#virusvirtue

[bingos-buttons]

Hi there! Could i get some masc/neu names and some usernames with themes of glitches / computer viruses / malware? Sort of like spam emails or general computer viruses. Sorry if this is too specific or even too vague lol! Have a good time zone either way!

Hello! You absolutely can, here you go :)

Names

💾. Chip 💾. Cecil 💾. Link 💾. Rex 💾. Pixel

Users

💾. malwaremakeout 💾. yougotmalware 💾. deadlydata 💾. virusvirtue 💾. whoopsallspam

Requests are open!

[koorinohebi]

Answer to Bond 10 line.

[imperiumsaber-archive]

@virusvirtue​ & @originlist​ | Uncle Caligula

UNCLE I’M BEING USED AS BAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[raichoose-gone]

Caring for Sick Muses - Accepting 

@virusvirtue​ asked:  ‘ i know it tastes bad, but it’ll help you. ’ (strawberry cookie @ ink)

Strawberry is probably right, but that doesn’t stop Inky from curling up into a large, black ball, their face - and, most importantly for cough syrup avoiding purposes, their mouth - hidden from the other cookie’s proffered teaspoon.

“No ... It’s ... yucky ... Don’t want ... ” They cough. “Will be ... fine.” 

// Thank you! Please ask before continuing. 

[kiicho]

@virusvirtue said: they are a deadly combo, change my mind

nagayoshi: [ covered in the blood of his enemies and going ham on the battlefield ]  everyone else: oh my god oni musashi we’re so scar-- kichō: [ also covered in the blood of her enemies and also going ham in the fight ] HELL YEAH MORI !!!!!!!

[cantillat-moved]

@virusvirtue​ offers up kanata like simba//

❝ You look a bit dorky but you’ll do a decent reindeer. C’mon, we got a lot of work ahead of us. ❞

[madamhatter]

"graìnne, caster class. it's a pleasure to meet you, master." the brunet greets with practiced grace & a small curtsey, the perfect picture of a princess that she once was in life.

The summoner is at her usual state of doing - picking off any dirt that she can find on herself and flattening the wrinkles of her long gray skirt. Keeping herself busy with handiwork to avoid her growing anxiety. After all, she had ran all the way here from the garden amidst working It is all she can do as she awaits for - - -

"Whenever you're ready, Sophie-san," a disembodied scratchy voice - one of Chaldea's staff - addresses her. Her acknowledgment comes with a gentle hand wave at her side, palm flat and steady as if nothing wants to affect the wind. Shoulders stiff and tall, she takes small steps to the center, barely audible and resonating through the room.

One would call it another "test trial" when she entered the summoning area. Others would call it a "risk," which she wouldn't dispute. Benefits and consequences seem to have no significant advantage over another in her record books. Impossibilities gained chances status, but she reminds herself that those chances became curses from either her presence or actions alone.

From an origin so terribly desecrated to the point of amnesia to containing a beast of Gaea into a class, little usefulness can be extrapolated from her doings, and that was only the first two accounts on her growing list of eccentricities.

However, one's duty outweighs personal grievances. No matter the qualms and fears that plague the young woman's mind, work must be achieved. She must fulfill the goal of the many. As is the way of life back then, it continues with her now. A commodity remains a commodity - a stasis for both order and stability.

But someone has to do it, or there won't be a thing done. Excuse turned mantra, that was the way of Sophie. It is the constant word in her mind. It is an inescapable fate but a necessary one.

"At your word." She finally speaks. Her fingers adjust her rolled-up sleeves, speckled with dirt, to then check her bandaged forearm—all before she balls them at her side. Stay still.

The master candidate folds her hands together. The final word is given, and she readies herself, parting her lips, ready to play her part.

Do your part. Return to your role. Keep it together. Wait until it is over. Any emotion unproductive is a wasted second. She was taught young and well that. Her parents made sure of that. How else would they have such an obedient child that they could perhaps be proud of?

She takes a soft inhale, looking ahead. If something goes wrong, all I need to do is turn it all off. Wait and be patient; just let it all go by. If what I'm feeling is making it worse, I can turn it off. A splintering emotion or thought could easily spell disaster.

