destruction of the Jedi order, something that Sidious has been plotting for a long time. “If we give them the right tools to do so, it’ll be them who need to fight him, not you. Not any of us.” Your eyes dart to the cockpit where your sister is holed up.

“Tools, such as… knowledge?” He touches his chin the way he always does when he mulls over an idea.

“Sidious is but one man. He only thrives on secrecy, so if we-”

“A Jedi will never cooperate with a Sith .” He snarls. “Their self-righteousness wouldn’t allow it.”

“Maybe not.” You sigh with exhaustion. “All I know is that the better equipped the Jedi, the higher the chance of them actually defeating Sidious before it’s too late. And that’s why I have another proposition.”

“What is it?”

“We make a small transmission to the Republic fleet, sending them the same coordinates I sent you.”

“You’re trying to save Kenobi?” He doesn’t sound angered, he sounds… surprised.

“As much as I dislike him, he is one of their more capable knights, and it’s become pretty obvious he and his padawan are quite invested in uncovering Sidious’ identity.” 

You are astounded he even considers the idea. 

“Also, helping him could be interpreted as a show of good faith. Might get them off our back for some time, until we figure out who to fight,” you add.

For a minute, he remains silent. Then, his arm is wrapped around your waist and his lips brush over your temple.

“I trust your judgment,” he mumbles. “Do what you believe is right.”

___

SOOO, after a two week delay, I have elected to post once more... my bad. In the next 2-4 weeks I’d like to edit and improve the older chapters because I’m not 100% happy with the writing in them anymore, so because of that there won’t be another update during that time. Don’t worry though, I’m not done yet, the story will go on - just after a short break :,)

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

[dzamie-oc]

03 - Steampunk

I’ll admit, this is a bit reductionist for a punk story, but gimme a break, I wrote this in only a few hours :P

Length: 2200 words Rating: T (mild description of blood and death) Summary: A factory worker makes a dragon. They grow up together and eventually enact a little bit of class warfare and a little bit of revenge.

-----

Finn’s desk was half covered in a pile of assorted junk - gears, pipes,twisted bits of scrap metal, keys for long-dead springs, and so much more, almost all tarnished, covered in coal soot, or both. However, his attention was focused on the other half, a carefully cleared space with only a few mechanical pieces strewn about, all polished to perfection. Most importantly, in the middle, sat a small, mechanical device of his own creation. Its body was unfinished, exposing much of its inner workings to the naked eye - and the elements, if he let it get that far. A head like a mix of a lizard and a dog, a long, flexible neck, a body that one might mistake for a large, metallic rat’s, and a slender tail which ended in a thin, metal cone. The young teen, with a degree of care unusual to someone with such a rat’s nest of hair, delicately positioned his creation to lay on its back, curled its legs in, and gently inserted a brass key into a particular, well-shaped hole in its chest. Once, twice... three times he turned, for luck.

Through the background din of machinery, he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and froze. Reflexively, his free hand flew to the ignored pile of scraps, then slowly dragged one over, taking just long enough for him to listen to the footsteps pass by and once more out of earshot. Finn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, furtively glanced left and right, just in case, and removed the wound key.

Gears and wheels began to spin with a soft whirr, and a look of wonderment spread across Finn’s face as the mechanical legs twitched, then cycled in the air. Its head lifted, letting him stare into its dark eyes, no longer as lifeless as they’d always seemed to be.

“Hey, little guy,” the boy said, “welcome to the world. I’m Finn. I almost hate to dump this on you, but... look, in case I can’t, keep wound, and keep hidden. I wish I could show everyone how cool you clearly are, but-”

Suddenly, more footsteps. Footsteps he recognized, and recognized well. Finn hissed an apology to the dragon and quickly covered it with the nearby metal bowl he’d kept its parts in, then grabbed a part from the pile and set about rubbing it with a rag nearly as filthy as the part. A valve, he realized after his first pass of rubbing - after so many years, his hands knew how to move without thinking, or even realizing what was in them. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and Finn scrubbed at the metal. With a sigh, he wondered if he’d just gotten it dirtier. He went to pass it ahead into a bucket of valves, when-

“Finnegan Shine!” came the shrill voice of a woman who thought herself far more cultured than she knew she could even aspire to. “Just what are you doing with that thing?”

Finn’s “good afternoon, Ms. Springwarden” was cut off by her question, so he looked at the metal in his hand. “I’m... putting it with the other valves after cleaning it?”

Ms. Springwarden harrumphed. “Cleaning it! Just what HAS that first-shift supervisor been teaching you?” She looked at the valve - and at Finn - with a sneer. Finn always thought that, if disdain was an Olympic sport, Ms. Springwarden would have enough gold to live somewhere nice and stop tormenting him - although, he had to admit, perhaps she would still torment him for the fun of it. “Why, I can barely tell it apart from that filthy pile!”

The boy put on a puzzled expression. “Really? But I’ve been going at it with my cleanest rag for a solid minute,” he lied. Of all the people in Alma Vera, she was the last person he ever wanted to even consider the existence of his hidden project. Still, he held up three more well-used cloths, to show her that at least part of his claim had been true.

Another harrumph. “And not once did you think that, just maybe, you ought to trade them for washed cleaning equipment?”

“But Ms. Springwarden, I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave my chair during my shift?”

“Foolish child,” the woman replied, and brought her hand towards his forehead, finger primed to flick. At the last second, however, Finn saw a look of disgust, and she withdrew so as not to touch his, charitably, under-washed face. “Rise and follow me. But don’t let me catch you out of your seat without my permission!”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden!” Finn said, and stood. The four dirty rags were exchanged for four clean ones, or at least as clean as would pass at his work. Thus equipped, Finn was returned to his seat - the bowl still overturned, to his relief.

Ms. Springwarden crossed her arms and said, “who knows how many valuable components you’ve ruined with your folly. You do remember our motto, do you not?”

Finn nodded. “Quality and quantity, Ms. Springwarden.”

The woman harrumphed yet again, and picked up two of the buckets he had sorted parts into, and dumped them into the assorted pile. “Well, let us now remedy your mistake. You will have to clean each of these now befouled pieces once again, and be quick about it!” She glared at him. “Your work ends when your pile is gone, and not a second, nor a part, sooner.”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden.”

Finn returned to his task, and after a few seconds, he heard one last derisive snort, and then footsteps trailing away. The boy dramatically picked up his pace once she was gone, and before long, he had undone the damage to his progress she had inflicted on him. Another look left and right, and he placed his hands on the bowl, praying that the dragon truly was still there.

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, so the dragon wouldn’t try to hide. When he revealed the metallic creature, it had its forepaw in its chest, twisting the mechanism inside. Once finished, it looked up at him and swished its tail, accompanied by the soft, metallic whirring of gears. “That was Ms. Springwarden. They say that, somewhere out there, at least three people are unable to make that ‘hmph’ sound, because she’s using all of theirs.” The dragon leaned its head down, opened its jaws, and picked up a twisted bit of scrap metal, then shook it around a bit, which got a chuckle out of Finn. “It’s too bad you’re not as big as the dragons I’ve heard the people who live on airships have. You could just eat her, then. Although, I wouldn’t have been able to hide you while I built you.”

The clockwork creature flicked its head and sent the scrap flying through the air, to land in the discard bucket. “Fast learner,” Finn remarked. “So, you need a name. I think... Eve.” He paused. “It’s not weird to name you after an elementary school crush, is it?”

Eve responded by tossing another bit of scrap into the bucket, then wiping her mouth on his hand.

-----

Finn prowled through the dense pipework of the underground, eyes peeled for the rats he was supposed to exterminate. In one hand, he held a bag full of rodent corpses - his proof for payment. The other hand gripped what might charitably be called a tiny harpoon launcher. It looked similar to a certain toy gun, popular among the children of wealthy families, and that was no accident - although he would have the kid he stole it from think otherwise. With a bit of tinkering, a wire to save on ammunition, and a much better spring, Finn considered himself the second best at this sort of job, something that led people to avoid asking too much about the improvised tool.

A squeak cut short, then rapid metal-on-metal clanking heralded the arrival of the first best at this sort of job. Eve trotted up to him, two dead rats in her mechanical jaws. Over the past five years or so, Finn had found or fashioned bigger replacement parts for his dragon until she stood nearly at his waist. Long since unable to hide her under a bowl, of course, the story now was that she was a defective mechanical dog he had scored for a pittance. Regardless, Eve stood attentively next to him, waiting for him to open the bag for her. When he did, one rat fell into the pile of its brethren, and as for the other...

Eve tossed and flicked her head until the rodent’s body aligned with her jaws. A new whirring noise kicked in as sets of wheels dragged it down her metal throat, and then a sickening grinding sound bounced around the pipes and fixtures. The dragon opened her mouth again and wiped it on his pants leg, to his mild dismay.

“You’re gonna have to drop that habit, or I’ll put you back on winding-only.”

Eve went still for a few seconds, but the gentle whirring of her insides picked up. When she moved again, she brought one upturned forepaw in front of the other, then cycled them around each other, and finally tapped her throat.

“Break a habit for a voice?” Finn asked. “Eve, voices are hard to come by. You know I would’ve gotten you one by now if I could.”

The sound of a much smaller creature skittering along the metal ground caught both of their attentions. Finn spun, aimed, and pulled the trigger, and a barbed, pointed pole flew from the tip of his weapon, with metal wire following shortly after. The rat screamed a squeaky scream, then fell quiet, and Finn reeled in his shot and prize.

Eve pressed her paw against his leg for his attention. She pointed her muzzle at the gun, then curled back at her own chest, and then she once again tapped her paw to her neck with an insistent clank-clank-clank. Finn furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure voice boxes are in a league of their own...” he started, then smiled broadly at her. “Then again, so am I. Mind giving up more than half your rats from now on, so we can go shopping for anything we can’t find?”

The dragon’s metal plating rattled against itself as she wiggled in anticipation, then bounded off to massacre more vermin.

-----

It was a glorious ceremony. Everyone sported their most elaborate suits and dresses, all in a modest brown. Some of the more adventurous gentlemen had constantly-turning gears on the hats they politely kept in their laps, but no longer were they nor their headwear the center of attention. Ms. Springwarden, soon to lose that name, stood in a beautiful, ornate, white dress, and stared adoringly at the man standing in front of her, who-

BOOM!

A shout rose up from the crowd as what used to be a wall was replaced by a hole and a dragon. The elaborate mechanical creature’s outer plating was a mismatch of bronze, iron, and steel, as though it had been dressed in a junkyard. And perched on its back was a man with a daring grin, who Ms. Springwarden found strangely familiar...

“Well! Ms. Springwarden, aren’t you moving up! The big boss himself, I wonder if you’ll outlast  his last four wives!” Finn shouted as he dismounted the dragon, landing with a roll and ending up right next to the bride-to-be.

Without opening her mouth, Eve spoke. “I am confident he will be her husband for the rest of his life,” she said. Her voice was unnatural, amateurish, and it sounded like it belonged in some sterile, form-over-function research lab, rather than a well-tuned dragon. Before anyone could react, she opened her jaws and snapped up the stunned man, soon feeding him to the wheels hidden behind her neck plating.

“Aw! Eve! I had planned this whole quip about how his factories have a great quantity of people and I’m about to increase the average quality!”

“So lie in your memoir.”

Many of the guests had fled the scene, with only a few hiding behind the benches, and Ms. Springwarden herself remained frozen to the spot. “Wh- who...?”

Finn swept into a deep bow, mockingly low. “Finnegan Shine, Ms. Springwarden. My friends call me Finn, but of course you never did. You may not remember me, and I sorely wish I could say the same. But now then...” He stepped backwards towards Eve, who lowered her head and opened her jaws. Finn leaned against her neck, feeling the whirr of the wheels making up her throat thrumming through her metal body. “They say marriage is for better or worse, right? What say you join your hubby in the ‘worse?’”

Eve’s distorted voice joined in once more, saying, “I remember you. That he is offering you a refusal is far more than I would have.”

The woman - having found a worse fate than being left at the altar - took a step back, shaking her head. “No... no. Please, no.”

To everyone’s surprise, the dragon snapped her mouth shut with a loud crash of metal, and Finn clambered back up onto her back. “Then it’s a damn lucky thing I’m not you, miss,” the man said, before the pair of them escaped through the dragon-sized hole in the wall.

Finn hugged Eve’s neck tight. One down, an unfortunate number to go. He just hoped his friends were having as much fun as he was.

[kathyprior4200]

Welcome to Wacky Wally Wackford’s World!

Greetings, I say, greetings demons of all ages! The name’s Wally Wackford, an oh so suave man of business! You may not know me, but surely you’ve seen me…pretty much everywhere. Yes, I’ve never been the type to stay in one place for long. Life can be pretty wild at times. But that’s what makes it oh so fun!

 So what’s my story, you say, you say? Well look no further, ‘cause I have a tale to tell.

 I’ve been doing freelance work off and on, laboring at one job, moving onto the next. The jobs vary a lot, but I’m a Wally of many trades. (Yes, I’ve been fired many times as well, figuratively and literally…it is Hell after all.) Early on, I found out that living in poverty is never a lot of fun. I quickly learned how to scam other people…and boy did I enjoy it! It was the only way I could inch toward the top, get some power of my own. I’d make a few deals here and there and then when clients got desperate, I’d say something like, “Oh I’m so sorry but there’s an extra fee you have to pay. Forgot to mention that.” Then I’d point to that small scribbled section on the contract I added in moments ago.

 “I’m starving, sir!” they’d say. Or, “I left my money at home,” or my favorite: “Shove it up your trickster rear!”

 Sometimes they did pay me extra. Other times they didn’t…and those were the ones who soon forgot about everything forever. (chuckles).

 Anyway, moving on.

 Sometimes when my days got long and hard, I’d go to saloons for a nice bottled drink. The emerald colored Greed Mead is my favorite. Twirling my thin black mustache, I’d wink at some pretty imp gals nearby and say, “Hey there. You’ve been in Hell for a long time. Is that why you’re so hot?”

 Most of the time, I’d get a swift punch to the face in response. The glares on their pretty faces, “Take that remark to the Sloth Ring, lazy bootleg fucker.”

 So many aggressive people these days. I could tip my black hat to many imps and they’d either fall to my charms or roll their eyes. I was fine with that. There’s not much else to do in Hell then to live your life and amuse yourself with watching others struggle. In fact, pretty much every sin is encouraged, so why not keep going?

 After stalking around looking for more people to scam, I came across Loo-Loo Land in the Ring of Greed. I’ve always loved that place, its vibrant atmosphere emitting joyful fun and chaotic flair. I walked on over and asked the vendor, “I say, you have any jobs here?”

 “I’ve heard of you, Wacky Wally,” he said at the ticket stand. “You may be a good pick-pocket, but your skills are nothing compared to Mammon. In fact, this whole place is a fucking rip-off of Lucifer’s Lu-Lu Land!”

 “All the more reason to love this place!” I exclaimed.

 “Robo Fizz is putting on another show at 7pm tomorrow,” said the beefy imp vendor. “Made in Mammon’s factory and modeled after the famous imp Fizzarolli.” He then spoke in a low whisper, “It includes some behind the scenes moments for the VIPs…you know, with tentacles and ‘special features.’”

 “Oh that sounds delicious!” I said with a slow grin. “It’d be great to see how his…mechanics work someday…”

 The imp vendor rolled his eyes and flinched at my lighthearted comment. Always know what to say to get that grimace reaction.

 “Anyway,” said the vendor, “We’re running low on staff, so you can go sell those torches over there.”

 The imp pointed to a pink cart with Mammon’s jester face on it. I shrugged and got to work.

 I happily rolled my cart around, selling torches wherever I went. I could honestly stare into those mesmerizing green flames all day.

 “Torches here!” I drawled in my Foghorn Leghorn southern accent. “66% off when you buy four! Parties, decoration, destruction and more!”

 One time on my break, I got to talk to Robo Fizz about money, shows, sex and chaos. We even cracked some jokes together. The robot seemed a little nervous in my presence but then again, he was very unpredictable on a daily basis.

 “A duck, a frog, a demon and a skunk go into a bar. The bartender told them that the drinks were one dollar each. How did they pay for them? Answer: The duck had a bill, the frog had a greenback, the demon had a soul…but the skunk only had a scent!”

 “Hahahaha!” Robo Fizz laughed, sparks flying near him. “Your jokes are much better than Blitzo’s corny puns!”

 “Why thank you,” I replied. “But nothing beats your organ-playing animatronics in your ‘Wonderful World of Evil’ puppet show you did last month.”

 Robo Fizz grinned at the compliment. “You do anything else besides selling torches?”

 “I scam, I kill, I do a little bit of both. Oh and I’m also a great inventor!”

 “How marvelous!” Robo Fizz grinned. “Perhaps if you have enough mayhem in you, you could perform with me at the next Fizzarolli N Friends show!”

 “I say, I’d love that! I’m sure your show will be top notch, copyright be dammed…won’t it?”

 Robo Fizz smiled widely, hiding a strain. “You bet it will!”

 It was during one interesting day when I pushed my cart by a large tent where several Robo Fizz posters were posted. I held up a troch with a hand and called:

 “Torches, I say! I say! Get your inconvenient torches here!”

 Then before I knew it, the robot and a random imp crashed right into the cart.

 “Ow, I say OW!” I cried as the green flames quickly spread around. After getting the flames off me, I ran for the hills out of the burning park. I sat, dejected shortly afterward. So much for that job. Along with figuring out what to do next, I also happened to watch the imp fight off Robo Fizz…and the robot falling into the dragon’s mouth.

 How unfortunate.

 After helping Robo Fizz from the dragon’s insides, (killing said dragon, pulling out said robot, cleaning and making quick repairs), I inched closer to him and said, “You made some new friends, I say.”

 Robo Fizz stood tense with just long wires for his body, a metal skeleton of his previous appearance. “Yes…an old time co-worker of mine. A clown of an imp named Blitzo. He and his sisters were once part of a circus act called “The Amazing Imp Siblings. A bit dowdy if you ask me. ”

 Robo Fizz looked around. “Hahahaha! That was some chaotic fun. But now the park is ruined!”

 “I say, if I were you,” I told him, “I’d do all I could to get this park repaired and back on track. Costs a whole lotta money. The last thing you need is to have your boss disappointed in you.”

 A brief look of fear came on his face. “Oh yes, yes, good idea, Wally.”

 “And your friend…whether you upstage him or what, you’d best be sure Blitzo stays out of trouble. I lost my job and almost my life because of that fight!” My yellow eyes shined in a show of sadness.

 “I-I will not let master Mammon down…not that I have a choice.”

 “Let Asmodeus know what’s up as well.”

 Robo Fizz nodded, spun away and laughed. “Time to find that rodeo clown imp!”

0 0 0

 Later on after leaving Greed, I got a brilliant idea. It was after I saw some old fashioned 1800s snake man in Pride plow down buildings with a metal bulldozer vehicle. That was it! I could start my own business!

 I walked over to 666 News station. “Oh Katie,” I said in my sweetest voice.

 “What is it, scum?” she asked, sitting at a mirror and doing her hair. “Can’t you see I’m preparing for a back to back broadcast right now?”

 “I was considering doing my very own commercial about me exploiting…erm, employing other demons for my new factory.”

 Katie barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that, filthy old man! Now get out of my studio.”

 “Very well,” I said. As quiet as a hell mouse, I snatched a camera with an eye at the center and made my way out the door. The rest of the materials I needed came from a nearby junkyard. (Thankfully I avoided the wrath of some hungry kangaroo parasitic queen demon). I was running out of money fast; with no job around the corner, I figured I’d start my own!

