#its been a while since ive screamed into the void like this
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visforvii · 2 years ago
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coconox · 1 year ago
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what if,,,, hypothetically speaking,, i do a frame by frame analysis of the nocti v nigel cg,,, ahahaahaaaa,,,,,,
I AM GONNA PUT THIS HERE NOW THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR SANDS OF WRATH AND, OBVIOUSLY, SPOILERS FOR THE CG
i do recommend watching the cg first before reading all this since i will mention a lot about nocti and nigel's movements using timestamps for the vid since my storage hates me and i can't really properly add multiple clips 💔
!! LINK TO CG ANIMATION HERE !!
I WILL ALSO BE USING MTL FOR ALL THE DIALOGUE SO I'M VERY SORRY IN ADVANCED IF THE DIALOGUE IS INCORRECT TO WHAT IT ACTUALLY IS
from the get-go i will mention that before nocti entered this fight, skk had a m.i.n.d link with nocti. and since skk is poisoned, nocti is gonna feel the same over the time
aside from him coughing up vital fluid at 0:39, you can really see the poison start getting to him when he fights. starting from 0:14 you see nocti's movements getting slower and slower which becomes more obvious when you see him throw less punches/kicks and his reaction time worsening, allowing nigel to easily counterattack
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callback to his last fight with nigel shown at the beginning of the chapter
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ER05-01
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i would also love to point out how nigel is such a good foil for nocti. from the opposing color schemes to their behavior. nigel having a black color scheme to fit with the whole idea that he is an assassin hiding in the shadows (which is an often recurrence of him throughout the story by either him watching nocti in the distance or showing up unexpectedly). black can also be associated with power and death, connecting to the fact that nigel carries such a strong poison to where there's no known cure, which allows nigel to easily control others to his bidding and/or make them suffer. as opposed to nocti having a white/vibrant red color scheme to fit how bold or loud he is. red can be associated with anger and white can be associated with purity/innocence so it fits with his personality too (since nocti is often left in the dark of a lot of situations back when he was in the purifying force)
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ER05-08
around 0:46 - 0:57, 1:05, 1:18 - 1:33
essentially any part where nocti is heavily breathing
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ER05-01 structure that this narrator is mentioning is nocti
this is probably leaning more into hc territory, but i think out of all the playable constructs we've met, nocti feels the most "human." he eats, drinks, sleeps, has breathing patterns that the narrator loves to point out, basically does a lot of human practices that constructs don't need to necessarily do, but he does it out of habit. he even believed at one point that constructs can get sick (obv they can't)
dialogue at 0:27
nigel: "you are still the same as before" nigel: "everything covered by anger" nocti: "nigel!!!!!" nigel: "you always thought my poison could only be attached to weapons, right?" nigel: "never doubted what i said"
callbacks to the last fight nocti had with nigel. when nocti was at his lowest, that's when nigel finally spoke. nigel alludes to nocti's naivety again, making nocti finally realize the poison wasn't contained in a separate attachment/weapon, rather nigel is the poison itself
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ER05-12 nocti telling skk where the poison might be (remember at this time he still didn't know how nigel injects the poison, he just knows nigel has the ability to do so)
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ER05-08 nigel pointing out nocti's naivety
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the realization of where the poison's actually located, after the dialogue at 0:27
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the location of the poison is more obvious in the reference sheet of nigel (since the ref removes the cloak he's wearing) (link to tweet about nigel that includes this ref)
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callback to when nocti and skk first began to plan how to track down nigel after the rediscovery of nigel's poison
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ER05-12
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callback to him saying "leave everything to me" shown in the previous image.
the light in nocti's hands in the animation is skk (figuratively, not literally ofc LOL), having faith in him that he WILL beat nigel and will give him their all to help. though honestly, all he ever really needed was someone to trust him unconditionally
2:15 - end
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"give that bastard a taste of our true wrath"
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"partner"
the peak embracement of nocti and skk's partnership. this was the missing piece that he needed to finally beat nigel.
ever since the beginning of this chapter nocti has implicity or explicitly stated (whether it be through his first encounters with skk or in flashbacks of his hubris being in the purifying force/early days of cerberus) he prefers to work alone and leave it at that. he thought it'd benefit everyone if he didn't rope people into his mess, and he fully believed finding and confronting nigel again is something only he should burden
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ER05-06 nocti and skk took turns asking for context of what's been going on
skk, cerberus, and the people of new oakley however say otherwise.
skk, in their words, "took a gamble" and just had a gut feeling to stick around and help him and even be down to consider him as a partner
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ER05-05
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ER05-06
it should probably be noted that skk saying they believe him "just because" carries a lot more weight than at first glance. having someone believe him without him really needing to prove himself with evidence makes nocti appreciate skk a lot more than when he first encountered them in EX05 or at the beginning of this chapter, showing that skk isn't like everyone else he's met and perhaps has a chance to be friends or more with them
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ER05-11 first instance of nocti calling them partner
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ER05-11 nocti "subtly" correcting vann with referring to skk as his partner
these screenshots can keep going on and on but you get the idea LOL they call each other partners from ER05-11 onwards.
21 and vera believe cerberus isn't complete without him
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ER05-15 despite nocti technically being considered as a part of the purifying force at this time, vera and 21 will always believe he truly belongs in cerberus
and the people of new oakley see him as a brother/friend they could rely on and share a drink with
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ER05-09 after nocti saves new oakley he gains a lot of respect from the people in town and they all decided to celebrate nocti's win
for most of his life he was practically feared or looked down upon by the people he was with 'cause of his loud and reckless demeanor, and to finally have that revelation that he IS wanted, needed, LOVED even, that people are able to put their trust and faith in him, that allows him to be the best version of himself he could ever ask for
am i looking too deep into this? probably
there's probably a lot of bias from that whole analysis i just love nocti ok—
i do wish we can see more of his backstory. he's one of the few that actively hide it (with the addition of vera not revealing it out of some respect for him), and i just wanna do a deep dive of how he became the way he is today. he's also one of the older constructs given his frame id (BPO-03), makes me wonder how or why he became a construct in the first place-
anyways, that's my rant for the month, ty for reading if you made it this far lol
have some love and a cookie you deserve it ❤🍪
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago
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Black Metal and Bourbon (III)
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AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART
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PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader
WORDCOUNT: 7.9k
WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 
This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 
So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?
Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.
Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 
Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 
And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 
Until now, of course. 
You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 
And Simon? 
Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 
He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.
But now…now you were fully conscious. 
“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.
The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”
Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.
“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”
“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”
It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…
Your heart rate increases even more. 
He wasn’t wearing a helmet.
“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”
Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 
“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 
The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 
“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”
“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”
“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”
“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”
“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 
Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 
“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.
“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.
Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 
“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”
You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 
Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 
“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 
The tears come easily.
When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 
The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 
You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 
Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 
After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 
“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”
“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 
John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 
“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 
They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 
“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”
“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 
“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”
“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”
“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  
“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”
A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.
“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”
Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 
“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 
“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 
Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.
“What if they don’t find Graham?”
“...Then we will.”
The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.
All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.
You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 
The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 
Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 
Your arm burned something awful.
Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 
Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 
But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 
Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 
“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 
Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 
This man saved your life. 
You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 
“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 
You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?
“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 
“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”
Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.
Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.
“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 
The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.
A rage grows in your breast.
But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.
Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.
“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 
“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 
Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 
“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 
“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”
“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”
“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”
Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 
As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 
Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 
Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 
Why would he do that?
“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”
“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 
Graham. 
Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 
He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 
“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”
“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 
If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 
Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 
Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 
“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 
He doesn’t stop.
“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 
The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”
“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 
“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 
“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 
“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 
“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 
The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 
It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 
“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”
“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”
It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 
The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 
Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”
A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.
Simon woke up to the world spinning. 
He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 
Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.
What was going on?
“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 
“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 
“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…
“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 
Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”
You. 
Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 
“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”
“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 
“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 
Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 
“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.
“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”
That didn’t give him any reassurance. 
Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 
“Take me to ‘er. Now.”
“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 
The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 
Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 
“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 
The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 
Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 
“Where.”
Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 
“Graham has ‘er.”
This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 
You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 
Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 
“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 
He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 
You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.
You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.
It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 
“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 
Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 
You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 
The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 
It wasn’t like the termites could help. 
“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 
“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.
The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 
But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 
“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 
“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”
Your throat simmers with bile.
What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 
Simon.
God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 
“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 
“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”
“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 
“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.
“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 
“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”
The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 
“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 
Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 
Now it was time to act.
