#armada flinch

[soundcrusher]

Hi! 🩹🗑💎 for an OC of your choosing, please

Okay, considering you’re the only one who sent an ask (and I got my laptop back), I’m gonna give you a two for one deal.

People familiar with my Transformers OCs will recognize Flinch, and the newer ones will, hopefully, have a vague awareness of my FF7 OC Valerian.

(If someone else wants to send me an ask, here is the ask game.)

Flinch! MA BOY! (Going with the Unicron Trilogy -mainly Armada- here)

🩹 - Someone who was a source of trauma

Fucking Unicron.

Like, seriously, not only did that fucker possess him, but he also left him mentally scared enough, that Flinch lost some of his happy-go-lucky demeanour. Growing more paranoid and scared as the story progressed, until he refused to recharge all together.

Adding to that, Flinch also secluded himself from his family by shutting himself into his room or staying out for longer than usual.

He did get better, yes, and regained some of his happy-go-lucky personality, but by the time Cybertron rolls around, my boy’s having the worst of times again.  

🗑️ - "It's complicated"

His dad.

Flinch has a very complicated relationship with his dad. Not because Primus is the god of all Cybertronians, and all that jazz, but rather because he has been absent for most of Flinch’s live and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. Like, it’s great that he gets to know something about his actual parents, but why does it have to be mech that’s not only God, but also the planet they live on?

Primus sure enough causes Flinch some kind of existential crisis.

💎 - Chosen family (including warband)

The Minicon pair that adopted Flinch, when they stumbled upon him, and all the other Minicons they found on their way through the galaxy.

They might be all broken from the war they were forced to fight in, and try to hide their more evil deeds from the sunshine that’s Flinch, but damn it all, if they aren’t a good family.

Also, It’s pretty much a fact that @tachyon-omlette's Eda didn’t have a choice, when Flinch decided that he was prime Dad-Material. Eda might not see it, but Flinch wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world/galaxy. (If the topic of custody would ever come up, Flinch would choose Eda over Primus any time.)

Valerian! BABY BOY BABY!

🩹 - Someone who was a source of trauma

I want to say the scientist who made him, but IV was a bigger source of trauma than them.

I went more into detail in that story I wrote, but IV’s presumed death at the hands of some unknown foe/the facility staff left Valerian traumatized to a point, where he even avoided the single though of dreaming about the outside world.

After all, IV dreamed of what was behind the walls they knew, and when he was taken outside, he never returned. And despite Valerian’s memories of his brother being good ones, him never coming back made them bitter. To a point, where he can’t even fall asleep without holding something to ground him.

🗑️ - "It's complicated"

I am tempted to say, “Everyone he meets”.

Valerian spent too much time isolated from humans that weren’t facility staff/scientist, so, meeting people who aren’t out to harm him is a little weird, dare I say scary in some strange way.

Like, he knows that they aren’t going to hurt him, as long as he doesn’t give them a reason to, but at the same time, kindness is rare. Especially in grown-ups that glare at you, whenever you try to carefully walk around them, or yell at you for getting into their way.

He will get better over time, especially when he finds people who care about him, but strangers will always make him feel complicated.

Another person would be his father/the person he calls “DNA-Donor”. Valerian is still young and has spend most of his freedom traveling with a robot cat, before living with his creator. So, meeting the man who’s DNA was used to create him awakens many complicated feelings. Especially in the “Do I call him dad, or not? He never really showed any signs of caring for me…” side of things. It’s definitely something he and Vincent have to work on. But hey! Valerian’s around 14 when they meet, so, they have the rest of their lives to do so!

💎 - Chosen family (including warband)

The Cait Sith that found Valerian in his cell/room, and Reeve. No fighting over that.

Cait was the first person/robot, who wasn’t IV, that ever showed compassion towards Valerian, and the boy grew attached. I mean, why else would he follow the cat over all of Gaia like a lost chocobo-chick? That’s both his emotional support robo-cat and his caretaker.

Reeve came later, when both showed up on his doorsteps. Drenched by rain and muddied from a tumble down a cliff. They haven’t left ever since.

[heliosunny]

hiiiii, i hope your doing good, i adore how you write charecters and was hoping that you could write Alhaitham for the lucky egg series. Thank you

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The sky split open like a wound as the alien armada descended. Their ships were vast, silent monoliths of silver and obsidian, drifting through the atmosphere.