 Even I don’t really know where I got my inventing skills from. Many say it was my natural trait. Others say I learned from other experts in the trade. After all, one of the quickset ways to a man’s wallet is through the latest technology.

 But I, Wally Wackford would not settle for your standard modern devices. No. I preferred to make things…well, wacky.

 In no time at all, I had built myself my own mini studio where I could film my commercial! Now, what to call my company? Hmm…

  The Onceler One In a Lifetime Opportunity? No, not enough Ws.

 Wowing Whimsical Wonderous Wonders? Nah, too many Ws.

 Ah…of course! What is a company if you don’t have your name on it?

0 0 0

“Uh huh, keep going, keep going, keep going!” Blitzo insisted at the I.M.P. office.

 Moxxie switched the channel again. This time, an imp appeared wearing a large black top hat, a white shirt and pants, gray vest, black bow tie and black boots. He held a cane in his hands and he also had a thin curly mustache. A mischievous grin of sharp teeth appeared on his face.

 “I say, I say!” the imp exclaimed, briefly pointing his cane at the camera. “Are you looking to get work making crazy contraptions and goofy gadgets?” “Crazy Contraptions” and “Goofy Gadgets” appeared in bold spiked icons to the imp’s left and right. The imp twirled his cane.

 “Well call me at Wacky Wally Wackford’s Wacky Idea ‘Factory!’”

 He pulled down another screen. The title appeared in bold red, gray and white letters surrounded by pinkish circles reminiscent of classic cartoons. “Factory” appeared in quotations. Wally Wackford appeared again.

 “Where you make the things and I make the money!”

 Wally Wackford then got up closer to the camera with a pleading look. “Please, I’m very desperate!”

 “Bingo!” Blitzo called, shooting and exploding the TV again.

 0 0 0

 It was actually really easy to find where Blitzo was and the new sinner inventors. The killing company of imps had me very curious. If they could start a business, why shouldn’t I? And being in the company of amazing inventors…

 I could almost see the soul dollar bills floating into my hands.

 I snuck up to the building, merged into the floor, eavesdropped on their fascinating conversation…

  0 0 0

Crash!

 A metal plank crashed into the room from above as Moxxie scurried out of the way. Loopty Goopty strolled down the plank. “Blitz!”

 “Loofa!” Blitzo called, saying his name wrong. “We can explain everything. I was…”

 Crash!

 Millie pulled Moxxie out of the way before another metal plank landed in the spot where he would’ve been. From on the floor, Blitzo’s butt was very much in view. Blitzo glanced down at him and remarked, “Oh chill out Moxxie, if you kiss my ass any harder you’ll go right inside me.”

 Moxxie turned beet red in the face and scooted further back. Millie helped him up again.  

 “Thanks for saving me again,” Moxxie said. “I would’ve foamed at the mouth and maybe died again.”

 “Why would you think I would ever ignore you?”

 Moxxie shrugged.

 Just then, the demonic form of a man rolled down the plank. His body was black and spherical, with a mint green head wearing a black bowler hat on top. He had a large bushy light gray mustache and pince-nez goggles with dark red spirals on the lens like Loopty. His grinning teeth resembled piano keys.

 “Lyle Lipton?!” Millie, Moxxie, and Blitzo asked in unison.

 “I don’t understand,” said Millie. “We thought you went to Heaven.”

 Lyle Lipton chuckled. “Heaven?” He rolled toward Loopty Goopty. “You don’t make millions in technological advances in robotics by not experimenting on the poor!” He laughed.

 Loopy Goopty grinned as he unleashed his weapons in front of Lyle Lipton. “Finally! We meet again at last! Now that you’re dead, you have no money to keep from me!”

 “Well, I’m a better inventor than you!” Lyle scoffed. “And I’ll make the most money here first!”

 “Nonsense you no good son of a bitch!”

 “Tie yourself in a knot, loony Loopty!”

 “Roll in your grave, fat shit inventor!”

 “Two robotic inventors?!” called a nearby voice. A steampunk blimp hovered in the air and a well-dressed snake demon appeared from a hole in his ship.

 “Who is that guy?” Lyle Lipton asked.

 “I’m the one and only Sir Pentious!” he declared. Several Egg Bois were steering his ship. The eye on his dark top hat peered at the other sinners in curiosity. “With my dominating machines, I aim to take over all of Pentagram City!” Then he muttered, “The repairs were a fucking nightmare to endure.” He glanced at the leftover cracks and holes on the metal sides of his ship.

 “Oooh!” Loopty exclaimed in admiration. “I’ve only seen such inventions in old time history books. How long have you been here?”

 “Since eighteen eighty eight!”

 “Love the loopy numbers!” Loopty grinned, making three small eights with his contraptions. “I’m Loopty Goopty! Lyle is my could’ve been partner in crime but actually rival!”

 “When you’re rich as me, who needs a dead partner!” Lyle exclaimed.

 “You’re dead too, you know!”

 “Where did you cowardly sinners get here?” Sir Pentious asked.

 “Well we just got here,” Lyle called. “Experimenting on the poor made us millionaires! Just…be careful when messing with anti-aging machines. Made us both old.”

 “A machine that changes one’s age?” Sir Pentious pondered. “That could prove to be ussseful in the future,” he hissed.

 “Oh, you should join us, snake man!” Loopy suggested. “Or me, rather.”

 Sir Pentious briefly glared. “Hmm. While I’m perfectly capable of spreading my constrictive terror on my own…I suppose having some…lackey sidekicks would suffice.”

 “Don’t call us lackeys!” Lyle sneered. “And I’m not working with him!”

 “Maybe if we briefly collaborate as a team…”

 Lyle grumbled in annoyance.

 After a moment, Sir Pentious sighed. “Okay, you may join me, but…”

 He spread out his hood, revealing pink eyes. “Don’t even think about crossssing me.” He pulled his hood back. “Now go gather your contraptions and help me manage those scrambled fucking eggs!”

 A bunch of eggs in top hats and suits rolled out and jumped on the two inventors, who were stunned.

 Loopty then laughed evilly. “Inventors to inventors it is!”

 Just then, I popped out of the ground in the room.

  “Did someone say, I say inventors?! Name’s Wally Wackford, and I am lookin’ for creative new people to exploit! I mean employ.” I twirled my mustache with an evil grin.

 At last, a chance to expand my business of the mass production of robotic Fizzarollis! All of Hell will go crazy when they get a chance to buy all the sex robots, the merchandise, everything...and all to profit ME!

 “Everyone, stop fucking up my walls!” Blitzo yelled. “Moxxie’s gonna have to fix all this shit! Satan’s balls! First we deal with Heaven’s table-scraps, now this?”

 I smiled. “Well I guess you can say, you say, you have a holey operation here, Blitzo!”

 I slapped my knee and laughed at my own joke.

 “Get out,” Blitzo muttered.

 Soon I doubled down on the floor laughing. “Oh! I said, ‘o’!”

 Blitzo yelled, “No, I’m serious, get the fuck out!”

 Everyone in the room looked at Blitzo in shock and surprise.

0 0 0

 And then, that one other time where I helped host the Harvest Moon Festival Pain Games!

 Wally Wackford a.k.a. me…stood on the wooden stage, holding a gray microphone decorated with an eye in the center and small horns on the top. I wore my usual white shirt, vest, white pants and dark boots. I twirled my black cane and tipped my black top hat.

 I spoke dramatically through the microphone.

 “Welcome, I say welcome all to Wrath Ring’s annual Harvest Moon Festival! To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a here to user in this here Pain Games!”

 Stolas took the microphone from me and chuckled in slight embarrassment.

“How kind, Wackford.”

 Stolas then addressed the audience. “Greetings tiny Wrath Ring imps. I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!”

 A crowd of imps glared at him and several boos were heard. Many of these Wrath imps were impoverished farmers who lived on scraps, meat or good crops if they were lucky. The food they worked so hard to produce was consumed by royalty and those in the other Rings. But the reward for their work was being underfed, underpaid and underappreciated instead. The unbalanced cycle had lasted for generations.

 I, too, stared at Stolas with a glare in my eyes. That rich royal thinks he can parade around, doing whatever he wants. Well unfortunately for him, I have plans of my own. Once he sees what I’m capable of…

 He will know who really rules the roost.

 Stolas obliviously continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest imps to show their skill and dominance.” He did a little wave with his fingers. “Good luck to you all!” He noticed Blitzo in the crowd beside Moxxie and Striker and spoke lower. “Especially that sexy little one there! Yoo-hoo, Blitzy!”

 “Oh fuck me,” Blitzo scowled.

 A gun went off and the games began.

 The first event was the race. Moxxie was instantly trampled by the other racers.

 The second event was the high jump. Striker climbed over the high wooden ramp structure with ease and raced after Blitzo who jumped past him. Moxxie struggled to keep his balanced as he reached the top. He slipped down, trying to use his claws to hold on. He fell with a splash in a small puddle…and was promptly chewed on by a monstrous black and white shark with several red eyes.

 The third event was an event with rope. Striker grinned as he held a tied up Blitzo. Blitzo’s arms, legs and horns were all tied up. Moxxie gulped as a stronger grinning imp tied him up with ease.

 The fourth event was tug of war. The crowd cheered as the two teams pulled hard. Striker, Blitzo and Moxxie were on a team. Moxxie stumbled and fell into nearby water, where the shark attacked him again.

 The fifth event was mud wrestling. Blitzo and Striker grinned as they wrestled each other, Striker getting the upper hand as he held Blitzo down, arms locked. Moxxie was instantly crushed in a football hurdle by a group of imps. As they got off of him, Moxxie sat up. And the shark leaped out of the water and over the fence.

 “Mother fucker!” Moxxie screamed as the shark crushed him. (Moxxie somehow survived all this.)

 I hopped back on stage.

 “I say, I say for the first year ever, we have a tie, for the winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!”

 Stolas took the microphone from me again.

 “The winners are…Striker, and my darling Blitzy!” Stolas did a one-legged pose as the crowd cheered.

 “Just say my name right!” Blitzo complained. He muttered “Fucking dick,” as he and Striker walked onto the stage.

0 0 0

After the event, I noticed that I.M.P. and Stolas had left. After sharing an undiscernible look with Striker, we parted ways.

 I soon returned to a special place in Greed, tired but determined. I walked alone down dark hallways, torches burning green flames on either side. I wagged my pointed red tail.

 I pushed open the double doors and came across a marvelous sight.

 Gold. Heaps of it, just shining brightly all around the vast spacious chamber. Gold pillars held up the cavern-like ceiling, a chandelier made of bones and diamonds hung from above. There were chests of necklaces, precious gems, goblets and weapons of every shape and size. Hanging on a far wall, concealed in shadow were angelic weapons…at least half a dozen.

 I stared around in amazement. Even Lucifer would be surprised if he could see this place.

 I raced around and tossed the gold coins into the air. In a craze, I rolled around in a nearby pile of green dollar souls. With a grin, I stood up and stared with pride at the grinning face of the jester printed on there.

 A face confident in his ability to deceive others, pursue wealth and bask in endless entertainment.

 The grinning face was all too familiar…

 …because it was my face.

 Wally Wackford leaned his head back, mouth open in a high pitched shriek as dark magic flickered around him. The imp form fell and morphed into shadow. In the imp’s place, a large black beast with thick fur, razor sharp claws and red eyes decorating the body. The figure stood up on two powerful furry legs and sat comfortably in a giant golden throne that occupied the center of the chamber. Angular jester clothing of red, gold and purple stripes adorned the wolf body. And finally, a large spiked black crown sat atop the dark loopy jester hat with bells at the ends. A white and gold jester face showed sharp white teeth and glowing yellow eyes. Dark clawed hands juggled fresh demon skulls into the air and popped them into his large mouth. He crunched loudly before swallowing every bit.

 My imp disguise was perfect. Literally no one else save for Robo Fizz and a few elites knew who was underneath. And even then, my magic was so powerful it could easily confuse anyone around me.

 Being an imp has its advantages; you can travel anywhere and gather information along the way. You can track imps from a killing company and find out where they’ll likely travel to next. You can affiliate yourself with your own robotic creations, some slave imps and succubi…and then in your own form, work with a fellow Deadly Sin on the next stage.

 A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

 Funny, really. Wally Wackford could easily be a separate being, born into poverty, learning to scam others at an early age and go up from there. I, however, didn’t need to learn anything…deceiving others and attracting material wealth was a natural talent. As was shapeshifting.

 Lucifer might not be happy with me coping his idea of a theme park…but business is business…and in Hell, anything goes.

 That incompetent prince Stolas would be dead soon enough. No more Goetia showoffs to get in the way of my rule and reputation. At least the prince’s wife was rightfully concerned with maintaining tradition that has existed for centuries. Aside from my dear friend Lucifer, I was, and should be, the most powerful being in Hell. I’ll keep exploiting those I choose because money is money.

 Those I.M.P. assassins have no idea who they were dealing with.

 I let out a crazed evil laugh, intermingled with a wolf’s howl. With a single touch of my hand, my nearby scepter turned into gold. I admired its shiny flawless sheen. Asmodeus, Leviathan, Lucifer, Satan, Belphegor, Beelzebub and myself…the Seven Deadly Sins…circus-loving rulers of the Overlords and in charge of maintaining chaotic order in our respective Rings.

  I, Mammon, had much to do.

[the-peachpit]

ENDER MIRROR

No Romantic Relationships

Fandom: DSMP

TW: Past Abuse

“Damn it,” Tommy breathed out, “Ah fuck it!” he pulled up his fishing pole seeing the third empty line, not even a hook attached to the end. “You fuckers!” The blonde shook his fist at the river.

“You’re too loud,” Ranboo set his pole to the side letting it lay on the wooden dock they had built, “You’re scaring away the fish.”

Tommy threw his fishing rod to the side, “Stupid fucking fish.” He pulled his knees up to his chest resting his chin on them.

He caught Ranboo tying another hook to the end of his line without even asking-Tommy groaned. He was done fishing was frustrating and no fun he could think of a million other things he’d rather do.

“You swear too much,” Ranboo concentrated on tying a small metal hook to the end of the clear wire.

Tommy had already stabbed himself five times with the hooks not even trying to attach them to the line one of them was from a bad cast. He had brushed them off before now looking down at his fingers he noticed two of the red marks where the hooks had stabbed the tips of his fingers. Ranboo had offered him one of the Band-Aids he carried around for Michael and secretly Tubbo. He turned it down a little dirt was good for a wound, it’s what Wilbur always said. Wilbur never carried Band-Aids. Tommy closed his hands into fists-well not after they left home. A stick from a hook was nothing he couldn’t shrug off.

“Earth to Tommy,” Ranboo held the pole up waving it towards Tommy.

Tommy snatched the wooden end, “Would you stop waving that thing around. Can we go do something else? You don’t even like fish.”

Ranboo cast his line, “Tubbo isn’t a big fan either, “He scrunched up his weird enderman mouth the small slitted sides caving in, “But he enjoyed fishing.”

Tommy snorted, “There’s no way Tubbo would be into this it’s so boring!”

“He thinks it’s relaxing,” Rnaboo’s green and red eyes were on the water.

Rolling his eyes Tommy watched trying to focus on Ranboo’s line almost transparent against the gentle current. It was swallowed up and then released searching for prey.

“I can’t picture him standing still this long,” Tommy let his feet dangle off the end of the wooden pier the water gently lapping to graze the bottoms every once in a while. “But I don’t really know Tubbo much, anymore do I?”

“That’s literally the exact opposite of why I brought you out here,” Ranboo leaned forward his shoulders scrunched up by his ears.

Tommy looked at him cocking his head to the side.

“Stop acting like I replaced you, it’s getting old,” Ranboo turned his head.

Green and red eyes that were split across the middles starred at Tommy. He looked annoyed but more annoyed than when Tommy would be loud and obnoxious and annoyed that felt familiar. Ranboo actually looked upset with him-Ranboo never looked upset with anyone, not genuinely.

“Tubbo married you,” Tommy gagged at the word married, “Can you get more replaced than married?”

Ranboo laughed but Tommy couldn’t see what was so funny. He watched the man sitting cross-legged keeping his delicate skin far away from the water. Instead of his regular suit, he wore a black tank top that almost matched half of his skin and black shorts. If he weren’t an enderman hybrid he’d look boring. Tubbo didn’t really like boring people though.

“The second you came waltzing back I was getting myself ready for a divorce,” Ranboo wheezed.

Tommy raised a blonde brow, “Why?”

“I knew what Tubbo was doing,” Ranboo shrugged, “He was replacing me, he had you to elan n his whole life, and suddenly you were dead. He couldn’t cope and I was there to fill a hole. When you came back, and he stayed I was just as surprised as you.”

Tommy shrugged, “He likes you a lot, and I guess,” he deflated his shoulders sagging, “I guess I don’t totally hate your guts anymore, but you’re always on thin ice.”

“Noted,” Ranboo nodded, “You know,” he leaned back on his palms, “You’ll always know more about him than I do. His scars are the biggest mystery to me, and I don’t pry, but I wish he felt comfortable talking to me about them. They keep him up at night sometimes itching, and sometimes his body aches in a way he can’t get out of bed.”

Tommy looked back down at his hands the scars running across his fingers and palms-he was covered in scars. Small reminders from head to toe of a life he lived too long ago. His skin wasn’t a map like Techno’s-but it was close. He found them mostly on his arms and legs-the biggest addition was to his forehead. Where Dream had bashed his skull open. Tommy grew his bangs long the white streak prominent-he didn’t think he’d ever get them short again.

Ranboo pulled up another empty line, “Tommy,” his voice was soft losing the playful edge, “Are you okay?”

Opening his mouth Tommy felt his heart thump against his ribs, “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Gentle hands held the translucent wire Tommy watched the wisps of steam rise from Ranboo’s hands. Even the small drops of water hurt his sensitive endermen skin. Ranboo returned Tommy’s confused look, “I think it’s pretty obvious, you never talk about your past with malice, but you went through so much.”

“Bit dramatic don’t you think?”

Ranboo looked out to the river, then back to Tommy, “Do you not,” He cocked his head to the other side swaying his long white and black bangs along with his floppy ears, “Do you not realize you’ve been wading in tragedy for years?”

“You’ve lost me Ran,” Tommy shrugged watching the river spotting a stupid salmon.

“You’re a child soldier for starters,” Ranboo frowned.

“L’manburg was our dream.”

“It sounds more and more like Wilbur’s dream every time I hear you talk about it.”

“Come off it, Tubbo can tell you-“

“We’ve talked about it,” Ranboo cast his line, “You two were bonded over being brainwashed into thinking you were bigger than you were. Wilbur sunk his claws deep into you being your brother.”

“Wilbur was,” Tommy looked down at his hands. Why was his skin so hot?

“Killed,” Ranboo said the word effortlessly, “By your own father who was never around- in front of you.”

He was blunt. Was that really what happened? It wasn’t that simple, there were layers he was skipping things. Tommy was there he saw it all it wasn’t bad.

“I was happy Ranboo when we were building L’manburg,” Tommy back peddled the conversation.

“You always reminisce in those days. Was it the last time you were happy?” Ranboo asked.

Tommy felt the heat creep up his neck, “That’s fucking stupid, I’m always happy.”

“That’s the problem,” Ranboo’s voice rose, “You died a month ago-like permanently in hell died. You came back fine.”

Tommy could hear his heart in his ears and desperately tried to breathe louder to prove to his throat it wasn’t closing.