As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 
Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 
You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 
Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 
A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 
The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 
Run. Run. Run. 
Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 
Lose him in the storm. 
Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 
How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 
Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 
Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 
You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 
There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 
You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.
A hand slams on your shoulder. 
Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 
There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 
“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 
Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 
Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.
A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 
Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.
He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.
Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 
Simon Riley was dressed for war. 
You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 
Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?
“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”
“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 
“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 
You nod, but he still waits. 
“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 
He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”
“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 
Your body is shielded in an instant. 
“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 
It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 
Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 
Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 
“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 
Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 
Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 
He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 
Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 
No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 
No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.
But before all of that dark work, first came you. 
Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 
So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.
He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 
But Graham. 
“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 
Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 
“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”
You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.
Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  
But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.
Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 
Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 
It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.
People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.
And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.
You both lay in bed, silent. 
The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 
He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 
This moment was for the future.
“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”
“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 
“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.
Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 
“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”
“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.
“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 
There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 
Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  
Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 
There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 
Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.
“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.
“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.
“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”
This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?
What could you nurture what you already had blooming?
You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.
A loyal sin had never tasted better. 
You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 
October eyes consume you whole.
This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 
But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 
They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:
MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER
Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.
Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 
Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.
Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.
The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 
You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.
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redactahoe · 11 months ago
Text
old friends die hard pt. 1
A/N: heeey so ive been working on this for awhile and am so glad the first part is done.
summary: for the past 6 months treasure has been… off. Porter didn’t know how to describe it but something was going on with his favorite human and he didn’t know how to help. The last time they talked was 3 weeks ago and since then they haven’t been answering his call. So porter decided the next best thing was to drop by unannounced.
Tw//: talk of missing memories and nighmares (kinda), porter is so soft for them its not even funny, this is also in the not so distant future where porter and treasure is an establish relationship, cussing, treasure yells like once
codes: (T/N) = treasure's name and (D/N) = darlin's name
The first but last thing Porter had expected to see when entering his human’s apartment was the living room to be void of all light save for the glow of his treasures laptop screen. Open and set in their lap as they sat on the couch, a weighted blanket resting on their shoulders as the skrunkly little cat they found on the street a month ago slept behind them on the back of the couch. a forgotten bowl of what he can assume is some form of soup sitting on the coffee table along with a half empty mug of tea in front of them. 
Glancing at his watch as he walked closer to the couch, it read 3:30 AM. his gaze lifts back up to get a better look at treasure's face. Their usual dark circles under their eyes somehow had gotten darker since the last time he had seen them. Their eyebrows were scrunched up in a mix of frustration and concentration, lips pressed into a deep frown.
“Treasure, when's the last time you've actually gone to sleep and had a proper meal?” Porter asked, having a feeling that the answer wasn’t going to be anything he liked.
“I don’t need to sleep right now.” they frustratedly almost angrily mumbled out.
“(T/N) im being serious…” Porter came closer, leaning over the couch and careful no to disturb the sleeping feline. He noticed that There were several pictures strewn across the couch and coffee table, some were in frames and some weren’t.
The picture propped up against treasure’s computer was of a tiny 10 year old treasure, In the front yard of what could be assumed to be their childhood home. They were lying on top and wrestling with another kid, pulling a smile onto the kids cheeks as they tried to push (T/N) off of them, clearly enjoying themselves. Porter immediately recognized that kid as (D/N) or Tank, Sam's mate and the wolf from the Shaw pack.
Porter picked up the picture to get a closer look “did you know them, treasure?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” treasured screamed out and through their hands up in exasperation before dropping them to bury their face in them, digging their palms into their sockets. They were both silent for a minute before (T/N) finally spoke up in a quiet and defeated tone.
“.... I'm sorry i yelled at you, it's just- I've been so stressed and so confused lately. It's been driving me nuts!” their hand moved to hold the side of their hand while the other stayed to rub the exhaustion out of their eyes.
“What's going on my love?” Porter's voice dropped to a low concern as he rubbed his treasures shoulders trying to sooth them as best as he could.
“Sigh, recently I've started to have these…. I don’t know how to describe it but every time i close my eyes I see them” treasure waving their hand in the vague direction of the childhood photo.
“But there's always something wrong with them, with their voice, with their face.” “Their face is always blurred out and their voice is always distorted.” “It feels more like someone tried editing them and everything related to them out of my head more than me just forgetting them or not knowing them.”
“How long has this been happening?” Now the porter was really concerned, It sounded like a memory wipe done by the department was wearing off. He’s heard of it before, it was a rare phenomenon that happened to the unempowered that were wiped but re-exposed to the empowered. It didn't happen often but when it didn’t it never ended well for the unempowered in this situation, in the three recorded cases the department has published it always ended in insanity and a trip to and a permanent stay to grippy sock land or the psych ward for those who are boring out there. 
“Ever since I met you”
“What was that?” 
Treasure threw their head back in exasperation “ever since i met you.” they said a little louder, they didn’t want Porter to think that he was at fault for their dilemma. It wasn’t, it never was, it's just that ever since they've known him their memory started acting up. It's like he jumped started buried memories to start resurfacing.
“But if it's been happening for that long then why is it now becoming a problem?” Porter on the other hand was more concerned about the fact this has been happening for a better part of a year now and (T/N) hasn’t said anything about up until now.
“ because only recently have the faces started to clear up, only recently have I've been able to make out any sort of facial features! And when I was able to see a face it sparked even more memory and caused me to rip apart my closet to find these pictures to make sure I wasn't going crazy.” “I can recognize the faces as someone i knew, someone i cared about but their voice and more importantly their name i can't get down, so I've been trying to find a solution but i keep running into dead ends.” (T/N) gestures to the laptop for Porter to take a look and well.. It was nothing but some Pseudoscience bullshit about crystals and shit that would most definitely wouldn’t help.
“Okay, your-” porter stops speaking for a second to shut the laptop before continuing “-going to get up and go shower while I am going to clean up and make you something proper to eat.”
“But-”
“No buts, go.” This was not something porter was going to debate with the human at all. 
So with the end of that ‘argument’ (T/N) got up, stretched(much like a cat, porter would like to add) and padded off to their apartment's shower, their fluffy companion following soon after.
As soon as his treasure was out of ear shot, porter pulled out his phone to call the only person he knew who could possibly help.
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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years ago
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prime going ballistic and allying himself with the enemy to get his kids back for 500 please!
if you need time to do this its fine take as long as you want-
Everyone loves protective Papa Prime huh? Well, who am I to deny the desire to see him going to any lengths to protect his kiddos?
Stolen
After the exhausting experience that dealing with his sparklings going through their growth spurts at the same time, Optimus was totally out for the count. He couldn't get up even if he wanted to. He was out cold in deep recharge and so did not even so much as twitch when his sparklings wandered off. The rest of the team were in similar states of exhaustion due to their extensive energon scouting missions and the odd battle with the Decpeticons. As such they were not at all aware of it when the sparklings marched on through the groundbridge before it closed after a patrol returned.
It was of course Miko's idea to go through the big glowy portal. She had seen every other bot go through it and she was desperate to take a look at what was one the other side. Jack had left base a handful of times but never without Optimus, as such he was very much dubious. But not wanting to leave Miko alone knowing she would likely only cause even greater trouble for their Sire, he opted to follow her through the groundbridge using his own experience as justification for doing so. He would have told another bot, but with all of them being so very exhausted, he in his naivety assumed that it would just be a quick trip. As such he also decided that it was a perfectly acceptable idea to take Rafael with them as well. That way their Sire and the rest of their family could relax for a bit and Jack would keep his siblings safe and protected while they went on their adventure.
It was a foolproof plan in the processors of each of them, save for Rafael who was too young to know what was going on... that was until the sparklings stepped through the groundbridge and had it close behind them. Jack's first response was to panic, he scoured the area, looking for the groundbridge and hoping that it had just moved or something. Meanwhile Miko worriedly began wandering around, no longer all that excited due to how strange everything was and how scary the world seemed without Optimus there to protect her. At the same time Rafael began bawling as he followed Jack around, holding onto his leg and whimpering. The trio of sparklings had no clue what to do, and so not knowing any better, Jack followed his instincts and began searching out civilization. On Cybertron this would have been fine, and in fact it would have been the best course of action for lost sparklings since any and all sparklings are cared for regardless of faction. But on earth? That is an incredibly different story. As such it did not take long for MECH to catch wind of the sparklings as they tried to get toward the nearest city.