Governments collapsed within hours. Resistance was met with annihilation so swift, so absolute, that humanity had no choice but to kneel.

You watched from your window as the streets filled with towering figures—elegant creatures with skin like polished onyx and eyes that burned with distant light.

"Compliance ensures survival. Each of you will be assigned an Overseer. They will guide you. Ensure order."

An egg was pressed into your hands. It was heavier than it looked. The alien who delivered it tilted its head, studying you with those depthless eyes before speaking again.

"In three days, it will awaken. Do not resist."

Then it was gone, leaving you standing there, clutching the egg as if it were a bomb.

-Day 2-

You placed the egg on your desk, half-expecting it to move. But it remained still.

That night, you dreamed of whispers.

"Soon."

You woke with a gasp, sweat clinging to your skin.

The news feeds were a graveyard of grim updates. People who had refused their Overseers had vanished overnight. Those who obeyed were rewarded—food, shelter, safety. But at what cost?

-Day 3-

Crack.

Your eyes flew open. The egg on your nightstand was fracturing.

The egg soon split open, and the figure inside unfolded itself.

Fluid dripped from silver hair, evaporating into mist before it could even touch the sheets. The man—because it was a man—lifted his head.

You flinched, fingers digging into the sheets. "Who—what are you?"

"Alhaitham."

He rose. His fingers brushed your cheek, cold at first, then warming unnaturally fast.

"You are my master" 

A slow smile curled at the edge of his lips.

"Protect. Guide. Own." His grip tightened, just slightly, as if testing your reaction. "The terms are interchangeable."

-----

You quickly realized that Alhaitham was… different.

The other Overseers, hatched from their eggs in the days following the invasion. A man down the street had one who never smiled, who watched his charge with unblinking precision, correcting even the slightest deviation from the new world’s order.

But Alhaitham?

He was calm.

And he loves reading.

“You have a collection of books,” he remarked, fingers trailing over the spines on your shelf.

You hesitated before answering. “Yes. I like to read.”

He hummed, pulling out a well-worn novel. “This one is annotated.”

“I… mark my favorites.”

Then, to your surprise, he sat in your armchair, flipping it open. “Read it to me.”

“What?”

“You are my master. I am to learn from you. So teach me.”

So you read to him.

You saw the way the others acted.

Your neighbor, a nervous young man named Eli, had an Overseer who monitored his every move. She stood by the door as he ate, as he worked, as he slept.

“She won’t even let me choose my own clothes” he whispered to you one day, when she was momentarily distracted.

You didn’t know what to say.

Because Alhaitham, in contrast, had merely glanced at your wardrobe that morning and remarked, “The blue sweater suits you better.”

It became a habit.

Every night, without fail, he would select a book and wait for you. Sometimes you read to him. Sometimes, when your voice grew tired, he took over, his smooth baritone filling the room as you curled against the armrest.

One evening, exhaustion from the day’s labor dragged you under before he’d even finished the chapter. You woke hours later to the soft glow of lamplight, the book still open in his hands, his other arm curled around you.

You jolted upright. “I—I fell asleep?”

He turned a page, unfazed. “You did.”

“Why didn’t you… move me?”

“You were comfortable.”

Something warm settled in your chest.

The others feared their Overseers.

You… didn’t.

----

The monthly check-up was as clinical as you expected.

You stood in line with the others as the aliens inspected each human and their Overseer. Their hands were cold when they touched your wrist, scanning something beneath your skin that you couldn’t see. Beside you, Alhaitham stood perfectly still.

When it was your turn, the alien tilted its head, studying you both.

"Report" 

"No irregularities. Compliance is maintained."

Then, the alien released your wrist and moved on.

You barely breathed until you were outside.

The walk home was tense. Alhaitham’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

Once you were far enough away, his voice dropped low.

"Don’t react."

You kept your steps even.

"They were watching us more closely than usual." 

"Why? What’s happening?"

His fingers pressed slightly against your spine. "Not here."

So you stayed silent the rest of the way, your pulse loud in your ears.

The moment the door closed behind you, you let out a shaky breath.