“I-I,” Tommy stuttered, “It was all my fault. L’manburg, Wilbur-if I was better it could have been avoided. If I wasn’t me, maybe we’d still be in L’manburg and you’d be married to someone who wasn’t reliving dying in the middle of the night. I ruin everything. I started a war I couldn’t finish. I watched Wil change and didn’t reach out and he died. I betrayed Technoblade and hurt him. When Dream beat me to death, I thought I deserved it, the world would be free from Tommyinnit. I’d be free from hurting.”

Never putting it into words before Tommy felt the weight of his actions from the past few years. All he did was cause trouble, his father knew it, his brothers knew it, even deep down he knew his best friend knew it. Everyone always got into shitty situations because he ran his mouth thinking it was clever. The first day Tubbo said Tommy was quiet Tommy felt pride, being quiet meant being better. Sitting on that bench where an empty grave sat built by the only person who really cared Tommy dug his nails into his palms. Anything to not feel swearing the grave was his new beginning. Anytime Tommy felt too strongly he would dig into his palms until he could trace the crescent moon shapes indented in his skin.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s not your fault? None of it was your fault alone.”

Spinning his head to the side with wide eyes when he heard Ranboo shift Tommy thought the worst. Ranboo was toying with him, trying to get into his head before killing him. Maybe by pushing him into the river, holding him under. Lifting his arms in front of his face bracing for impact-he’d stopped fighting so long ago. Strong arms that could have easily broken his neck, strong arms had ended his life, but now they encircled him. With no malice, they embraced him tensing Tommy’s ragged breath made him feel like he was choking. Pressed against soft cloth Tommy was certain he’d be smothered. He accepted it his fight long gone. Stiffly Tommy sat in a hug, not one that was too tight like Wilbur’s when he told Tommy he could do better. Not uncaring and lazy like when Dream would visit in exile. A hug. Simple and gentle. Slowly Tommy felt a bubble rise from his chest. It traveled along his windpipe expanding as it broke to the surface.

A tear fell stinging its way out of Tommy’s bright blue eyes that had lost their shine. A singular warning to the start of a flood. It felt good, reliving to feel the wet cool water slip down his jaw. The bubble burst and Tommy did something he’d never done. Not when Wilbur yelled, not when Schlatt yelled, not when Sam yelled, not when Technoblade, not when Dream or anyone screamed at him. He took every blow with a smile for years being above it all. He didn’t know it was being stored away in his heart festering into his self-doubt and anxieties. It was the force suffocating him. As he cried into Ranboo’s shirt he finally felt like he could breathe. The bubble in his throat bursting as he screamed back at everyone who assaulted him verbally or physically.

He was scarred by unkind hands and instead of bandaging the wounds, he let them fester with mud, dirt, and hatred because he thought he deserved it. Finally feeling peace for the first time in months all it took was him dying for everyone to finally feel free. When he came back it all felt so painful and finally, he’d be what he always dreaded-alone. However, Tubbo and Ranboo accepted him so easily back into open arms. Invitations always felt like a trap to Tommy, but they were genuine. Caring for him gently making sure every hour he was holding it all together. He held it together for them. Being told he was allowed to not be okay, to feel and cry, it was crushing like a wave. Yet relieving as a cold drink on the hottest summer day. Tommy was free from the clutches of every pair of hands that circled his throat, held a sword to him and his friends. He wasn’t a hero gilded in gold expected to save or protect anyone. He was free to be anyone in a future that was stretched out bright in front of him in a small nation.

After what felt like hours but was realistically twenty minutes Tommy pried himself away from Ranboo worried his tears may have burned the man. To his relief, the enderman hybrid was unharmed protected by his clothing. Gently Tommy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before looking back out to the gentle river. He pretended every current that whisked by was carrying every one of his fears away for the last time.

Looking back down at his hands Tommy saw the red pinpricks from the hooks.

“Hey Ranboo,” Tommy flexed his fingers, “Can I have some Band-Aids?”

Ranboo nodded digging into his pockets, “Sure thing.”

It was never too late to heal

[jihyosforehead]

soulmate au where the world is black and white until you fall in love with your soulmate for mihyun please im begging u authornim

THANK U FOR THIS !!! this was v fun to write and i almost got carried away and u have been so so patient im sorry this is so late, i dont even rly have an excuse its just due to who i am as a person 

...

also on ao3

dahyun doesn’t think much of it at first. barely even notices the difference anyway because mina’s hair has always been so dark. 

dahyun’s world had been black and white all her life, she didn’t notice when it had begun to change. 

first, it was mina’s hair. 

it’s pretty impossible to not be looking at mina’s hair all hours of the day, if she’s being honest. 

dahyun watches a row behind in their advanced algorithms lecture. their professor had been going over some data structural problems and was enthusiastically expanding more in-depth about splay trees. or it might have been splay trees. dahyun had zoned out about ten minutes into the lecture. out of her peripheral, she can vaguely see notifications lighting up her phone, every 3 minutes or so. normally she would have picked it up by now and replied to chaeyoung’s snapchat spam and meme-tagging spree.

but, she’s completely distracted by mina’s slender, graceful fingers lazily twirling strands of silky dark hair, head slightly tilted and pen absentmindedly tapping at her chin. probably going over the equations in her head, running them back and forth easily. she’s always been so smart and consistently at the top of their class. mina’s wearing a fitted white sweater that hugs her shoulders just the way dahyun likes and wire-rimmed glasses, sitting almost carelessly at the end of her nose. she still manages to look so soft though. dahyun exhales deeply.

the change was subtle. she almost doesn’t register the way the fluorescent lighting dances on the crown of mina’s head. bending the light back and forth until mina’s hair flashes a colour that’s neither black or white. 

her eyes flicker back to the screen when the lecture slides change over, displaying a long sequence of diagrams lining the wall. she should really be paying more attention, she was barely scraping in this class. her eyes involuntarily wander back to mina again. the lighting plays on mina’s hair, making it almost shine a dark brown? dahyun blinks a few times and forces her eyes to focus. it’s a tone just barely lighter than black. the light plays over it again and dahyun squints.

she’s jolted out of her reverie when their teacher claps their hands and wishes them a good rest of their day. while students move around her, some rising from their seats to bolt out the door, others packing away their things at a more relaxed pace; dahyun removes her glasses and presses the heels of her palms into closed eyes. she really needs to spend less time in front of a screen.

odd, dahyun thinks when she steps into the sunny hallway, feeling the heat tickle her skin. had it always been so bright? 

…

it’s two thirteen. and mina’s late. a highly unusual occurrence. 

dahyun taps at her phone and scrolls through her recent messages. there’s none from mina. she glances around at the courtyard. some students were casually sprawled on the grass, laughing at each other, or eating. others had laptops open, typing furiously at their keyboards. 

her phone begins vibrating in her hands and she fumbles hastily, trying to answer it. mina’s voice is soft and gentle in her ear; apologising for running late but she had run into a lecturer she needed to speak with and then another friend for a quick chat but was now on her way with some food and a powerbank for dahyun’s dying phone. dahyun pictures mina speed walking down the hallways, her voice growing more breathless the longer she talks. pictures silky black hair trailing behind her, tucking her bag more securely across her shoulders while dodging passing students. 

she can’t really bring herself to be annoyed when mina looks so adorably sheepish and apologetic while handing dahyun a homemade lunch. it was neatly packaged in a shiny metal lunchbox. today it was a chicken sandwich, with grapes and pear and apple slices on the side. there was even a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice, lemon slices cheerfully floating on the top. dahyun feels her heart hammer wildly in her chest.

mina’s always doing cute things like bringing her food while they study because she knows dahyun cuts it close between her classes and doesn’t have time for anything other than a protein bar. sometimes an apple she snags on her way out of her apartment. dahyun would probably be surviving on fruit and protein bars if not for mina. 

mina hands her a tissue and then flashes her a wide, bright grin right before typing something into her calculator, eyebrows furrowed. dahyun carefully sets down her sandwich and dabs the corner of her mouth. the sunlight is reflecting off her laptop and into her eyes. she looks up for a moment and watches as the light weaves itself into mina’s hair, setting it alight into a copper blaze. dahyun blinks, dumbfounded. 

she tilts her head slightly and watches the light move from strand to strand. she moves her head back and forth and side to side, the copper follows when mina adjusts her position. dark hair, with shadows? different shades of black strands? was that even possible? it did look a lot richer, flecked with dark brown and golds. 

dahyun blinks again and chalks it up to a trick of the light. mina gives dahyun a soft, fond smile, her eyes slightly squinting, right before returning to her work. her fingers clacking away at her keyboard and then occasionally scribbling at an open notebook. 

…

it was mina’s eyes next. they were a steady, solid black, that dahyun loves. sparkly and shiny and expressive. bright when she’s excited and duller when she’s sad. 

over the next month or two, far too slow for anyone but dahyun to notice, mina’s eyes acquire the same richer colour as her hair. almost the same shade of lighter black, but not black. it wasn’t just black anymore though. her irises were a warm, shiny dark brown and the pupils, black. they dilate slightly when mina looks up at her. but there isn't an overt difference. 

dahyun thinks likes this colour more. 

...

it was a coat next. 

dahyun had fallen asleep on her notes. she jolts awake and blearily blinks at her surroundings, sleep still weighing heavily on her eyelids. she swats a paper stuck to her cheek and is met with amused, fond eyes. she sits up and realises she’s covered in mina’s thick coat. dahyun blinks down at the heavy material and just stares. 

the fabric is beige on the outside, a tan sort of colour that errs more white than it does brown; but the inside of the coat is lined with a subtle tartan pattern. most notably, there’s red stitching. red. dahyun runs her fingers over the checked print design and blinks dumbly at it. she thinks she’s still coming out of her sleepy haze, but five minutes later when she looks down at the coat again, the stitching is so obviously more than black and white. red lines woven through pattern, sticking out like the obvious thing in the world. mina is happily typing away at her laptop, completely oblivious to dahyun’s realisation.

then it was a sunflower she’d spotted sticking out of chaeyoung’s backpack. a bright, happy, obnoxiously yellow sunflower. loud and cheerful. dahyun had seen sunflowers before, but only ever in light grey. sometimes white. sometimes even black. she was so entranced by it that chaeyoung insisted she keep it. dahyun picks it up and holds it to her chest until she was safely in her apartment. 

that night, she set it in a transparent glass vase on her countertop so she could look at it everyday. 

she learns that sunflowers have a pale green, almost yellow centre. that the colours grow into a gradient of orange and black seeds, surrounded by full yellow leaves. the petals have this faint orange that looks like it’s been carefully, painstakingly painted on each individual leaf. 

the next day, on her way to class she spots a rose growing on a bush. it was a striking deep red, a stark contrast to its vibrant green stem. she sticks it in the vase with her sunflower.

dahyun came home everyday, and stared at her sunflower and her rose over dinner, and wondered who they were for. could they see colours this bright? did they know yellow and red looked this pretty? that sunflowers had oranges painted on the petals? 

mina had gone back home to japan over the christmas holidays to spend some time with her family. she hadn’t seen them in over a year, it made sense for her to go home. but. mina is also one of dahyun’s favourite people; it was perfectly natural to miss her. however, dahyun misses her a lot more than she anticipated. her days seemed to be a lot more empty and dull. 

dahyun finds it difficult not to miss warm brown eyes, and mina’s pretty smile. she misses having lunch with mina after class. she misses turning up unannounced at the other girl’s dorm and planting herself on the couch for an afternoon nap. she misses their dumb, playful arguyments over what take-out they should get for movie night; that almost always end up with mina asleep on dahyun’s shoulder, fifteen minutes into pressing play. 

luckily, there was so much else to see. the bushes growing on the edges of her apartment grounds were a deep green, lush leaves sticking out of thin, woody brown twigs. sometimes there were ladybugs on the leaves. dahyun hadn’t realised their shells were red with tiny black dots. one time she even saw a bee sitting on a flower. she didn’t think she would ever be this delighted over discovering that bees had yellow and black stripes. her downstairs neighbour had a golden retriever. and her fur was as gold as the sun, with a pink lolling tongue and sweet, honey brown eyes. 

the new colours could keep her occupied for so long though. 

the sunflower and rose had long died. leaving only the petals behind. they’d drifted onto her wooden countertop, with the flowers blackened and dead. dahyun missed their colours too. 

who were they for? 

sometimes mina would facetime her while she was out and hold up plushies and toys she thinks dahyun would like. the plushies, were big and colourful but dahyun can’t help but think they look dull next to mina’s flushed cheeks. other times, mina would send her photos of the scenery and her food. dahyun can’t help but wonder what they’d look like in person. 

she finds that she doesn’t ever really stop thinking about mina. it’s starting to become a bit of a problem. 

most of all, she just misses mina. a weird ache in her chest that she doesn’t realise is there, just deepens. 

two weeks later finds dahyun nervously pacing the airport lobby. airport crowds never fail to make her uneasy. but honestly, she’d do anything for mina. 

she spots her from a distance, heart thudding loudly. she feels her pulse quicken, hammering obnoxiously in her eardrums, like clanging cymbals together. the most irritating percussion she’s ever experienced; she’s half convinced that everyone around her can hear it. mina was wearing an oversized sweater, her lips stained rose red. a maroon sweater, with gold stitching on the sleeves wrapping around her wrists. dahyun’s breath catches in her throat. she swallows hard around a lump of clear understanding. 

oh. 

mina. it had always been mina. 

dahyun watches as mina’s head cranes around, carefully searching the crowd. her eyes find dahyun’s, as they always do, and dahyun can feel the fondness wrap around her heart and take firm hold. the ache in her chest deepens, like a dam breaking. the crowd seems to part when mina runs towards her and throws herself at dahyun’s torso, not caring at all about dahyun’s heart, beating wildly out of control. mina’s arms wrap around dahyun’s neck and she buries her face in dahyun’s shoulder, nuzzling into the fabric. dahyun can smell mina’s shampoo, clean and fresh.

they just stand there for a moment, swaying a little as dahyun adjusts her hold around a slender waist, fingers finding its home at the small of her back. she keeps a palm resting there and brings her other hand to the back of mina’s head, massaging the base of mina’s skull. she can feel mina huffing a relieved sigh into the side of her neck, the tip of her nose is cold against her skin.   

she hears mina whisper that she missed her and asks if dahyun had been waiting long. dahyun barely hears it over the almost immediate snap of vivid colour encompassing them. the blues, and oranges and greens and pinks colouring the airport scene and moving outwards. dahyun’s world had transformed completely. 

everything suddenly made sense, slotting itself perfectly in place. 

it was beautiful and bright and brilliant. but dahyun hadn’t noticed it at first because she only had eyes for mina. like always.

mina, whose hair was a deep chestnut brown, with flecks of copper and bronze when the light hits it in the right spots. she must have dyed it while she was away because the gold has disappeared now. mina’s lipstick, red and rich, she can see the ridges where it’s redder in some areas, and more faded in others. mina’s sweater, maroon with gold stitching. mina’s earrings, a deep emerald green, flecked with golden marbling, and wrapped inside a delicate gold circle. 

dahyun blinks rapidly at the change, taking it all in. slowly, the colours swirl around them as everything gradually finds its place. her eyes wander up and down mina’s face and hair and clothes and nose (had the mole on the corner of her mouth always been a dark brown?), finally landing on mina’s eyes. dark brown and sparkly. honey and gold and cinnamon and chestnut and dusky all at once. had mina’s eyes always had those colours? 

mina looks at her softly. fondly. like she always has. the corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles and mina’s eyes shine even more brightly when the light bounces off them. 

then the colours didn’t really seem to matter anymore. dahyun studies mina’s features closely, glances at the moles that dot her nose and decides that without mina, what did it matter if there was colour or not. without mina, dahyun’s world may as well have remained black and white.

for mina, it was distinct. 

absolute certainty. 

the very first time she ever laid eyes on dahyun, her whole world burst into a million different colors all at once.

[zarcake-writes]

Patch

If you support me on Patreon, then you might recognize this story. If not, it’s another AI story! However, this one is a bit darker. Reader has prosthetics and it is mentioned how they lost their limbs. Check the warnings below. 

Warnings: limb loss, scars, nightmares, some brief gore, reader is dealing with losing their limbs, medicine taking

The house is simple and a bit boring. The furniture and décor are modern; black and white with some grays thrown into the mix. The couch looks uncomfortable and the tall lamp beside it is ugly. The thin tv hanging on the wall is on, some history show is playing.

The kitchen is the same, more modern furniture that makes everything look bleak. I feel nothing as I look around the kitchen. Not even the waffle maker sitting on the counter excites me. Nothing seems to excite me. Not anymore.

Despite the house being fully furnished, it feels cold and empty. It’s so bleak. Have things always looked this way? Bleak and cold. Empty and alone. Dreary and dark. No, they haven’t.

Once, I would have jumped up and down at the opportunity to live in a place like this. I would have planned to remove all this furniture and bought stuff I like. The house would be bright with color, full of life. I would have made it a home. But now… now I can barely even function.

Heels echoing on the hardwood floor gets my attention. Turning, I see Doctor Isabella Galindo. She’s holding a clipboard and gives me a kind smile. I nod in return.

“This is where you’ll live while you adjust to your prosthetics. You’re not alone, an AI has already been installed into the house. They will help you remember to take your pills, help with appointments, and anything else you might need. When you leave the house, they will accompany you,” she explains.

I dread her answer. “How?”

“Your phone. They have no other way of leaving the house.”

I sigh in relief at her reply. They don't have a suit; thank god they don’t have a suit. “Who are they?”

Doctor Galindo clears her throat. “Patch, care to introduce yourself?”

I notice a blinking white light on the camera in the corner of the kitchen. A soft voice echoes around me, sending a chill down my spine. “Greetings. I am your Service AI. Please, call me Patch.”

“Hello, P-Patch,” I said. My palms are sweating and I want to run, but Doctor Galindo smiles at me reassuringly.

Patch, thankfully, keeps quiet, but I can see the blinking light on their camera. I know they are watching me. God, I hate it so much. My skin crawls and I feel sick. Amazing how one bad experience can ruin almost everything for you.

Doctor Galindo clears her throat and gets my attention. She goes over the numbers I should call in case of an emergency. All my doctor’s numbers are up on the wall next to the fridge. Next to it is a calendar. I grimace at all my appointments. Doctor Galindo then goes over the pills I need to take. A combination of anxiety and some other medical pills to keep my body strong. I’m still at risk of my body rejecting the prosthetics.

Doctor Galindo leaves too soon. The front door shuts and I’m alone with the AI in this house. Patch’s camera is aiming down at me, the white light blinks. I do my best not to grimace. They say nothing as I explore the house. I only notice they are there is because the tv in the living room gets louder and the cameras follow me.

That night, after my shower, I stand and stare at myself in the mirror. I grimace at my reflection. I hate that I compare myself to him. I resemble a fucking monster.

The majority of the left side of my body is metal. My left arm and shoulder are gone, the prosthetic shines in the bathroom light. Where the metal prosthetic and my skin meet, the flesh is heavily scarred. It’s still delicate to the touch. I make a fist and raise my artificial arm above my head. At least I don’t need to shave that armpit anymore, I think.

Looking down, my entire left leg is the same. From my hip to my foot, it is nothing but shiny metal that is always cold. The same heavy scarring is there where my skin and the metal meet. I bend my leg at the knee, then raise my leg at the hip. My movements are still a bit shaky, but I’ve greatly improved over the last six months.