By the time Optimus woke up to the feeling of pure undiluted terror and pain from his sparklings over the bond, checked the security footage, and groundbridged to the area his little ones had ended up in, it was too late. Trapped in cages and being carried away in helicopters were his sparklings, each fighting denta and claw to escape. Optimus did everything in his power to get to them but he could not reach them even when he pushed himself. In the end he screamed into the void and feverishly worked at base to try and find their location. He had already had his sparklings taken once, he would not allow anyone to keep them from him.
He wouldn't recharge, he wouldn't fuel, he wouldn't do anything but work to hunt down his stolen sparklings. Eventually, despite the team's best efforts, they had to knock him out and stick an IV in his arm just to get him to rest. But as the days ticked by, things began looking more and more dire. The sparklings couldn't be found anywhere even with the entire team out on the hunt day and night. It did not take long for Optimus's mental state to deteriorate again, and this time at rapid fire pace. In less than three days he was ready to commit a genocide to find his little ones, even going so far as to begin threatening Fowler should he fail to find them. The Matrix screamed at him and his spark wailed as he felt his sparklings cry out in pain and fear. By day five of finding nothing in regards to the sparklings, something in Optimus snapped. He no longer cared about anything except getting his little ones home, the war could go slag itself and morality could take a backseat. And so in the dead of night while the team were all out cold exhausted, he called upon his greatest foe.
Optimus: Megatron, I require your assistance and I will not take no for an answer.
Megatron: What makes you think you can order me around Prime?
Optimus: You are a monster, but a monster that I share one value with.
Megatron: And what might that be?
Optimus: *smiling cruelly* I think we can both agree that those who harm sparklings deserve to die.
Megatron: *very much scared for his life* On that... we can indeed agree.
Optimus was allowed onto the nemesis not long after on the agreement that he not break anything or otherwise attempt to sabotage Decepticon plans. Most expected him to walk on looking stoic as ever, grimly determined and cautious. What not a spark expected was for him to march on in like he owned the place, a huge axe in place of his sword, and an expression that screamed death and spoke of slight insanity. He didn't even seem wary as he began issuing orders and using Decepticon tech to get a better scan of the planet. Not even Soundwave dared to interrupt the Prime, instead opting to assist in order to get him off the ship as soon as possible. With Optimus in his maddened obsessive state, no good could possibly come form having him around longer than necessary.
By the time Optimus managed to track down MECH's base, his anger was undeniable. His frame shook and rattled, his optics glowed nearly white with the additional wrath of the Matrix, and in that moment Optimus did not look like the holier than thou Prime... he looked like a spark eater of legend, just waiting to be unleashed. As such when he requested aid on the ground, Megatron was loathe to deny him for fear of losing his own helm.
Megatron: *doing his best to stay calm* Tell me Prime, what do you intend to do to the humans who have taken your sparklings?
Optimus: *not looking up from the screen showing MECH's base* I will kill each and every one of them. Not a spark will escape me.
Megatron: *scared as pit of what Optimus could do if he ever turned that anger toward him* I see...
Soundwave: *whispering to Megatron* Caution advised.
Megatron: I know
MECH were not prepared in the slightest when Optimus appeared in the middle of their base armed to the teeth and not even hesitating to blast the closest human into paste. Not even Primus could have stopped Optimus (not that he would have) as he raged, slaughtering each and every human in the base and leaving Megatron and his troops to watch from nearby in horror. They only joined Optimus on the ground partially out of morbid curiosity, but mostly out of a desire to ensure Optimus was able to take out his anger on the humans and not them. They captured any MECH agents who tried to escape and tossed them back into the slaughter house that was once their base of operations.
The Vehicons shook in terror as Optimus played a sick game of hide and seek with the few humans who tried to hide, giving them the faintest glimmer of hope only to end their lives the moment they "won" the games he forced them to play. It was sick, it was twisted, and gave Megatron a harsh wake up call, reminding him of what Optimus could have become if he pushed him too far. As Optimus finished slaughtering the last human, Megatron prayed for the first time in millennia for Primus to protect him from the monster before him. The warlord audibly sighed in relief when the Prime's attention was shifted away from him and to his sparklings who were held in a cage and cried out for their Sire. He did not so much as twitch while Optimus, who was positively covered in gore from helm to pede, ripped the lock of the cage and pulled out his sparklings with tears of joy in his optics.
The sparklings didn't seem to care about the fact that their Sire was covered in blood and guts and merely wept in relief at being reunited. All the while Megatron stood in shock at everything he had seen.
Prime had sparklings, three of them. Where he got them, how he got them, and how long he had them were questions Megatron was too afraid to ask so he simply accepted it.
Prime, the normally peace loving, loft sparked, former archivist was capable of rage, true maddening rage.
Prime had killed nearly a hundred humans and didn't even seem the slightest bit guilty about it.
With these three facts sitting right in front of him, Megatron didn't even try to backstab Optimus and just watched silently as Optimus called for a groundbridge and left with his sparklings without so much as a threat or a thanks. The Decepticons all vowed that day to never touch the Prime's sparklings, lest they end up smoking husks on the floor.
When Optimus arrived at base the team's first response was relief as they saw the sparklings, but then it swiftly turned to absolute horror as they looked at their Prime. The dopey contented smile on Optimus's face and the gore coating every inch of his frame were the most terrifying set the team had ever seen. Optimus rarely smiled so openly and he never, at least in living memory up until that moment, killed so maliciously, much less humans. Smokescreen passed out immediately at the sight and the rest of the team barely fared any better, most shaking in dread and having to hold onto something for support as Optimus came near. Only Ratchet was able to hold himself together enough to take the now blood coated sparklings to give them a checkup after their traumatic kidnapping. However Optimus did not stray far and remained looming over Ratchet's shoulder as he worked, blood and the occasional scrap of intestine dropping to the floor as he paced around, watching like a hawk.
Optimus only eased off once Ratchet shakily informed him that the sparklings were fine aside from a few incisions and minor energon deficiency. Even then he did not excuse himself to the showers to clean up until each of his sparklings were cleaned, calmed, and put into the arms of the team to ensure they didn't wander off (not that they would after their experience). Once Optimus came out of the showers he looked and acted completely normal, as if he hadn't gone on a vengeful killing spree at all. The team never asked him for specifics as to what went on during his rescue of the sparklings. But based on the newfound fear they could see in the optics of the Decepticons whenever Optimus appeared on the battlefield, they got a pretty good idea of what happened.
However they could not bring themselves to fear or see Optimus any differently when they watched him lovingly care for his little ones when they woke in terror from nightmares about their imprisonment. In all honesty they couldn't even blame Optimus as most of the team came to the conclusion that they wouldn't have acted much differently if they were the primary caretaker for the sparklings.
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kasaneteto · 11 months ago
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obviously been in my posting era for the past few months & ive been thinking about that and what it means for me so some thoughts on that
posting as much as i have been was sparked by having to end my most recent relationship due to the realization that we were codependent & it was making it hard for us to function effectively. finn was always my guy to ramble at but there would always be times that they didnt have anything to say in response so they would just be like “okay” and i would feel so annoying :( they were never annoyed (well not usually i cant say they were NEVER annoyed by me) but my mind always catastrophizes social interactions that leave me feeling self-conscious to mean “oh they hate you”
anyways. for a while i was kind of worried that my codependency habit has graduated from finn -> posting & while im not sure that ISNT the case… i do think the posting has been good for me. ive been journaling for a couple years now but it doesn’t help me in the same way as posting stuff like this. its harder to process thoughts when im just talking to myself vs writing something out thats meant to be for someone else to read. writing with the intent of it being for someone to see helps me process things so much easier, and that doesn’t really work when im writing it in a place nobody can see it. when i was a kid i would post deviantart journals in the same way. of course back then i was a neglected child who was just looking for validation in any form & where i got it most was the internet.
i think its the fact that ive been doing it ever since i was a kid that made me feel like making posts like these were juvenile in nature and something i should move on from. but since making an effort to be more true to myself & not let embarrassment or the fear of being judged get to me, ive found that i have the strong urge to make posts and that it brings me joy when i do! it really has helped me have a clearer understanding of the way i think/feel. plus tumblr rly does kinda feel like a home website. it helps that it hasn’t changed much and a lot of the userbase i was around in its heyday are still here. it feels like a comfortable place to scream into the void where im not worried about who’s potentially seeing this shit. & thats another thing - it has helped me feel less annoying in general!
