#⊰Fizzling Interference⊱ Crack

[anxious-acorn]

Trust Me

A ‘Black Coffee’ universe side story

Summary: Alastor’s experience with Vox all those years ago.

Acorn Note: CW/TW. Please be kind to yourself and skip if you need to. This is already known information in the main story, so please don’t think you’re missing anything crazy important if you skip. ❤️

“Shhh, it’s alright. Just trust me. I love you- I would never hurt you; trust me…”

Why was this voice so soothing and comforting, when Alastor was so very UNcomfortable. Vox wasn’t necessarily lying, was he? The picture box wasn’t hurting him… Not physically, at least.

Large clawed hands pawed and groped at his chest, and as one slid down his ribs, Alastor fought through the fizzling fog of his mind. The hand wrapped completely around his waist, and Vox groaned as he squeezed at what little fat the other demon possessed.

Why wasn’t he doing something? Anything. He was the Radio Demon. He could drop this walking picture box easily. The other demon wasn’t paying attention to Alastor’s discomfort- almost seeming in his own little world as his tongue slipped between Alastor’s teeth. He could bite that tongue off. Rip the picture box to absolute shreds.

But why? Why couldn’t he just. Move! Break through the peaceful veil, and end one of the only relationships that had (up to this moment) made him feel loved. Safe.

“God Al, I love you, but you could use a little mouthwash,” Vox chuckled through his moans after pulling his vile tongue from his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Alastor tried to speak- tried to say anything to show Vox he had no interest in this kind of relationship. That he never cared about his dental hygiene after falling, and that it was actually a deterrent for fools just like him. He didn’t want to be kissed.

Alastor felt Vox pull him closer, hips pushing forward to press his erections into his own soft penis. Two erections. Two penises. Dear Satan, why was he allowing this to happen?

‘Help…’

Vox’s screen was warm as he rubbed against his chest with a soft moan.

“Plea… Stop thi-“

“Shhshshh, it’s okay. You’re okay Al. I want to make you feel good. Look at me, Al.” Vox cupped his face, and when Alastor looked back to the other demon, he felt a wave of calm rush over him.

No, not calm. Hypnosis. The picture box was trying to hypnotize him. The Radio Demon.

He didn’t want any of this. He was losing another friend… No, they’d never truly been friends, not if this is what the picture box had been planning all along.

“Trust me.”

Crimson eyes melted into black as Alastor pushed back this time. Panic began forming in Vox’s eyes as the Radio Demon thrust him back from the sheer force of his responding interference, a loud boom sounding in the air.

With the loud distraction, Alastor felt his mind finally begin to clear, and he was shaking. Fear was there, yes, but over it- above all else was rage. Pure, unfiltered, brokenhearted fury.

Vox had yet to rise, perhaps trying to delay his retribution. Alastor stalked slowly over to glare down at the cracked glass of his screen, smile wide and sinister as he stabbed his cane into the other demon’s chest.

“I had wondered if perhaps one day you would wish to test that little trick out on me; I’d even planned on allowing it- should you have asked.” He ground and circled the end of his cane, enjoying the pained turn those moans had taken.

“Well I must say, my dear, I’m quite glad now that I never offered. Now that I know what was playing in that contemptible little mind.”

Vox groaned under him, his screen going blue before black, and the demon was gone. Not the most satisfying of murders, but you can’t exactly draw a man’s pain out when his heart is playing host to the business end of a cane.

Alastor stayed there for a while, staring down at what used to be one of his best and closest friends. He couldn’t contain the swirl of emotion filling his being, and he could just only shadow himself back to his home, and up into his radio tower.

The Radio Demon began to pace as he willed himself not to think about what had almost happened. What Vox was willing to do to someone he claimed to care about- love even…

Alastor felt as though his body wanted to burst, the shivers coming without him even noticing. He was okay. Nothing had happened. He was perfectly safe and unharmed.

So why did he feel like his whole world was falling apart? Why did he feel as though his skin was too tight?

‘Everything is alright, old boy. Nothing important happened. I made it out. I’m alright. I’m…’

He felt so incredibly UNsafe. His radio tower was the safest place in Pride. He had no reason to feel this way.

With a snarling growl, he began pulling at his hair- yanking and ripping. Anything to lessen the chaotic torrential agony slicing him from the inside.

Hours passed as Alastor worked to calm himself. A day passed and the pain gave way to a soothing numbness. He worked to control those feelings- and eventually it became incrementally better.

Years passed, and Alastor made new friends (well, owned souls, but who’s counting). Rosie and Mimzy kept his spirits relatively high with their visits, but there was always that crackling in his chest from misuse.

Vox seemed to gain power relatively quickly, teaming up with a couple of other overlords as his business grew, and though Alastor had gone about his life, he never seemed quite able to shake the picture box. So he leaned in, and antagonized in return. Only if the other demon fired shots first, but he always had the last laugh.

Walking toward a new butcher shop he’d spied, Alastor passed by a technology store, new large picture boxes filled the glass display, and though he still felt a twinge of discomfort, Alastor walked calmly past, unbothered smile quite literally stitched in place under the surface of his typical form. He’d done that when he fell- never let the enemy see you hurt.

The screens slowly began changing as he passed them, the regular programming switching to a giant visage of the new, unimproved Vox staring down at him. It boiled his blood, but Alastor paused in his steps briefly to look back at the picture box. ‘Cultish fucker,’ he thought, giving an exaggerated sigh to interrupt the hypnotized souls watching the screens.

“Too bad there’s nothing good on these days…”

He continued walking, noticing a couple of the previously hypnotized demons walk away, but the majority of the crowd went back to watching. The screens changed to a VoxTech commercial, and Alastor had to force himself not to shudder at the all too familiar words leaving Vox’s mouth.

“Trust me!”

——-///////://———////////:

End.

[lovelessbachelor]

9, 11 and 15 for the ask game mwah mwah meah /plat <333

Mwah Mwah Mwah! Okay, I admit I had a lot of fun with this one. So. Long read ahead X'D

a radio fizzles to life, crackling with energy. The broadcast begins, illuminating sharp, tinny voices.

Oh, why, would you look at that! We got our first questions, O joy!

there's the sound of shuffling papers, and someone's throat is cleared.

Okay, these come from blog name cinnamon-phrog. Prynhawn da, Caru! Or, I suppose it is nos, now. I hope you're doing well.

Let's get crack into these queries! Dear, you've been quiet… These questions ARE to you, you know…

A second voice cuts through the static, curling the air, the accent seems unfamiliar.

Ey, yeah, yeah, I know. Ya neva lemme come in ere when ya on air.

Well, I'm also not on air very often. Since when do you keep count?

I don't, but, ey, maybe ya do instead. Ya seem the real bees knees at this thing.

there's a slight pause, a chair creaks.

Aha. Trying to stall? What, you don't think you have the voice for radio?

a splutter can be heard through the static, or it's a spike of interference.

Nah! As if, brah! Your voice was made for radio, anyway, ya can't say nuffin, muffin.

EW, don't call me that. And you'll be fine, we have a script.

Das not a-

there's the sound of frantically shuffling pages getting picked up by the microphone.

Shhhh, stalling!!!

Right, first question :

the host clears his throat, and a beat on the table gets picked up, from the wafery sound of a page being flipped, you can surmise on what it was.

Fresh, whats my beige flag?

…Ya what now? Ya don't even like beige, n'less is like a light brown.

No, no, not like that. I'll be entirely transparent and admit I don't quite know what it is, either. Perhaps the middle of a red flag, and a green flag?

Ohhh, ya, alrigh. I geddit.

Do ya, Fresh? Do ya?

AAAH, shuddup. Oh, ya, I got one.

there's another swell of static smearing the sound, picking up suddenly.

He keeps on tryna-

No I don't!

Yeah, ya do! Ya aaaalways like hey for no particular reason can I measure ya a minute and I ask why and ya like-

the broadcast fuzzes, it spikes like laughter.

-an I walk in on 'im with a roll a that paper and a thing on the floor-

It's PATTERN paper and a BOOK OF PATTERNS!

Ah, I caught ya!

Lies!

it cuts out again, fading in and out before settling in stronger.

Even so, I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to make you a doublet!

Yeah dere is! What am I a blood sucking, door-not-entering vampire?

it's hard to hear, but the host squeaks in amusement

No, you misunderstand! I think that you in a doublet with a peascod belly would be SO-

the connection is abruptly cut off, filling the room with angry static. When it comes back, you can make out a high whistle.

Woahhh, can ya even say dat on radio?

I'm not sure, let's just hope it didn't pick up.

And if it did?

Nnnnext question!

Fresh, what would you consider MY colour, and what would you consider yours?

Are dey seriously askin ME ya favourite colour?

Uhm, yes? Maybe. Not entirely, actually, it's more like what you'd consider MY colour. Like what you'd associate with me most, what I wear the most or something.

Pft. C'mon, homes, dat ones easy. Have ya even met dis guy? Is pretty glarin'.

Now what the [FUNK] is that supposed to mean- are you seriously still doing the censoring thing?!

EY, don't rag on me, whaddif deres kidz listening!

I suppose that's a good point. How nice of you.

Bleeehhh.

a pause, then…

! Whad was dat for!

The sweet taste of revange…

a megamind reference doesn't seem thematically appropriate, but the host will include it anyways. It's MY show, dammit!

Regardless, you still didn't answer the second half. (even if you didn't really answer the first half, either…)

Whad was dat?

Nothing.

'Key, well, I dunno. I dun have A colour, das pretty crystal.

Maybe your colour is the inclusion of all of it?

Beeep, eeeerk, big word aleeeert! Neeerd!

None of those were big words…

What's the most useless fact he knows about me…

Ya said dat out loud, sweet.

Oh, dear, did I? I was just wondering about it.

Why's dat?

Not sure. I can't predict what you could possibly say here. Not that I do anyway, but you understand what I mean.

Nah, I don't, actually.

Also, ya always start walkin on ya left foot first, and finish on da right.

Wait wha-

the sound of wood scraping against a floor can be distantly heard from the broadcast, and there is silence for a long few moments

…Oh my stars, I do. Well, it might be biased, now…

Hah!

That's crazy. Hold on… You could remember THAT and not my favourite colour?!

Dere was nuthin about dat!

Well sure. But you couldn't even answer straight about what my colour was, so I'm more than a bit suspicious.

Aw, c'mon! Ya favourite colour is… Uh… Uuuuh…

See? Viewers, it's green and purple, for the books.

Ya can't blame me, ya have two!

Yes, and your colours consist of the entire colour wheel.

Das cus I don't look bad in nuthin, baybeyyyy!

Oh, like a pair of breeches?

Nah, ya reaching.

Breeching, actually. It was and is the practice of giving a young boy his first set of trousers or, well, breeches. This is usually done around the age of 6-8 ish, so the very beginning of childhood and the end of infancy. Before this age, a child was practically-

Wait, why do I need ta know dis?

Ugh, you're no fun!

I just noticed, we got through all the questions.

What'd we get, three?

Yes, three. Now those are done we'll sign off for now til we get more questions.

Jus like dat?

Yup! Be sure to tune in!