Alhaitham didn’t relax—if he ever did—but his shoulders lost some of their rigid tension. He moved to the window, drawing the blinds shut before turning back to you.

"They suspect something" he said simply.

"Like what?"

"It doesn’t matter yet. Just follow my lead."

You wanted to argue. To demand answers. But the look in his eyes stopped you.

So you nodded.

And then, because you needed something to distract yourself, you turned to the chores.

You were scrubbing dishes when he appeared beside you.

"Let me help."

"No, it’s fine. I’ve got it."

"You’re tired."

"I’m fine."

Reluctantly, he let go. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you worked.

"You don’t have to hover"

"I’m not hovering," he said, "I’m observing."

That night, curled under the blankets with the lights dimmed, you finally dared to ask.

"Do they know?"

Alhaitham glanced up from the book in his hands. "Know what?"

"About how you’re different."

"It’s complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"We’re not meant to be too attached."

You frowned. "But the others—their Overseers control everything."

"Control isn’t the same as attachment" 

You hesitated before asking the next question. "Do you… know the other Overseers?"

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

"We’re aware of each other," he admitted after a moment. "But we don’t… interact."

"Why not?"

He closed the book slowly. "Because some of them wouldn’t approve of how I handle you."

You didn’t ask anything else after that.

----

The television was your one escape.

In this strange new world, where every move was monitored and every choice scrutinized, the flickering glow of the screen offered a sliver of normalcy.

Celebrities still performed, still lived their lives—albeit with their own Overseers hovering just off-camera.

Tonight, the entertainment news was buzzing about a rising star—a young singer with a voice like spun sugar and a smile that could melt glaciers. But it wasn’t her who caught your attention.

It was her Overseer.

Blond hair swept back in elegant waves, eyes like molten honey, dressed in a tailored suit that shimmered under the studio lights. His one hand resting lightly on the singer’s shoulder as she gushed about her new home.

"Kaveh designed everything himself," she said, "He knows exactly what I like!"

The camera panned to him, and he smiled.

You leaned forward, intrigued.

"Huh. I didn’t know Overseers could be so…"

You trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Obnoxious?"

You jumped. Alhaitham’s voice was dry as dust, right beside your ear. You hadn’t even heard him approach.

"I was going to say ‘expressive,’" you muttered, eyes still glued to the screen.

Kaveh was gesturing now, explaining some architectural detail with animated flair.

"He’s very…"

"Loud" Alhaitham supplied.

"I was thinking ‘attentive.’"

A hand covered your eyes.

You yelped. "Hey—!"

"Change the channel"

You batted at his wrist. "I’m watching that!"

"No, you’re staring at him."

You could hear the frown in his voice.

"Are you jealous?"

His grip on you tightened, just slightly.

"I’m ensuring you don’t develop poor taste."

You snorted. "Oh, so now you’re an art critic?"

"I don’t need to be a critic to recognize gaudy excess."

On screen, Kaveh laughed at something, head thrown back, golden hair catching the light.

Alhaitham’s fingers twitched.

You smirked. "You are jealous."

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the remote from your hand and switched the channel.

A nature documentary. Elephants.

You groaned. "Really?"

"Educational" he said flatly, settling beside you.

You elbowed him. He didn’t budge.

----

The streets were quieter these days.

Not out of peace—but out of fear.

The Overseers walked among them, their presence a constant reminder of the new order.

You kept your pace brisk, arms wrapped around yourself as you turned the corner toward home. The sun had barely set, but the alleyways were already swallowed by gloom.

You heard it.

The rustle of fabric.

Then, a gasp.

Your steps faltered.

Curiosity warred with instinct, and against your better judgment, you glanced toward the sound.

Two figures pressed against the brick wall, tangled in each other. A woman, her fingers clutching the collar of a man’s shirt—her Overseer—as he kissed her.

Alhaitham was waiting by the door when you stumbled inside, your face burning, pulse hammering in your throat.

He took one look at you and arched a brow.

"You’re flushed."

"It’s—it’s nothing," you stammered, toeing off your shoes with too much force. "Just walked too fast."

He didn’t move. Just watched as you all but fled to the kitchen, busying yourself with the kettle like your life depended on it.

"You’re a terrible liar."

The kettle clattered against the stove. "I’m not lying."