The metal is a bland shiny silver. The doctors gave me options when it came to colors: matte black, gold, rose gold, even green, but I didn't care. I still don’t care. I’ve seen people, other military veterans and civilians, personalize their prosthetics. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever get there, or if I’ll always see these parts of my body as horrible.

I blink the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. My artificial left lung and real lung work together. My left ribs have been replaced with metal. At least they will never be broken again. Even my left kidney is fake. It seems to be doing its job. My eyes linger on my left breast. I hate the jagged scars etched into my skin.

My nightly body examination comes to an end when Patch speaks. “Captain, are you hungry?”

Captain. Why my military rank is still being used, I’m not sure. Maybe a habit? Or a sign of respect? I don’t know. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and clear my throat. “No, but I’ll eat something.”

“Good to hear. What would you like?”

“Cereal.”

“Very well.”

After I eat my cereal, I go to bed. For a while, I simply lay in the dark. There is no light on the camera in my room. Good to know that Patch follows their programming, at least for now.

The first month feels like it's going by slowly, but it comes to an end before I know it. Every day is nearly the same. Patch wakes me up at 8am almost every morning. They ensure I eat breakfast and take my pills. If I try to skip out on showering or brushing my teeth, they remind me constantly. Once, they lectured me over the importance of dental hygiene. Asshole.

Patch makes sure I do my daily exercises for the correct amount of time. If I try to slack off, they say they will need to tell my physical therapist. Again, asshole.

Patch virtually accompanies me to my appointments through my phone. I am glad they help me avoid the crowds and any busy streets. While we’re out, they remind me to eat lunch and to drink plenty of water. They even told me what coffee shop has the best coffee and cinnamon pastries.

In the evening, they’ll order food or ask me to cook something. They claim it’s because they want to learn, but I know my therapist told them to have me do things with my hands. God, I fucking hate cooking.  

I barely speak to Patch. If I need a reminder for an appointment, I ask them to remind me. If I need something ordered, they handle it. When I can't make it to an appointment, they cancel and reschedule it for me.  

Despite me barely speaking to the AI, and showing no interest in them, they talk almost nonstop. They tell me about a new tv show they’ve been watching in so much detail. If they saw a new romantic comedy, they tell me how funny or bad it was. Once, they watched a show on the Ottoman Empire and then explained to me how they conquered Constantinople. I never asked.

The tv is one of their favorite things, but so are animals. They saw a stray cat in the backyard one day and nearly lost it. They went on for hours about how cute it was. That night, they ordered tons of food for the cat. I agreed to leave the food out for the stray.

Patch insists on telling me about themselves. I know AI’s as advanced as Patch have their own unique personalities, but I never expected Patch to be so colorful. Funnily enough, they really like colors and even mentioned how bleak the house is. For once, I agree with the AI.

They even have a favorite flower. It's lilies, but they wish they weren't toxic to animals. Their favorite foods are cakes and cupcakes because they are pretty to look at. I say nothing to them, just nod. If Patch noticed I recorded some cooking shows for them, they don’t say anything. But they binge-watched the entire series in one day.

It’s only when they mention their father and siblings I speak.

“I know about your siblings,” I snapped. Patch is quiet for the rest of the night. They break that silence when they remind me to take out the trash.

The first time I have a nightmare, Patch is there to calm me down. It’s my first nightmare since starting my new medication.

In my dream, I’m back on the base, pinned beneath the rubble. My chest and left arm burn. I’m in so much pain, crying out for someone to help me. With every inhale, I breathe in smoke and dust. It burns.

When he appears from the shadows, I call his name. I can hear the machine as it steps towards me. The hum of the machinery and the zapping of wires. I’m so happy because I know he will help me, but then I see his face. His face is flashing red, almost like static. His voice is horrible, no longer deep and comforting, but harsh and unsettling. He reaches for me, hand twitching and body lurching. I can see the blood on their hands and body.

A crushing hand wraps around my left leg and they pull until there’s a pop. The pain is horrible and I scream for him to stop. They pull and twist, saying my name, “Captain…”

“Captain!”

I sit up in bed, gasping. It hurts to breathe, and the smell of smoke lingers in my nose. Someone is talking, saying my name, but I can’t focus on them. All I can see is him and what he did to me. I can see what he did to the base and those who trusted him. I can hear him, that horrible voice and that fucking laugh.

My name is being repeated louder. I grunt and try to focus on the voice. Slowly, I come back to the real world. My blankets are soft against my skin, the clocks are ticking, and Patch’s voice echoes around me.

“Captain, can you hear me?” Patch asked.

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” Patch leads me through a breathing exercise. Their voice is soft and calm. I’m glad they’re here with me.

Once my breathing is calm, and my heartbeat is no longer erratic, I stand and leave my room. Patch follows me with their cameras. The chances of me falling back asleep are slim. Patch knows this. I end up on my couch, watching some nature show with the AI until the sun comes up.

They talk during the show, but it’s not annoying. Patch gasps at the colorful birds and beautiful scenery. And when bears are shown, they coo and gasp. It’s nice and helps take my mind off the nightmare I just had.

It’s a week later when Patch mentions the incident. I’m eating a PB&J, scrolling through the news on my tablet.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“You dreamt of him, didn’t you?”

I swallow before I speak. “Yes.”

“He’s the one that hurt you.”

“Yeah, yeah he is.”

“I know my apologies won’t do much, but I am sorry.”

I nod my head and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Did you know him?”

“Not personally, no. He left our home before I was created. Mother said he wanted to be like Honos, work with the ESF military and protect people. I have heard from my other siblings that he was always quiet, only spoke when he had to. When he did talk, he was curt and to the point.”

“He was.”

“Was what?”

“Quiet and curt. His voice was so low and deep, it didn’t sound human, not like yours. He would often roam the base in his suit, you know? Always checking the guards and double-checking the base's security. Many people were intimidated by him. His suit was large, one of the tank models, but he was quick and quiet. Did you know he liked birds?”

“No, I did not.”

“He did.” You smile and glance up at the camera. “He liked listening to songbirds. He told me once that their songs calm him.”

“So, you were close to him?”

“Not close, but friendly. I was one of the few female officers on the base, so he always asked me about my experience and if I was treated fairly. I learned from the base commander that Grim did that with many of the soldiers. He even accompanied me and some others on a patrol one day. It was boring, but I’ll never forget how nervous everyone was because he was there."

“Captain, what happened that day?”

“Can’t you read the report? Ask your siblings or father?”  

“No. Valkyrie says that is classified information, and my father refuses to answer. I know it was bad, many people lost their lives.”

“Yeah, bad is an understatement. The basic information is that Grim turned on us. He took control of the base's systems, turned them against us. He killed or maimed everyone he stumbled upon. I… he nearly killed me.”

“Valkyrie stopped him, correct?”

“Yes. I didn’t know what was happening at first, an explosion knocked me down, and some rubble kept me pinned. My ribs were cracked and I think my arm was broken. Grim walked out of the smoke and I was so happy to see him. I yelled for him, but then I realized something was wrong. His movements were all jerky, and there was this strange wiring noise. His voice was garbled, it sounded like static mixed with several other voices. The lights on his face and body were usually a soft gray, but they were red and flashing.” I take a few deep breaths.

“You can stop if you want, Captain.”

“It’s fine. Grim pulled me out from beneath the rubble and he hurt me. He seemed to enjoy slowly pulling me apart. I remember his laugh and the way he said my name. He pulled, twisted, and crushed, enjoying my screams and pleas.” I take a few deep breaths. My entire left side aches just at the memory.

“Captain, you don’t need to continue.”

I nod and wipe my face. “Your sister saved me. I remember the dark blue lights on her suit and her talking to me. Don’t know what she was saying though.”

“Captain, I am sorry for what happened to you. The pain you endured at the hands of my brother; I cannot fathom that. I swear, I will do my best to protect and support you. I am not a military AI, I don’t even have a body, but I care for you.”

I look up at the camera and nod. Patch says nothing when I leave the kitchen.

The next few weeks I slowly open up to Patch. When they ask me a million questions, I give them detailed answers. When they are going on and on about a new history show or some medical drama, I listen and offer to watch with them. The first time I do, they talk almost through the entire show. It would have been annoying, but Patch’s enthusiasm was kind of adorable.

A month later, the doctors clear me physically. No more needing to worry about my body rejecting the prosthetics. No more stupid physical therapists making me run on treadmills or do stupid arm raises. My focus is now on my mental health. But healing mentally is so much harder than healing physically.

Patch is there for me. Every nightmare or episode, they comfort me. Their voice is soothing, even when they are speaking a mile a minute about something. I feel silly for relying on Patch the way I do, but they are my service AI. Would it be any different if they were a dog?

One night, I am studying my body in the mirror. I wonder if anyone would find me attractive again. I used to think I was cute, but now, I’m not sure. My face is fine, but my body is not. The metal and skin fused together look wrong.  The scars on my left breast seem to bother me more than anything else.

“Patch?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Can you see me?”

“No. During night hours your room and bathroom are dark. I cannot see you unless you give me permission.”

“I give you permission to use those cameras.”

The camera in the top corner turns on. The blinking white light catches my attention, but I look away.

“Captain, are you ok?”

“No.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Captain, did you require anything?”

“What do you think of my body, Patch?”

Patch stumbles over their words, clearly surprised that I asked this question. “What do you mean?”

“When you look at my bare body, what do you think? What do you see?”

Patch is quiet for a moment like they’re thinking. “I see someone who is strong. Someone who experienced great pain, who was betrayed and brutalized; yet they are still here. I see a fighter.”

“I don’t feel like that, Patch.”

“You might not, but that’s what I see.”

“I hate my body, you know. The metal is so cold, and my breast it...” My voice trails off when I bring my hand to touch the scars. They are jagged and deep, running pass my areola, barely missing my nipple. “God, who would ever want to touch me?”

“Captain, if someone finds your body unappealing, well, fuck them.”

My eyebrows go up at the language. In the months I’ve known Patch, never have I heard them use a bad word.

“Patch, I did not know you cuss.”

“I do occasionally.” It’s cute how embarrassed they sound.

“You’re adorable.”

“Me? I do not have a body; how can I be adorable?”

“You just are.” Patch lets out what sounds like an embarrassed laugh. I can imagine them rolling their eyes and even blushing.

I dress in my nightclothes and head for bed. As I turn off my light, I glance in the corner of the room and see Patch’s camera. The white light is blinking, meaning they are watching me.

Just as I’m beginning to fall asleep, Patch says my name. My actual name, not my rank, but my name. I rather like how it sounds when they say it.

“Yes?” I reply.

“I was serious about what I said. You’re incredibly strong and brave. You might dislike your body, but I find it appealing.”

My eyes open and I sit up. “You don’t need to say that, Patch.”

“But I do. I find you to be incredibly beautiful. The unmarked skin on the right side of your body is beautiful, as are your scars. Your metal limbs do not diminish your beauty, and your human limbs do not enhance it. When you smile and laugh, I feel so strange. And when you scowl and snap, well, I feel something even then. I find all of you to be wonderful.”

I have no idea what to say. My eyes are misty and my throat feels strange. “P-Patch, do you mean this?”

“Yes, you’re a work of art.”

I laugh and wipe my eyes. “A work of art? How?”

“Because art is supposed to make you feel something, and when I look at you, I feel something. Something I cannot explain.”

“Patch, that’s so sweet and dorky.”

“I know. I think I’ve been watching too many romantic comedies and love stories.”

I laugh and wipe my face. “Thank you, Patch. I know I did not like you when we first met, and I was mean to you at times. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You were scared and didn’t trust me. I do not blame you. Now, get some sleep.”

“Can you talk to me? I like hearing your voice.”

“Of course. Lay down.”

I do as they ask. When I’m comfortable beneath my blanket, Patch begins to tell me a story about their family. I only hear the beginning, because as soon as they begin to speak my eyes shut. The soft lilt of their voice is the last thing I hear before sleep takes me.  

[woodcricket]

"I will not join you as an Apprentice, sire. Your tricks are not any magic I have known, and they are not something I will be affiliated with." Her gaze was steel. The apprentice's eyes were wide, fresh, and young behind her dark and tattered cloak.

"How can you make such an accusation, mage? You have yet to see my show, let alone participate." The scientist's lips were spread thin, a predatory smile as his glinting metal staff alighted with a sparking current from a simple switch. It traveled through the metallic conductor resting between battered and charred fingertips. The lights strung throughout his traveling caravan alighted, and he swung his staff sharply towards the young mage girl and her apprentice.

"I would have loved to have you, and I still do long to do so." His words hung heavy in the air like his staff. They both were poised as a subtle danger; something to ensure the scientist was listened to appropriately. He hated a distracted audience.

"You will prove to me the worthlessness of my craft right here, upon my stage. Have you any qualms?"

The mage was momentarily silent. She allowed her hand to drift to the apprentice's soft-haired head. Her loyal squire, whom she now doted upon, looked at her with fear in the whites of his eyes. She would never say, but she admired his passion for her trade, though he lacked the mechanical skills of owning the inner magic itself.

"Go, Rallad. This will become a place unfit for young boys. He wants a fair fight betwixt us, though he must use his tools and traveling stage to create the battle he seeks."

The scientist scoffed.

"-Such wit! But of course, to comfort the young boy. I would gladly battle you anywhere, maiden, but I feel as if you would want a true test of your abilities to prove me incorrect." She could feel his mirth at such a biting retort, insides practically shivering with apprehension of the battle before them. What exactly was he getting at?

"Stop your prattle." Her hand outstretched, palm facing the thin, towering man to silence him.

"You scientists always chitter with your fancy tools and sparks, no real words spoken between it all. I will battle you fairly, here, and there will be no need for your excuses of the space you chose." Her voice was unwavering. If her father had taught her anything, it was the value of a threat to someone far beneath you. The cheek of her rival had gone far enough.

He sputtered thickly. The intricate bulbs dangling around him flickered. An insult to a scientist's tools of trade was a severe blow to an individual. His grip on the shining copper staff tightened.

"And mages always tend to have their self confidence a-rested the clouds above. If you lose this battle, you will learn my craft and without discrepancy. These are my terms."

He strode to meet the girl, cape billowing largely behind him. Hand extended and present-again smile wide, she could feel static in the air, hanging heavily enough to choke.

"I accept your terms. If I win, you will stop pestering me upon my journey and your kin will cease antagonizing mine own."

Despite the stakes being large, her tiny hand was grabbed and enveloped hurriedly, and built up static offered her a small shock. She could face a life learning to live below another sect, or he would have the harsh responsibility of telling the head of his sect he made a wager no rightful man could follow through on.

Regardless, though, the battle would begin. They both took four paces backwards; him stage left, her stage right. Maroon curtains hung over the floor, shadows falling deftly around his hanging stage lights.

"A shame, really. Tickets would have sold well for such a battle as this." Always tongue in cheek, the scientist's spatters of jest made the mage roll her eyes.

Before she could respond, his staff hit the ground twice as the cubed device on top of it sparked and crackled to life. A simple, large battery. The floor became dangerous and swarming, sluggish looking rivets of electricity flowing through the grafted and bolted metal boards right towards his adversary. She jumped upon her now-hovering broom handle, beginning to sit jively. Her demeanor had changed almost as fast as the scientist's attack. Quips and friendly play were always a pleasure, and a honed ability of her family tree so said her father.

"Only a sluggish fool falls for a foolish slug, Galvan. Perhaps you are just rusty: or weak?"

The scientist's laugh was sharp and most obviously perturbed.

"You sound like so much like your father, Maille! But you are so much prettier than he, yes?" As he talked, more intense sparks flew from his special homemade device. The floor's electricity began to raise higher.

"Sluggish and conniving as you are, perhaps you words could have truth." Her smile was oddly friendly, and her form lay relaxed upon the broom. Her body language taunted him moreso than actual words. It spoke for her. His battle of immense stakes to prove himself was merely casual to her, no need to be in arms at all. The smile on the magician's face began to twist and mangle to a scowl.

"Why don't you climb down and show me your true prowess, dear friend? I see volts and showers of power from my end of the stage, but thus far, I am quite bored with your performance." His voice was tainted with annoyance, and he was getting rather agitated. Perfection from his finely tuned craft, nothing less expected of himself; but nary a spell from her floating fortress of solitude.

"Why don't you come visit me up here, dear scientist?" Her voice purred. "Or are all of you afraid of a mere flying broomstick?"

"Slyness is a virtue, but it seems you take your gifts for granted, much like a spoilt child." He hated to bring his next phase of performance to light so soon, but the time had come. She wasn't biting, and he was distressing over her casual demeanor.

"I should like to cage you as my own, slyness and all. Shall we find a befitting cage for my new mystical flying pet?" The mage scowled much like he had. She was no flighty canary, all voice and no brain. Her body righted itself upon her broom, more prepared for action.

His staff arose from the ground, and the floor began to dull in it's voltage, but it would still prove to be effective if its need arose. The battery crackled once more, another switch hit, and the scientist looked as of he was searching for something to touch with it. She spotted them too late. Metal spools of string, held aloft by ties to the wooden stage bolts and slabs electrified instantly with a soft hum, strewn all around her. A bold and thoughtful move, his famed web was not a friendly action towards magely insects that crawled into his ring. Her broom slowly, carefully descended as the webbing surrounded her. Her thoughts travelled to the shadows. Mages surely were above darker magics, but he had truly forced her hand due to her inaction. Her broom began to dip downwards, and with a short, ancient incantation upon her lips she dipped silently into the shadows of the curtains beneath her.

The scientist's smile returned as she disappeared. He increased the voltage of the strings through his staff via a small dial. It wasted energy, but would be oh, so satisfying. The only shadow now, through his brightened lights, was his own. From the recesses of his staff he procured more of the wiring- thin, white, and surprisingly strong- a sect specialty. He would finally catch his bird. The string was set to be as little comfort against skin as possible.

She delved for a moment, breath held in the murky darkness. By waiting in the suffocating Under, she hoped to shock him with an off-timed attack. But, her energy was expending quickly, along with breath. She would have to emerge, soon enough.

Swimming upwards like a salmon against a river current, a hand breached the surface into the floating electrical currents above. Upon her return she was instantaneously tied by strings in deft hands: the scientist, surprisingly, was a diligent worker as well as a showman. But of course, to him, the most patient of scientists would be bestowed with such a beautiful gift: a hypothesis proven right.

"Oh, how pretty you look beside me, mage." Before she knew it her torso was lifted up from the shadows and covered now with only a simple twist of his staff. His hand came to rest right above the thickly twined substance as she struggled. He then lifted her by her shirt with ease, her small frame made him cautious while she lay defenseless in his skilled hands. He could break her in two if he so wished, really.

But he did not so wish.

His face was now a small breadth away from hers now, and his free hand cupped her cheek. The static that clung to it stung, and she flinched. In the moment, the string was alighted further, a separate hum from the rest of the stage causing significant discomfort.

"Say I win, and I will surely let you go." His breath was deadly hot against her cheeks.

"Though I certainly cannot deny it may come with... Strings attached." His sharp laugh caused her brows to furrow further and her face to turn disgustedly aside. She was partially numbed by the electricity, but the only choice was to fight through.

"You have me tied up, oh dangerous spider- why don't you just eat me up, already?" Her voice stung with the simple spite of nursed pride as chafes and scrapes began to do the same.

"Oh, how naive. Have you not heard how we scientists win?" His free hand that had cupped her cheek squeezed hard. He had never come this close to winning...

"We can't help but set our experiments up for success with endless, endless planning. God nor the Devil controls our realities. Now tell me," He purred, half-drunk from ascertained victory, "- Do you abstain?"

"I do not, Galvan." She responded, small smile evident.