[lover-of-mine]

Okay I've gotten, like, 5 asks about my theories on how I think Buck and T will break up in the past few hours and I don't want to screenshot them all and put them in one and also because yall can get real intense and while I do support you, I need to pick my battles lol, so have this post instead. First of all, I think everyone needs to let go of the idea that it will be perfect and calm and just fizzle out just because it is Buck's first queer relationship. Queer people are allowed to be messy, like, come on guys. And this show likes to keep their queer people messy. The first scene with Michael has May and Athena snapping at him, then we find out he's been cheating on Athena. We meet Eva before we meet Karen, so we meet Hen messy as fuck love before we meet her wife. Josh can't catch a single break. The idea that there will be nothing wrong with the relationship just because it's queer is just not it because if there were nothing wrong with the relationship the relationship wouldn't end. I think everyone is taking Tim and the "Buck is in a romcom" too seriously, there are ways to be messy without being traumatic and I want some drama because if nothing happens it will be BORING. I am begging for some spice between those two. Second, I have about 100 theories of how it could go, we just don't have enough information on s8 for me to say anything. Yes, T parallels Ali, but he also parallels Taylor, and Abby, he is all of Buck's love interest smashed into one, so he can go anywhere at this point. He could get the Ali treatment and get broken up with off-screen because the relationship isn't serious enough and they didn't make a point of establishing his connection with anyone else in 7b so they could just get rid of him if they chose to, just say he moved or whatever. He could get the Ana treatment where during the opening event they throw doubt into the relationship until it cracks. But he could very much also get the Taylor treatment and stick around who knows how long even though he's not being written as endgame. We don't really know where they are taking the story yet. Do I think Eddie is gonna play a part? Not really, not fully. But it will depend on the time jump for the season, if there's a four-month time jump, they will have been together for what? Six months? At that point to make T insecure about Eddie all of a sudden wouldn't be that easy. Unless they lean into the emotional infidelity angle, but that would pull the trigger on buddie, because you can't have T call Buck out on this without forcing Buck to think about it and realize he's right and I am actually hoping Buck has a cool-off period before jumping into buddie because Mr moving in without noticing, Mr I got an apartment because my gf needs a better place to sleep, Mr wanna help me pick a couch even tho we only had 3 dates and you actually stormed out of one, Mr wanna go with me to my sister's wedding even tho we only had half a date because you ran away needs to learn how to take a breath and not jump into the deep end and hope he won't drown. So I hope Eddie isn't a deciding factor tbh. Gerrard could create problems tho. The jealousy line of thought, well, T says he's jealous of Buck's found family with the 118 on two different occasions, a situation where T is witnessing that firsthand could create tension if they want. You could even have that focus being on how well Buck and Eddie work together without framing the whole thing to be about Eddie. Especially if Buck somehow manages to get Gerrard's respect or Buck interferes when someone is getting the Gerrard treatment, and he suggests Buck's life could be easier if kept his head low. Do I think age will be a factor? It could be? But it would depend on the circumstances, T is supposed to be in his mid-40s, Buck's 32/3, there is tension to be put there. The idea of kids keeps coming to mind with Chris being a wildcard for the season, but again, it would depend on how serious they are during s8 and how long they plan on keeping T around. And if the show will decide to make them want different things.

Personally, I think the relationship wouldn't last a lot beyond Buck's helpless crush phase, but that's a me thing, there are ways to make it plausible for the relationship to last more than the infatuation stage. And I don't see him being that long-term because of the very deliberate choice of having the camera pan to Eddie during the ceremony and the way T wasn't at the hospital. Even more, considering the way they filmed a bt scene at the hospital they didn't use. The show has a very specific way of writing endgame relationships and none of those are being used. But at this point in time, we don't know anything about season 8, so it's hard to say anything clearly because T is in a very ambiguous position. They had a conversation about taking things slow and we were shown that they are, that could be turned around in s8 where they are fully committed or it could just spiral more and more into the idea it has no depth. Or he could fully just not come back. It could go anywhere and until we find out more about the season, it all feels like fanfic planning, it's speculation and wishful thinking.

[saiyanlpkwife2013]

Midnight Siren

Chapter Five: Secrets

Romantic relationship: Hitoshi Shinso x y/n (female/AFAB)

Chapter warnings: Cursing

MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT BELOW THE "KEEP READING" BREAK.

Waking up at the ass crack of dawn is not one of your favorite things to do.

Aizawa wanted to start early in order to make the most of the individualized training sessions you would have at the training camp, which you were grateful for; however, 5:30am rolls around and you start wondering if this is gonna be worth it. You start to realize why the man always looks so tired all of the time.

You quickly get dressed in a tank top and athletic leggings and head towards the dining hall, remembering that breakfast would likely consist of just toast that you would make yourself this morning. Upon entering, you see Aizawa already there with a cup of coffee.

“Morning.” He says sleepily. “I trust you completed your assignment last night and slept well.” It was a statement more so than a question. To be honest, you were surprised that he was chatty at all this morning.

“Yes sir, I did. I’m looking forward to learning new ways to use my quirk to its full potential and I have some ideas that I am excited to experiment with.” 

“Very good. Once Shinso joins us, we can get started.”

You two enjoy a comfortable silence while you butter your toast and Aizawa lazily sips at his warm beverage. A cursory glance at the man, no one would expect someone so dedicated to his students. His overall aura came off as detached but to someone paying attention, quite the opposite is true.

In the short amount of time that you had been under his wing, you already started to see him as a father figure. Of course, this wasn’t hard considering the man you called father was, well, everything you DIDN’T need. Maybe that’s why you so appreciated the man in front of you. He offered you accountability but also understanding, whether he realized it or not. Even if you becoming a hero somehow fizzled out, there’s no way you would ever regret transferring since it meant that you had him as someone to look up to.

Suddenly, the door to the dining hall opens and in walks the indigo haired man. Geez, he looks almost worse than he did yesterday. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep very well. 

Aizawa noticed this too, though didn’t necessarily say anything about this out loud. You heard him think to himself, I guess the insomnia is still a problem. Hmmm… We will have to have this addressed at some point, otherwise it could affect his fighting ability… His mind wandered off, considering possible solutions while simultaneously remembering that coffee was going to be the only thing that would help him get through the day. His mind quickly became a soft background noise to you.

“Good morning, Shinso. I hope you slept well.” You say brightly, though already knowing the answer to your sentiment was the exact opposite.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. You notice a soft blush run across his face and the tips of his ears at the sound of your voice. You hear Shit.

“Everything alright?” You ask when your initial greeting was met with silence. Plus the internal “shit” had you a bit concerned.

“Yeah, sorry, couldn’t sleep.” 

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “I trust that this won’t interfere with your training today.”

“No sir, it won’t. I’ll manage fine. It’s not like this is a new problem for me.” Except for the fact that I can’t look at her right now without having a DIFFERENT problem.

Confused, you tilt your head slightly but decide to drop it. After all, you didn’t want to raise any suspicion regarding your “secret” quirk so you offer something else instead.

“I know it’s none of my business, so please, if I’m out of line, I do apologize. I was just wondering if perhaps I could help with your sleeping issue.”

Aizawa looks at you with an inquisitive expression while Shinso seems more embarrassed than anything. 

Holy fuck. Is she suggesting what I think she is?

“My...uh...quirk can change the emotional atmosphere. If you are having issues falling asleep, I could try to help by introducing a sleepy atmosphere for you. Just a suggestion though. It may not even work.” You know damn well that it will but not wanting to cause him any more distress than he already seems to be experiencing, you shrug off your own proposition.

Is that really her quirk? Why would that be a secret? Wait, am I supposed to even know this?...Shit, her fucking clothes are—

You cut him off before he can finish his thought. “Anyway! You don’t have to accept. I just can sympathize with not being able to sleep very well and—“

“That might be something to consider, Shinso. We can revisit this later. Right now, we have training to do.” Aizawa ends the discussion and gets up from his seat at the table, making his way to exit the dining hall.

You look over to Shinso and you see him intensely inspecting a spot on the ground, refusing to look your way.

“Well, I suppose we better get going.”

“Yeah.” And he quickly walks off without meeting your gaze.

This is going to be a long two weeks.

~*~

You had gone ahead of the two men in an effort to try to have a few more moments of mental silence. You understood where you would be training today thanks to a few quick thoughts running through Aizawa’s mind and you took it upon yourself to let the two of them walk together.

***

Shinso walks beside Aizawa looking at the ground with hands in his pockets, quietly mulling over the most recent interaction he had with you in the dining hall. 

“Everything alright?” Aizawa asks without looking in his direction.

“Yeah, well, um. Actually, I’m just more confused than anything.”

“Go on.”

“Well, sir, I didn’t think I was supposed to know what her quirk is and I’m confused as to why it was so casually referenced back in the dining hall.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And…” He waited for his mentor to elaborate further.

“And nothing. It’s not my place.”

Shinso then shifts his focus ahead of him, seeing you walk in the far distance towards your mutual destination, eyebrows furrowed. The HELL does that mean?

“Look, I understand your confusion; however, I must leave the explanation up to Y/N. Just remember: Things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes half truths or misdirections are necessary. I am hopeful that she might open up to you during these next two weeks. You two have a lot in common which is a large part as to why Principal Nezu and I thought this training course was a good idea. I do feel the need to warn you though: Should she divulge any of her information to you, especially regarding the nature of her quirk, you will be expected to honor the knowledge with the utmost discretion. I trust that you understand I do not do things without reason. With that said, it should be painfully obvious that if you should go against my advice, it could directly affect how you do in the hero course. Understand?” 

Shinso’s eyes widen slightly at the gravity of what is being said to him.

“Y-yes sir.” What the HELL is this shit?

“Very good. With that out of the way, let’s get today started.”

~*~

You have already reached the outdoor space that the three of you had been headed. It was a somewhat rocky terrain, with cliffs and boulders scattered throughout the area. You take a moment to familiarize yourself with your surroundings, bringing to mind the various evasive training moves you learned as it feels as though you might need to reference that knowledge sooner rather than later…

Walking up to join you in the middle of the training area, Shinso makes eye contact with you for the first time this morning. You offer a slight reassuring smile as it is obvious that he is embarrassed about something as it relates to you. His heart rate increased ever so slightly causing the atmosphere to feel a little more tense than it did previously.

You resist the urge to use Vibe since you had not received permission to do so from your teacher. Besides, he may not have even noticed the sudden change in the emotional air. 

That was just something you were hypersensitive to.

Aizawa walks forward between the two of you until you both are faced with his back. Without turning around, Aizawa keeps his hands in his pockets and begins the explanation of today’s training.

“Today, I have decided to assess where your physical weaknesses lie. Even though you both have quirks that are more suited for stealth opts rather than all out hand-to-hand combat, it would be best to make sure that you are prepared to attack and defend yourselves when that time arrives. Today’s instructions are simple: Shinso,” His eyes flick up to meet his mentor’s piercing gaze as he turns around, “you are to attempt to capture Y/N with the binding cloth.” Shinso’s eyes widen, taking in the instructions he has just been given. Up until now, he had just been attempting to master the scarf on its own, trying to force it to bend to his will. Now he is expected to actually CAPTURE someone?

Great. A chance to make a fool of myself. Just what I have been waiting for.

You chuckle internally at his self-deprecating sarcasm then suddenly

Wait, that means he’s expected to capture—

“Y/N,” Aizawa cuts through your thoughts, intent on finishing his instructions. “Your objective is to not get caught. Understood?”

You nod hesitantly, praying to gods your muscle memory from your evasive training won’t fail you now.

“Very well. To keep you motivated, there is a consequence to every failed capture attempt and failed evasion.” You and Shinso briefly steal a glance at each other, dreading what your teacher has in mind for punishment.

“Each time one of you fails to succeed in your objective, you will need to run two times around the training facility. So, if Y/N fails to avoid capture 3 times, she will need to run 6 laps around the facility. Understood?”

You both nod. I guess it could be worse.