Aria nor chant would leave her - only brief inquiry to the beyond. Voice weaved with magic; it seemed to seep and slip itself into everything. It will latch, pull, change, and tear apart as she knows it to. If she believed that her prayer would be answered or a God would listen to her, she would ask for her magic not to do such cruel things. As she assumes, fewer words mean lesser chances of interference and better results.

A growing pressure begins in the room, and she holds her place, threads of copper hair gently blowing in the ever-increasing winds forming at the center. A muted green reveals the riveting shapes of pressure rising from the ground, spreading through the room. It dissipates at first as if the autumn wind blowing through a moonless night allows decaying leaves to dance.

Lips part, her hands untangle from another. The wind blows between the slivers of her fingers, the faint emerald breeze untouchable but beautiful to watch. And a slow exhale releases from her lips. The passing winds now stained with silver traces at the tips---

Centered vortex begins growing and growing upwards, the breeze now a growing current. There isn't anywhere she may go and she remains rooted to her position. Stay still.

Before her, a phantom outline reveals itself to her - long flowing hair that could reach the air also dances in the wind like Sophie's own braid. The touches of green in the air soon begin to dye a larger flowing object over the human shape - it grows and takes form of a long skirt.

A mimic of a human, only a copy of the original, a Servant is, by the definition of its creators, a tool crafted and made by history, memories, and the people themselves. What record would this person have? What has humankind remembered this grand figure to be - or what has humankind done to warp them? These are only but the beginning questions Sophie keeps to herself. But something tears away her focus.

A fragile light - she sees it at the corner of her right eye. Nothing was behind her. But was there something underneath her--?!

Quick glance down and expression stoic still, but her lips almost frowning from confusion. From the breast pocket of her charcoal gray vest was three thin green stems, belled yellow blossoms sticking out at their respective ends. A five-petaled beauty, a memory of a world outside where meadows and meadows of it and dandelions and daisies would flourish.

Oh -- I hadn’t finished planting the last buttercup seeds before I was requested here. Why did it --? 

What was once a phenomena - a bizarre illumination - is but only normal buttercups now. But their bulbs now helpless in the wind before Sophie places them away. Soon the windows had stopped- the summoning only taking less than a minute to complete..

Alas, when she looks up again..

Silence fills the room as it does Sophie.

Doe-eyed woman fairly shorter than herself, waves of moose brown flowing down her back, is before her. A once invisible shape now given body as it imitates breath and heartbeat, A gown of rich emerald she is adorned in while her porcelain hands are flat at either side of her - a small performance of control and power as if quelling the once turbulent winds filling the room. 

Muted green eyes finally reach Sophie’s dull brown irises, a standstill in the fated meeting between the summoned and summoner; the relaxed and poised woman is greeted by sober and strict face.  

"Graìnne, caster class. It's a pleasure to meet you, Master." It is finally broken by formal introduction.

Lady Grainne, the princess who hadn’t allow obligations get the better of her. Whose hand, promised by her father, High King Cormac ua Cuin, to another was once bound by oath. Yet it was her own hand that moves from that path the moment he eyes befallen for another - an unexpected wedge into expected customs and duties of her status. Be it because of charmed mark on a young man’s face -- I doubt it, because who else would think to run away together if it’s one-sided -- or a moment of impulse, they took another and ran away. Tragedy began the moment they laid eyes on another and curiosity made the worst of them. 

One thing is certain....

Even the stories could not contain the full beauty you've inspired for their scripts.

Following suit, Sophie’s left arm folds behind her back and she genuflects forward and reciprocates the curtsy. She raises her chin watching as the princess returns to form. Her serving hand reaches for the other's commanding hand - scarred and weathered versus pristine and proper. Not going to grab it, but still an offering if they wish to make contact. 

"Lady Graìnne, welcome back to the world. The pleasure is all mine for you have answered my call." Jaded eyes soften as she finally speaks, straightening back her posture. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sophie Hatter, a master candidate belonging to Chaldea - the very place we stand in.”

[ryogai]

@virusvirtue​ commented : guess she won't mind if jason makes himself room in her blanket cocoon. both of their body heats will double the warmth!