im so used to feeling like my presence is inherently bothersome and that any self-assertion is going to make people wish i wasn’t there. this feeling extrnds to posting anywhere. but thats so fucking stupid!!!! if people dont like me or are that annoyed by me they dont have to fuckin look!!!!!! just unfollow me idfc!!!!! i feel good about the level of clarity i have in my life rn and posting long rambling introspective shit like this has been doing wonders in helping me keep myself grounded. so i will continue to do so. i will say though i sometimes wonder who all is reading this shit lmao. watch there be someone out there who’s just obsessed with my ass waiting on baited breath for my next post. if thats the case then get well soon bitch….im probably too unhinged for you to handle 💅
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barbatos-sama · 2 months ago
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i had a dream that i was in some kinda camper van thing and it was pretty cozy, and i was going to sleep for the night so i was closing all the curtains and before i closed each curtain i would look around outside just to make sure nothing suspicious was going on out there, and i actually saw someone crouched down outside the window. i didn't have my phone so all i could really do was scream, like a lot, and hope it scared him away. it did thankfully but the aftermath was kind of a bummer bc nobody seemed to support me after that scary event, they all seemed to be like it wasn't that bad grow up ahdhsjfh
i've actually had multiple dreams that take place in this kinda weird camper kind of thing, it's not like an rv it's more like a little room that's entirely bed so i guess it's more of an enclosed bed situation, it's like a comfy hexagon shaped bed surrounded by windows with pretty curtains and fairy lights in it. in a lot of dreams i'm just closing the curtains and checking what's outside and that's it, this is the first time something has been out there. it's a weird recurring location especially since nothing usually happens in this place and it's just a very quick segment in between dreams.
another dream i had was that i had another sibling i didn't know about this whole time and they lived in a secret room but they either died or moved out and i found the room and was looking through it and collecting stuff i wanted from it. this is actually Also a kind of dream ive had before, the last one i had was maybe a month(?) ago and its one of the few genres of dreams i have that's actually kinda cool. in this most recent one it was just a lot of finding cool stuff in there and being excited about it. it also seems to be a semi common genre of dream where i find a secret room with cool stuff in it, in fact now that i think about it i actually had Two distinct dreams like that while i was napping except one of them was less of an entire room i found and more of a little crawl space area behind a built in tv stand where a bunch of stuff had fallen back there over the years so it was a lot of childhood stuff i had that i thought was gone forever and i got sentimental about it and teared up a little lol. but anyway back to the other dream with the sibling stuff, it was a lot of like old anime stuff, the dream kind of established that the room hadn't been lived in or touched since 2008, so all the stuff was on the older side. there was a lot of stuff from properties i either didn't recognize or stuff i did but didnt watch myself. sometimes there would be stuff from shows i Did watch tho and i would take that. there would even be old stuff that i thought could be worth a lot of money since it was like first edition manga and posters that were in good condition. it's just a weird little type of dream i have every now and again. i think maybe it's because my brain values Stuff a lot, i use material objects to fill voids in my life, so sometimes my dreams give me free stuff. but then i have to wake up and i no longer have the stuff lollll.
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varigo-fan · 4 months ago
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hey it's been a while since ive posted anything but it's been a little over a year since i officially made the fnaf tangled au and i wanted to post a little short story for it 💞
“go home.”
catalina gripped her flashlight tighter as the broken voice reached her ears. the encounter with monty’s actor from earlier had shook her quite a bit, but she was determined to find kiera. she stepped over a fallen net, reminding her of the times she had come to this place when it wasn't in ruins.
she started to crawl through the maze, faintly remembering the path. she nearly screamed as something slammed and latched on to the net next to her.
“GO. HOME.” moon hissed, his makeup faded and one eye completely black. like a void.
catalina quickly shone her flashlight at moon, causing him to scream and fall back.
catalina kept moving through the maze, breathing heavily as she started to hear faint singing.
“little hands, little paintings, little faces,no more.all gone,no more games to play,no more clay to mold.”
catalina shuddered.
she made it out of the maze, coming up on the top and meeting eyes with sun.
“little one?” sun whispered, her voice shaky and broken. “what are you doing here? the pizzaplex shut down so long ago…”
“im looking for a friend.” catalina took a small step forward. “her name is kiera. short, with black hair, normally up in a bun..”
sun’s eyes glinted. “the creature?” she tensed. “the one that caused so much destruction?”
catalina quickly took a step back.
sun sighed, moving to sit down. she ran her hands through her short brown hair, shaking her head. “no. i have not seen her. nor have i seen much of lance..”
“lance?” catalina frowned. “you mean freddy?”
sun grunted. “oh, yes, freddy. of course. i forgot we are not ourselves here… have you seen moon?”
“yeah. he yelled at me to go home.” catalina kept her flashlight on, moving it around to look for the corrupted being.
“mm. i have not talked to him at all since..” sun shook her head. “he hasn't been the same. he used to be so bright and happy. then he started talking about his candy prototypes. then i lost him completely. its like he’s been possessed.”
“im sorry.” a frown tugged at catalina’s lips.
“dont be, little one. but you should probably leave before you arent able to.” sun shifted to the side, narrowing her eyes.
a creature climbed up the side, single blue eye glinting as his hat bell jingled. “go to SLEEP!” moon clawed at the net, staring as catalina bolted. moon twitched, glancing at sun. ”you.”
“me.” sun closed her eyes.
“why do you stay around this broken daycare?” moon hissed. “we both know no more children come through those doors.”
“i belong nowhere else.” sun squeezed at her torn skirt. “and i could ask the same of you. why do you guard this place?”
moon fell silent, climbing back down the broken playhouse with a sneer.
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stupidlyunhinged · 7 months ago
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ive got to stop psychoanalyzing myself because its getting upsetting — like usually i brush it off but i wrote it down in my drafts n figured id just post it anyways because this is my version of screaming into the void lately
oh n when i post next week about another revelation the fanfics im inclined to read that i usually keep in my head theres no judgement allowed mkay
theres prolly something kinda fucked about me realizing ive been craving the “tim leaves the bats” or “tim decides he doesnt have to take anyones shit” fics lately because based on my own psyche ik my family doesnt give a fuck about anythin i have ever or will ever do AND i will always be sacrificed for my sibling’s comfort (especially since it just happened again n made me come to this fucked up realization like im so glad my neck n throat is closing up because my sister wasnt cold enough in the car after she popped my shoulder out of place to grab what i was carrying because i wasnt moving fast enough due to my hip bein all fucked up this weekend) plus its not like they notice the times i choose to give up shit for them except to yell at me for thinking im better than others for being a fucking martyr so ya know im done n i think ive been (unknowingly n unconsciously) projecting onto the batfam again my bad guys
but its fine cuz no one needs to look further into this ill do it in like a few hours im sure
but yea while i’ll be down to do the same for others it is also the reason ppl dont like talking to me (its the psychology autism babes)
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flower-blooming-in-hell · 1 year ago
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i need to scream into the void for a minute here bc like. idk who i can tell this who will understand
just rambling abt mental health (ptsd + depression mainly) and transitioning
but just. !!!!!!!!! i just took my first dose of T!!!!!!!! i officially have my androgel at home! and i just applied it to my skin!! and im waiting for it to dry a lil bit more before i put anything on it (like the sweater im gonna wear to bed tonight)
and im like. i could honestly cry rn not in a bad way but in a "this has been coming for such a long time and im so excited for the future right now" kinda way
i think a reason ive always disliked myself is bc i hate being a girl honestly
my voice is too high and feminine, and my face has never looked like my own (though that could also have to do with the did but still)
im currently planning on ending up looking more androgynous atm, but honestly im on a low dose so i can see which changes i want and how far i want to go
tbh im thinkin i might just end up going all the way tho? not sure
or. all the way isnt the right words but yknow what i mean basically lol
its ? very interesting figuring myself out like this
like im not fully confident on who i am but i know what i want, and i dont want to be a girl. i never really have, and i knew that at a young age. and to a point i do identify with "girl/woman" but thats only bc i was raised one, so i have similar experiences to a lot of ppl who could be called girls/women
plus my mom is def bioessentialist (which i need to look up counterarguments for that tbh) and i love her to death but she just doesnt really understand ... a lot of things
plus yknow. trauma . ive never gotten to fully be myself - i have always been what other people want me to be. its... an experience and a learning curve, finally figuring out who and what i am.