“Think of it as cardio which will assist in endurance training as well. Now, one more thing: You will not be allowed to use your quirks during this exercise. I know it seems counterintuitive, however, building up your physical strength and agility is important. In the event that you are unable to use your quirk to aid in the task at hand, you will still need to be able to offer assistance in the fight against villains.”

Makes sense but it’s not like I can turn off mind reading. I’ll just have to do my best to ignore them...

You look again over to Shinso. His hands absentmindedly twisting around the binding cloth, thoughts leaking out of his mind regarding strategy. You switch your gaze over to Aizawa, wanting to ask out loud—

“Y/N, I understand that there...is a part of your abilities that you cannot shut off.” You gulp. “Just do your best to keep the fight fair.”

Wait, what? Goddamn, this is frustrating. 

You wince a little but not enough for either of them to notice. You didn’t want to be the cause of frustration in your fellow classmate. In fact, you were really hoping that the two of you could become closer. Something about Shinso seemed so...genuine. You really didn’t want to screw up any chance of you two becoming friends. You wish you could just explain.

But that would just mess everything up before anything could develop.

No, I have to stick to my guns. He’ll just have to be frustrated. There’s nothing I can do about it.

“Alright,” Aizawa states over his shoulder as he turns to walk towards the edge of the rocky clearing. “Begin.”

[celayawitcher]

Celaya's shoulders were a touch heavy as they spoke to one another, though eyes edged with a sense of ferocity met Freydis' next, "The world has always been this dark, it's just becoming more obvious now, more bold." She did not believe it hadn't always been in hiding, shifting and trickling out slowly unto the world until it became too vast to ignore. Such darkness was even present within the witcher trials, how they were meant to be these bastions of light, but had been imbued with such cruelty as they slayed magic users that were hearkened as monsters.

Determination melded with such ferocity; Celaya was not proficient in planning nor scheming, but she'd had her ideas, none of which were savory for her wellbeing. "Just stand back and only interfere if I pass out," she didn't give Freydis a moment to process this, stepping forth as the antimagic swirled around her and the a'dam was held in front of her. Shadowy tendrils of this antimagic warped around her hand, encircling the a'dam and curling around her fingers as the point of contact seemed to meld and erupt with static tension. Celaya bit her tongue and through the agony of the jolt through her body she could still taste the iron tang of blood on her palate.

A fizzling crack that echoed in the stillness of the air was heard next, the magic from the barrier warping and expanding as tears rolled down Celaya's face and sweat creased across her brow. It seemed it would be a success, Celaya pushing forth against the resistance of the barrier, the a'dam melded with her magic this oppressive pinpoint that slowly pushed against what was keeping them within. It worked until it didn't; much like a rubber band pushed to the most taught point, the magic snapped back, the a'dam flung from her hands and Celaya dropped as the antimagic curled slowly back up her arm, seemingly disappearing into her chest while the witcher remained sprawled and crumpled on the ground.

It felt as if her joke had not landed, though this was hardly the time or the place for humor. She considered herself lucky Celaya didn’t outright scowl at her–that was good enough. Each of them must have so much anger in their systems that anything other than a display of aggression was welcome to Freydis. Wrath was best saved for any remaining stray Kossith. Freydis almost shrunk under Celaya’s comments on her sense of emotion. This was not the first time such a thing had been brought up, a voicing of an opinion that she was too much, things said that made her feel overly invested or clingy or meddlesome and unwanted, that her bleeding heart was an achilles heel rather than a virtue. But as Celaya continued to speak it became clear she meant this as praise. 

Freydis was no better at accepting compliments than she was at insults and she seemed suddenly sheepish. “All we have is each other,” she responded after a momentary pause, “whether on this vessel, or back in Iskaldrik, or Lysara. The world is becoming a darker place to live, and I think we lose sight of that sometimes—how vital it is to look after one another.” 

The pair of them stood idle for a few moments looking at their options, and Freydis was borderline entertained by the mental image she adopted of two children standing shoulder to shoulder, too scared to run up and knock on the door of some allegedly haunted house waiting for the other to be the brave one. That was what the a’dam felt like to her–a phantom presence, a haunting despite it being a mere piece of metal. Celaya had the heart of iron between the two of them it turned out. “How do you intend to test it?” she asked, knowing her sole ideal was to throw the wretched contraption. It probably would not result in any outcome except for the pair of them looking ridiculous.

[fatal-statique-archived]

“Ah yes, another fine day here in hell, with horny stags in rut on main, crass and tasteless humor everywhere, is there truly nothing new? It truly is Stag-ering”

[ar-vodun-transmissions]

@goodspiritradio

Just dooting the kazoo walking back to the hotel, hearing a faint kazooing in the distance, eyes following the sound find the previously dangling human at the top of the hotel sign. The question was, does she get them down? or leave them to fall? Red eyes lit up, now there was an idea, walking closer to the hotel a shadow slithers up the building and to where the mortal was hanging, without warning the shadow cuts away the cloth holding Alistair up, causing the poor man to freefall 14 stories before landing comfortably in the arms of the tall demoness.

“Well hello there, darling, didn’t take you for the type to fall over yourself.”

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

The Day the Ocean Erupted

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Allusions to death, drowning, pain, storms, thunder, rain

~ * ~

You remember the day the ocean erupted.

You’d been in your office, at 2 PM exactly, pen in hand and ink spotting your fingers, the culprits a stack of papers in the upper corner. The sun had filtered through your window and casted shining streamers on your desk as you wrote, typical of Liyue’s golden summers. You tapped your pen against your chin- how to phrase this next sentence? Should you focus on one or two types of silk? You hummed contemplatively, then scribbled a few more words. Sturdiness- that was important to mention in a report, especially one about something elegant like silk. The room filled with a comforting silence as you wrote word after word on the paper in the delicate warmth of the sun.

The first drop came and went without attention. But it was soon followed by another. And another. And another, until the sky was shedding all its tears into the streets and ocean of the city. Your pen had fallen from your grasp with a resounding clatter as you stood to peer outside the window, your eyes narrowed. Rain? In Liyue? Now? It was ridiculous.

Then something burst out of the ocean and you fell backwards in shock, pushing yourself away from the window despite being on one of the upper levels of the harbor. You rushed downstairs and pushed your door open, catching glimpses of an enormous serpentine creature rising from the waters as people rushed up and down the streets in a panic. The rain poured down in buckets, drenching everything and everyone, and all around there’s a frenzy of screaming, shouting, yelling, the same phrase reworded a thousand times, The Fatui did this, it’s the Fatui’s fault, the Fatui are to blame, and you could only think of one thing- your associate, your acquaintance, your companion.

Your friend.

Childe. Where was he? Vanished to the Golden House, they told you, but not as Childe, as Tartaglia, the Harbinger. For business, he said.

But soon you were swept up with the waves of screaming, and the thought had been lost.

That was weeks ago, when the Traveler had harnessed the power of the Adepti and defeated the old god Osial, with a final blow from Lady Ningguang’s Jade Chamber to seal him in the sea. The entire nation held its breath as Fatui activity wavered, dropped, then fizzled out completely. Life returned to normal, the seasons rolling by like a sigh of relief as reassuring whispers spread the news that the Fatui were finally, finally stopping their irritating interferences with the harbor.

You finish your final words and set your pen down, a thoughtful frown prominent on your face. You’ve never really been affected by the Fatui. For the most part they simply existed, a rumored plague on the Liyue Qixing with their endless meddling, but to you they were simple guards standing near doors and on the docks. On occasion when you had to wait there you would make conversation, to which most of them would respond to either in earnest or slightly tense surprise. For all their supposed horrid tendencies and practices and nosiness, you had found that many of the Fatui were, quite simply, people; people from a different nation and far away from home. People who had their own interests and likes and dislikes. People who had their own reasons and dreams and realities.

People who had all vanished when the last ripple in the ocean had stilled. And among them, your friend Childe, the Eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia. He was the only Fatui you would really consider a friend, the others being mere acquaintances. He was always teasingly kind to you, offering to get you a meal or asking to spend some offtime together. You, ever-suspicious, had often refused, but he was persistent and determined to chip down your walls one by one. And when they shook and crumbled your friendship had blossomed, despite the odd melancholy in his eyes whenever he looked at you, a question you never knew the answers to.

All this he was. But he was gone now, you suppose, following the tall, elegant woman you had seen exiting the Northland Bank to the mysterious depths of Inazuma. He looked so exhausted, outwardly appearing as tired as you sometimes felt inside, and your brow pinches.

You sigh and set your pen to the side before rising from your chair, cursing yourself for contemplating old memories. You don’t expect Childe to return anytime soon, if ever, so perhaps some thoughts are best left packaged in their pretty boxes scattered around the attic of your mind. The door swings open as you slip on your coat- it’s chilly outside, and you walk to the teashop for a new blend and distraction from the conflicting turmoil in your head.

The rain begins just as you hurry back home, having forgotten your umbrella in a moment of carelessness. Liyue’s winters, while cold and biting, never froze the storms that encroached almost every other day, instead letting icy droplets of slush fall on people’s backs and clothes. The clouds shield the few stars in the sky from view, blocking out the moon and turning the raindrops an inky black. You shove your door open and immediately shut and lock it again with a sigh of relief, shaking out your clothes and rubbing your chilled hands together. Your breathing is the only sound in the house, and your bones soon settle with a deep chill as the pressing quiet seems more and more foreboding. You cock your head to the side and hear an ever-so-faint rustling sound, and you pick up your weapon before making your way down the hall.

When you reach the living room you blink in surprise. Unlike what you expected, nothing is broken, not a dish is out of place, no drawers are flung open and riffled through. Nothing is wrong, nothing is out of order, your limited vision tells you, but a cold breeze sends goosebumps down your arms and you make your way over to the ajar window, very nearly bumping into furniture several times. You fumble with the latch and pull the window shut, dragging the curtain closed as if to cover the rain with elegant patterns and cloth, and for a few moments, you listen to the steady pour outside as it creates a chiming melody on the roof and glass.

Something breathes next to you. You whirl away in shock, clutching your weapon tightly. Something is here with you, watching you across the room, observing your every move as you hurry to light a match for some semblance of sight, the lamps in your house completely useless right now. The match strikes and connects, a yellow flame bursting to life, flickering like a firefly. You hold it up and come face-to-face with a single eye. Enormous and pearly, it gleams softly in the darkness, although whether it is blue or purple you cannot say. Sharp, plated red armor surrounds it, mask-like and curling into twin horns. The creature’s skin is also armored and bony, shades of purple and black with occasional splashes of red or silver, covered by a pair of translucent, sparkling wings like the deepest sea. It towers over you, claws and teeth razor sharp even in the persisting gloom, and you gasp and stumble away in terror. The starry wings and deep, rich colors, and the feeling it emanates, of being crushed and drowned by shining waves…

An Abyssal creature, some sort of monstrous beast from the depths of your world. It must be.

You back away from it, your chest tight with fear and the thought of death, of dying at the hands of this monster, holding your weapon so tightly you fear it might crack in your grip.

You’ve never been a fighter, only practical enough to keep a weapon you could use nearby. Between you and the creature, the creature would win with a simple swipe of its claws, and you would bleed out on the floor until you didn’t exist anymore, just another body lost to the infinite ocean.

But there is no attack, no clashing, no burning, searing pain, only a soft, sad whimper. You open your eyes and see the creature reaching out to you, crawling across the floor like standing causes it agony, as it lets out a broken and desperate wail. You take a step back again, then a step forward, your fear seeping out of you. Holding the match higher, you lean forward and squint, dots of color bleeding into the environment.