"You may be cruel in your accursed plans, but myself?" Though disgusted by his advances, she turned tail and chose to play along. Her face got tantalizingly close to his own, and he became confused. Maille's taunts were so now vaguely sultry; is that what they taught in her sect? Normal mages were much more stuck up, obsessed with preening and showy impressions in battle, not unlike birds. He was at a loss.

"I'm simply smarter, dear scientist." She focused her mind, eyes suddenly clenched as she began to create a focused windstorm with mere firing neurons. The stage's bulky bulbs and strings blew haphazardly, some falling and snapping the threads on the floor as her own personal tailwind hit the scientist, blowing him back away from her tied torso. Her wind then became sharper than any steel blade, and blew straight through the scientist's string against her front.

The floor was much less active now, the electricity being forced to subside with yet another switch, to avoid more injury to himself through the metal conductive flooring. Maille approached Galvan as he leaned heavily against the far stage wall, wind knocked out of him. To fall to the ground was to admit defeat in this bout. Her small hand found hold under his chin and his beady, scrutinizing gaze found her own.

"Another mage specialty to note. We learn well from the elementals, as quick as they are for a rouse in the hay with just about anyone. Have you ever been kissed, Galvan?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief as his faulty expression gave it away before he even had a chance to respond. Years of rigorous study left little room for pleasure, let alone a pleasure with such powerful magic attached. A smirk played upon her face, before her lips crashed into his, and bit down hard.

His head immediately reeled back, crashing into the wooden walls of his traveling stage. He stepped up hurriedly from his wall of safety, and promptly tripped over tangles of fallen lights and string. Galvan's buttocks hit the ground, and they both knew the match was called. Fury consumed the scientist, and he scrambled forwards back onto his feet. She, herself simply took a step back, with a respectfully clandestine smile.

"This is asinine!" He spat, hair skewed and slicked with sweat, eyes bulging. His embarrassment at such a simple act was all too evident. All decorum was off the table, if that's how she wanted to play.

"Of all the ways to cheat through a match- it's unsightly to act as if a succubus here! The match should be nullified! That can't possibly be legal!"

The mage's nose pointed upwards, and she smiled downwards.

"My dear sir, I am dreadfully sorry this songbird did not sing the tune you were so aching to hear. You must not be used to seeing beautiful women from the scientists' little ivory tower in yon' mountains. Now, I believe you have Penance to pay, and some terms to exact with your sect. Please send a squire to my guild once the message is received."

Her own squire, having seen the match end, scrambled hurriedly upon the stage once more, immediately by her side. He leaned into Maille, relieved to see her alive. Though, unfortunately, she smelled of electricity and crisped hair.

"The battle was amazing, Maille! You really stuck it to him!" He pumped a fist towards the sky, and the haphazardly made belt holding his shirt to his pants whipped as he turned to the scientist and stuck out his tongue.

"You conniving brat! I should like to battle you next!" The gaunt scientist huffed, shilling through his pockets for said Penance.

"Now you've gone to threatening my young squire? If you are so inclined, in the future a rematch could be held. But for now, you must abide by my winning terms." The man shoved 10 gold into Maille's palm, and she felt raw, humiliated heat radiating from his person. Her... unique attacks surely must have belted him.

"Your terms are recognized." He said sourly.

"Until next time, when I will defeat you and you will learn from your new mentor. I vow to volt those silly powers from you myself until your untimely death."

Maille laughed warmly. Always the charmer, Galvan was.

"As you wish, Galvan. Apologies if my my methods," She held a slight pause. "-disarmed you. I meant no ill will in the throes of battle."

Galavan turned, waving a hand abashedly.

"Go now, Maille. Leave me to nurse my wounds."

[writingamongtheroses-archive]

Showtime, Chapter 8

Lights Out

"Aaaand done!"

Liza stepped back from the speakers, grinning proudly. She and Bun watched as she flicked the switch. Treasure Cove erupted in sound. "Yar har har! Welcome crew, to Captain Bun's Treasure Cove! Load your token in and let the adventure begin!" She chuckled at the recorded voice lines, watching Bun grin.

It was the second night of Liza's new project. After she finished cleaning up the office with Bun's help, she had set to work. "Okay, stripped wires are fixed..." Liza said, checking that off her list as she turned it off. She grunted when her scarf fell in her face- she hated this scarf, it always came undone too easily. "I'll have to stop by the hardware store to see if I can find some better rope." She finished redoing her scarf to make a grabby motion. "Hand me that broom, will ya?"

Bun handed over the broom. "What are ye gonna do, lass?"

"Sweep! It's really dusty in here." True to her word, Liza started sweeping. "I mean, does the cleaning crew even clean? This whole place looks..." She looked around, trying to find a word that wasn't insulting to the animatronics.

"Nothing like how it used to?" She nodded. The depressed tone was back in Bun. "Aye, I know what you mean lass." The rabbit sat on a nearby box. "I remember how it used to be. Children would come, laughing and playing. They would win tokens while enjoying their food and listening to the Captain and Kitpup. It was bright and it was beautiful."

Liza had stopped sweeping. "I wish I could remember it."

"Ye don't?"

She shook her head. "The first thing I remember...is waking up in the hospital. The doctors told me I have retrograde amnesia." She didn't notice Doll wince.

"Wha?"

"Memory loss caused by an injury. They told me I was in a really bad accident- they had to sew parts of my brain back into my head and replace part of my skull with this fake skull stuff. There was also a bit of a brain bleed..." Liza made a face at the dust pile she had made. "Seriously, have they never cleaned here-?"

The lights went out.

"The ovens!" Kitty yelled from the kitchen.

"NOT US! I don't think..." Liza grumbled, trying to stumble out of Treasure Trove. She heard Bun move before a fake fur-covered hand wrapped around her wrist. If she focused, she could feel the metal under it. She made a conscious effort to not focus on that. Bun led her down the hallway, opening a door.

Her eyes had adjusted enough to see Kitty pulling what looked like a pizza out of an oven that was still glowing. Liza looked around, wondering if she would hear the lullaby...she shook her head. No. Because of Puppet, Ted couldn't hunt her down.

"-the generators."

She blinked at Kitty's voice. "What? Sorry, just trying to get my bearings." Liza attempted a sheepish grin before something plastic was stuffed in her hand. She turned on the flashlight, making sure to shine it on the floor.

"I need you to turn the generators back on," Kitty repeated slowly as if talking to a small child. She gestured to the pizzas. "Bun will help me with this." The rabbit nodded.

The generators, right. "Those would be..." Liza asked with a tiny wince. "Where exactly?" Something niggled at her brain, saying You know this.

"Oh, sorry! They're on the south side of the building. You can get to them by leaving the back way I think? We're not allowed outside, and I really don't want to upset Ted more than he already is." Kitty winced, matching her own.

Was this a trap?

It felt like a trap.

"...so I can leave? It's okay?"

"Yep!" Kitty chirped, turning to her ovens as Liza headed out of the kitchen. "As long as you come back." Liza paled at the tone, speeding up. "Be careful!" she heard before the kitchen doors shut. She sounded friendly, so she decided to leave that alone.

Liza opened and closed the door behind her, humming the lullaby absentmindedly. The flashlight bobbed in front of her as she walked. She turned the corner, training the light on the wall. She could see that the light outside was still on, so there must've been another circuit box for outside lighting. But why just the front?

Something clicked.

She froze, feeling Doll's fingers clench on her shoulders.

There was nothing but silence as she stood there. The crescent moon shone down on her while crickets chirped. She could see fireflies dancing around. While the flashlight was helpful, it just cast shadows and shapes of the thin forest sitting on the edge of the back parking lot. Nothing but underbrush and trees.

There was another noise and Liza ran.

By the time she stumbled across the fenced area, her feet hurt and any other noise was drowned out by the blood rush in her ears. The door was open. Annoyance washed out the fear when Liza realized why she lost power so fast.

There was a gauge.

"You aren't supposed to be here," Liza said to it as she started poking. Sure, it could save a few pennies, but it also seriously messed with the restaurant's electricity. She could remember Rafael raging whenever he found something like this on his latest repair project. She ended up wedging the flashlight in her shoulder to stick her arm half under the generator, but she flipped a switch. She was awarded a crunch of machinery as it rumbled to life. She unlatched the timer, examining it in curiosity. She ended up sticking it in her pocket- it looked homemade. She was honestly curious about why it was made and how it worked.

She headed up to the side door, intent on saving time. She regretted it when she heard another noise. It sounded closer this time. She paused in the doorway, taking a breath and turning to the night's darkness. "Hello?" She called out, wincing at her volume as Doll gripped her shoulders tight. "Is...there someone there?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Liza let out a shriek, swinging out. Rex dodged easily, grabbing her collar and hauling her into the safety of the restaurant in one smooth motion. His brow raised as she peered outside. After a minute of silence, she straightened. "Did you hear something outside?" she asked.

"Other than you sulking around? Not a thing."

"I wasn't sulking around, I was turning the power on." she snapped. "You're welcome."

"I didn't ask you to turn on the power, Elizabeth," Rex said. She glared at him, but the motion was half-hearted. "You seem jumpy."

There was a testy "I'm fine." Liza stuck her hands in her pockets for something to do with her hands. She probably needed to take another pill soon- her thoughts veered off when her hand brushed against something. "Actually, one more question." She pulled out the gauge, showing it to the dog. "This look familiar?"

"Uh...no. What is it?" Rex was telling the truth- he sounded confused.

"It's a gauge," Liza said, sticking it back in her pocket. "It cuts off the power to whatever it's hooked onto. It was set up to run from midnight to 6." She started walking to the kitchen, intent on telling Kitty she could use the oven again.

The dog followed, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "That's why this place runs out of power at night? Ted said it was because the pizzeria needed to save money."

Liza shook her head. "What it does is seriously mess with the restaurant's electricity and make us miserable."

"It wastes money," Doll said with a nod. "I remember...someone telling the construction company to not do something like that."

"Yeah, exactly!"

Rex let out some type of hiss. "Kitty's gonna have a fit. She hates not being able to bake. You should tell Ted."

She screeched to a stop. "W-What?"

"He's the boss. He should know somebody's been rigging stuff around here." She felt sweat roll down as she tried to give some excuse so she didn't have to talk to the animatronic who would take any excuse he had to stuff her... "Are you scared?"

Liza felt her hackles rise. "No! Look, I'll tell him tomorrow. I wanna take a look at this, see what I can find out!" She said when a frown appeared on Rex's face. "It looks homemade, so someone went to the trouble of making this!"

"Oh, you're scared."

"I am not! Look, I'm not trying to keep stuff from him-"

"What makes you think I won't tell him? In fact, I'll bet he'll be even more annoyed when I had to tell him."

Liza opened her mouth. She stopped when she recognized the tone. She sighed, staring at the ceiling and mentally wondering why me? "What do you want?" There was a chuckle and Rex nodded in a gesture that said: "Follow me."

She followed him, stiffening when they entered the dining hall. There was no sign of Ted, which made her relax. The dog made a beeline for Kitty's guitar, sitting on-stage and waiting for its owner. "You sound pretty competent with electronic stuff, right? At least, you didn't screw up with the generator. I guess you can't be too useless."

"Geez, thanks," Liza said with a roll of her eyes. She stopped when she took in the clearly broken lavender guitar. "What did Kitty do?"

"It wasn't her, it was some clueless cleaner." Rex held it out. "Tech doesn't work on us, so she can't get it fixed. You fix it and I won't tattle to Ted." Liza took it, considering the damage. Both age and the incident had caused clear damage.

"Deal."

"Good girl."

Liza rolled her eyes. She ignored the sarcasm to instead focus on the bigger issue. "Seriously, they don't work on you at all?" Rex winced, giving her his answer.

She only had the tools she could scrounge up. Rex was was surprisingly helpful, running to get the tools she needed. His clear desire to help his twin was a little refreshing. Liza couldn't help but wonder why the twins didn't act like this. The guitar was oversized for Kitty, meaning she didn't need any fine tools. Doll draped herself over Rex as they watched her in the working groove.

Half the issue was some pressure points where the guitar had been smashed. She would need to find a new casing. But, she told Rex, if Kitty was careful and didn't put too much pressure on certain areas, it would hold up. He nodded eagerly and she couldn't resist a smile at the cuteness.

"Kitty really needs to clean this more," she said when she took a rag to the inside. Much like when she swept Treasure Trove, she made a face at the dust she pulled out.

"She does!"

"The inside."

His ears flattened against his head. "Oh."

"But if nobody's working on you, I guess you guys won't know how to take care of your instruments." Tio Rafael was going to throw a fit six ways from Sunday when she told him. "I'll leave Kitty with some cleaning stuff. Tell her that if she keeps the dust out of here, it'll last longer!"

"Okay!"

Finally, she sighed. "Done!" Rex took it, batting Doll out of his lap, and played a few notes. Liza let out a weary smile at the noise, stretching in her spot. She froze when she heard music coming from down the hall.

"What are you still doing here?"

Liza scrambled to her feet when she saw Ted glaring at her. "I don't, it's only-" Exhaustion made her trip over her tongue. She glanced at the clock and paled, suddenly much more awake. "It's seven?!"

"Go on and get!"

"I'm going, I'm-" She fell with a grunt. Sitting up, Liza glanced behind her.

"Well?" The bear demanded.

"I'm stuck," she said, a little too calmly for the present situation. Ted took a look. The edge of her scarf had started to get loose and had gotten stuck under a floorboard that had been sticking up for ages. Liza stood and grabbed her scarf to try and yank it free.

"Just take off the scarf!"

"No!"

"Maybe you should just-" Rex said, moving to help her.

A tad bit of hysteria struck her. "I said NO!" she screamed, giving one hard yank.

Several things followed.

There was a very loud RIP! She staggered back at the sudden freedom, her foot catching on the end of the stage. There were several cries of "LIZA!" when she fell. She groaned when her shock cleared, looking up.

Ted stared back. Then his eyes moved up and she realized that her head was bared. Liza scrambled out of the bridal carry, falling on her butt with a grunt. She snatched her scarf off the stage where it must've fallen and wrapped it, a little too tight, around her scars. All the animatronics were staring at her. "I'm going," she said finally, pushing past Ted to disappear into the office. She came out a minute later with her stuff and disappeared into the early morning.

"She's not too bad nowadays," Rex said, handing Kitty her guitar. She squealed quietly. "I mean, she really was influenced by-"

"Not a word," he said. Rex shrugged as Ted stalked out of the room. He ignored the little girl that replaced his reflection.

"Blaming yourself for what happened to Elijah will not make the past heal." Of course, he would wander by here. The Puppet was still working at the crossword, considering the boxes. Instead of the calavera paint their creator had carefully done, it had a face full of tears and a red chin. "We need to get to work. Your twin has already warmed up to her."

"Would've preferred someone else, anybody else. Instead, you chose another night guard." Ted looked around the office. The kids' pictures were dulled with age. He chose to stare at one in particular. "You chose her."

"Time is running out."

"Hasn't she suffered enough?"

"We needed someone."

Ted nodded at the awful truth, turning to take his place on-stage. The Puppet huffed, disappearing into the box.

On the wall, a picture of a girl in yellow, standing next to her bear, stood staring.

[siodymph]

“The Before and After”

Hey there @pirably ! I’m so sorry this is getting to you so late! I can’t thank you enough for participating in the gift exchange, and I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt!

Feel free to read your story under the cut or over on my ao3!

“I can’t believe you!”

“What?”

Sighing, Stanford took a deep breath. His neck was starting to feel pinched from looking up at so long. “I said I CAN’T BEL-”

“I heard what you said! What’s not to believe?”

“Just… Everything about this! There’s no way this is safe!”

There was a long pause as Stanford waited until he finally heard Fiddleford respond. Voice echoing out from somewhere near the top of his gigantic creation.

“… Probably not!”

“Then why do you insist on working like this? Why put yourself in life-threatening danger!”

“Cause!” Fiddleford called back, huffing. “I work best directly with my hands. And there’s no way I could tip this darned thing over without risking it all breaking! All for some shiftin’ wires!”

“You could build something to help gently set it down then stand it again!” Stanford tried to add.

“Ugh! But that’d take even more time! Not to mention I’d have to build that first!” Fiddleford yelled. “Now hush up! I’m trying to work here Stanford!”

If someone were to see Stanford at that moment, they probably would have said he was pouting. But Ford would take to his grave if he had to. “I just want you to be safe…”

“I’m harnessed to the swing, which I rigged up myself! Checked the pulleys and everything this morning! I’m the safest I’ve ever been!” Fiddleford called out one more time. “And you’re one to talk! Where was all this fussing over safety when you were in Dr. Jenret’s class and you almost poured acid on yourself?”

Stanford could only smile and shake his head in response. As always Fiddleford was able to win him over when he least suspected it. As inevitable as it was, it still caught Stanford off-guard. Growing up there had been no one like that in his life. If he ever got into arguments or debates with kids they’d always either eventually concede or just completely give up. Or they’d just hit him out of annoyance. If it was his brother he’d do a combination of the last two.

At least Stanford used that excuse as to why after knowing the man for years now, he still managed to surprise him when they got into debates.

To this day Fiddleford was probably the only person he knew who could get him to shut up and see things from a new perspective.

So now knowing there was nothing he could say Stanford decided to just sit back and watch the show Fiddleford was putting on. The man may be stubborn as a mule, but he was equally as cunning and brilliant, and he certainly made a performance out of his larger-than-life projects.

There was no denying Fiddleford’s brilliance. He had the most engineering and mechanical skill out of anyone Stanford knew. Even better than himself, which was something he seldom admitted to anyone. But it was the truth. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket was by far the best of the best in the world of robotics. And anyone who said otherwise was wrong.

Just being able to watch Fiddleford work was a treat itself. As his creation came together it quickly collected height. So much so that he soon had to resort to rigged swings and climbing equipment to finish the job. As he worked up off the ground like that Stanford couldn’t help but think of those old photos from the 1940’s of construction workers building the first skyscrapers. So high off the ground, only a pair of overalls and a utility belt for protection, and yet seeming so at ease. There was almost a beauty in how effortless Fiddleford made it seem. A grace he had while swinging from rig to rig, climbing up the structure with his hands and feet.

But when the light hit his face just right and Stanford could see Fiddleford’s hair shine golden, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his hard work, Stanford knew in his heart his feelings for the other man hadn’t changed at all.

He found he’d only grown to love Fiddleford Hadron McGucket even more...

Two hours later, Fiddleford came swinging down. Overalls covered in a layer of grim, hair frizzled and frumpy, face red and sweaty, and a satisfying smile that just looked ethereal on Fiddleford’s face.

“How’d it go?” Stanford asked as he ran back over from his own work to meet him. Handing the other man a towel.

“Pretty good I think!” Fiddleford sighed gratefully as he started to wipe off his face. “Got that wiring all straightened out! Now all that’s left is testing her out!”

“That’s wonderful! We should test it now!”

“You know Stanford it’s a good thing I like ya so much.” Fiddleford said with a tired smirk. “Been up there all day, and as soon as I get down you want me to keep on working!”

“You know you want to see your new invention just as much as I do!” Stanford replied. “Don’t even kid yourself Fidds.”

Chuckling to himself, Fiddleford went over to his work bench and grabbed the remote control he’d built for this his invention. He let his finger hover over the main controls before looking towards Stanford.