tbh this feels similar to when i got published (technically. it was a competition thing and a prize was getting published alongside others) with the like ... sheer positive emotion and wanting to cry and shaking with the excitement of what ive achieved and get to have
its really weird, being this happy. i didnt think id ever get to feel this way, or that id be excited for the future or have plans for it like i do right now. ive always had the feeling of "theres more things i have to do, so im not finished here." but its never really come out as starkly as it is now.
im really, REALLY happy.
yknow, sometimes i look back on my abuser and think that we were made for each other, and that ill never achieve anything greater than having dated them
and i think this is the first time its actually fully setting in and really occuring to me that i can have a life without them. i dont need them. i never did, and i didn't truly gain anything from being so close to them for so long.
and while i will always be resentful for having to grow up so fast and that i spent so much time on them, and there are still a lot of times that i'm upset with myself for being so unfailingly kind and giving and resilient, times where i wish i broke and wasn't here anymore, i'm truly glad that i didn't and i'm still here.
and i'm happy that i'm not with them anymore.
and i'm glad that i got to have this. and that nobody i currently know will speak negatively about this to me.
sometimes it feels a lot like i move on from them in jagged bits and pieces of glass, like im tugging them out of my skin years after impact
this feels a lot less like that, and more like...
ever since they came into my life, ive felt like . corrupted, evil, gross, whore, etc compared to their bright white purity. like i could never measure up
i think this is the first time in years where ive actually felt pure, in any kind of way
excited for the future, happy, not focused on anyone but myself, confident.
ive always wanted a truly clean slate. and now i have that
i have a better idea of things i want now too, and ive been taking better care of myself as well, and i have so much more energy
i still wish they could see and that theyd be proud of me, instead of whatever the hell manipulative gaslighty bs theyd think up
but im not thinking about them that much either
this is something that i want, and the focus is rightfully on me
...its a slightly weird feeling, but i dont feel selfish for it, for once
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qumiiiquinnquin · 2 years ago
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i havent spoke to any friends directly since the day before yesterday
one reached out to me today say hi and asking how im doing
i realized i havent vented directly to any friends or told them anything thats going on for a while now. i just scream all my problems in posts and then release them into the void. if anyone hears , then it at least makes me feel like there's a hand reaching out to me as i float absently alone in space , drifting away from everybody
the most recent time i vented was the night i came here and cried , wanting my closest friend to talk to me and keep me company because i felt really sad and missed home
i cant bring myself to tell friends anything that's going on directly anymore i dont think. im used to doing what i do here , just whine and complain out loud and if anyone happens to see it , then fine. at least we're drifting away in the emptiness of space together
it really is easier to just tell people im fine. i save them the hassle of listening to me complain about my problems. what do they even gain from it? worry and anxiety about someone's wellbeing? ive been thinking its better for me to just keep it bottled if they ask or if im feeling down. putting on a mask of happiness and saying im ok takes that pressure and need to check on me off of their shoulders. i no longer become an obligation
i dont think i can talk to others anymore. i dont feel here or with everybody or my surroundings. will they even hear me?
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visforvii · 11 months ago
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.
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klugpuuo · 2 years ago
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i cant just say they should sweep without saying Why so... have some epic oc lore that really doesnt describt ehm well at all
first of all i will talk abt QUIEG
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she is so silly. a lesbian but she is actually a bisexual. one of her girlfriends named her "keeper of ten trillion beads" because she has so many fucking beads. she started teaching herself agriculture to hopefully impress a girl. somehow more emotionally repressed than dew.
she was created as a back-up and temporary replacement for dew while everyone was still arguing abt her arm count and length, and because of that ey has massive self-worth issues. she's awful at emotions, doesn't know how to comfort them or react appropriately to most situations, and is very Stoike in the way she speaks
she's very spiritual but rarely talks abt it. her spirituality is mostly just "science is magic". she also doesn't believe in the power of the void sea - mostly as a joke though
her design was made in literally 1 minute but its one of my favorites. inspired very ovbuously by ladybuggs... i wanted to make her match dew but i dont need any more ant siblings so
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feathers.... he is very
used to be very basic and plain in his style, then he found out abt nwb and immediately started wearing the weirdest shit. his current aesthetic is 'gay blacksmith'.
he used to be called famished sun, but changed his name bc he thought it would be funny. he remembers his username because of the acronym "TSF", which he decided means "the sun famished"
he's the surgeon of the group, altyhough he's recently decided to try out some crosstraining so he can help people outside of it. he uses his medical prowess to gross out siblings and just-barely-strangers, although he knows to limit himself if someone's genuinely uncomfortable. he's also got some religious knowledge, since doctor = holy man in the country oceanic takes place in
he's the only person in his entire group who doesnt have parental issues, because his admin was actually really nice. they taught him a lot, even helped him sneak out and see the sights in the city on his can! he misses them a little bit.
he has a walrus mouth. btw. if you even care /ref
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dew. p much everyone who knows abt my blogs knows dew, considering she was the first person to talk on global comms after the global ascension
uhhh if you like epic diversity stuff. she's the first fat iterator ive ever seen so thats gotta mean smth. also she has fur! the fur, when poofed out, redirects any electricity safely away from her body, although there's a bit less on her hands and legs.
she has resting bitch face but nobody outside of her group knows bc she never sends pictures of herself to others and the only 3 who met her in person either a. rarely saw her face or b. are ea
oh yeah! she's dating eternal anomaly.
dew is an enjoyer of death metal and has been practicing her Scream ! her favorite song is the wreck of s. s. needle <333
she has...ant mandibles :] unlike the rest of her group she generally forgets to retract them when not eating bc i like drawing them and i think it is cute. it is sort of like when a cat bleps
BUT YEAH
that is the super duper basic info , not even mentioning most of their personalities or dramas or their hobbies / likes / etc :]
if they win i will cry. thank you for your time
ROUND 1 PART 2!
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For this one, we got Booming Voice, Quiet Temper + Three Small Feathers In A Lake Of Quills + First Dewdrop Of Morning, Fifth Sunrise from @oceanremnants + @oceanic-recollection VS Hiss From Sun-Golden Scales from @hiss-from-sun-golden-scales!
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skyllion-uwu · 2 years ago
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Blabbo! His only crime is a really old vehicular manslaughter
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atlabeth · 4 years ago
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everything happens for a reason part 5 - zuko x fem!reader
I can go anywhere I want, I can go anywhere just not home
part 4 | masterlist | part 6
a/n: this was hard to get going but once i got to the end the words just flowed. ive come to the conclusion that writing dialogue with katara is my favorite thing to do
warning(s): nightmare at the beginning, survivor's guilt from y/n, some internalized homophobia :-( but aside from that its mostly fluff
wc: 3.6k
chapter title comes from my tears ricochet by taylor swift!
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She was trapped.
It was a prison of never ending hallways in some kind of infinite void, complete with the rank stench of death and an innate feeling of hopelessness.
Y/N knew this place. It had been the subject of her nightmares on countless occasions, because it was where she was supposed to be. She had no choice but to start down the pathway of cracked stone — she knew what awaited her, but it was the only way out. She had developed some sick sense of awareness in this nightmare and it didn’t do her any favors.
She began to walk hastily down the path, the itch of paranoia already plaguing the back of her mind. Countless times she had been here, and yet it never got better.
Before Y/N knew it, she had reached her unwanted destination. The first tangible thing in what felt like miles was a prison cell, and she pushed forward despite knowing what awaited her. It was the only way.
“It wasn’t the only way.”
She froze, inhaling sharply as the dreamscape seemed to pull her thoughts out of her mind, and she forced herself to take another step closer, the inhabitant of the cell now visible.
“You did this to me.”
It was her mother, but… not quite her. Her voice strained and stiff, a gaunt appearance with cruel eyes, hunched over in a prison cell. Any sign of the woman Y/N knew her as was gone, and it was her fault. She was the reason Kura was gone — a mother’s ultimate sacrifice because her daughter was too stuck in her head.
“How could you do this to me?” she asked. “How could you be so selfish?”
Y/N tried to respond, but she couldn’t. It was no use anyway — her words would’ve come out in broken, pleading rambles to someone who couldn’t hear a thing. She knew it was fake, she knew this was a nightmare, but it still hurt all the same.
She had imagined her mother saying those words to her so many times they had found their way into her nightmares despite knowing that Kura would never utter a single syllable true to her fears. She had all but killed her mother, and instead of remembering her for what she had done for Y/N, she appeared in her nightmares.
She was a horrible daughter.
She heard footsteps and whirled around, instinctively taking a step back and wincing as her back slammed into the bars. A tall, dark figure creeped towards her and her breath caught in her throat — as it came into the light, she recognized him as the Fire Lord.