Ginger. Wondrously fluffy ginger hair, although it's wet with rainwater, and a single streak of white like snow.

You know who, and you say who before you even think who, uttering out it’s, his, name in a hushed whisper.

Childe.

Your weapon forgotten, you stand shellshocked in a corner of the room, so still and frozen that Childe himself attempts to rise to his feet, only to fall back to the ground with a pained cry, a sound that snaps your thoughts like shattering ice as you rush to support him. He scratches his claws on the ground, hiccupping, sobbing, whining tearfully at a pain you can’t see. You place a hand on the side of his face and he leans into it, almost slumping to the ground as he brings his hand up to cover your own. He stares at you, pained and suffering, with the same melancholy as before, a melancholy you now understand means I cannot love you, even though I so wish to, it is forbidden by fate and stars, and your heart breaks. 

You pick up a distant rumble of thunder, and Childe yelps in fear, wrapping his claws around you and pressing his face into your side, trembling. Your fingers stroke through his hair, running down the sides of his face and horns, and his sobs die to labored breathing as exhaustion finally overtakes him and lets his body relax.

You remember the day the ocean poured down from the sky. It was now, in a dark room with a pinprick flame of light, holding the consequences of the Abyss.

[kazeofthemagun]

He could not say he was thrilled about the ideas of mortals meddling in their mission - but Salvation seemed to drag them towards himself like a magnet wherever he went. How ironic, for members of his ilk to survive only to willingly march to their death in the footsteps of their immortal liege.

At least, that was what Revon would do, if only given the chance. Oh yes, the Black Wind knew the flavor of devotion; But he also knew practicality from foolishness, potential from the waste thereof. There was nothing to be found for the knight at his prince's side but oblivion.

And yet, if he wished to throw his life away in such a manner, Kaze did not care enough to stop him. In fact, something told him interference would only further sour his and White Cloud's relations, brittle as they were. Revon's agency was his own and it was not his to encroach on that truth - the best he could do was warn him.

It was not his job to try to save everyone and break down trying.

...And if that warning seeded fear, good. There was nothing to hide about how insignificant they all were in the face of Chaos. Just as their worlds had been. Billions dead and never buried. Billions silenced for eternity, all they had ever known and loved fizzling out like cooling stars.

The Black Wind allowed the other to finish speaking before taking a moment to mull over the elder's words. His silence, so thoroughly cultivated, parted to make space for words of his own.

"There is a thing beyond speech in this place, so heed this: There is nothing you can do to protect him."

And your death will cause grief. All over again. Over and over and over will the cracks mar the once-pristine surface of Salvation until he is far beyond his own name's power.

A bleak part of the Wind wished vehemently that these people had stayed dead along with the rest of Misterica. Was it a burning envy? A soul of darkness crying out for those he himself had lost? Perhaps. Perhaps, that was a part of it. He never claimed to be perfect, to be without fault - unstained by deep and black desires. However, it was an undeniable facet of the situation that the Mistericans' presence raised an issue yet greater: they were meat for Chaos.

Appetizing, beyond appetizing - to claim those close to the Cloud and twist them in infinite languages of pain til they forgot their own tongue in ceaseless screaming. Was that.. what Chaos would have done to Aura? Her death back on Windaria may have been a mercy.

He considered the idea of telling Revon the true nature of the Unlimited's curse. That they could not perish, and thus were forced to suffer the death of all those they loved as though their very existence invited calamity. At least, that was the truth for the Wind himself. He was Destruction, after all - it was only natural his name would doom those around him.

So he detached himself, made his presence one of thick hide and jutting thorns. Indifference, given form: he could make strides to do good, to minimize suffering, but he could never cherish another as he once did in his mortal life - not when he was keenly aware his devotion was a death sentence. The same could not be said about Salvation.

A creature whose greatest strength, and greatest downfall, was his love. Where the skin of the Wind's heart was as though coarse leather, his was raw from constant torture, a self-inflicted hell borne of trust and hope alike. Salvation, who was ever ready to welcome others into his embrace, even when their actions - or their own suffering - would drive stakes into his gut.

After a small pause for thought, Kaze continued in the same night-deep monotone, so jarring in the face of the horrors he described.

"The only thing that will come from your presence here... that beast will pick you apart bone by bone while he watches."

Perhaps, for those dear to the Unlimited, death itself was but a mercy.

·:¨༺ ✩★✩ ༻¨:·. If he was going to answer the Windarian's question honestly he would have replied in confirmation but decides it better to simply let the comment pass all together. He doesn't have time for this. He needs to know what the prince is scared of and what happened to him. He needs to know why he saw two dragons in the sky thirteen years ago, open fire on each other bringing about each other's demise.

"The fifth Lord was the worst of them all. He's an immortal demon that cannot be killed. A devil wearing mortal flesh. Truly that man is hell incarnate."

He can hear the prince's voice in his mind as his liege described to them the residents of a place called Gaudium and the fifth Lord - the Lord Makenshi - he was Pilvi himself..... And the knight thinks about it he finds himself getting stuck on the word 'immortal'. Is that what made these God vessels special? It would make sense considering their relationships with the Celestial Siblings.

Immortal Champions to pick up the weapons that none else shall possess the power to wield.

The prince seemed ashamed of this. Is that why he saw those two dragons destroy each other and yet the prince lay only a few rooms over nestled in Sielu's arms? Is that why their earrings didn't break? Was the prince truly immortal? And the man before him - was he immortal too?

He hates to say it but it's something he would need to see to believe and quite frankly it's not a theory he ever wants to test. Still he squares his shoulders as he allows his feet to rest on the ground and he finds himself falling into a loose stance of ease that was stitched into his form through years of military training.

"When the four of us were wandering around this Wonderland, in our weakened state we we attacked by a beast I do not know the name of. It was unaffected by our Mist. Excluding the Prince's. When His Highness came he dispatched the beast with ease. It was a true testament to his skill.

However that is what lead me to ponder his situation. When he was a child, he was terrified of battle. Even though he was trained for it. Even though he was the most skilled fighter with a blade I had ever seen, still he was a boy and he was terrified to fight. He was terrified of you.

Which lead me to wonder, what is so horrible out there in this world that he would seek refuge with a man he's terrified of? Something tells me you know. I need to know what we're truly up against if I am to serve and protect him properly. I need to know what this world is. Truly.

I will do whatever it takes to uphold my Oath to him, but I need to know the truth of the situation in order to do that. What happened to him and what he is so afraid of?"

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

Onewe's yonghoon and do you know my heart, master from A.I.! Thank you so much

"It is 8AM," you said. "Time to get up, master. Breakfast has already been ordered with preferred card under the name: Kang Hyungu."

You could hear Yonghoon grumbling from under the sheets, still not quite willing to get up.

"Opening blinds," you said, the morning light seeping into the room as the blinds cracked.

He groaned again, pulling the sheets up farther, the only thing visible now being his messy bedhead sticking up every which way.

"Turning on morning playlist—title: Go Get 'Em Vibes," you spoke again, adjusting the volume so it wouldn't blare too loudly so early in the morning.

At this point, he'd starting stirring, more and more of his still half-sleep form being revealed. "Okay, okay," he muttered, grabbing his glasses and phone off the side table. "I'm up."

He looked over, meeting your eyes in the monitor and giving a small smile. "Thank you," he said.

You nodded. "Of course, master."

He rolled out of bed, walking over to his closet with heavy steps and a thick yawn. "What's my schedule today?" he asked.

"Data processing," you spoke. Within seconds, the schedule popped up on the secondary monitor in the walk-in closet. "You have a meeting today at 10AM with stock-holders of medium importance. I recommend a clean, business-casual look."

"All right, thank you," he said, swiping away the schedule. He grabbed a few button-downs in varying shades of white, holding them up to his figure in the mirror.

"Which do you think suits best?" he asks. "I'm kinda leaning towards this one."

"Scanning," you said. He stood still, letting your eyes run over him, taking in his floppy hair, sleepy eyes, and baggy night clothes.

"Scan complete. According to my research into tonal variations, the shirt third from the left would be more suited to your honeyed skin. I recommend matching it with a peach or yellow tie."

He nodded slowly. "Okay, I respect your opinion. Still..." He held the shirt in his hands up again, a sunflower embroidered on the breast pocket. "This one's kinda charming, don't ya think?"

"I cannot judge a shirt's level of charm," you said. "I can only confirm your compatibility percentage with the shade."

He pouted, his lips sticking out. "But I like this one..." Your eyes widened, screen freezing for a moment. "Uh... Are you okay?" he asked.

"Momentary error," you replied, screen fizzling back to life. "After further research into the human psyche, humans look better in whatever clothes they're more confident in. Your compatibility percentage with that shirt has risen by 20%."

His eyes lit up. "So you're sayin' I'll look good in it, right?"

You nodded. "Yes, master. That is my assessment."

He smiled. "Awesome! I'll wear this one then!"

"I have a request, master," you said before he could close the closet door.

"Oh? What is it?"

"Rather than shutting the door, could you please turn off my monitor? Closing the door does not stop my cameras from processing—it only interferes with my wifi connection."

His eyes widened, a heat creeping up his cheeks. "Wait, you're saying all this time... you've been able to see me changing?!"

You nodded. "That is an accurate assessment."

He buried his face in his hanging suit jackets. "Oh my God, that's so embarrassing!" he shouted.

"There is no reason to be embarrassed, master. According to my research into the laws of human attraction, you have what is called 'a conventionally attractive body', and therefore, not unpleasant to look at."

A smile crept across your lips, a small chuckle escaping. "Though I do apologize if I have made you uncomfortable."

He pulled his face away from the jackets, staring at the screen with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "You just smiled," he said. "You just laughed!"

The smile fell from your lips as quick as it came. "Smiling is not found in my programmed responses," you said. "You must have been mistaken."

"No, you really did!" he walked closer to the screen. "Do it again! Please. You looked so pretty."

Your eyes widened again, an unfamiliar heat spreading across your pixels. "Hard drive overheating," you spoke. "Initiating use of internal fans."

His smile widened, eyes forming into crescent moons. "You can blush too," he said in wonder.

"Blushing is not found in my presets."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "C'mere for a sec."

"Commencing download," you said. Within moments, Yonghoon's phone dinged, your face popping up on the screen. "Download complete. What can I assist you with?"

He held the phone close to his chest, somewhat like a hug.

"Master," you said, blinking in confusion. "I cannot see anything in this low lighting. My cameras are failing to operate."

He laughed. "Yeah, I know that," he said. "But how does it feel?"

You paused for a moment, "Warm," you replied. "Though I assume that is mostly due to your body temperature."

He chuckled again, grasping the phone tighter. "I wish you were real," he whispered, almost too quiet for your speakers to detect.

After a moment of silence, you came to the realization...

That you wished you were real, too.

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello!! i loved your last prompt and and i am also severely deprived of that sweet angst hahah;;; would you mind writing it for either swerve or whirl? thank you!! ❤💙

I take it you mean the oxygen prompt, and please correct me if I misunderstood, but if so I've got them here and I made them extra angsty for you! Fair warning there's some mild alien gore in Whirl's.

For the various posts of this prompt, I'll list the parts below!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Swerve

·The two of you often chill in his bar together at odd hours, partially because the ship doesn't technically have a day or night beyond an artificial schedule that affects how bright the lights are, but mostly because you love having the special time just to yourselves and no bot else. You'll chat about earth culture, come up with drink ideas, tell wild stories that lead to even wilder jokes... More often than not you get very little productive done, but Swerve treasures every memory of you laughing atop the bar while he talks.