"Your pulse is elevated. Your breathing is uneven. And you won’t look at me." He stepped closer. "So. What happened?"

"I just saw something… unexpected."

"Define ‘unexpected.’"

"Why do you care?" you snapped, finally turning to face him.

"Because," he said slowly, "if something—or someone disturbed you, I’d like to know."

You exhaled sharply. "It wasn’t like that. I just… saw a couple. In the alley."

A pause. Then, understanding dawned.

"Ah."

"Yeah." You rubbed your temples. "Can we just… not talk about it?"

"As you wish."

Life went on.

You worked. You ate. You read together in the evenings.

But sometimes, when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d catch him studying you.

Neither of you mentioned the alley again.

----

It was your day off, and the apartment was quiet without Alhaitham.

He had left early.

So you did what any sane person would do in a world where sanity was a luxury.

You turned on the TV.

The News: Love, Obedience, and Rebellion

The first channel was a broadcast of some government-approved talk show.

"Today, we discuss the beautiful bonds between humans and their Overseers!" she chirped, gesturing to a panel of guests.

A woman in a pastel dress clasped her hands together. "My Overseer knows me better than I know myself. He anticipates my needs before I even realize them!"

A man nodded fervently. "Resistance is pointless. Why fight when they only want what’s best for us?"

Then the screen cut to footage of a protest—or what used to be one. The rebels were being dragged away, their faces bloodied.

"Those who refuse harmony must be… corrected" the host said.

You changed the channel.

The next channel was pure entertainment.

There they were again—the rising starlet and her dazzling Overseer, Kaveh. They sat on a plush couch, her fingers laced with his as she giggled at some interviewer’s question.

"We’re just so in sync," she sighed, leaning into him. "It’s like he was made for me."

Kaveh smirked, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "I was."

The audience swooned.

You rolled your eyes—but couldn’t help the twinge of curiosity. Was this… real? Or just another performance for the cameras?

A knock at the door startled you.

You fumbled for the remote, switching off the TV just as Alhaitham stepped inside.

He paused in the doorway, gaze flicking from you to the darkened screen.

"You’re tense"

"Just watching junk TV," you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest.

Alhaitham set down a bag of groceries. "What did you see?"

You hesitated. "The usual. Rebel crackdowns. And, uh… your friend Kaveh."

"He’s not my friend."

"You know him, though."

"We’re aware of each other. That’s all."

The commotion outside was sudden.

You and Alhaitham exchanged a glance before rushing out, joining the crowd gathering in the street.

A group of rebels had been cornered, their faces desperate as they fought against their Overseers. One of them, a woman, raised her hands, and a surge of violet energy erupted from her palms, aimed straight at the enforcers.

But the blast went wide.

Straight toward you.

A shimmering barrier of geometric green energy materialized in front of you, absorbing the attack.

You turned, stunned.

Alhaitham stood with one arm outstretched, his eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly teal hue.

The rebels were subdued moments later, dragged away by their Overseers. The crowd murmured, some in awe, others in fear.

But all you could focus on was him.

Back inside, you finally found your voice.

Alhaitham didn’t answer immediately, pouring tea with deliberate calm.

"All Overseers have abilities" he said at last. 

You stared.

He sipped his tea.

A long silence stretched between you before he spoke again.

"They’ve offered me a promotion."

You blinked. "A… what?"

"Better resources." His gaze met yours. "A safer district."

You hesitated. "Oh."

"You don’t seem excited."

"I just…" You fidgeted with your cup. "I didn’t realize Overseers could get promotions."

"Neither did I. But it would mean better living conditions. For you."

"Do you want to take it?"

"I want to know what you want."

You exhaled. "I’m fine either way. As long as…"

"As long as?"

"As long as you’re still you."

He nodded.

"Then we’ll stay."

----

The knock at the door came when you least expected it.

You had been lounging on the couch, flipping through an old book, when the sharp rap of knuckles against wood made you jump. Setting the book aside, you peered through the peephole—only to see a tall, uniformed officer standing stiffly on your doorstep, his Overseer hovering just behind him.

You hesitated.

Then opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” the officer said, “I’m here for a routine follow-up.”

“A follow-up?” You frowned. “On what?”