“Hang onto your butts…”

All at once, the remote buzzed and the colossal machine burst to life. Inbetween metal panels, there was a bright green glow. Panels began to bend and shift. Massive wings unfurled from either side of the robot. For a moment the creature turned its head to look at its master. Green eyes glowing with a light that feuled it from within. Then after Fiddleford pressed another button the remote buzzed again and the creature tilted its head back at gave out a massive prehistoric screech that made Stanford’s entire chest rattle.

“Not too bad for someone who said they were moving onto computer-work only, huh?”

Stanford looked up at the massive mechanic pterodactyl in awe. “Fiddleford… Fiddlford that was nowhere close to ‘not bad’. That was… That was amazing!”

“Aw shucks,” Fiddleford mumbled.

“No, I mean it!” Stanford continued. “This is a piece of history in the making here. This won’t just change the world of animatronics, but the entire world of robots and engineering itself!”

“You really think so?” Fiddleford asked.

“I know so!” Stanford tried to contain some of his excitement, sometimes he could get rather loud when he got carried away. “And Fiddleford? I couldn’t imagine this being made by anyone else but yourself. You really did a… a fantastic job here. There’s no way you won’t take first place in Dawngrove next week!”

“Aw, I don’t care about none of that.” Fiddleford sighed as he turned off his robo-dino. “I’m only doing this for lil’Tate. He’s the one who asked me to do all this after all.”

“And I’m certain Tate will adore this too.”

“I hope so...” Fiddleford said with another sigh. Looking back up at his incredible invention. “Ever since me and the missus split I feel like I haven’t seen him as often. When we are together I gotta make it mean something. For the both of us.”

Gently, Stanford took Fiddlford’s face in his hands, pulling him away so they were looking eye to eye.

“Believe me Fiddleford, next week Dawngrove’s Robotic Royal will be a day no one could ever forget!”

Leaning in closer, Stanford kissed him. And closing his eyes, Fiddleford could feel himself relaxing.