He chuckled coldly as he neared ever closer, the path he walked turning to flames behind him. Her eyes darted around for an escape only to find that everything was on fire. It was suffocating, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, and when she turned to look for her mother she was gone. Everything was gone, her dark void now a prison of flames.
She turned around once more and Ozai was right in front of her, the fire in his hands glowing red hot and a cruel smile on his lips.
“Did you really think you could get away that easily?”
-
She shot up in her bed, a scream on the edge of her lips but just barely managing to hold it back. Ragged breaths were ripped from her chest, her eyes shooting around wildly as she attempted to find anything at all to ground her. It took a few minutes, but with repeated mantras of it was just a dream and you are safe, she was able to calm down.
She pulled her knees to her chest and exhaled long and deep before pulling herself out of bed. It seemed that her day was going to be starting much earlier than planned.
Four years had passed since her arrival at the Northern Water Tribe, but the nightmares never ceased. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself she had done the right thing, that it was what her mother wanted, that if she stayed she would’ve died — she was constantly haunted by her past actions and memories of the Fire Nation.
She hasn’t taken off the necklace since her mother gave it to her, no matter what she does. It’s almost become a part of her now — a memory of Kura and her selflessness that knew no bounds, as well as a grim reminder of what it cost to get her here.
The Northern Water Tribe itself held countless memories of her mother — after all, it was where she had spent the first eighteen years of her life. Her name was well known throughout the tribe with nobles and elders alike, and it amazed Y/N to no end the impact that her mother left everywhere she went. She loved hearing stories about her mother and what she was like as a child, but it was always bittersweet.
She always carried an inherent sense of guilt with her because of who she lived with — her mother hadn’t been lying when she said that the necklace would get them to help her. Kura’s parents still lived in the tribe, and they had taken Y/N in after she revealed who she was. They loved her unconditionally and never made her feel like a burden, but Y/N would be lying to herself if she didn’t think they blamed her for the fate that befell her mother.
After all, she did.
She had never told anyone the full story of why she ran though. It was one thing to leave her mother behind for certain death because of the Fire Lord’s rage, it was another thing to admit that it was wholly her fault because she had fallen for a prince.
Zuko.
Not a day went by where she didn’t think of him. She still held the hope that she would see him again someday, but in lieu of travel she turned to letters.
Y/N had a shelf full of unmailed letters addressed to both Zuko and her mother — it was a way to get out her emotions whenever she was feeling particularly homesick or hopeless, and it did help at first, but after four years it had become something born out of habit rather than necessity.
She still wrote them though — Y/N had learned to hold onto any form of hope she could muster up, no matter how small, and in this moment she needed some.
She opened her shelf and rifled through piles upon piles of letters, some finished, some hardly started, and some crumpled from fits of rage, and her breath caught in her throat when her fingers brushed something different. Y/N pulled the material out and nearly started crying right then and there.
It was an unbelievably simple patch of fabric, but it meant the world to her — something that she had bought during her last night with Zuko, and one of the only pieces of material to have survived her journey to the Northern Water Tribe. She was forced to sell the rest of the fabric she had brought with her in order to make some easy money while on the run, but she had kept this as a memento. She could almost be brought back to the final sunset they shared if she looked at it for long enough.
Y/N bit down hard on her lip to stop the tears and shoved it back into the drawer before closing it and leaving her room in a haste. Sometimes she wasn’t strong enough to handle the memories.
She made her way to the living room and let out a sigh of relief when she noticed the silence. Y/N had never told her grandparents about the nightmares, and right now she just needed some time to herself. Never before was she so thankful for her grandmother’s gossiping nature and her grandfather’s work than she was in the mornings where she just wanted to be alone.
She sat down on the floor, not even bothering to get a cushion, and stared at her hands. Once smooth and untouched by the world, they were now rough and calloused with wrapped bandages resting just below her wrist. Permanent memories of what it took to get here. The ever present reminder that nothing came without a cost.
This morning seemed to be one full of yearning for the past. Y/N tried to shake her feelings off and got up once more, contemplating some steamed sea prunes before deeming it fruitless. Her appetite was lacking after her trip down memory lane.
She walked back to her room and got dressed hastily then ran out the door, but not before plucking a gift from her shelf. Today marked the birthday of a certain princess, and Y/N had to go fast if she was going to get it to her before class.
She was immediately hit by the frigid air of the North, pulling her anorak tighter around her frame as she began to run to the canals — one could always find Princess Yue there in the mornings — doing her best to avoid anyone else walking.
Y/N saw Yue just about to board one of the boats and sped up, waving one of her arms as a signal. “Yue, wait!”
She turned and her face immediately brightened up at the sight of Y/N, raising her open palm so the boatman would hold up. “Y/N! Would you like to join me?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
Yue’s nod prompted a shrug as she dropped down carefully into the gondola, taking extra care not to drop her gift, and took a seat next to her friend.
“This is a nice surprise,” Yue smiled as the boatman began to waterbend, effectively moving their gondola through the canal. “But if I might ask, what brought you here so early?”
Y/N laughed, thinking her reason for coming here obvious. “It’s your birthday, princess! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come to wish you well in person?”
Her smile grew even brighter, the corners of her eyes creasing up in the way that made some kind of warmth blossom in Y/N’s chest. “Thank you! That’s so sweet — I’m especially honored that you woke up early just for me.”
“Of course.” Y/N brandished the gift she had been doing her best to hide, unable to do the same for her own smile. “And here’s your gift! I sewed it all myself.”
Yue gasped as she took the creation, giving it a slight squeeze and a thorough investigation before absolutely beaming. “You made me an otter penguin— oh, you know how much I love these!”
She wrapped Y/N in a tight hug before pulling away, but it was just long enough for the heat to rush to her cheeks. “Thank you so much, really. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Y/N beamed at the praise and nodded, shifting a little in her seat. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m glad you like it so much.”
The two girls grinned at each other then turned their gaze to the horizon, content to spend the rest of the ride together in comfortable silence.
Her friendship with the princess of the Northern Water Tribe was something that Y/N cherished with all her heart. She could confidently say that Princess Yue was her best friend, and she hoped it was a notion that Yue shared. As beautiful as she was kind, the princess always had a way of making her feel better on the hardest days — Yue was the only one who knew the whole truth of what happened in the Fire Nation, and she offered nothing but sympathy.
Y/N honestly didn’t know what she would do without Yue. She had been her rock during the whole process of getting situated in the tribe, always lending a helping hand when she stumbled in class or was completely oblivious to something in their culture, and she never made her feel stupid, or unwanted, or less-than for what she had come from.
The only thing that confused her about Yue was the feeling she got whenever Y/N was around her. The rushes of heat to her cheeks, the warmth blossoming in her chest, and the unusual happiness she felt anytime Yue smiled at her. The most peculiar of it all was the strange tug of jealousy any time a noble boy tried to flirt with the princess, and nothing but disinterest whenever they tried an angle on her instead.
She didn’t know what any of it meant, but she had the sneaking suspicion that it was wrong. So Y/N did the only thing she could and suppressed it.
Soon enough, though much to their chagrin, Y/N had to leave. After some exchanged hugs and one last wish of happy birthday, Y/N took off for her morning healing class. But as she hurried down the icy paths, she caught sight of the most peculiar thing.
A giant flying bison was being led through the canals with a team of waterbenders, three kids that couldn’t be any older than her on its back. One had an arrow on his head and sported orange and yellow robes, while the other two looked to be of Water Tribe descent.
Her interest was irrefutably piqued, but she didn’t have any more time to waste with gawking. So she began to run once again, apologies spilling from her lips as she maneuvered through the groups of people all just as awestruck by the strange arrival as she was. Y/N made a mental note to ask Yue about it later, but for now she was running very late to her healing class.
-
Sure enough, a few hours later, Y/N was able to get the answers she had been craving. She met up with Yue outside of the palace, and during a short walk, she learned that the boy was the Avatar. He had come to the Northern Water Tribe to master waterbending, and the two kids with him were his companions from the Southern Tribe — much to her excitement, the girl was a waterbender.
Needless to say, Y/N was even more enthusiastic than before, and Yue made her day by confirming that they would be coming to her birthday celebration that night as honored guests. She had already talked to her father about allowing Y/N to sit with her and he had said yes, which meant that she would get to meet him and his friends in person — it just served as a reminder that Y/N had no idea what she would do without Yue.