“Your Overseer’s recent… declination of a promotion. May I come in?”

You swallowed hard but stepped aside.

The officer strode in, his Overseer following like a ghost. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

“You have a lovely home,” the officer remarked, though his gaze was sharp, scanning every detail—the books on the shelf, the half-drunk cup of tea on the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered. “Can I ask why this is necessary?”

“Just ensuring everything is in order.” He turned to face you fully. “Your Overseer is an exceptional case. His refusal was… unexpected.”

“He has his reasons.”

“And what might those be?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

The officer’s smile thinned. “I intend to.”

The door opened just as the officer was reaching for another question.

Alhaitham stepped inside, the moment his eyes landed on the intruders, the temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees.

“Officer,” he said, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Just a routine check. Your refusal of the promotion raised some… questions.”

“And have you found your answers?”

“For now.”

Before leaving, the officer cast one last glance at you.

“We’ll be in touch.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

You let out a slow breath. “That was—”

“Unnecessary.” 

“They’ll keep looking.”

“Let them.”

The night was quiet when Alhaitham slipped out.

You were deep in sleep, unaware of the weight of his gaze lingering on you before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Then he was gone.

Kaveh’s residence was predictably opulent, a gleaming testament to his charge’s fame. The lights were still on when Alhaitham arrived, the sound of faint music drifting through the windows.

He didn’t bother knocking.

Kaveh looked up from his drafting table.

“Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Alhaitham didn’t waste time. “I need your help.”

Kaveh arched a brow. “Oh? And why would I help you?” He gestured lazily around the room. “I’m quite comfortable where I am, thank you.”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll dismantle this little paradise of yours piece by piece.”

Then Kaveh sighed dramatically, tossing his pencil aside. “Ugh, fine. I was joking anyway. You’re so tedious when you’re serious.”

Kaveh leaned back, crossing his arms. “So. What’s the plan?”

“We gather the dissidents.”

“And then what? Storm the capital with sticks and righteous fury?” Kaveh snorted. “The masters aren’t exactly pushovers.”

“No,” Alhaitham agreed. “Which is why we don’t fight them directly. Not yet.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We infiltrate. Until the time comes—”

“We strike.” Kaveh finished.

“I’m talking about freedom.”

Then Kaveh exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “...Fine. But if this goes south, I’m blaming you.”

Alhaitham turned to leave. “Naturally.”

In the weeks that followed, whispers began to spread.

A network of rebels, slowly coalescing under the guidance of two leaders.

Kaveh, with his charm and connections, gathered sympathizers among the elite.

Alhaitham, with his cold precision, identified weaknesses in the system.

And you?

You remained blissfully unaware.

But change was coming.

----

Alhaitham had left that morning with the same quiet efficiency as always.

But when he returned, something was off.

The door slammed open with a force that made you jump.

Alhaitham stood in the doorway, his eyes colder than you’d ever seen them.

“You’re still here”

“...Yeah? Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer. Just strode past you.

You watched, unease coiling in your stomach, as he began methodically inspecting the apartment—touching objects, scanning the shelves, as if searching for something.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on?”

He paused. Turned. And when his eyes met yours, there was nothing familiar in them.

“You will address me as Overseer.”

Days passed like this.

The Alhaitham you knew was gone, replaced by this hollow, aggressive shell.

You hated it.

But what you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was the truth beneath the act.

The way his fingers twitched when your voice wavered.

The way his jaw clenched when you flinched away from him.

The call came on the seventh day.

A coded message, hidden in plain sight—a news broadcast about construction delays in the capital.

Alhaitham listened. Nodded once.

Then waited until you were in bed before slipping out.

Kaveh was already there, leaning against a crumbling wall in the abandoned sector.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered. “I was starting to think they’d actually wiped you.”

Alhaitham didn’t dignify that with a response. “Status?”

“The brainwashing tech is centralized in the Tower. If we hit it during the shift change, we can disable it long enough to free the others.”

“And the masters?”

Kaveh grinned, “Oh, they’ll definitely notice.”

Then Alhaitham nodded. “Good.”

----

When he came back, dawn was just breaking.

You were awake, curled on the couch, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

The door opened. Closed.

“...You’re up.”

His voice was different. Softer. 

The Alhaitham who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, he's finally back.