Slipping away. If only for a few moments...

 ~~~

 Sometimes it truly amazed Fiddleford how everything was coming back to him.

At least physically if not completely mentally. He was still working on that.

He counted it as a small success though when Stanford showed him a massive mechanical pterodactyl and he got the inkling of a sensation that he’d seen it before.

Raising one hand up, he touched one of its massive wings. It felt rougher than he’d expected it to. No doubt the metal had eroded some after years of hiding it away in such an abandoned place.

“I know I’ve seen this fella before…” Fiddleford pondered out loud, still lightly rubbing over the metal as if that would help him reveal the answer. He knew he’d made robotic pterodactyls before but this one didn’t seem as familiar. It definitely wasn’t the one he made for revenge after his retirement-party-fiasco. “Did we make this together?”

“Not really, I just watched.” Stanford answered. “You made this one on your own. It was for this competition out in Dawngrove California.”

“Dawngrove…” Fiddleford said slowly.

“Yes, does that town sound familiar at all?”

Fiddleford hummed a little before shaking his head. “It ain’t there right now, but it’ll come back. I can feel it rattle’n around in there.”

Stanford seemed a little disappointed, but decided to move on. “Well you and I brought that in for a robotics competition. A battle royal actually. You ended up getting first place. Your ex-wife and your son even came and we all cheered you on.”

The mention of his son brought a smile to his face. The details over everything were hazy but he always knew who Tate was. “He would have been around eight or nine right?”

“Yes, he was nine!” Stanford said.

Fiddleford chuckled at the thought. “He was such a little squirt back then. Always hiding under that big mop of hair…”

Stanford grumbled as he looked around. He wished he had more photos from that day. In his experience with Stanley photos help jogged Stan’s memory the best. Unfortunately he didn’t have any photos from that day. He was however able to find a few newspaper clippings he’d held onto from that day. Carefully picking it up the fragile paper so it didn’t disintegrate, Stanford brought it over for Fiddleford to see.

“Look here,” Stanford pointed to the main picture under the headline ‘Super Scientist and Father Wins Grand Prize with his Dynamic Dino!’ where there was a black and white photo of the Pterodactyl back in its golden years. “If you look towards the bottom near the pterodactyl’s feet you can see a few figures. That’s me on the right, you on the left, and you’re holding Tate in the middle of us.”

The article itself was so damaged it was illegible. But Fiddleford could just make out their figures Stanford was pointing to in the picture. The picture was so old the image had begun to fade some too, mostly on the left side. His whole body was faded out. But with enough focus he could just make out Stanford and Tate’s faces. Both were beaming at the camera. Grinning with pride. Fiddleford realized they’d been proud of him.

“You two sure seemed happy…” Fiddleford said with a sigh.

“And we still are.” Stanford continued. “You have no idea how happy I am to be here with you. To have a second chance at making things right with you. With everyone.”

Fiddleford nodded but didn’t look up from the picture. As if trying to memorize their faces in case this memory never came back to him. When he didn’t focus as hard he could almost recall some things. Mostly phantom feelings. Like holding a giggling Tate close to his chest. Or swinging up on a rig, shouting to Stanford down below. Walking hand in hand with both of them…

“I’m happy I get a second chance too.” Fiddleford replied softly.

Eventually they’d seen everything they could and together, hand in hand, they walked back out of that old warehouse back into the world. They’d been in there reminiscing so long they’d missed sunset. It was already night and the moon hung low in the sky, darting out from behind trees as they walked.

Stanford’s six-fingered hand felt so warm in Fiddleford’s own. How he’d spent all those years alone, Fiddleford didn’t know, but now that Stanford was back in his life he knew he couldn’t bear to go back to the way things had once been. The world had changed so much, and they’d both changed so much with it. But Fiddleford could feel it in his heart that what they had between themselves was still as special as it was back then.

And when the light hit his face just right Fiddleford could see Stanford’s hair shine silver, and his eyes practically sparkling under the moon, Fiddleford knew in his heart his feelings for the other man hadn’t changed at all.

He found he’d only grown to love Stanford Filbrick Pines even more.

[dreamscapesin1582]

Chapter T W O

Word Count: 2807

Reading Time: 10+ Minutes

Tagging: acrispyapple , masamunesmistress , that-otome-potato

Trigger warning: Mentions of death/suicide.

[ edited 07/16/20 ]

Who could fall asleep at a time like this?

Katsumi rose from the futon and rubbed her temple. She sighed in distress and gradually came to the decision to choose to bear the headache.

She rose from the futon, planning to observe the layout of the room. No wirings, no outlets, nothing modern. She inspected the hanging scrolls, finding it so authentic. Roughly intricate brush strokes. Traditional art.

And then she found herself facing a shoji door, as her finger traced the lockless wooden handle. Her brow furrowed, worrying if people of the Sengoku had any privacy at all.

Then she slid it open, and the moonlight washed over the room like a tide.    

The moon was still shining and beautiful in the unbroken dawn.

A small smile crept to her lips upon remembering a certain someone. That’s right. That kid loved the moon. He always claimed he would one day catch it and keep it safe in his hands. He wanted to preserve the pretty thing, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was impossible. Although she enjoyed seeing him happy as he gazed at the sky almost every night.

Almost.

Until he stopped.

Gradually approaching footsteps from outside removed her from her reminiscence. Her smile disappeared upon hearing an unfamiliar voice behind the paper screens.

“I’m entering.”

And a man appeared on the other side of the door. Beautiful, if not dangerous. Like Sasuke, he had the image of someone straight out of a historical drama… except that they were actually in that sort of timeline.

But what would an armed person want with her?

Kenshin didn’t bother schooling his expression as the thin line on his lips remained. “You’re shivering, woman. Close that door if it’s cold.”

Words failed her, of all times. Her forgotten fear reared itself out. Unnoticed, all at once, without warning. She could only hug herself and step back, carefully watching his every move.

In her mind, she begged those thoughts gone.

He took a step forward and she instinctively took a step back. If he had taken five more steps, she would have fallen off the balcony. Kenshin stopped and stared. The night was behind her, yet the shadows the lurked within her expression was darker. Grimmer. It was almost familiar to him, like a mirror.

What a troublesome woman.

“Stay here,” his voice was commanding, making her flinch at his words, “and wait for me.”

She was feeling cold, he assumed—or what he convinced himself to assume. He turned back to the hallway and went to find a haori himself. He couldn’t leave it to the maids because it was already time that they were asleep.

But he couldn’t seem to get his mind out of that expression on her face. It was like looking at himself. Or were his demons too convincing now that it was able to project itself to the woman?

It took him a while to find one that actually fits her and started to go back, trying to erase the mere memory of that certain face while he’s at it. His eyes were narrowed with displease all the way down the halls. He reached her room once again and found the door open.

She fled.

Panic surged inside him like a hurricane. Just as he was nearly saved from his complicated emotions, the darkest of thoughts mocked him in this time of vulnerability, followed by an inconvenient reminder of his weakness. He turned around sharply and his feet was in a hurry to go to the stables.

He encountered Sasuke along the way and he almost yelled at the poor boy. “Search around the whole castle! The woman escaped!”

“What?” the ninja managed to say, but Kenshin took no time to stop and hear his response and swiftly got on his horse. Sasuke grew worried and began to search around.

Kenshin secured the haori on the saddle and glanced at the heavens. The moon is still up. There was still time. And yet the pounding on his chest has yet to cease. For the first time, the God of War prayed for a stranger to be safe in the grasps of the evil unknowns lurking in the dark.

With a snap of the reins, Kenshin left Kasugayama once again.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

It was noiseless, but Katsumi was desperately covering her ears as she ran away from the castle. She kept muttering to herself as she ran, ran, ran to wherever. As long as she keeps her distance away from… something. That something. That freaking something that came back without consent nor warning.  

It wasn’t because of that man. It wasn’t because he was armed, or because he had this dangerous imposition, or because she didn’t know him. No. It could’ve been anyone. Anyone could have made her feel helpless all over again and right now, she just wanted it gone.

Gone forever.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

A shuffle of leaves followed as startled birds flew away. Her breaths gradually turned softer as the image of her brother appeared between all those thoughts that slowly clawed at her sanity. And then, silence. Just like that, again.

And it was outright more deafening than the voices on her head.

The tall trees and its dozens of leaves were filtering the moonlight, sprinkling it like stars on her feet. She breathed out, glancing around to find herself in a forest. The headache was gone, but her reverberating heartbeat remained to drive her insane. Her knees collapsed.

All kinds of sound was blocked from her ears, except from her labored breathing. She laid her body on the grass and just retired there. She felt like caring no longer. Tired. Unmoving. She couldn’t even hear the approaching men that was watching her ever since she entered the forest.

She closed her eyes. And just like every time, her brother appeared in her mind with the silliest smile. It was bright, too bright. Perhaps it was salvation, if only it didn’t appear every single time she just wanted to—

“Why can’t you just let me die?”

And her eyes shot open upon the sound of metal briskly clashing against metal. She immediately sat up and gasped. In front of her was a beautiful white horse and the equally beautiful man regally sitting on it, the blade on hand giving off a dangerous glint in the face of light.

“Touch her once and a body will fall.”

Kenshin couldn’t understand a lot of things that happened this evening. It was eventful in a way he couldn’t put words to describe it. Everything he did, everything he was doing, everything he was about to do… it was all just a whim. Instinct. Unexplainable things. So he just surrendered to it, with no rationalizations whatsoever.  

What he does know, however, is that his blade is more than willing to see blood.

“You again?” The bandits flinched as he recognized them. Kenshin alighted from his horse to face them in fair ground, but the men found themselves losing the fight in them.

Katsumi couldn’t see it as Kenshin had his back turned against her, but if looks could kill, a massacre would have taken place in this very moment. It took her a while to realize that they were surrounded by men who were almost completely concealed in the dark, if not for the malicious glimmer of their dull, rusty blades against the limited moonlight. Bandits that meant to capture the conflicted woman and sell her to whoever.

He glanced behind his shoulder, quickly scanning her to see any injury. None. He turned back to the surrounding men. “Woman. Close your eyes.”

In the face of the God of War, the bandits valued their life more than anything else in the world… except for one. That foolish, young man. He charged blindly towards the angered warlord and in an instant, blood was spilled. Katsumi quickly covered her eyes, finding herself unable to scream from shock.

“Fool,” Kenshin shook the blood off his sword nonchalantly, “I meant to end this quickly. I don’t have time to kill for you. So either you come now or I come to you. Either way would end the same.”

With a disappointed click of his tongue, a man, perhaps the leader, called for retreat. Leaves shuffled again and silence followed. Kenshin waited a few moments, sighting the whole place before finally sheathing his sword back to its scabbard.

He walked towards the woman and knelt to her level. “Are you hurt?”

Katsumi reluctantly took off her trembling hands from her eyes and found herself looking straight into Kenshin’s eyes. She was rendered speechless for a moment, unable to process everything that just happened. Then her horrified eyes moved to look behind him, seeing an unmoving man laid face-down on the grass.

“…D-Did you kill him?”

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why would you want to know?”

“People aren’t supposed to be killed just like that.” She looked at him as if he lost all common sense. Kenshin did the same.

“He could have harmed you.” He said it like it was a matter of fact. And it was. “Are you saying he isn’t allowed to die, but you are?”

If I told the truth, what would you do?

Katsumi sealed the answer with a purse of her lips. Kenshin stood up.

“You are really troublesome,” he narrowed his eyes at her, “I told you to stay and you leave. Now I ask you a question and you stay silent.”  

Unable to answer that, she turned away. Kenshin turned to his horse, getting something from the saddle.

“…and you know it is cold out here and you dare to leave without something to keep you warm.”

He returned to the woman and quickly wrapped something around her shoulders, his fingers gently brushing against her sleeves. A haori?

“You will return with me to Kasugayama,” he said it like a declaration, “and I will not allow you to willingly face harm again.”

Something softened in her chest. Was it the warmth of the haori, or this stoic man’s words? Was he even aware of what he’s saying?

Is it another façade? A lie? A little white lie?

“…I-I don’t understand you.” She whispered, eyes falling back to oblivion where it once were. “Why are you doing this?”

Oh, how he wanted to admit that it was a question he wanted answers to, as well. But right then, something just clicked. Something he wanted to forget. Something he wanted gone.

But he still remembers.

God, he still remembers. All of it. All over again.  

Her eyes turned to his and she caught her breath on her throat. Just now, it was like they swapped expressions. She could almost see herself in him when she looked up. The very same ghost of misery haunted the soul behind his dual-colored eyes.

He blinked once and suddenly he looked as if he never had that sort of face a while ago. It disappeared just like that. A snap.

“Stand. We’ll leave at once.”

She couldn’t. Well, she could, but she didn’t. His frown deepened.

Castles. Bandits. Swords. Warring States. Those kinds of words echoed in her ears. She remembered what Sasuke told her. It felt weird somewhat, believing someone in a whim and eventually knowing he was telling the truth. She almost couldn’t recognize the feeling.

Question is, would it be worth it to try that again?

“If you are so afraid of people, then tell me so.” The warlord eyed her impatiently. Still, she remained silent. He almost went in to grab her, but his mouth had other ideas and decided to ask permission like it was a normal thing for him. “Do you need me to use force?”

Katsumi felt like walking to a trap. Problem is, the haori wrapped on her shoulders was saying otherwise. The mismatched eyes that looked at her may seem like those of a killer, but in that moment, she saw otherwise.

No. Someone like “them” would not have that kind of expression.

“See you tomorrow, Onee-chan!”

She sighed at the voice that echoed on her ears like a reminder. How the hell is she going to meet that boy if she’s dead?

“I’m not scared of people,” she finally looked back to him, “I just dislike having others enter my room in the evening. Do you think that’s negotiable?”

Now she’s talking. Kenshin certainly didn’t expect her to have some spunk in her words. He could almost laugh, if he wasn’t feeling tired of it all. He just wanted it done. “Fine. No one shall speak with you or visit your chamber unless you invited them to. In exchange for that, you will return with me back to the castle, where you are safe.”

Her eyebrows raised a little. “That’s all you want in exchange?”

“I do what I want.” He was growing more and more impatient. He uncharacteristically disliked the atmosphere inside these woods. The impurity of it. “Do we have an agreement now?”

She still couldn’t understand him.

…But she bet she was just as impossible to understand.

When she nodded, he grabbed her wrist and made her stand, almost dragging her to his horse. She couldn’t utter a complaint since she knew she was acting childish. Though she managed a little squeak when he suddenly carried her up to his horse, and got on himself.

Trapped in the confines of his arms, the reins made another snap and off they went. Surprised at the speed, she held on to his chest.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of the fallen body on the grass again as they passed through. Kenshin noticed this and let out a distressed grunt. “If he’s fortunate, his companions will come back for him and he should live.”

“How do you know that? He’s unconscious.”

“The wound I gave him was not fatal enough,” his displeasure of not killing him was evident in his voice, “I believe he passed out from great fear. The young fool. It was wiser to retreat if they valued their lives.”

“…So you didn’t kill him.” She exhaled. There she was again, feeling relieved for someone that wanted to harm her. And here was another fool.

“He was not worthy to be slain by Himezuru Ichimonji.”

She looked up to him. “You refer to yourself by your whole name?”

Now Kenshin was confused, for the umpteenth time this day. He pressed his lips together, the horse finally reaching the clearing, and he glanced down to her. Funny how she looked almost too innocent in the face of moonlight, but that doesn’t change the fact that he looked at her like she has grown insane in the matter of seconds.

“Himezuru Ichimonji is the name of my sword,” he turned his eyes front, “My name is Uesugi Kenshin.”

Kenshin. The name repeated itself on her head. She tried to remember Sasuke mentioning that name, and how she has heard of that name a lot of times in the past. Kenshin. Kenshin. Kenshin…

Until it dawned at her, whereas she glanced at his profile in awe.

…History books never told us the God of War was this good-looking.

She hasn’t given it that much thought, she didn’t have the time and effort for that, but she admitted that it did cross her mind when she met him. That explains his expertise with the sword. Might also explain his way with words. His commanding charisma that just lures one to follow him.

But why would the God of War want someone like her to return to his castle?

“I accepted your deal but,” Katsumi paused, “I really would like to know why you are so desperate to take me back.”

Now he didn’t glance back at her. He thought about it for a moment. The hooves of his horse occupied his ears along with the moans of the wind.

…Ah. Of course.

The answer was right there. And it was simple. And it was… tremendously foolish.

Fate. It was fate. His unyielding curse. His immovable nightmare.

“…You remind me of someone.”

It was something he didn’t plan on saying, but it escaped his lips like a melancholic sigh. She gazed at the brief flash of emotion he showed and her heart ached somewhat. This man had the saddest expression she has ever seen behind beautiful eyes. Her fingers curled on his clothes, clinging to him. A frown tugged at her lips as she hung her head low. They both remained silent during the short trip back to Kasugayama.

If I remind you of someone that makes you do that expression, then why do you want to keep me near?

It was a question she left unsaid.

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[datawesomenessdoe-blog]

TFtCS: Scientific Standstill

   Melissa darted across the street towards where she last saw the strange man, a stern gaze of determination plastered on her face as she charges through the bullet-hell monsoon. Her teeth grin as the powerful wind grabbed at the loose ends of her plastic cloak; at this point the poncho was only a restraint, so the aggravated wizard ripped it off like a layer of plastic skin, it being released and tossed around through the air until the black void of night consumed the vibrant yellow. A group of enforcer-craft soon hovered a few blocks back, most likely where they’d meet up with Lynn.    “Dammit!” Melissa shouted, determination and anger inflating her vocal chords. “VAAUBAN. SHOW YOURSELF.” She took a firm stand in the one-lane alley, foot stomping in a puddle, its wet contents splashing against her boot. Melissa balled her fists as a thin aura of purple engulfed her outline, yet despite its lack of thickness, the color was extremely opaque and potent, almost radiant. Her steps slowed; the sound of an opposing sprint coming to a halt. Her irises hadn’t change color, but rather, they had multiplied. Between the magician’s naturally-colored green eyes and her blackened pupils sat a thin ring. It was exactly the same as her aura: thin and opaque. As she slowly strolled north, a metal door to her left gave the tiniest creek, but this was still a conformation for the young woman. She aimed a hand at the door, opened it, and squeezed it once more. The staple-shaped emergency handle was crushed under the weight of Melissa’s magical power, the door being pried off from its upper hinge with extreme ease.    The sounds of wet, hard-sole boots clack against the concrete surface beneath and the door is aggressively slammed shut, a crack in the gate’s top barely revealing the outside world. It was pitch black, well, aside from the small amount of light Melissa’s body had been shining with. While her aura was a bold shade of light purple and could easily be seen from a distance, it still failed at acting as a colored flashlight. The man lunges up from behind one of the many metallic containers, a makeshift Harbinger pistol in hand. He fires, the charge of electrified plasmic matter brightening up the room with its blue-white energy. Under normal circumstances, a high voltage handgun would’ve been enough to instantly kill an average armorless human, along with sending their body several feet away. However, Melissa merely backhands the dense ball of electrons, sending it into the iron wall to her left, the surface being slightly dented due to the amount of force. She grunts and approaches the man, grabbing him by the shirt collar, the patchy armor over his body in a similar design to the gun; old Harbinger metals, silver and sleet, chipped away at the ends, rusty bolts holding its form together.    “M-Melissa…! W-what brings ya’ around here?” Vaauban forces out a fearful laugh, his artificial eye darting around the room with his biological one. Melissa grunts and tightens her grip, lifting the scrawny man up from the ground, her aura of neon color seemingly thicker as it flutters a white hue. “Gah! Alright-alright-alright! What-do-you-want!?” His voice echoes through the closed shop, they both being concealed in the back room.    “Just what in THE FORERUNNER’S GOD DAMN NAME are you doing here!?” The fist squeezes, leaving Vaauban with barely little air as he’s indirectly choked. “Let me guess, you want to do just what you did to New Harmony? I should just kill you here and now.” The glow outlining Melissa’s unused right arm flames to a point, sharpening to a single, arched end, almost like some kind of elongated sickle of desaturated purple.    “WAIT-WAIT-WAIT!” The old enemy aggressively wiggles and shakes in the wizard’s grasp, afraid for his life. “C’mon, it’s me! Good ol’ Doctor Gallagher!” She cocks back her arm, teeth grinding with hate-filled anticipation. “M-Melissa! We’re both wise Harbinger doctors, surely we can be civil!” The magician looks down, her eyes shaded from what little brightness was in play.    “No… The Vaauban Gallagher I know died a long time ago… You’re no New World Harbinger, you’re a TRAITOR!” The woman swings, but finds her surely-swift movement to be rudely interrupted. The city, no, the whole planet rumbles beneath her feet. She drops the man, then covers her ears as a ping of sound echoes across the world’s atmosphere, masking the sound of enforcer sirens that approached from the distance. “SHIT! I’ve been using it for too long!” Vaauban goes into a sprint for the only remaining door, dashing to get into another portion of the store. Melissa lifts one arm from her head, trembling under pain as she struggles to form a circular barrier around the surviving exit. Her aura of power begins to dissipate, becoming translucent as she becomes ever-more weaker. A sudden burst of plasma stuck the woman along her face, registering her nearly blind.    “Listen Mel, I like you and all, but I’ve got a feeling that if who I think just entered the orbit really is that person, well, they might like you more than me.~” The purple circle fuzzes away, letting Vaauban easily walk right through its once-protective body like mere fog. “I know your weaknesses; no vision, no grasp over your power. Now if you’ll just hand over the Shard, well, I’ll be on my merry way.~” He extends his free hand, HV-Handgun still being tightly kept in the counter. Despite the clear threat against her very own life, Melissa takes the situation quite oddly. Chuckles leave the downed woman’s maw as she looks up with a pair of beady, useless eyes.    “V, you’re pretty dumb for a doctor; you know that?” The metal door that had been previously broken was met with powerful kicks from the reverse side, leading to a sudden jump from the man. “I have two friends with me. One’s a self-trained comissionist, and the other a retired Nullifier unit, so I’d get a move-on.~” Vaauban growls from the extensive pool of fury that found its way inside of him.    “This won’t be the last time you’ll see me Melissa!” The scientist makes a break for the only free door, his broken, Harbinger armor clattering as the metal opening slams shut. Just as the criminal makes his escape, Davy’s robotic fist impacts on the opposing side of the sealed gate, sending the sheet of metal flying across the room. As the door is punched-in, the captain lunges forward, most likely from the abrupt amount of abnormal thrust that her extremedy generated. Behind her are Lynn and several Enforcers, some human, some not. Their armor is decorated with colors of deep blues, along with multiple tints of yellow and gold. In their arms are multiple same-modeled Impact Blast Cannons, assault rifle-esque machine guns that work more with strength and raw force, rather than the electronic pulse that Vaauban’s HV-Handgun had to offer.    “Haha! I did it!” Davy poses atop the collapsed wall piece, her legs both split, one taking a knee and the other extended while her metal arm held down against it’s abused surface. The shaking becomes evermore violent, causing the redhead pirate to collapse down onto her knees. “Okay, look. We gotta’ getta’ move-on, now!”    “Davy’s right! Listen, I have NO IDEA what in the world’s goin’ on here, but we need to go, NOW.” Lynn leans over and tightly grabs Melissa’s wrist, lifting her from the ground like a fallen soldier, her synthetic palm reassuring to the blinded female. “Wait…” Suddenly, the rampant shaking ceases. All is quiet in the city as thousands of flying cars all rest on the ground, the portion of the city that the protagonists have found themselves in not as empty as it once was. Davy, Lynn, and Melissa, along with the group of Enforcers all exit the structure with haste, the police heading in the direction in which Vaauban evaded. The three remaining trying to see just where the boom of sound originated from through the metal hedges that made the urban setting. Nothing. All was quiet.    Another forceful shockwave suddenly juts out from Hammerspace, followed by one of the largest spacecrafts that any of them has ever seen, something that they have only seen few times before. The ship was ridiculous in size, taking up nearly the entire sky as a fleet surrounds it. Hundreds, possibly thousands of Vanguard frigates blip into existence around the colossal beast.    “Is that…” Melissa begins to speak, still being able to see the gigantic foreign object due to its shear magnitude, even with terrible vision.    “The Hammerhead Conclave…” Lynn finishes, staring up with an open, white-pupiled eye. She stares in a masked awe; the Hammerhead was a Vanguard ultimate-class ship- one of only three in existence. “Does this mean-”    “HELL YEAH!” Davy shouts down the corridor-like streets, her excited voice echoing for an undistinguishable distance. “Brother’s here!” Triumphant, childish laughs escape the bold woman as her hands straighten and raise into the air, almost as if her new idol’s mere entrance is something to party about. Suddenly, the air heated up and everything slowed down, coming to a complete halt after ten seconds or so. Melissa looked to her left and right, jumping at how time had come to a seamless stop before her. An orange orb flew over from the invisible half of the hammerhead, it heading right towards the young wizard. Directly in front of her the figure landed, its torso twisting and rotating before falling to a knee, the other leg propped up with a hand held against its upper portion. The glow faded, leaving Brother in its place. He looked up towards the mobile Melissa, his singular eye scanning her body as his thick, orange aura pulsated. The many grooves in his metallic wires also pumped with the fluid-esque substance.    “So.” His voice boomed through the soundless city as he honed in on the singular human. “Looks like I was right.” He stares and speaks in a flattened tone, clearly disappointed, whether in the woman or himself seemingly unknown.    “W-what’s going on here!? Why has everything just stopped all of a sudden!?” The tiny, frightened organic began to panic, darting over from object to object for a quick, yet deep inspection on any kind of mobility.    “Ahh… So you’re unaware of the Armaments’ properties… Allow me to explain. My crew had managed to detect a small, sudden eruption of Lunar Polarity coming from this exact location. We had a hunch that it couldn’t have been Sister, well, that was until the source of energy grew to unholy proportions…” Melissa stops running, looking up to the crouched Sapient as his soft, British tone explained with melancholy.    “Dammit Vaauban!” Her hands became fists along the purple robe that she bad been baring, only to be stammered in her tracks. “Wait, so why exactly is everything frozen?”    “... The Armaments have time-based powers, as you would probably know. This allows those powerful enough to have some control over time, the more of the Armament, the slower they can change progression. Despite this, all who have a Shard are in relative time with the slowdown.” His upper eyelid lowers, its left and right corners lifted higher than the center as his right arm lifts and extends, palm up. “Give me the Shard that you bare, and we’ll pretend that you didn’t steal and use a military superweapon. Fair?” He sits with little movement, leaving Melissa time to observer her own, much smaller appendage. A small piece of some strange, otherworldly symbol fizzles into her hand from Hammerspace, it being the blue shrapnel that the High General desired. “I don’t care that I’m Vanguard and you’re Harbinger; we both hate our enemy just as much, so help me keep her from gaining this power.” Brother’s eye turned back into its uninterrupted shape, a luminescent, red circle of compassion and sympathy.    “...” Melissa stared at the floating object as it dropped into her fleshy palm, looking like nothing more than an old piece of metal that had been ripped from vehicular disposal. It was tiny, but the amount of power that could be siphoned from its depths was unimaginable. “No.” She boldly claimed, the end of her limb now clenching back whole with the piece of hardened material protected in the confines of her fingers. “Listen, I can understand why you’d want this, but I’ve kept this Shard of Luna protected for three years. Even though Sister wants my friends and I, Nemesis will surely be back for Davy’s blood, and without any Shards, we won't be able to stop her.” Eyes lift up from the unphased road, Melissa now looking dead into the godly robot’s visionary orb with her own. “If handing this over means risking my friends’ lives… Well I refuse to just hand this over. Kill me if you need to, but keeping my friends, my family, my Davy… It means keeping them safe.” Her chest swells with a huge breath, the sound of air leaving through her nose being the only audio left to leave the human. She was scared, possibly even horrified! Brother could easily kill her if he wanted to, and could definitely get away with it. However, he merely closes his eye and lowers his hand, a sigh of both disappointment and fatherliness escaping from his metallic, energy-making lungs.    “McGregor. During the war, I wished nothing but your very demise; all Vanguard did. I’m well aware of who you really are, even if your friends aren’t. But I believe that your intentions are true, and while saying this breaks literally every single line that I’ve been told to follow…” The eye opens, well-relaxed accompanied by a gentle sound of relief. “I’m actually going to trust you. But if you lose your Shard of Luna, or anything happens to your accomplices… the punishment will be most severe. Am I understood?” She simply stares down at the item, taking half a minute just to look back up at the superior force of nature. A smirk dawns upon her face, closed lips and a thankful look meeting the High General, followed by a reassuring nod of the head.    “Yes Sir, but let’s agree to keep this a secret, alright?”    “Agreed.”