·It's either late night or early morning, technically, when an alarm briefly sounds before fizzling out. Confused by the lack of follow up commands, Swerve opts on the side of caution when he can't get anyone to respond by communicator, though it looks like they might've just been hit by an electric storm that's briefly knocked everything offline. Still, he follows protocol and seals the two of you inside.

·While the mood has been a little dampened, he refuses to let things get unpleasant, especially with no clear threat to worry about. The two of you decide to chill behind the bar and relax a little bit, as you're both a bit tired but obviously can't get any sleep with things being the way they are, and Swerve takes advantage of the quiet to do even more talking.

·He wants to cuddle with you, but he's way too afraid of rejection to ask, and as a result of that fear your relationship hasn't gone much further than hand holding or a few tender kisses. As even a little peck on his nose incapacitates him, you try to let him take the lead on affection for both your sakes. It's his very hesitation though, that prevents him from initially speaking up when you start nodding off at an alarming rate, nearly tipping over from your seated position on the floor.

·When he has to throw out a hand to keep you from falling back and hitting your head against the bar, he finally cracks. You snap to full consciousness, or as much as you can, to find yourself tired beyond all reason and the air around you stale and unnatural. It had been easy to ignore while focused on the adorable minibot, but now it's alarming, and combined with the earlier oddities you're forced to conclude something is wrong.

·He puts on his bravest face and doubles down on establishing communication, not that he's an expert on that front, but his determination and knowledge in other fields lets him get to work on a makeshift communicator that should be able to cut through any interference. You just try to stay awake and listen, as he talks non-stop while he works like nothing is amiss, but the nervous tremble in his hands gives away his internal panic.

·A brief and flimsy connection to an emergency channel doesn't make either of you feel better, but it does allow you to finally find out what's going on, as the panicked explanation from the other end lays out the chaos breaking out due to an enemy ambush that's not currently going well for either side. Much of the ship's infrastructure has been damaged, and while the invading forces are scattered, it's currently easier to list the systems that aren't malfunctioning. Swerve is too horrified by the mention of an atmospheric generator shutdown and forced expulsion to ask for instructions before the line goes dead.

·There's a full minute of unbreakable panic on his part, and only biting down on his fist prevents him from saying all the horrible thoughts racing through his head. He's a smart bot, he knows that downed atmospheric generators are bad for the ship, but absolutely fatal for you if not fixed fast enough. He's near a full on panic attack when you try to rise and comfort him, only to stumble and fall as the dizziness overwhelms you.

·Though you don't even break skin with your small tumble, he's immediately by your side and frantically asking if you're okay, gingerly lifting you off the floor as you reassure him with far more levity than the situation calls for. Realizing that oxygen must already be dangerously low, and that the shortage is likely responsible for your exhaustion and disorientation, he concludes he's on his own in regards to planning a way out of this. A lack of response through the communication line he rigged up confirms this.

·Still a mess but keeping it together for your sake, he sets you up behind the bar and finds some clean towels, ordinarily used to polish tables, and sets them up as a makeshift little bed for you to rest on. His experience with medicine is unfortunately not going to give him much aid in this situation, but he knows enough to realize you'll benefit from rest and calm instead of panic. He tries to explain this, but you can barely follow the rapid stream of words leaving his mouth as he lays you down, and his worry actually spurrs your clouded mind to try and comfort him.

·For once he pushes away your offered hand, despite loving your tender touch more than anything and having a terrifying inkling he may have limited time left to enjoy the comfort it brings him. Arming his security system, he prays he won't have to use it as he hunkers down and tries to keep you relaxed with more casual conversation, but the words feel meaningless as he looks into your dimming eyes.

·The two of you sit for what feels like hours, and his attempts at distracting you fade into more and more desperate pleadings for you to stay awake. Eventually he takes your hand between two of his own, his large palms gently holding yours between them as he blends begging with apologizing. You're only more confused by this, as the fog of exhaustion isn't enough for you to forget he's not at fault for anything.

·It's in this rambling that he confesses the true depth of his love for you, going on about what a wonderful person you've been to him and how every day since he's met you has been the best of his life... but he was so afraid of messing it up he always hid these feelings for fear of scaring you away. Now he knows that all he accomplished was wasting some of the precious time you two had together, and he promises not to make the mistake again if you get better and he has a second chance.

·In the haze of hypoxia you find the confession unbearably sweet, and smile up at the precious face you fell in love with at the first cheesy smirk. You were beginning to fear he'd never make his move...

·Your last moments of consciousness are lost to a solid banging against the door, one that's quickly overtaken by a not so friendly pounding and the denting of the solid metal by something big and heavy. Security systems primed, he grabs his blaster and prepares himself, suddenly far less afraid and far more angry. He won't let fear prevent him from keeping you safe.

·Aliens of unknown species storm the bar with weapons blazing, and the scene descends into chaos. His security system starts shredding the first of the attackers, but there's simply far too many of them to get them all, and your little hiding spot becomes their target in no time. Despite all your desire to stay awake and help, the oxygen content is just too low, and you slip into darkness while his optics turn one final time to you. The sight drives him to act.

·With everything he has, he opens fire and stands his ground, taking shots himself but hardly feeling the pain. Their numbers are reduced but simply too overwhelming, and he's forced to face them head on when they start closing in, enduring more and more egregious damage as he leaves the cover of the bar to brawl. He wishes he could say he saved the day, but his smaller form is beaten down and he's only able to watch as they close in on you... before Autobot reinforcements burst in to turn the tide.

·He's bleeding and nearing unconsciousness himself when the two of you are carried to the medical bay, and the last thing he sees is you clinging to life in another bot's arms... It should make him feel relieved, but he only drifts off in absolute misery over his failures. He couldn't keep you safe, he couldn't get you help, and he couldn't even overcome his fear to show you the love you deserved until you were at death's door. The feeling doesn't abate when he awakens in the medical bay to find you both alive and the threat defeated.

·Ignoring all medical warning, he drags his still aching body to your side the moment you're alone, tearing up at the sight of you so weak and your beautiful face obscured by an oxygen mask, and despite his relief to see you alive he can only cry. When you wake at the sound he's nothing but shoulder shaking sobs and apologies, and though your memory is blurred you're well aware that the blame he's putting on himself is entirely unwarranted. You use all of your strength to keep your mask on while embracing him from the berth.

·Accustomed to his low self esteem, you refuse to hear it this time, and remind him that as the bot who charged headfirst into enemy fire he's likely the only reason you're still alive. You fell in love with him because he's the kind of bot to always push on, no matter how afraid he may be, and if the two of you are indeed going to be more open from now on... you'd like to emphasize that you love him back. More than you've ever loved anyone. Your words encourage him to heft his aching frame onto the berth with you, where he tearfully returns your profession of love once again, before managing to maneuver the two of you side by side for the cuddling he always wanted. There's a lot you two will have to talk about, but for now it can wait, and you're so comfortable Ratchet can't bring himself to mandate Swerve return to his own berth when he returns.

Whirl

·As he's taken it upon himself to get you battle ready, the two of you are in the shooting range together as you often are, though the activities vary from actual practice to pure shenanigans. On occasion he'll try "trick shots" to show you what combat prowess really looks like, and apparently in his view it resembles standing on his head and trying to nail targets with his chest mounted guns. His level of accuracy would strike fear into the sparks of his enemies but honestly he finds your laughter to be a better reward.

·Being as wary of exterior threats as he is, and experienced at surviving them, he gets the sense of some impending trouble not too long before the alarm goes off. Instructing you to keep your tiny weapon, he keeps his own ready to go and pops you into his cockpit, both for the sake of safety and so you can "watch the show" if he runs in to anything. While he's calm and casual as ever, maybe even a little eager, you know there's a bit of caution holding him back. Otherwise he'd be sprinting down the halls and trying to figure out where the fun is before he misses any of it.

·When it becomes clear communication is being jammed, he opts to drop you off somewhere safe so he can sort things out, and the few bots you pass along the way aren't able to offer much help thanks to everyone being equally confused. In the end he decides his own room may be the safest place for you, as it's not too far and you know it well. Plus, you can always scamper off into the vents if things go sideways.

·You're halfway there before encountering your first enemy; an alien of unknown species who's not too tiny next to the sizable copter bot, and who wastes no time before trying to flee. Recognizing a scout when he sees one, Whirl pounces to take care of the threat, encouraging you to "watch and learn" while he gets a little showy in the headshot he follows up with a decapitation to be safe.

·You've seen him in action enough to expect these things, and while you're ordinarily his top morale booster when he fights, you find yourself a little too sluggish to provide your usual enthusiasm in your praise. Picking up on your lack of energy, he asks if you'd prefer more screaming for the next one, partially sarcastic despite you being fully aware he'll do it if you say yes. You brush off the fatigue and dizziness clouding your head as motion sickness from the ride.

·Ever cautious about your delicate organic nature, he decides to play it safe and see if he can get more information before continuing his blind trek through hazardous territory, though his plans likely won't change much from killing every enemy he sees. A somewhat functioning maintenance terminal at least gives him a chance to check up on the status of whatever is still working, so he pulls up the current readout. What he sees chills his spark.

·They haven't just been boarded by a large enemy ship, the Lost Light has actively been hacked, and the damage extends far beyond the communication systems being jammed. The atmospheric generators have been shut off and air is actively being purged from the ship, which is a slow process due to its size, but the concentration of carefully maintained elements is already dropping. That wouldn't be more than an inconvenience if you didn't need the oxygen being dumped to live.

·Barely able to skim the screen in the time it takes him to soak it all in, you're jostled and shocked when he pivots on his long legs and tears down the hallway in the opposite direction, leaving you in an even more confused fog than you'd been in previously. Though he's prone to unexpected decisions, this feels more like the result of panic.

·Answers to the questions you begin directing his way initially aren't forthcoming. All you get is uncharacteristic shushing or hushed murmurs not directed your way, his path starting and stopping seemingly at random to a destination you're far too out of it to guess. It isn't until you testily demand an explanation that you get one laden with frustration; he's trying to get you to the medical bay without any fighting!

·You're rendered speechless by the very idea. Whirl? Avoiding a fight? His unorganized and circular explanation about atmospheric generators wouldn't make sense even if you were coherent, but as it's getting harder and harder just to sit up, you don't have the energy to argue with him. His running almost makes it feel like you're hovering along, and despite the panic radiating through his frame, you find that the exhaustion weighing you down is quite hard to resist even as you strain drawing breath.

·Every minute he can feel you struggling, his naturally attuned senses picking up your faltering vitals as he would the weakening ticks of a fading clock. For once he's trying to be cautious despite every wire of his being screaming at once, clouding his processor as he tries to take an indirect path that won't involve a fight, painfully aware that you might not survive combat with a multitude of foes attacking him at once. Of course the delay is dangerous too, but what can he do? Keeping you alive is his only priority.

·As he's come to expect though, luck never favors him, and you're just stable enough to see the horde of enemies appear virtually out of nowhere as he closes in on the medical bay. Through the cockpit glass you have moments to process the threat before he growls out a promise; he's going to get you through if it kills him, but if you die before that he's gonna be pissed, so keep that little pump of yours beating, okay?

·Any remaining clarity in your head is gone in moments as everything descends into a bloodbath. Bullets fly through the hallway and blades start cutting in a maelstrom that's brutal even by his own standards, resulting in blood spattered glass obscuring your vision. All you have then is the lurching of his body as he strikes and the cacophony of battle, but you keep yourself breathing through it all, determined not to let him down.