There were no complaints to be had at all since it was Jason. Nix was more then happy to move in order to make room for the beloved Saber.. Though she decided the best way to do that was to move onto his lap, resting against his chest. “I feel much warmer now. Thank you, Jason~.” And he got a kiss on the cheek as well.

[getsuruito]

he's officially on caligula's shit list for messing with his beloved niece. hope you like being constantly tailed by a berserker, tanba.

"I adore fans of all kinds! Even rabid ones! Maybe if this one's lucky, I'll sign something for them, too, like an auto-whatyoucallit-graph thing." Likely one signed in the Berserker's own blood, if anything.

[nobuverse]

@virusvirtue​ ( Mori ) ll Okita SC

“I heard you were trapped in a metal suit”  It’s a half-hearted attempt at bantering at best - only driven by the fact that Okita knew they’d have have to work together at some point if they were to help restore humanity. 

“Must have been hard. Technology is an awful thing, isn’t it?”

It’s a jab not made out of a playful nature, but contempt. She knew how much Nobunaga had relied advancements for her campaign of terror, after all. 

[unwcvering]

@virusvirtue​ said:

🍫 (teach your good friend iskandar about these strange customs he's confusion)

pocky pocky game || no longer accepting

       Shouldn’t the Grail handle these matters? It certainly gave Servants necessary knowledge to exist well enough in the modern era, but it clearly didn’t cover cultural specific information. Eyeing the box of Pocky held out to him, the Caster all but snatched it from Iskandar’s hands and sulked, trying to figure out how he was going to go about explaining the entire game to someone like the other. “It’s... a game. Not a video game, but a game two people play together with the biscuits.” Perhaps he could have made it like a lesson and break it down into simple steps and explanations to paint a better, and less embarrassing, picture. 

       Opening the box, Waver held up one of the sticks by the unfrosted end, pointed to the opposite end. “You see,” he began, his scowl ever present despite how it began to resemble more of a pout than anything else. “One person will hold an end in their mouth while the other person will hold the opposite. They’ll take small bites, and whoever makes their end break, then they lose. However, if the two people meet in the middle, then I suppose, if their lips happen to meet, then that is their fault.” He paused, waiting for all of it to sink into Iskandar’s head, before he took a bite of the stick and sighed. “I cannot say I ever played nor would I ever. I would rather not eat candy that has been someone else’s mouth.”

[koorinohebi]

[imperiumsaber-archive]

@virusvirtue​ said: time for uncle to RAGE in the name of rome & his precious niece !!!!

UMU!!!!! YAY!!! UNCLE WILL HELP!!

[oldestking]

@virusvirtue​​​ said : door (from diar)   /  from:   ❛   ( ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . )   𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

                        𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 . Chaldea was a place filled with endless heroic spirits, the majority if not all were merely unimportant existences to the king, existences that barely deserved his recognition, and this one- this lancer.... His existence was also unimportant to the caster, yet despite his own denial brought by his own sense of pride, his action brought him a certain sense of nostalgia. 

Servitude. Used to a life where everything was submitted to his will, one would be surprised to find that even after all those years, habits were not something so easily eroded, and even to this very day, when it came down to how he was addressed, it ended up being no surprise that Gilgamesh still carried himself with the same pride and mighty aura he used to bathe himself with back during those ancient times.

The door was held open for him, a simple act of courtesy as one would say, but still something Gilgamesh took for granted even to this day, for reactions such as these were expected and were nothing but an obligation those under him had to follow.

Curiously enough, despite his airs of grandeur, Gilgamesh could not hold himself from sparing a short glance at the individual in question-  A tall man of similar height with long dark hair combed backwards with a single strand of hair hanging down his face. Pleasant to the eye, a man who wielded a certain sense of elegance to him, nothing more to mention. As nothing particularly stroke an interest in him, no words of praise were gifted to the man, and in such a way, the king only proceeded to keep walking past him, leaving only the gift of barely having acknowledged his existence for a mere couple of seconds.