After what felt like hours of passing the time with lost games of Pai Sho against her grandfather and failed attempts at finishing her homework, it was finally time for the banquet. Once she arrived at the front of the palace she bid goodbye to her grandparents and went to find the seat that Yue had secured for her.
She settled down in the empty spot next to what she assumed was Yue’s — it was her birthday after all, so a dramatic entrance wasn’t out of the question — and nervously glanced at the three visitors, trying to figure out how to introduce herself.
Thankfully, she was saved when the girl met her eyes and waved, offering a friendly smile. “Hi! I’m Katara; this is my brother Sokka, and that’s Aang.” She gestured in their direction with her head when she said their names and they both smiled and gave her polite nods.
She returned the sentiment gratefully. “I’m Y/N— I’m one of Princess Yue’s friends. Welcome to the Northern Water Tribe!”
“Thanks!” Aang said. “We’re here to find a master so Katara and I can master waterbending.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Master Pakku is one of the best there is, and even though he’s a total jerk, he’ll be able to teach you everything you need to know. And Katara, we have some amazing healing teachers— I can bring you along to my class tomorrow if you’re interested!”
Katara’s eyes lit up. “You’re a waterbender too?” When Y/N nodded, her smile grew even bigger, though slightly wistful.
“I’d really appreciate that,” she admitted, though her brows knit together. “But I’d like to learn from Master Pakku as well.”
Y/N frowned, about to correct her, when the distinct sound of drums began to echo throughout the hall. Her displeasure immediately disappeared as she grinned at them all excitedly, gesturing with her head towards the action.
Chief Arnook stood up from his spot and their table, his low voice booming. “Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of our brother and sister from the Southern Tribe. And they have brought with them someone very special, someone whom many of us believed disappeared from the world until now… the Avatar!”
Y/N’s own applause joined a symphony of others clapping and cheering as Aang waved bashfully, and once it died down, Arnook continued. “We also celebrate my daughter’s sixteenth birthday. Princess Yue is now of marrying age!”
She grinned as Yue walked out alongside her attendants — she would never get used to her beauty. Y/N noticed the way that Sokka’s eyes widened as he stared at her, and her stomach twisted at the act for some unknown reason.
“Thank you, Father,” she said. “May the great Ocean and Moon Spirits watch over us during these troubled times!”
Arnook smiled at his daughter and directed his attention back to his people. “Now, Master Pakku and his students will perform!”
She could tell that Katara and Aang were enraptured by the bending, while Sokka’s attention was already on Yue as she walked over to sit between Sokka and Y/N.
“I’m so glad you could make it!” Yue exclaimed, greeting her friend with a short embrace.
Y/N gave her a sideways smile. “If you think that I would miss your birthday and a banquet, then I’m afraid you’re out of practice on Y/N trivia.”
The princess laughed and nodded amiably then turned her attention to Sokka, ever the diplomat.
“Hi there,” he grinned. “Sokka, Southern Water Tribe.”
Yue returned the sentiment and gave him a slight bow. “Very nice to meet you.”
As their conversation went on, Y/N found herself tuning out a bit. For whatever reason, she had to actively stop herself from rolling her eyes at Sokka’s flirting, that same feeling in her stomach coming back. She made a mental note to see a healer about her issues.
“Hey, Y/N!” She snapped out of her self-imposed trance at the sound of Katara calling her name as she gestured for her to come over. It looked like Aang had gotten up to converse with Master Pakku and Chief Arnook, so she took the invitation and switched seats.
“I can’t tell you how nice it is to finally be here,” Katara said once Y/N had settled next to her. “Back home, I’m the only waterbender. Here… it’s like paradise. It almost feels too good to be true. I mean, even seeing you is crazy — I’ve never met a waterbender my age.”
Y/N smiled, though not without a hint of sadness. “I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for you to be able to experience this. How are you the only bender left down there?”
Katara was silent for a moment, a flurry of emotions warring on her face, before she answered. “The Southern Tribe hasn’t fared half as well as the Northern Tribe during the war. We don’t have one big, huge capital like this, we’re all split up into small villages. The Fire Nation has just been relentless with their raids, and without support from the North and a lack of communication between our sister tribes in the South, they were able to wipe us all out. Except for me.”
“Spirits, Katara…” Y/N set an amiable hand on her shoulder and squeezed, hoping that her softened expression could say what her words couldn’t. “My village was invaded when I was young, too. I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.”
She nodded pensively but managed to meet her eyes with an appreciative smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry about your village as well.” Her gaze drifted off, once again taking in the view around them, and when Katara met her eyes again she seemed better. “But we’re here now, and I’m planning to take advantage of everything I can, starting with all this food. Which one of these is your favorite?”
Y/N grinned as Katara pointed at the platter of various dishes in front of them. “Oh, you’ve got to try this. See that giant crab up there? That’s what this is, and you have not lived until you have tried Northern crab.”
Conversation flowed just as easily through the rest of the night between the two girls, occasionally switching to include Sokka and Yue and eventually Aang once he returned. Between the swells of pride whenever they laughed at her jokes, getting to learn about all three of them, and the almost palpable euphoria in the air, Y/N was sure of one thing:
This was the happiest she had felt in a long time. She could only hope it would last.
-
perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77
ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895
atla: @marianne1806
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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago
Text
The Five Scares (and one revenge)
Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)
Warnings: Swearing 
Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)
Summary: Having a tendency to scare people, Corpse has gotten used to his friends being jumpy whenever he appears from the void into a Discord call with them. However, the one who has it the roughest with the spooks has to be his partner Y/N. Basically: The five times Corpse scared Y/N and the one time they scared him
Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your lovely request it was a real joy to write and I had a ton of fun doing so! Hope you have equally as wonderful of a time if you happen to come across it and give it a read despite the long wait you’ve had to endure which I apologize for. Love, Vy ❤
I
Having had to go home for the night to keep an eye on their roommate’s dog, Y/N and Corpse agreed to have a video call before they fell asleep. They didn’t want to appear like that typical clingy and cheesy couple but after spending almost a whole week curled up in Corpse’s apartment, the two would feel each other’s absence to a very saddening degree to the point where they’d even forget the other isn’t around and would call out to them. 
Letting the call ring, Y/N’s hand comes up to smooth out their hair. However, the touch reveals to them that their hair needs a bit more than a simple tap or a pat to be tamed so while they wait for Corpse to answer the call, they quickly head to their bathroom. Flicking the light on, their reflection greets them with the underwhelming news of the actual state of their hair at the moment: an absolute mess. They proceed to do their best with the single hair-tie they have handy. A bobby pin or two would be neat but they have no time to go and grab one right now, seeing as how they can’t recall if they even brought them back from Corpse’s apartment. If they didn’t, they would have to search their roommate’s room for some which would take an even longer amount of time.
Eventually, they manage to tame it in something closely resembling a presentable ponytail and exit the bathroom feeling more exhausted than before. With a loud sigh, they crash onto their bed, face-first into the sea of pillows, groaning at the slight sting of their muscles relaxing at last.
“Y/N?“ The decently loud mention of their name by a deep, familiar yet sudden and unexpected voice startles them to the point of squealing and jumping an entire inch away from where they were positioned.
They look around their room in a frenzy, wondering where on Earth that voice came from and how it could be here with them right now.
“Y/N, you there?”, before they could locate it, it emerges once again, helping Y/N get an ide of where it’s coming from - somewhere in the messed up bed sheets.
“Corpse?“ They finally find their voice, “Y-yeah I’m here. Question is: how are you...“ and then it all clicks, causing them to twist their face in an expression of utter disappointment and bury it in the palms of their hands, groaning.
“You forgot about the video chat, didn’t you?“ Corpse asks, amusement not even attempted to be hidden in his voice.
“Yup.“
II
It’s been one hell of a day. Y/N’s college lectures exhausted them to a max and their six hour job following their classes did nothing to help them AT ALL. Quite the opposite actually. Makes sense why they look, move and talk the way they’re doing right now: like a ghost, zombie and an elder combined in one. To add to their misfortunes for the day, they were met with the mocking ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign taped to the doors of the elevator, laughing in their face with the information that their hellish experience for the day is far from over.
Just the thought of having to climb to the fifth floor made their stomach turn in the most unpleasant way possible, but the though of how long that would take made matters even worse. Arriving at their designated apartment, they have every right to be pissed, cussing their heart out. 