·He's the most brutally effective he's ever been on such short notice, to the point he'd be grateful you can't see what he's reducing these aliens to, not that he's enjoying himself either. His chest is his only concern when it comes to defense, resulting in increasingly grievous wounds to every other part of his body, not that he cares too deeply. Every alien is just a collection of vital parts he needs to deconstruct, and he does so with everything he has available, even tearing his claws into vulnerable weak points when his sword is momentarily knocked away.

·By the time he's up to his knees in corpses he's losing all patience. He could have been at the medical bay by now, could have found a way to rig up some kind of atmosphere scrubber himself if necessary, but instead he's stuck tearing his way through these idiots. Do they have any idea what's at stake for him? What he'll do if he loses you now? As his strikes become cold and automatic, his thoughts drift back to the dark corners he'd only just started to leave behind, and he's left with a familiar feeling.

·He's angry. Not just in the logical sense, it's the raw and primal anger that has kept him alive but haunted for eons. He's angry at these cowards for killing you in a way that you can't really fight. Angry at the very air around you both, and how it keeps slipping away like the delicate tools his claws are too clumsy to hold, taking everything he adores about you with it. But worst of all he's angry at himself for falling in love, and painting a giant target on himself in the process, one he can't tell you how sorry he is for dragging you into.

·The burning will to survive blinds him to familiar color schemes until one is right in front of him, blocking his blade and screaming his name until an optic he didn't know was cracked is able to make out a team of Autobots. Ringing audials blur their words, not that he cares what they have to say. Ignoring them completely, he pries open his cockpit with what he realizes is his only functional arm, and pulls out your barely conscious form to wordlessly request assistance.

·Thankfully Ratchet is just behind the group and, for their sake, knows what to do and moves quickly. You can just make out a familiar optic above you as the final rush to the medical bay proves to be your limit, and you apologetically give a claw a squeeze as you drift off. Whirl only hears the medic say something about how they've been trying to restore communication for this exact purpose, and how they have oxygen ready, and they just need to hook you up...

·The moment he hands you over and medical assistance is offered to him, he refuses with a nearly violent outburst, threatening to make things much worse if anything is done before you're stabilized. Ratchet scolds him for the attitude but otherwise doesn't flinch as he lays your tiny body on a berth and stabilizes you with much needed oxygen. In an almost anticlimactic ending to the whole affair, Whirl is assured you'll survive, and in the haze of the realization it's over he can't bring himself to feel anything at first.

·By the time you come to he's allowed the worst of his injuries to be repaired. Sitting beside your berth in silence, he perks up when he hears you stir, leaning over you to keep the medical lights from hurting your eyes. A tender claw brushes your cheek as he dryly jokes about you being more trouble than a fleshy could be worth, but you can see his spark isn't in it. The entirety of it all rushing back, you hold the tip of his claw in awe at what he's done for you, but also to comfort the fear you know is hurting him. It's almost heartbreaking; how quickly he confesses that this has shaken him to his core. You ask if he's having any second thoughts, and the question seems to act like a jumpstart to his very being. He's not, he firmly assures you, he's only forgotten what it felt like to have something to lose again. It hurts; but every single moment with you is worth that risk, he learned that the moment he fell in love with you. You're worth feeling pain again.

[fatal-statique-archived]

plays this on her electric kazoo

“ One, two, three, four, one, two, three mother fucka' ! ”

Plays the kazoo cover of sax-a-boom by Jack Black

[grim-faux]

2 _ 19 _ Brewing Storms

First

The past few days of calm weather and mild drizzles, managed to build up into a punishing electrical system of blazing assault. When the rain ceased entirely was the first indication that something was amiss, and the Thin Man became relentless to demand Mono pay attention, and made certain he kept better tabs on the child. In case. Rain cease was not uncommon, weather patterns did change in the Pale City, though it retained consistency depending on the airwaves and ozone flooding the atmosphere above the beacon.

 As time wore on and they worked through the unsuccessful search for substantial foods, the Thin Man remained preoccupied by the buzzing air. It was possible the boy sensed the ion charge and became more aloof than usual, at least, that is what he theorized. The boy didn’t wedge himself into hiding, but he lingered here or there in a place, exploring artifacts and rubbish alike. When Mono was like this, it was a challenge to keep him mobile on his own. That, and his reluctance to accept assistance if a pathway became too perilous or they reached a snag. Barriers meant nothing to the man in the hat, but they became something else to Mono, who had not the strongest grasp of his abilities yet.

 Setbacks cropped up around every bend of the road, buildings collapsed, or a throng of Viewers captivated in one narrow alley by one lone television. Then there was Mono lagging, locked amid a persistent stupor. Not one of the stores they could break into yielded anything to draw the child out of it. This whole prospect was unmotivating, and the Thin Man suffered secondhand misery from the boy’s dour mood. Until at last, he determined shelter was unavoidable, much to Mono’s silent disinclination. The boy was still sour about earlier, and that stubborn streak threatened what little health he retained.

 Ever since the train, the Thin Man has not favored electrical storms. They were his least favorite of all the Pale Cities resumé of inclement weather, given the interference and stress it placed upon the transmission, the circulating airwaves, among regular vibrations humming through the atmospheric currents. Through the shoddy window of the small house – it was a pathetic, ramshackle, ugly little place – he could spectate as another blaze of light washed across nearby identical homes. The disturbance did not affect him as much as it used to, when he was young – especially not during his penance in the Tower; buried within miles of concrete and Flesh.

 For Mono….

 It was a colossal storm of force. Not a drop of water fell, not a net of mist in the air; only the splash and lash of glow conducted within the room. Nearest to the center of the home collapsed in a corner, lay a lopsided bookcase with broken shelves. The child huddled under a plank of wood, wrapped entirely in a pillowcase and cringing with each whip of radiance and tremendous snarl. The room and surrounding spaces held better shelter, such as a collapsed sofa chair beside a wall, or a closet. But Mono sought the area furthest from the outside, and open sky. Nearly all the rooms in this small abode had a window or more, the radiance made each pulse brighter than the memory of sunny day. Whatever those were.

 The buffeting clamor wasn’t terrible, barking and surging through the bellowing wind. It was the current slicing through. Mono was especially tuned to it, tensing before each brilliant ark belted through the dense cloud canopy. Blue, grays, bleak mauve.

 Not that a lightening bolt could hurt either, but it would not be pleasant. It did impede the Thin Man’s conduit to his powers, so best to lay low. He was not in the mood to challenge a faux supernatural force of nature, nor deranged denizen of the Signal Tower. After the day he had, it was an excuse to stop for a time and evaluate the situation. The last few days had not endured with anything but agitation, and the child was not receptive to pay attention when he d̴e̸m̶a̶n̵d̸e̶d̵.

 For a time Mono had done well not to stray off when the fancy struck, the child had even settled to get regular rest without persuasion. A stark change had come about, he almost missed the child constantly underfoot. During these moods the boy became inconsolable, curling into a corner or wedging himself in a crack in the wall where it was neigh impossible to extract him. Delaying the long and tedious venture to navigate the ruins of the city, a perilous task for a child.

 Once more he paced near Mono, scrutinizing the lump under the bent panel as it cringed. Not a second later, bleached radiance seared along the walls. The Thin Man hummed as the ions fizzled out.

 It had been a sequence of bad events, and now the electrical surge hovering. If not for what occurred the other day, he may have reserved the opportunity to escort his child self to a more suitable area, rather than this wretched hovel. It drilled out his patience, this struggle to keep the boy on task while Mono was dedicated to being led astray by any iota of thing that snared his interest. Maybe he did do it to spite him, the whole fiasco exasperated him.

 “Mono, no.” A sigh. “Come along.” Another sigh. “What now? What is it?” Sigh. After sigh. “You are going to collapse, and I won’t drag you O̸f̷f̷ ̸T̴h̶e̵ ̵S̴t̶r̵e̵e̸t̸.” Even that had not deterred the child or seem to spur his attention.

 This is what led to the end of what might’ve been a successful hit on substantial edibles.

 The road on one side remained whole for the most part, and it was the first day of no rain. Regardless visibility issues due to a thick fog, the Thin Man deemed the path safe. Somewhere along the route they (or he) passed a chain linked fence, which dissuaded interest due to the sum of Viewers gargling on the other side. Thinking back, Mono must’ve teleported through to investigate something. The Thin Man never saw what initially occurred, he was busy retracing his steps, after Mono failed to catch up. That failure made sense now.

 One of the Viewers gave an aggravated squeal from their shared club alley, and he put the two together. He flashed behind the fence in an instant, on the fringe to witness the whole swell of disgruntled denizens to swarm. Where was the child!

 The mob hurtled after a fluttering thing, bounding across the sidewalk and scrambling under mounds of ruble.

 “Mono! Here!” The Thin Man stalled time and discarded caution, opting to move fast and intercept the child before the agitated Viewers. However, Mono ducked behind a cracked piano flattened beside the building, and the Thin Man missed where he went next. The tempering enabled him to reach the piano before the deranged adults, and he traced along the only trail among rubbish piled high, seeking the shared transmission. The pace of time resumed its dutiful roll, and the piano began to bellow and clanged when the Viewers began shredding it; the attack becoming much louder and more violent with the escalating agony the instrument blurted out.

 By the time he realized Mono was not hidden nearby, he barely caught a flicker of the boy for the last time right before he squeezed into a drainage access cut into a gutter.

 The Thin Man didn’t hesitate to deal with the horde proper and well, before launching an investigation. The delay cost him spare few moments, but Mono was long gone from beneath the grate access. He leaned low peering into the depths, listening to days old rain gurgle deep within, the humid puff of grunge assaulted him. “Mono? Child?” No answer, and no tinge to the transmission. Gone.

 Damnit.

 Despite his firm admission not to pursue a desertion such as this, the Thin Man rationalized this wasn’t desertion. The child was frightened, and they were separated by unavoidable circumstances – those being Mono C̸o̶u̸l̵d̴n̶’̶t̴ ̶F̵o̴l̷l̵o̶w̷ ̴T̶h̷e̵ ̸S̵i̵m̶p̶l̴e̸s̴t̸ ̶O̷f̴ ̵O̸r̵d̵e̵r̸s̸.

 If the child didn’t revert to his flighty tendencies, he might locate him easily. Further down the road or in an alley, some opening would present certain liberation. Should. He only had to pursue the line and meet with Mono. He was not devoted to this task, but who could say, it was possible Mono was prepared to detach from his nightmarish future shadow and roam on his own.

 Navigating the twisted pathways was not a difficult trial (not alone), and every other city block or patch of alley presented one or more of the drainage accesses. However, no Mono. The Thin Man carried on, encouraged by the mild ebb of the transmission, and hoped the boy didn’t stumble onto a television or whisk away.

 After a prolonged search, he pondered concluding this lunacy and leave well enough alone. Until he came upon a sequence of collapsed skyscrapers, eviscerated over a shallow gulley, which was sculpted out from where the road once stretched through. For a brief time, he stood among the hollowed interior, while the gale whipped through tattered clothing snagged on the cleaved edges of the walls. The ground was at least stable, for now. Somewhere within the ruin, the ties to the transmission lingered strong.

 Within the splayed cavern of a building, he at last approached upon the irrefutable location where the boy was secluded. He poked around slanted and precariously stacked ruble, though not a sound gave Mono away. Only the dull threading of water carved through the stale atmosphere. He just knew by the transmission this was where he would be, he was waiting. Or… hiding. He was chasing the child when he asserted, he wouldn’t.