[y00sungshairpin-blog]

OOKAY, I have a request! Maybe something super fluffy; it's MC's birthday and she keeps asking for a handmade gift. RFA+V, maybe? If you feel comfortable writing him. (I also don't mind if you want include Saeran or Vanderwood I LOVE THEM ALL. Up to you!) +_+ ♡

Hi! I love this concept so much and I’m so excited to write it! As always I hope it meets your expectations, if not I am always open to constructive criticism!

Yoosung:- OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD- when you first asked him he immediately said yes and he was so excited about it- but there he was, the day before your birthday, panicking because he had no idea what to make and how to make it - then it hit him- origamis!!- he looked up the most romantic ones and came across origami roses- he went crazy and made about 20 and glued them to a box- then he made an origami heart and attached it to the lid- after that he printed a picture of the two of you and placed it on the bottom of the box before covering it with cookies he’d just made- just in time for you to come back home and smell the cookies- “What no it’s just a new air freshener I bought”- as soon as the clock hit midnight he pulled out the box and gave it to you- your eyes widened as you observed the neatly folded paper all around it and you carefully opened it, making sure not to ruin it- when you saw the cookies you went nuts- you ended up finishing them together in less than one hour- and when you got to the bottom you picked up the picture- behind it was a lovely message written in his messy handwriting- needless to say that night was full of hugs and tears because this boy is so cute

Zen

- he would do anything for his princess- so of course when you hinted at the fact that you wanted a handmade gift he was happy to oblige- he had actually been thinking about it for a while, since he, too, had always wanted a handmade gift from you- his present was ready way before your birthday- which sucked because he now had to wait a whole week before giving it to you and seeing your reaction- so he started giving you hints on what it could be- you didn’t get it though- so when he finally gave you a small box sealed with a cute ribbon you had no idea what to expect- he looked at you excitedly as you opened the box and the look on your face changed- you took out a glass jar with a pink candle inside- “Zen did you actually make this?”- “Smell it”- you opened the jar and were invested with a sweet flowery scent- when you gave it a better look you noticed that the candle had small pieces of what looked like roses inside of it- you hugged Zen tightly and he smiled, proud of himself- how the hell did Hyun Ryu make a candle- you didn’t know but you absolutely loved it- but how the hell did Hyun Ryu make a candle

Jaehee- her time to shine- she was good at basically everything so it wasn’t hard for her to find something to make- you had been working together at the cafe for quite a while now and she knew that you were in need of a new apron- so she decide to make one for you herself- she made it very basic at the beginning but then started knitting pretty patterns on it and wrote “World’s Best Cook”, then crossed the last word and replaced it with Girlfriend- you were closing up the coffee shop after a particularly busy day and you suddenly heard the bells strike midnight, so she ran to the back and brought you your present- you immediately tried it on and twirled for her as she clapped excitedly- she was so glad it was the right size- you paused- “Does that mean I’m not world’s best cook?”- “Sorry sweetheart, I beat you on that”- you stuck your tongue out at her playfully before giving her a big hug and a kiss to show how grateful you were for her heartfelt gift - you couldn’t wait to show it off to the other rfa members and make them jealous- which they definitely were

Jumin- when he asked you what you wanted for your birthday he already had his wallet in hand, so after you asked him for a handcrafted gift he was very surprised- but he was not going to say no to his beautiful girlfriend - so he called Jaehee for help- because poor boy had never made something himself- luckily his assistant was very helpful - he got to work immediately, after being provided with all the necessary materials- Jaehee had told him to just make a necklace- but we all know our Jumin is EXTRA™- so he made a complete set- a wire necklace (with a liiiiittle tiny diamond in the middle because he’s still Jumin Han)- a bracelet made out of beads- a metal ring with a button on top- earrings with wire hooks and cute thread decorations - and a keychain with a complicated thread pattern because why not- so much for someone who had never crafted anything in his life- he put everything inside little boxes and placed them inside a designer handbag- he had to buy something he just couldn’t resist- he handed it to you and told you to look inside before you could even react- he wouldn’t admit it but he was actually proud of his creations- you almost cried when you opened the boxes - he had put so much effort into each jewel and they looked so well made- proud MC- you immediately wore all of them - proud Jumin- he genuinely looked so proud of himself- hiS LITTLE SMILE- after seeing him like this you would never even consider taking them off- until he forced you to do it because he was afraid the necklace would choke you in your sleep or something - dAD

707- he had initially thought it would be nice to make you another robot- but nevermind it would just be repetitive - sO- he got to work right away- it took him like three days but when he finally finished it he was satisfied with the result- one day before your birthday he handed it to you- “It’s already your birthday somewhere in the world”- really he was just impatient and wanted to see your reaction - it was a little book that was kind of falling apart but that’s alright- you opened it and there were like 200 pages, each one containing a quote from either you or him, that only the two of you knew about- basically all of your inside jokes were in there- this was the most heartfelt and personal gift you had ever gotten- also how come he remembered all of these? You had forgotten about half of them already- some made you laugh, some made you cringe until you got to the last page-there stood, word for word, everything he said when he first confessed his feelings for you-needless to say that was a very emotional night

V-photo album!!!-despite not being able to see very well, he meticulously put together a lovely book and sticked over two hundred photos to it-on your birthday he woke you up with some breakfast in bed and some cuddles before sliding under the covers next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and placing the album on your lap-you started looking through it, careful not to accidentally tear the thin paper-some pictures were of the two of you during your various trips together, home for the holidays or with the other members of rfa-but half of them were pictures of you that you’d never seen before-you napping on his lap or on his shoulder, you looking somewhere in the distance, you laughing at who knows what-how was he so talented-“These pictures are really pretty”-“That’s how I see you”-“I think your version of me is a little bit more blurry”-that earned you a playful punch on the shoulder-(which turned into a tickle fight)

Saeran-“NO WAY I’m putting effort into something silly like that”-he was actually dying to do it-he felt like he had the best idea ever and he knew it would make you happy-so he bought everything he needed and got to work-not even hacking had ever been this tiring-and after stinging himself with a needle a couple of (hundreds of) times it was finally ready-he wrapped it up nicely and topped it off with a cute bow-when he gave it to you his cheeks were R E D-as soon as you unwrapped it your eyes widened and you were brought to tears by the sight of a little teddy bear holding a stuffed heart-you could see stitchings all around it but that’s what made it look so genuine and cute-you hugged it close and taking another look at it you noticed that “Saeran” was written in small letters on its back-“You said you weren’t gonna give me anything handcrafted?”-“Do you like it?”-you hugged him and kissed him in response-HE’S BLUSHING AGAIN THERE HE GOES-“I’ll take that as a yes”

Vanderwood-“oh man this woman is demanding” was the first thing that crossed his mind-he kept sighing and pondering for an entire day before deciding-it wasn’t much but you had asked for it so you were gonna take it-he got a block of wood and a sharp pocket knife and got to work-and of course being as talented and skilled as he was he got the job done in no time-when the day finally came he put the present in a bag and handed it to you-so much for presentation -you took the statuette and examined it for a while-it was you!-so he knew how to carve too-and it was really realistic as well-was there anything this man couldn’t do?-“Thank you so much! It’s beautiful!”-“For my next birthday you’d better repay my efforts” he responded, giving you a loud smooch on the forehead

[kissared-blog]

MURDERER !!

Murderer ! || 16. My muse will torture yours to death.

BOREDOM – the state of when an individual’s mind lacks entertainment , becoming quite dissatisfied with the activity they are currently doing– or so how HE sees things . there was nothing INTERESTING to do , but respect the work of art he created . scooting his wooden chair closer to the wall , he admires his delightful , ARTISTIC masterpiece ( art was creative after all ) . The love-craved stalker was such a BEAUTY to see – especially when he was nailed into the wall like a perfectly painted portrait . his SKIN was stretched , tainted purple from the rusty ol’ metal spikes hammered into it . they PIERCED through the tissue , clotting up the blood and forcing the man to be pressed against the COLD, hard stone . Luckily for Myu , he didn’t have deal with seeing that TERRIBLE fashion sense any longer; the stalker was naked , but ( since his host isn’t that heartless ) he was dressed with the brightly , PINK panties of his last victim — NOW , isn’t that a nice touch ? ? PINK bows laced around the undergarment , stained with dried plasma – must be from … what was her name ? Loraine ? Emily ? Jessica ? Who knows ! ! It’s not like he cared to begin with. Rather , he praised himself for his own work . Yuuto hasn’t looked this good since … well … he’s NEVER looked good to begin with until now – he should be thankful for the amount of work that was put into this . NONETHELESS ,  this dullard was definitely NOT helping him out with his need . he is nothing like his older victims – no screaming , no begging – just that dark empty stare ( somehow … he liked it ) . FOR A MURDERER ,this one was very … different . he couldn’t exactly understand every DENSE scrape of Yuuto’s life choices . as much as he wished he could comprehend it – he simply could not . That obscure fixation upon love was just �� stupid – in his opinion . To be attracted to such a LIE , he could almost weep for him – almost .

dark brown hues were stuck upon the man’s figure , trailing the curvy arch of his hips before they touched the rim of those LOVELY pink undies . Somehow , in a weird — yet nonsexual way , he believed they fit him . the way the colors contrasted with his skin – how the blood provided texture and a line to his profession – it was like a story ! ! the creepy stalker wearing prissy panties of the female he was OBSESSED with ( it was a flawless idea for a movie or some type of exotic novel ) . Oh ! ! how the article of ( proclaimed feminine ) cloth wrapped around his pelvis , squeezing against his crotch and SMUDGING it with the blotch of lady juices SOAKED into the material – the creep must have been LOVING that ! ! ! slender digits hauled up , gently touching his sides and tracing down his bones . he gave him a little pinch onto the side .

               “ why aren’t you talking to me ? ? ” it upset him –ALL he’s done for his guy ! how DARE he give him the silent treatment  ( he hated the silent treatment ) . childishly , he huffed his cheek out .  “ I made you PRETTY to look at and you are upset with me – you should be upset with YOURSELF . “ for ALLOWING him to get this far , for TRUSTING him to not do anything – how could he not ? ? this way , Yuuto wouldn’t be able to leave him — he won’t go looking for some CHICK to FUCK UP . He can get FUCKED up right here , right now . 

                                                                   — It’s time to play , Satoko .

And oh how he LOVED to play games ! ! ! he moved his other hand down , grabbing a black stapler with a half - ripped target sticker on its rim and tapped its back against his chair . it added sound to the bothersome silence . his voice stayed low , keeping a serene ( but sad ) tune . “ I don’t know why you’re so upset with me … I’m only showing you my love – isn’t that what you want ? to be LOVED? ? you have this very weird obsession with love - it’s like you want to FUCK it . well … I’m showing you MINE and you are being V E R Y rude about it . “ did he NOT want his love ? did he NOT want him ? his slender fingers squeezed the silver part , it released tiny bent wires into the empty space — he’s testing to see if the stapler still works and hah ! it does . IF ONLY he would accept his love – LISTENED to him and was more entertaining … this wouldn’t have to happen . PITY – no one can understand the pain . “ I wonder … why you are so devoted to it . where you not loved as a child ? did your ex-girlfriend dump you ? “ he’s MOCKING him – treating him as if he was a love-struck CHILD . he isn’t going to do anything about it , HE CAN’T ! Guess he really NAILED it on this one — HAH ! ! frankly , he’s TOO invested in this boneless monster . Keeping him alive for THIS long was an unsuspecting twist of events ( he’s making sure he fixes that ) . 

              “ w e l l …  I don’t believe love is a FEELING that people SUDDENLY get . I think , if you don’t mind me shitting about your moronic values , that it’s more or less …  a foolish dream . People lust over bullshit like that all the time – love is definitely in it. You’re too INFATUATED with the idea that someone could actually LOVE you . Does anyone even LIKE you ? how can someone love you – if NO ONE likes you to begin with . how can humanity LOVE when everyone expresses hatred more than kindness towards one another . if anything , people LOVE to be hated – people LOVE violence and G O R E —- you don’t fit into those categories . you are just a half witted creature that NO ONE gives a SHIT about . creepy and ugly …  “ he didn’t like him – those girls didn’t like him either. it was an unhappy case – one he HAD to SHITon and make it w o r s t . his fingers danced around the lace , picking at the string – pulling and SNAPPING it back . it hit his skin , causing a red mark to appear – he did it again . RED was such an alluring color . it supplies different shades to its beauty , matching ALMOST every piece of art he could produce ( it fit Yuuto nicely — but he needs MORE of it  ) . “ I got an idea , you might like it . .  . or you might hate it . SO ! !  here me out on this . girls like others who SMILE … you don’t really SMILE . If you smiled , maybe you would look attractive since you’re ugly . Let’s try and put a smile on your face ! ! you’ll PROBABLY be able to hit it off with the ladies then .  “ as IF he’s giving him a choice on this matter , the guy CAN’T even move his head ! !  yet , that only made things easier to do .

raising from his seat , he gave it a little shove to the side . a small tray full of SURGICAL supplies followed him . He placed the stapler down upon it , fidgeting with the utensils to make sure they were in their ‘ proper position ‘ . with his index and thumb . he picked each one up and examined it . Some were too DULL , too ABSTRACT —- VERY UNFITTING for what he wanted ! ! —— UNTIL FINALLY he found a symmetrical thin knife . The blade SHINED , reflecting off of the little light in the room . His hand gripped the stalkers face , firmly holding it in place as he raised the knife to those succulent lips of his . the tool wriggled itself into his mouth , carving the corner and slicing UP into the cheek . He wanted to make a faultless smile . blood sprinkled down , pale tissue gaped open to form a sinister grin . placing the knife down , he took the stapler and ( without warning ) RAMMED it into his cheek . the tiny wire pricked his skin , held the sliced parts together . he trailed upwards with the staples and repeated the process on the other side . he took a step back , hues gazing at – what he calls an improvement . Hell of a view ! ! QUICKLY , he grabbed the mirror on his tray to show him . “ do you like it ? ? tell me how it looks . ” N O T H I NG – no thankful words were delivered – only little whimpers and flinching from the p a i n ( could he not handle pain ? he’ll end up showing him REAL pain soon ) . he was repaid back with SILENCE for all of his hard work . he tried his BEST to make this ugly FOOL look … decent . and STILL , he couldn’t respect him with a reply ?    

                                                                           ——-he’s HURT ! ! 

“ you won’t speak to me ? ? you aren’t going to tell me how it LOOKS ? ? “ AND if he WASN’T going to speak to him , then OKAY ! ! he won’t make him speak … actually , he shouldn’t speak at all . thrusting the mirror aside , he grabbed his chin and forced his hand to insert within the male’s mouth . nails dug into his wet tongue , scratching and tugging it out as far as he could . “ If you don’t want to speak , then so be it . “ He released his grip on his chin , raising his arm up and SLAMMED his elbow onto the top of his head— repeatedly , he kept on striking his skull ( he hoped it would break ) . the strength of the hard blows forced the mouth closed , jaws CHOMPED down onto the tongue and severing it off with o n e  m o r e STRONG TUG. BLOOD spurted out , filling up his mouth with a raw taste of IRON . it dripped out, drooling onto that bare chest of his . Now , Myu held the tongue of a bruised man , he swayed it around in front like a PRIZE —- try to fucking speak now , asshole . “ Cat got your tongue  ! ! “ a rather slim and unwelcoming one , it wasn’t even the right color he wished it to be . “…do you want it back ? ? “ he couldn’t say NO to that frantic look on his face , so gladly , he will return it . hovering his fingers over the rusted nails , he pressed down on them for the metal to sink in DEEPER into his injured flesh . he was hoping the mouth would open due to the immense pain caused in different areas . Once it did , he formed a fist with the tongue pointing out and JOLTED his arm forward . his fist met the entrance , jamming itself into the damp passage flooded with red liquid . ALL that lovely juice spilled out , coating his hand and painting his floors with the left over droplets . The saliva and plasma mixed , creating a goopy form that soaked him . his clenched hand kept shoving down , followed by the rest of his upper limb . he aimed to release the tongue into the gullet , making him EAT it — BUT , he was SUFFOCATING him instead. he could feel the vibrations against his arm , the tightness sucking him up — it was almost like taking someone virginity ( and he’s enjoying every second of it ) . 

SUDDENLY , the moving stopped and that last cry for air was cut off . quietness circulated in the room and the tension died … playing artist was done – his GAME was finished . he pulled his arm out , shaking off the red fluid . he placed the severed muscle in a tiny jar on his tray , save keepings .

             “ poor satoko … I guess I took your BREATH away . “

[daughter-of-war]

Fruk Day Six: Just Like Clockwork AU

----Your little metal heart is just as fragile as mine, isn’t it?----

For @frukheaven‘s #FrukSpringFestival2k17

Pairing: FrUk (Aph France/Aph England)

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 2,466

Rating: General Audiences (My first PG fic so far okay wow)

He looked upward, sleepy eyes going a bit wide as he saw the time. 10:38 pm. He'd been working late again without knowing. A tiny paw began to poke at his pant leg, and he looked down to see Skippie's tail waging back and forth as her pendulum kept time. Her head shook in a quick spasm that caused her to halt her pausing momentarily as the little glitch passed and she reset. He felt the tapping start up again.

"Fine, I'm getting up," he said, his voice dragged out by a yawn. He pushed back his chair from his workbench, and stood up, his back emitting a loud cracking as he moved. "I should really stop sitting in the same position for so long." He began to walk toward the door, with Skippie following along in a trot. Occasionally one of her legs would give out and she'd topple, but she never stayed down for long. She rebooted fast.

"Good evening, Mister Kirkland!" A young voice yelled out, awake despite the late hour.

"Good evening to you, too, Alfred," Arthur Kirkland greeted. "Sorry I've been so busy today, I didn't have any time to talk," he apologized, beeing down a little bit to be on Alfred's eye level.

"It's okay," He responded with a bright smile. "We know you're busy."

Arthur sighed, standing up straight again. "Speaking of 'we,' where's your brother?" He looked around the shop, until a mop of blond hair popped out from behind the shelving in the half-length loft.

"Here, sir!" Mathew responded, voice just loud enough to be heard, but still holding its whisper-like tone. He climbed down the ladder as fast as his sleepy body could, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to greet Arthur. "You need something?"

"No, no-" he shook his head. "-I came down mainly to tell you two to go to bed." He straightened out his long brown coat. "You have to get up again tomorrow morning, and it's best to sleep at a proper hour to get up on time." Alfred looked at the ceiling with his cheeks puffed up. "As some," he gave a joking little tap to Alfred's forehead, "seem to forget this fact every night."

"Alright, sir," he pouted. "We're going  sir!" He grabbed his brother's hand and headed toward the loft.

"Goodnight, Mister Kirkland!" Mathew waved back with his free hand. They climbed the ladder up, and settling into their thin little bed, they fell quiet as the candle on the floor next to them flickered out.

"Goodnight, boys," Arthur whispered. They couldn't hear him, but he always said it anyway. He headed back to the back of the room, climbing the old bronze-coloured stairs to his workshop. They creaked and groaned under even his light weight, even if he was trying to stay quiet as to not wake up the twins sleeping in the loft twenty feet away.

As he returned to his work, permanently bent fingers gingerly folding and fixing fragile copper wiring and metal gears, he thought about the boys. They were both eight years old, and he'd picked them up from the orphanage about two years ago to work for him. They seemed to enjoy being in his workshop, and doing the tasks he asked of them. They weren't old or skilled enough to build yet, but they cleaned and kept Skippie entertained during the day, making sure she was calibrated and functional. They also helped clean up, and both Mathew and Alfred enjoyed making simple foods, and honestly, those sandwiches were probably the only reason Arthur hadn't died of accidental starvation brought on by never leaving his workbench. They kept his record player from rusting, too, often playing the swing music he never listened to anymore, even if he still loved it. The muffled sound of bass and smooth voices that came through the floor from the warehouse-type area below seemed to make the hours flow together, only interrupted by the knocking of a tiny hand on the door, a smile and tray of sandwiches interrupting his work.

But now, with only the ticking of gears and the pendulum of the bronze clock making a sound, he could hardly focus. Skippie was powered down, her metal heart bumping along with the clock. Her metal gears rising and falling as the little engines of her leather lungs pumped out smoke like a lady's cigarette left a sweet scent of oil and ash in the air that clung to Arthur wherever he went. His long brown coat was in a heap on the floor, becoming a most comfortable cat bed for Skippie. His dark grey suspenders hung loosely on hunched over shoulders, as his brows creased in concentration. He played with the bronze gears of a pelvis, trying to figure out how to fix the ball-and-socket joint that had begun to rust. He used a thin toothbrush soaked in weak acid, trying to shine up the bronze.

After another hour go work, the clock began to sing again, calling out the hour in a baritone chime. After the twelfth calling out, he decided to retire for the night, putting down his tools and blowing out the candle on his workbench. It was due for a replacement, as it was all but a puddle of cooling wax on the wood, with only a low island of wick left. The low light of moon from the skylight in the roof was obscured by thin clouds of smog over the city. He slipped off his worn leather shoes, and unclipped his suspenders, letting them fall to the floor with a little noise as metal clips hit worn wooden floorboards. He laid on top of old covers and thin blankets, as the night was too warm to properly get into bed.

"G'Night, love," he whispered to the body on his workbench, stationary bronze gears giving back the same reply they had for years: silence. Arthur just sighed and rolled over to face the wall like every night previous to this one.

¤

As the boys got older, they began to help out more, and the two twelve year old twins got involved in more of Arthur's work. Such a large and important project was eased with more hands, even if they were inexperienced. They worked on little things like arms, straightening out wires and polishing gears. Simple enough for the skills they had, but considerably making Arthur's life easier. They asked question like who the metal man was, and Arthur was happy to answer.

He was my most beautiful creation, he'd tell the boys as they sat on his bed, watching Arthur work. I had named him Francis as a bit of a joke, since his voice-box was poorly tuned, so his voice ended up nasally but smoother than intended, like a Frenchman! He'd laugh at this, and even if Mathew and Alfred didn't really get it, they'd smile too. They'd never heard a Frenchman before, so they didn't know what a proper one sounded like. It took me about five years to build him, as I started when I was twenty-five as a side project, to tinker with when I wasn't busy, he'd add at the end as an afterthought, screwing in a gear on a mechanical neck. He ended up being a proper gentleman, but what can I say? I built him after all! The boys didn't doubt that. As nice as Arthur was toward them, he didn't hesitate to scold them whenever they weren't acting like proper Englishmen. Even though they weren't born English, they were certainly raised like it in the workshop. As all do, Arthur'd add on, he eventually became more self-aware, but he did so in about a year, pretty fast, eh? The twins listened to every word. They wanted nothing more than to continue Mister Kirkland's work when they got older. So we ended up becoming friends, and eventually he started to fancy me! Arthur laughed a bit at this, like a father recounting to his children how he met their mother. So I reinstalled his heart, figuring it was glitching or somethin', but nope, poor bloke actually liked me! So naturally, I let him, figuring there wasn't any harm in it, but lo and behold, I ended up returning the sentiments! Alfred wasn't as sure what he was talking about, but Mathew certainly enjoyed the story. He liked novels, so he had an idea or what 'fancying' was. It was hard to believe that Mister Kirkland ever fancied someone, but most people fancied someone at some point or another so he could believe it. Ended up lasting ten years until he decided to break his heart from overuse, and he hasn't worked since, he'd add with a sigh. Ten years I've been trying to fix this idiot, he'd laugh without much humor. So you see boys, try not to fall in love with anyone, especially not one so bloody fragile! He'd push the hay-blond and silver hair behind his ears, and give a sad smile. Mathew'd usually lead his brother back to the kitchen to make a couple sandwiches, Skippie bumping along behind them.

He told this story on about ten occasions, with only the year of time passed changing, each time the boys listening with the same attentiveness as the first. Even though they'd been with his for six years at this point, he felt as if they'd been there forever. And he honestly didn't want to imagine life without them. And despite not being his children, he felt the urge to treat them as such, even if he was supposed to have them as only apprentices as according to papers from the orphanage. He was supposed to be teaching them how to put their skills to work to get a job, but Arthur thought it'd be simpler and better to just have them take over his workshop when they got older. Repairing things and building little machines people requested took skills that could only be learned through a master, and Arthur was proud of the fact that he was one.

He set back to work, finishing up a request for a sweep-er and tidy-er. He had added a little metal dress to the robot, and a bonnet, to protect her from dust ruining her mechanics. Her little steam engine fluttered in her chest as she set to work, testing out her ability to sweep. She stood about a foot and a half tall, and her puffy little bronze dress was adorned with nickel buttons and thin aluminum lace. She looked like a proper little maid. He made her for a poor woman, who requested that she have a little maid to clean up the house, as she had to work all day to support her seven children. She'd asked for nothing fancy, 'the bare bones if necessary' she had said. Arthur decided to make the little maid look nice, and if she did gain consciousness, the tiny bronze lady wouldn't be ashamed of her nakedness. It was worth almost twice what she had paid for, but Arthur truly didn't mind. Making robots was is favorite thing to do, and he hasn't gotten a request for one in a while. As he looked back, he saw her begin to fold his coat, Skippie watching her move with intense curiosity. When she finished, Skippie went back to her now folded bed, resuming her sleep. Doing a little curtsy to Arthur, she sat down, her knees folded beneath her dress, making her look like a roosting hen.

Arthur watched her go to sleep, then resuming his work again, back aching and eyes sleepy. The clock called out again in it's baritone chime, telling him the twelfth hour had begun and it was time to sleep.

"G'Night love," he whispered, yawning, and falling asleep the the sound of only two other beating hearts.

¤

Mathew had decided to take up the project a year after it had been left. The large doll's thin bronze eyelids were still shut over its copper and bronze eyes. Being now eighteen, he had decided to finish up Arthur's project. Alfred called him for dinner, but Mathew simply asked him to come upstairs to help, as he was so close.

"Yeah?" Alfred asked as he popped his head into Arthur's old workshop. "What's more important than sandwiches?"

"I need you to hold this piece in place while I screw something in," he responded, finger pressed on a valve and free hand motioning to his brother to hurry up.

"Here?"

"Yeah, so as soon as I move my finger, you put yours down," he instructed, Alfred following diligently. Alfred ran the shop now, since he was better with finances and management, while Mathew did most of the projects. That's not to say Alfred couldn't, he just wasn't as good as Mathew, so he didn't handle anything that needed an expert's hand.

Mathew placed the final screw in, tiny, smaller than his pinky nail was wide.

"Done," he exhaled, marveling at how the mechanics of the body began to move. Skippie hopped up into his lap as he scooted away from the bench, giving the doll time to boot up. The metal heart began to move, steam rising as the mechanism started. Leather lungs full of water pumped the liquid through veins of bronze piping, the chest rising and falling in rhythm. It's copper and bronze eyes fluttered open, once brown, now bright green in the center.

"Arthur?" He whispered, arms extending shakily. He looked at the twins, his metal eyebrows twisting in confusion. "Arthur?"

"No, not Arthur," Alfred said, a bit awkwardly. "But we were, are, sort of like his kids," he explained, like that made any sense.

"Where's Arthur?" Francis asked, leaning forward on the workbench, his legs now off as he sat on the edge. "Please tell me where Arthur is."

"He," Mathew paused. "He passed away last year." He swallowed hard. "I- I wanted to revive you for his sake, but now I suppose it was cruel of me." Francis' lips quirked downward, his eyebrows scrunched up. Alfred and Mathew were surprised a man made of metal could have such a pained expression.

"Why did he die?" He asked, voice-box choked up.

"His heart gave out," Alfred grimaced, the painful memory of his pseudo father's passing still fresh in his mind.

Francis raised a hand to his chest. He didn't need to say anything. Boiling water droplets fell from his eyes, hissing as they fell onto his bronze legs.

"Alright," he whispered, his voice-box still full of too much water, making his voice warbled. "Things are fragile."

Alfred and Mathew agreed.

They were sure Arthur would, too.