However, then comes a new problem: the inability to pinpoint the correct key. They proceed to curse themselves, the keys, the door handle and the door itself before punching the poor wood that did no wrong and just stands here, serving its purpose of keeping unwanted people out of the apartment it’s guarding.
Following their anger outburst and front-door-abuse, they proceed to try finding the correct key once again, this time slightly more calmly as to not accidentally miss it in their frantic rifling.
Right as they’re about to try the third key, however, the door opens. Well, it’s opened by someone on the other side, that someone being none other than their boyfriend Corpse who’s currently staring at them wide-eyed, one eyebrow raised, the word ‘confused’ basically written across his face.
While he’s processing the sight in front of him, Y/N lets out a little scream, jumping back and away from the door, a hand placed over their chest as their wide eyes scan their boyfriend who now seems equally terrified as a result of their reaction.
“Corpse?!“ They manage to gasp, barely hearing their own voice over the loud thumping of their heart and the rush of blood in their ears, “What the hell are you doing here?!“
The confusion on Corpse’s face deepens, reaching whole new levels as his eyes gaze deeper into theirs, searching for the meaning behind their bizarre question. “You mean...at my own apartment? What am I doing, at home?“
For a few seconds, the two just stare blankly at one another, processing everything that’s just happened. Suddenly, it all just kinda caves for Y/N and they burst out laughing, doubling over, their arms clutching at their stomach as they do so. Their laughter is contagious, so Corpse can’t help but let out a few chuckles himself.
“Alright, you’ve been driven to insanity, I can tell.“ He mumbles at his reckless partner, coming up behind them and wraps his arms around them, lifting them up and carrying their laughing ass inside.
III
Finally deciding to sit down and get this damn project started, Y/N already feels like they’ve had enough of it, burnout already creeping in and threatening to ruin their work and trip them up every step of the way. It wouldn’t have been so bad had the subject not been one they absolutely despise and wish they could get out of studying but alas they’re stuck with it.
They equip their headphones as soon as they plant their butt on the desk chair in their tiny room in their tiny roommate-shared apartment, putting their Spotify playlist on shuffle as they open a blank Power Point document. They work better with music blasting in their ears since the silence tends to be too loud and distracting when they’re trying to focus. So, that way they can also sing their heart out in peace and not get disturbed by the sound of their own off-key singing. Win-win, basically.
Singing ‘Never Forget You’ by Zara Larsson and MNEK, they get a little carried away, ditching the project to enter a full-blown music video they can imagine down to the detail in their mind.
However, there’s a surprise awaiting them.
As soon as MNEK’s part of the song begins, another voice apart from his echoes through their headphones, singing along to the song. Freaking the fuck out, they let out a loud scream, smacking the headset off them, sending the object falling and landing on their laptop keyboard with a crash that only serves to further startle their roommate’s dog which comes to check if they are being attacked or something only to be disappointed by the lack of action.
When pushing the headphones off, they did so with a force strong enough to snap the cable out of the laptop entirely so now the room is filled with the sound of that same foreign voice laughing his ass off.
A voice that belongs to no other than Corpse Husband himself.
“You gotta learn to disconnect from Discord calls, Y/N.“ The fucker says, still cackling wholeheartedly at his partner’s misery.
Pissed off or not, Y/N would have to admit he’s got a point. But they’d also rather never speak again than admit it so...
“Fuck you!“ is what they say instead, seconds before disconnecting.
IV
Making breakfast is not something either Corpse or Y/N are used to, mostly cause they both either wake up late or skip the meal entirely. Regardless, having been given a day off from work and having no classes since it’s Saturday, Y/N saw no better way to start their day off than to prepare a nice breakfast for them and their boyfriend to enjoy. Problem is: they aren’t the most skilled in the kitchen. Sure they can scramble an egg or make mac and cheese, but in order to do it correctly they are not allowed to have distractions of any kind. Not even music, that’s how you know it’s serious.
Seeing as how Corpse has never seen them cook, he’s obviously unaware of theirs. The dummy straight up waltzes into the kitchen, unintentionally remaining unspotted and unheard by Y/N because he’s barefoot and because they have their back turned to him.
“Whatya cooking over there babe?“
Y/N’s focus bubble, being as thin as it is and considering they initially thought Corpse was still asleep, they have every right to let out the yelp they just did, dropping the egg they were gonna crack over the pan in said pan in its entirety - yes, shell and all.
A moment of silence commences: regretful on Corpse’s end and frustrated on theirs. Neither of them dares to say anything to avoid triggering the other. Well, that’s the case until Y/N decides enough’s enough and they turn to look at him, a wide, obviously fake smile plastered onto their face.
“Scrambled eggs, following a secret recipe, property of the L/N family.“
Seems like your pre-breakfast snack is an extra large dose of sarcasm, huh?
V
“So, how was your day? You sound pretty chipper so I take it wasn’t a nightmare like a few days ago.“ Corpse comments over the phone, listening to shuffling and shifting as Y/N moves around the apartment, getting ready to head out.
“It was great actually. Got some important results back and, not to brag or anything, but they were higher than I expected.“ They reply, a genuine wide grin refusing to leave their face as they silently count the amount of money they’ve got in their wallet. “I’m gonna go buy a cake so we can celebrate it. It’s no small deal, trust me, especially not when I initially thought I’d fail both these exams to the point of being pitied.“
“Wait...-“ Corpse attempts, his voice suddenly sounding strained and urgent but that’s the very reason he cannot seem to find or get the right words out of his system. Not that Y/N gives him any time to figure it out.
“No Corpse, you cannot change my mind. Cake and beers, we’re celebrating toni- SHIT!“ They scream as they throw open the front door, bumping square into someone standing on the other side, almost dropping their phone.
Taken aback by embarrassment and fear, they leap back, their eyes searching for the ones of the person whose personal space they just invaded. Well, to be fair, he was the one invading their personal space by standing right outside the door to their - well, to Corpse’s apartment.
The fear and irritation die down almost instantly when Y/N recognizes the person standing opposite them.
“Mind telling me why we’re talking on the phone when you could’ve come in and we could’ve had a normal person conversation?!“ They snap, ironically enough - they’re still holding the phone to their ear.
So is Corpse whos is smiling guiltily, “That’s why I called, I forgot my keys, but I got...carried...sorry.”
Well, at least this serves as proof Y/N’s not the only forgetful one.
                                                            ~  ~  ~
Corpse has been stuck in his recording room for four hours now, never stopping his stream to take care of his basic human needs such as eating or going to the bathroom. This behavior of his has Y/N worried sick and unable to focus on the task at hand - an assignment they’ve been trying to finish for two hours now, sitting with their computer on their lap and looking hopelessly at the blank Word document waiting for them to fill it up while they are waiting for it to start writing itself.
Seeing as how neither are gonna happen, not until Y/N puts their mind at ease, they slowly put the laptop aside, standing up to carefully skip on over to Corpse’s recording room to check on him, stopping by the kitchen to grab him a snack and a bottle of water along the way.
The door to the darkened room is open a crack, as usual, suggesting they can enter without knocking - this also means he’ll probably not hear them even if they knock so the whole gesture would be pointless. Not that Y/N has a tendency to knock or anything... Waltzing in, they find that the only light in the room is the very faint and dark glow of the computer screen which is displaying a dark and dingy room from a first-person view of the protagonist of whatever game Corpse’s currently playing.
“Corpse?!“ They whisper-yell/hiss at him, trying their best to grasp his attention without startling him - they don’t need to be told that the game is of the horror genre and the last thing they need is for their boyfriend to flip backwards and fall out of his chair because they scared the shit out of him. “Hey?!“
Neither attempts prove futile so, despite their best instincts telling them differently, they walk over to him and tap him on the shoulder. The reaction, while within the realm of expectancy, is a lot more startled than they expected, accompanied by a scream on top of all. They’d never heard him scream in fear before, it’s quite amusing if they’re being honest.
They suppress a snicker as Corpse’s wide open eyes meet their squinting ones in the darkness, “Y/N...babe...what is it? Is everything ok?”
Y/N rolls their eyes, “No, everything isn’t ok. Your unhealthy habit of forgetting to take care of yourself, for example.” They put the snack and the bottle on the his desk, giving him their best disappointed-parent look before turning on their heel to strut their way out of the room. However, just as they are about to make their exit, they stop right at the doorframe, giving their stunned one final glance over their shoulder with a smug smirk playing across their face, “Oh and by the way, that’s what I like to call revenge.” Just like that, they leave, pushing the door back into its previous position.
And boy, is it some sweet, sweet revenge.
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