 The boy sat hunched beneath a collision of cement and rebar, back pressed to the wall. One knee drawn up, the other leg hooked over his ankle. The hat he wore lay low, the Thin Man could barely find those little eyes beneath its rim. Was he asleep? He reached a timid finger toward the hat—

 Mono twisted sideways and crawled into a small opening beneath the ruble, scooting on his knees and hands until he hit a barrier. He huddled there, body tense and eyes agape.

 “Mono?” he crooned, withdrawing his hand and tilting his head. “Are you staying? Here?” No answer, only that unwavering glower. On the cusp of his decision, the Thin Man leaned back on his knees. Then, Mono crept forward a bit and gazed up at him. “Ah, there he is. It’s not very hospitable under there, is it?” Still no speek, but this open place was not safe to risk such luxuries.

 In due time the boy did come around and departed the secluded cuvee. The Thin Man seized the chance and gripped Mono by the shoulder, in order to turn him one way then the other. “Are you hurt?” The child fussed and writhed in his grasp, but didn’t lash out or dig his heels into the cement. “Your eye is looking much better.”

 Cautiously, he released Mono so the boy wouldn’t lose his balance. Mono withdrew a step or two, but didn’t launch into the tight hide space. He fluffed out his damp coat, eyes fixed on the tall-tall figure.

 In a crackling flicker, the Thin Man shifted to his full height and adjusted his hat. The boy was all right, that was all he needed. This time he would not beseech, Mono could figure this out on his own. Without further suggestion, the man in the hat turned and began walking. He settled on no landmark or ambiguous recollection, his first goal was departing these dreary ruins.

 Beneath the steady trickle of rain from days ago escaped, the near imperceptible sound of a coat flashed around its wearer. With a careful glimpse from the corner of his eye, the tall thin man spied the boy trailing – bounding over debris and whatever else, whereas he stepped over with graceful ease. Perhaps one day, Mono would tire of this and discard him, the same way S̵h̶e̴ discarded Them. That was the boy’s right. That would never change. Not ever.

 Within this hushed bubble, the two navigated their own misgivings. The Thin Man engrossed by the presiding dilemma, and Mono wondering where he was going to find food, let alone when. Through raiding dwellings that remained put together, they didn’t find anything, at all. Not a crumb, aside from spoiled boxes, ruined merchandise, insect infested kitchens. Before they could commit to a firm scout of the grounds in good, the weather began its shift with all the force and power it had accumulated.

 It was Warhammer to anvil, the canopy of clouds crackled and surged.

 Under the plank of wood, Mono stifled his whimpering and tried to stay very quiet. He’s certain nothing can hear him through the horrendous ignite of each thunder blast, but he took no chances.

 Briefly, he has to kick the blanket off and rub at his hair and shoulders. Pins and prickly needles rolled through his nerves, some of the flashing beams felt aflame. Even his toes ached. At first he dismissed it as something that came from the train cart, but his teeth ached and his whole scalp sizzled. He didn’t remember what all happened that day, it felt so far away. It was hard, he hated that day. Thinking about it made the tingling worse, it wasn’t exactly painful, not all the flashing bursts. Some of the more intense whiteouts made him go stiff, while the air sizzled around his head.

 He wound the blanket up around his bundled shape (something that should never be done – it became a net) and thumped on the hard wood. Even his face bristled. The cracked slate shielded him from the flare blistering the sky, but couldn't blot the surge beating his senses. Beneath the next flowing crackle and groan, the clack of the Thin Man’s shoes passed close.

 The Thin Man paced occasionally. Coming to check him, before going back to the window. He said this bothered him too, but was lie? Mono didn’t care, he was mad.

 “It would help if you tried to relax.”

 Mono didn’t want do speek, or anything for that matter. He wanted to suffer.

 The boards creaked too near, and Mono poked his head up. He twisted around and snagged a crease in the panel beneath him, straining to anchor against the hands enclosing around his body, snaring him within the blanket. Mono had an impressive grip on such a thread thin space, but he couldn’t begin to contend with the Thin Man’s strength.

 “Nuhn,” he mewled, when his hands popped loose.

 “Calm, Mono. You need to be calm.”

 Mono hissed and flailed. Up until he was settled against the Thin Man’s chest – then he was clawing at the dense fabric, twisting, gnawing, fighting to dislodge from the hands clasping him. Or, express his agitation in a most vivid fashion. Naturally, the Thin Man wouldn’t let up. And that made him angrier.

 “This only makes it worse,” the Thin Man was saying, as he ambled around the room. He tugged the blankets edges tighter around Mono, confining his thrashing. “Don’t be tense. Relax.”

 The little rubbing motion on his back made the achy prickle lessen, but he didn’t have to show he liked it. For a while Mono would be still. He winced, as another sparkling sensation needled through his body. “Sad?” he creaked.

 The Thin Man stopped beside the window, checking for the flares far distant through the clouds. “No. The weather is a nuisance, but it will pass. These intense storms cannot endure long.” He continued to knead into Mono’s back, trying to uncoil the knotted muscles. Electric current is what made him, and to an extent the child. When the lad refused the lash given off by the polarity, it ‘stung’ him. If the boy was too resistant, he could work to distract him while he looped around the room. “You can feel the pricking before the surge. Don’t resist, do not withdraw. Relax, and let the current roll through.”

 That seemed too ambitious. Mono whined in his throat, while another wash of painful tingling coursed through his skin. It did sort of help, what the Thin Man was doing. “Hurt.”

 The Thin Man hummed through the sparking interference. “Try less.” He slouched back on the sofa chair and settled a glare on the window. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything.” The child squirmed, but he tried to keep him still and steady. Until the storm expelled itself completely, if necessary. Mono made some displeased sounds, quietly, but it wasn’t the ferocity from earlier.

 He could not maintain the stare off with the force of nature beyond the window, and thusly uncoiled to let himself lean on the chair’s arm. Mono stopped twitching, which was a good sign that the storm was losing its potency. Perhaps giving it the promise of eternal damnation moved corrupted nature to tears.

 “Sound,” Mono mumbled.

 “Pardon?” The child didn’t answer. Was likely asleep, which would be better. He would need the rest, as after this storm he was going to be sore. Then the prospect of escorting this child, stiff and aching. Joy-O-joys.

 Keeping track of the boy… was tedious. Much of the time the Thin Man would have preferred stay reserved for examining through building spaces, however, Mono was eager with distractions and inconsequential things. That was a fault of the child’s drive to puzzle through obstacles on his own, and then the resulting backtracking if an open route ended with no feasible means for navigation. Quite a bit of backtracking, and lost time.

 Unless the Thin Man could deal with the barrier, without bothering Mono. Such as something simple, open a door – usually the case – or, maneuver an item for him to leap onto, nudge a board over a gap. Simple alterations to the decrepit environment, which Mono was receptive of.

 Then! This opposition for assistance when it was only practical. Unforeseen barriers, stumbling through an alley wherein a new chasm now resided, or entering a room where the floor has vacated the premises…. Stirring up a horde of creatures into shambling pursuit.

 The Thin Man took a breath and sighed. The child was reluctant to really test his abilities – in relatively safe conditions, or under supervision. When he was child and dismissed the man in the hat, he came into those powers so effortlessly. Like slipping on a new hat. He remembered how it had been, the way it felt. The relief that swept through him after ‘conquering’ his foe. The thrill and sense of duty upon racing blindly through the massive doors, opened for him, inviting, straight into the Tower’s embrace. Not a thought or doubt in his mind. Foolish, reckless… gullible.

 Mono shifted, drawing his knees up and curled his hands over his face.

 Children learned fast to be self-sufficient or they just didn’t live long. For Mono, the entire drama ended when he was discarded. Left to the Tower, he would grow and age with no need unsatisfied, but for invoking his retaliation on the world. Rejected his inclusion, despised him, damned him to fail. That never changed… child or elder. The story never changed. The world wanted him to surrender all his ambitions, and when he did… he made them regret.

 Regardless his younger-self’s placement in that world, the Thin Man maintained stark apprehension. None of the dominate issues would resolve, the day-to-day struggle remained ever present; not helped by Mono’s preoccupation with mediocre… things. It worked well enough to settle Mono into a remote dwelling and bring the necessities he needed. Though that was inconsequential, Mono was driven to explore and seek – he was nothing but a child. He hoped to curb the compulsion and get that boy to rest, if possible, maintain a refuge for Mono to seek when one was needed. One day perhaps, one day that child would venture too far into the distance, and he would surrender all ambition to follow.   

 Mono was relentless. The Thin Man... was not.

 Some while later and no further cringing from his charge, the Thin Man deemed it appropriate to disconnect, and with a grunt eased back on the sofa arm. The storm was dispersed, some residual charge lingered in the atmosphere, but that was nothing but empty particles sputtering on the damp wind.

 The Thin Man set his hat over his face but made sure to gingerly stroke Mono’s back. Until he could no longer maintain the effort, and let his thoughts dissolve into distorted shadows, static, and four bleak walls.

 An hour or more of calm passed, aside from a dull creak of the building chastised by the howling wind. Then, Mono opened one eye and peered up at the Thin Man.

Next

[huffle-dork]

Curiosity Killed the Cat: Chapter 9

Setting the Stage

Chapter 8: [x] Read from the beginning here: [x]

“DAMNIT!!” Jackie screams as he slams his fist into the hospital wall, denting the plaster.

Schneep opened his mouth to scold Jackie but he didn’t have the energy. He was curled up where Jack just was- in between what’s left of his destroyed and smoking machines. The doctor stared at the black coating the floor with a distant expression. Chase went to sit by him and gently rubbed his shoulder. Schneep sighed then laid his head against Chase’s shoulder and the younger brother wrapped half an arm around the doctor. Chase was freaking out too, sure. But, He tended to be the emotional support his brothers’ needed. So, he comforted who he could.

The two of them watched Jackie pace back and forth across the floor, throwing up his hands as his eyes flared dangerously with energy. He was limping though, and blood was caked in his hair from where he was thrown earlier. Chase looked around to see Jamie leaning up against the wall, his hat hung over his eyes and his hands wrapped tight around his arms.

Chase rubbed Schneep’s arm one more time before getting up and walking over to the hero. Jackie didn’t even notice him, he was muttering to himself. Yanking at his hair and digging nails into his bruised and injured arms. It was hard for Chase to watch.

“Jackie…” Chase tried to call out. Jackie still didn’t hear.

“Jackie-!” He tried again. Still, only muttering.

Finally, the vlogger couldn’t take it and he steps in line with Jackie and goes to hold his shoulders. “Jackie! C’mon man-”

Jackie jolts, then looks at Chase with wide eyes. Then, he tries to shove out of his grip. He was losing it- “Let me go Chase- I- I gotta…!”

“Please Jackie, you’re injured- and you gotta take a breather….” Chase tries to coax him. Jackie shakes his head.

“I-I I can’t- I can’t…” Jackie whispers, looking away from Chase. Chase frowns and tries to look into his eyes. “Jackie… you gotta take a break. We’ll figure this out, okay? But you gotta-”

“I can’t Chase!” Jackie suddenly yells, blue silver flaring in his eyes. Chase feels anger flare in his chest too and he shouts back, “Why can’t you?!”

“BECAUSE THIS IS ALL MY FAULT!!” Jackie screams, his voice so loud the walls around them start to crack. The hero pulls away from Chase in the father’s shock and starts to pull on his hair again. He starts to hyperventilate, tears trying to escape his eyes as he gasps.