[kiicho]

@virusvirtue​ said: so cute!!! like her (mori seconds this)

  kichō holding mori’s face like “ ur the only retainer i trust in this place ”

[madamhatter]

"I hate what I've become." (archer)

Mission plans and strategies lined from one end of the long sterile table, from left to right, haggard breath leaves the woman stationed at its front. Bandaged palms resting on either side of the end, her fingers strum against the metallic surface with her eyes probing through the latest changes to her latest concoction. 

Bunched copper locks falling over her shoulder from its high ponytail as she leans in. Black marker twirls between her left hand, inked end exposed, as she makes several markings over to her left-hand side - - a particular and crudely made map of a smaller sector that had been a ‘difficulty for others - servants and summoners - in the last attempt. 

Alone is her preference, if not a lifestyle adapted to after all these years. A hindrance exists in her typical set-up, considering the lingering ghost liners who seem to linger longer than she liked them to. No point of voice complaints or discomfort, she tells herself, it is wasted breath of mine, and it is no one’s concern to my likings. 

Today has been none other than Archer - a relationship that was professionally sound but personally hazardous. Stifled silence fills the room as the woman works through her proposals, and he takes himself to be engrossed in the quiet. Usually, his form was elsewhere. Mingling with the maternal types of the Servant pool in the kitchen, or working through another of the masters, providing some instruction on how to handle themselves in combat, for example. 

Lately, however, a budding concern grows in her chest. Intuition pesters her oft and hasn’t proven itself to be wrong. Unfortunately, its subject happens to be one persistent and prickly to delving into those more sensitive concerns. And she’d rather spare themselves a splitting headache and a week-long war of spitefulness if it ended up boiling down to that again. 

Yet, the latest cast of striking similar faces has been causing a bit of issue in Chaldea. Add in complete strangers that made him recoil and baffle in a way that Sophie has been keeping note of. 

“I h__e wh_ ___ be____..” 

Her head turns to face the distant Archer. His eyes glaze, looking elsewhere from the world around them. Has disjointed memories from his saint graph stolen his attention at that moment? Had the steeled mask slip for a moment? 

The Servant has been in a typical hypocritical fashion for the past week; she recollects her memories. Unfiltered speech and rampant cynicism were in his flavor of speech and explanations, but actions were a different matter - unexpectedly taking himself to be a particular guardian for the younger Servants and younger candidates in the base. 

Lately, however, there has been something adrift in that mind of his’. Pinpointing the cause befuddled the spellcaster. Eyes drift back to drawn-out Singularity before her and back to the servant. The everburning city. Not a complete confusion, one should say, but fragmented is the answer that she scavenges throughout the lines of his reactions and their lack of words. Honest is he, but truthful is he not - he chooses when to be so and can withhold anything he could tell her and the world. 

Pushing herself from the table, the candidate folds her hands behind her back and approaches without reservation. Cloudy gray eyes do not acknowledge her as she stands before him, but his gaze moves elsewhere. Her feet steady do not steady for a stop, keeping her face forward, feigning ignorance for the words that spilled from his lips. 

And what will all that hate do for you besides worsen your spurn and spite? What would you say if I manage to tell you that, Archer? What abrasive word will I receive?

But those are your secrets and none of which I will never rattle out of you. Better that you feel something of the present rather than nothing at all. Apathy will rot you wholly and make you something as terrible as me. 

No matter how many pages you’ve lived, nor how many lives taken, nor how many regrets befallen you, what you’ve become is not what you’ll remain. Archer, you still have hope - even if underneath all that rugged ego and pride is something that relents to an annoying degree. You still have hope. Best carry it close and protectively while you still have this time, young man. 

“Here.” Sophie pushes a hot mug of black tea into his worn hands -- arousing some wake to his person. There isn’t any objection nor choice of refusing the tea, considering the look on her face. What demonic speed does this woman even have--?! 

“You look a bit under the weather, dear,” she hums, smiling as she practiced countless times. “This might clear your mind of whatever’s been troubling it.” 

“Would you like a snack too? I think what I’ve made yesterday may be of use for you...” before a childish scold replaces her perfected smile. “...That is, unless those gluttons raided the kitchen again when they knew I wouldn’t be there!” A harsh sigh. “You think they’d learn their lessons after I was forced to take action and get my broom.”