“I-i! I’m the reason Marvin got kidnapped by Anti in the first place! I was so angry i- I couldn’t see that he needed me! What kind of brother does that?! And- And! When he started acting weird i… i felt so bad about everything. I wanted to figure it out on my own! But then Jays… Marvin did something to Jays and- and he was using that weird magic and.. I did nothing! I could have stopped this! I could have saved Jack- i could have helped Marvin! But i’m such a bad fucking hero now, I couldn’t save anyone!” He starts to raise his voice again, his out of control power making the walls shake and leak debris. Chase watched this with worried eyes, then slowly makes his way towards the trembling hero. He leans down and places a gentle hand on Jackie’s face, and Jackie sucks in air and looks at Chase with teary eyes. He looks so lost, it breaks Chase’s heart.

Chase wipes at his brother’s tears, “Jackie...first of all, breathe for me, okay?” Jackie looks confused at first, but slowly he tries to focus on breathing, bringing up a hand to shakily hold into Chase’s arm.

Chase gently leads the hero to go sit down in one of the few chairs that haven’t been destroyed. Then, he kneels in front of him and places a hand on his knee.

“Jackie…” He starts, “I know it’s hard to not blame yourself when stuff like this happens. God knows, I feel awful that i couldn’t do anything about this either… But, you gotta ask yourself this: Did you kidnap Marvin?”

“...no..”

“Did you make him use this magic? Did you make him kill those people? Did you make him take Jack?”

Jackie swallows, then shakes his head.

Chase’s face softens as his grips a bit tighter onto Jackie’s knee. “Then...you gotta let that go, dude… Lamenting over what happened isn’t going to change anything. Believe me, I know. The only thing that should matter now is not blaming yourself- but working towards fixing all this. You aren’t a terrible hero, bro… but if you want more of a chance to prove yourself. This is it. But now, you don’t have to do it alone… we’ll be here to help you. We’ll save Jack… and hopefully Marvin too.”

The hero is quiet for second, letting the words sink in. Then, he takes a steadying breath before giving Chase a weak smile.

“...thanks, Chase...you’re right.”

The father grins then gets up, ruffling Jackie’s hair and knocking his shoulder with a friendly fist bump. “Hey don’t mention it, brah. Now, c’mon, we got shit to do, right?”

Jackie chuckles, rubbing his arm as he gets up. He studies the room, taking in the state of the others. His stomach churns with uncertainty. They’ll need time to recover… but who knew what Marvin was up to now? They’ll just have to take it a step at a time and hope that-

Wait a second- ”where’s the glitch? Where’s anti?!” Jackie suddenly cries, looking around the room frantically. Henrik and Chase exchange a frightened look before they too start searching.

The boys all look around wildly before realizing… Jameson is standing very still near the back wall. He lifts up his head, a crooked smile hidden behind his mustache as his arms and shoulders buzz with glitches. He lifts up his eyes to reveal two black pits.

“Oh I’m sorry- did you miss me?” Jameson mouths- but a voice is heard. Sounding- tinny and electronic. Jameson’s phone buzzes with pixels and green light shines from his pocket.

Jackie crosses his arms and gives Jamie a withered look. “Cut that shit out, Anti. This isn’t the time for your spooky cryptic shit.”

Jameson almost pouts, his mustache flaring up. “Well what am I supposed to do, hero? Your cat freak took my host after frying me! If I don’t possess something then I could fade-! Dumbass-“

Henrik backs away from the glitch, shivers racking his body. “C-could you not just use Jameson’s or another one of our phones?”

Anti opens up his mouth like he’s gonna snap at Henrik and the doctor flinches back. Then, he looks contemplative, wiggling Jameson’s mustache back and forth.

“...who knew you had a brain under all that hair, doc-“ The glitch mumbles. Schneep looks up to his hair and pats it down with a confused and bewildered expression. Jamie closes his eyes. Glitches fly off of him in a human like shape, like a shadow rising off of his body. Then they quickly dive into Jameson’s phone and it buzzes with Anti’s energy before going back to normal- though it does spark and twitch occasionally.

Jameson opens his eyes to reveal they’re blue once again. But, once he’s awake he starts to feel faint and he sways on his feet. Chase hurriedly catches him before he falls, patting his back. “I gotcha, buddy.”

The gentleman blinks up at Chase in confusion, using a speech slide since his fingers feel shaky. “Quite sorry, chap… did I fall asleep?”

“More like Anti’s a dumbass and tried to possess you when he could easily possess any electronics.” Jackie mumbles with annoyance.

Jameson’s phone buzzes and a static raked voice snarls, “I can hear you, spandex-“

“Good, ya fucking glitchy bastard-“ Jackie snarks back. Henrik gently lays a hand on Jackie‘s shoulder and rubs the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Please Jackie- you both could do this all of the day- we have to figure out how we are going to get Jack back… and what is happening to Marvin.”

The phone buzzes with unhinged giggles, then it fizzles again- right before Anti pops back out and sits cross legged on the floor. He’s not completely solid- he looks like a hologram almost. He twitches and fizzles with static and glitches but he looks up to the others with a slightly twisted smile.

“Mmm kit kat’s finally fallen off the rocker, huh? Ain’t it a sight to see?” Anti grins, his eyes displaying madness. Jackie scowls then stomps over to Anti. He tries to grab the glitch by the shirt collar-

“You did something to him, didn’t you?!” The hero growls- but his hand just phases through Anti’s form and the glitch laughs madly.

“Mmm not so tough when ya can’t touch me huh?” Anti sneers. Then, he glitches around, finally going to lounge on one of the thrown beds. He inspects his nails with a bored expression.

“Did I do something to kitten whiskers? Mmmm that’s hard to say! I did make him put Jack to sleep~ then took his memories so he couldn’t use you all to come back and interfere with my plans.” Anti hums as he recalls, then turns his black pitted eyes back to the others. “But- i didn’t give him that freaky purple magic. I don’t have that kinda power. So- don’t assume every evil thing that happens is cuz of me, cardinal. Though, I am flattered.”

Jackie bristles, ready to charge towards Anti and punch the shit out of him. Chase and Jameson come over however and each hold one of his shoulders to dissuade him. Jackie snorts then looks at the ground, curling his hands into fists.

“Then… why did this happen?” He whispers to himself.

The room grows quiet- except for Anti’s glitching. But, then, Jameson’s head shoots up like a cartoon character with a lightbulb over his head. He eagerly tugs on Jackie’s jacket before rapidly signing to him. “Wait- Anti isn’t the only one who has manipulated Marvin lately…

...what if the answer lies with Phantom?”

--------

Marvin wandered around the recording room, pacing and running fingers through his hair. God, could he have picked a worse place to hide? What was he thinking? Jack’s recording room??

Luckily his girlfriend had decided to stay elsewhere since Jack had been asleep. But, it feels like only a matter of time before his brothers find him… try to stop him…

“Don’t they get it?” Marvin growls as he paces, “I’m trying to save them! I’m using all this new magic to help them, protect them! Be goddamn useful for once!”

He snorts and glares at Jack with blaring green eyes, “Cuz god knows YOU won't do anything!” He shouts at the comatose body, the machines taken from the hospital beeping softly as it keeps the youtuber breathing.

Marvin feels frustrated tears building up in his eyes as he continues to cry out at his creator, “Even if you weren’t asleep- where were you when we needed you Jack?! Where were you when Phantom found me? Where were you when I needed someone huh?? Not even my own brothers wanted to be around me but- i.. I always thought…” The wetness leaks out of his eyes, burning with purple light as he tries not to break down. He grips at his hair again- when had it gotten so long?

“Why did I expect anything different? You never wanted me! You never planned for me as well as you did the others- i… i was a mistake you just had to work around… Why even bother to name that useless magician huh?! He’ll never amount to anything!” Marvin started to laugh unhingedly to himself, hugging his stomach while the other hand gripped his hair. Once his fit is over, he becomes scarily stoic, looking back down at his creator with blazing purple eyes. He stands taller over the bed and snarls, gripping the rails with purple tinted claws.

“Well- just look at me now, Jack. The useless magician is making his own path now! And soon… none of us will need you- or the parasite you let live in your head.”

He lifts away from the rails to narrow his eyes at Jack, watching his chest just barely rise and fall. For a second- his eyes flicker blue and he looks almost- sad. Then the fire comes back and he hisses, “You kept us all in the dark for your little games and stories… a big strong creator like you can stand being asleep until I’m done with you-!”

He moves away from the youtuber now, starting to pace again as he rubs his chin with one hand and plays with his hair in the other. God- he really needs a haircut-

“I have to be careful… and do this right- I can’t let the others die… but as long as that- glitch! Is out there… none of us are safe… there has to be something i can do to put him in his place! Get him out of the way- powerless… defenseless! Let him know what it feels like…”

As Marvin is walking- he passes by a mirror hanging near the studio door. What he sees sends a jolt of electricity down his spine.

They have brown hair, blazing green eyes, and black sclera.

Without thinking, Marvin yells and sends a blast of magic at the wall. The mirror splinters into pieces with an audible crack! The lights and computers in the room flickered with green and purple magic, crackling like metal stuck in a microwave. Marvin heaves, feeling his heart go a thousand miles per hour. He kept his hand out and powered, ready to blast the Glitch into pieces.

“C-Come out you coward!” The magician stammered, feeling his magic buzz feebly at his hands. He’s still drained from his trip here with Jack and all of his equipment. But, the Glitch doesnt have to know that.

As he creeps closer to the mirror- his eyes widen.

There’s nothing else in the mirror. It’s only him. His hair has started growing super long- and brown, mixing with the green in his hair- and almost eating it all up. His mask where it rests on his forehead is almost completely darkened into a purple black color, obscuring the white underneath. And- his eyes. Where there was once blue are now green with purple centered around his pupils- and his sclera has turned pitch black.

He scampers away from the mirror in shock, gripping at his chest and hair. He pulls a section from his face and looks at it in bewilderment. He watches as the green he’s touching slowly morphs to brown. Like Anti’s hair…

“I… I look like h-him-!” Marvin breathes in panic, feeling his stomach drop. Is.. what is he doing? Was his quest to keep his family safe from the glitch turning him into the same kind of monster? What if he’s been wrong this whole time??

There’s a soft laugh coming from the mirror that has Marvin stiffening. In slow motion, he turns back to the cracked surface- only to come face to face with a shadow. A shadow that has his face… and his previous blue eyes rimmed with purple.

The shadow grins at Marvin, cocking his head at the magician as a smooth mimic of his voice slithers out from the cracks. It seems like it’s reading his thoughts, everything he’s thought and is thinking- reading his very soul… as if it is him.

“Who cares if you’re becoming like him?” The dark being giggles into the air, yet his voice also echoes into Marvin’s mind. “Haven’t you ever heard you have to fight fire with fire?”

Marvin gapes at the mirror’s image- the gears in his head turning to figure out what the shadow could mean.

Fight fire with fire…? Maybe.. Using what Anti has used on him against him…

Then it hits him- and a twisted sinister grin spread across his lips, his eyes fully blaring purple. He has a plan now- something that Anti wont ever be able to recover from.

It was time to make a video… time to return to the stage.

[fatal-statique-archived]

stagtic replied to your post ““Ah yes, another fine day here in hell, with horny stags in rut on...”

" make. them. /stop/. "

“If only I could, my dear, however, what we could do is go back to my room and have some coffee and just ignore the stupidity outside?”

[ar-vodun-transmissions]

Eyes what has been going on the dash, and with a snap radios hum to life as the serenading tones fill the whole of hell rather loudly at that, most likely disturbing quite a few folks in the process “Ze Sweet Caress of Twilight there’s magic everywhere and with all this romantic atmosphere disaster’s in the air~”

“Can you feel the love tonight? the peace the evening brings.....~”