“It’s over” 

You didn’t ask what he meant.

You crashed into him, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his chest. Relief flooded you so violently your knees nearly buckled. He was back. He was himself.

Alhaitham stiffened for a fraction of a second—then his arms closed around you. His breath shuddered against your hair.

>4 hours ago - The Tower<

The brainwashing facility wasn’t just a building.

It was a slaughterhouse.

Alhaitham moved through the halls, his blade slicing through guards. Blood painted the walls. The air reeked of iron and ozone, the stench of seared flesh from the malfunctioning machines.

Kaveh was at his side.

"They’re rerouting security—we have five minutes before the masters lock this place down!"

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Just wrenched open the control panel.

A scream echoed from deeper in the facility.

Human.

Not dead yet.

They found the prisoners strapped to tables, their skulls hooked to machines. Some twitched. Some wept. Some didn’t move at all.

One—a young woman with dark hair matted to her face—jerked against her restraints as Alhaitham passed.

"P-please… kill me…"

He didn’t.

He cut her free instead.

She collapsed, sobbing, into Kaveh’s arms.

The alarms blared.

They came.

The masters.

Tall, gleaming, their obsidian skin reflecting the flickering emergency lights. One lifted a hand—and the air rippled, a shockwave of force hurling Kaveh into the wall.

Alhaitham barely dodged.

The master tilted its head.

"Defective."

Alhaitham’s blade shattered on the second strike.

He didn’t flinch. Just pivoted, driving the broken shard into the master’s throat. The creature staggered—

And then Kaveh was there, driving a stolen energy core straight into its chest.

The explosion blew out half the floor.

The facility collapsed behind them, flames licking at the sky. The survivors—those they could free—stumbled after them.

Kaveh was laughing.

Alhaitham wasn’t.

He was thinking of you.

>2 hours ago - The Mothership<

The masters’ true stronghold wasn’t on Earth.

It hung in the sky like a grotesque moon, a jagged obsidian monolith pulsing with sickly violet light. Getting inside had required more than just violence—it required precision.

Alhaitham moved through the ship’s corridors along with Kaveh, their path littered with the corpses of the creatures who had once ruled your world.

At the heart of the ship, suspended in a web of bioluminescent cables, was the Core—a living, breathing mass of writhing tendrils and neural tissue.

"You are flawed."

Alhaitham didn’t argue.

He plunged his blade into its center.

The Core didn’t die.

Alhaitham’s fingers worked swiftly, tearing into its neural pathways, rewriting its purpose.

Peace.

A forced one, yes. A lie, perhaps.

But better than slaughter.

The Core shuddered, its violet glow shifting to a soft, steady gold.

The change rippled outward—through the ship, through the planet, through every Overseer still connected to the network.

Including him.

The Core couldn’t sustain itself.

It needed fuel.

Alien blood.

So, when the time came, Alhaitham returned.

He fed the Core with the lifeblood of its own kind, ensuring the illusion of peace held firm.

And when it was done, he came back to you.

>Months later<

"Where have you been?"

"I have some unfinished business."

This world—this peace—wasn’t the masters’ design.

It was his.

----

Sunlight spilled through the curtains as Alhaitham stirred beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

He enjoys those moments.

He'd read his books in the garden.

Sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d smile, as he watched you hum over breakfast or lose yourself in a novel.

The world outside might never know the truth, but here, in this stolen peace, it didn’t matter.

[revelboo]

Starscream Armada crumbs ? ;v; i relate to the reader in the scenario a lot

Sure!

Even If It Kills Me Pt 18

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Sliding his arms under you, he cradles you against him and carries you to your nest of blankets, sinking into it with you in his lap. And you can’t stop crying, horrified at yourself for just bawling and begging him, but unable to stop. The panic comes clawing out of nowhere even though you know Starscream isn’t him. That you’re safe and he’s not going to get angry and punish you for breaking down. Can hear him softly singing that alien lullaby as he tucks your head under his chin and rocks you. Feel your heart aching with every unexpected kindness. Loving him for it.

• Listens to your hitching sobs begin to calm as his anger simmers. Wanting to go back to where he’d found you. Raze it all to the ground. Find the one responsible and make sure they can’t break anyone else the way they broke you. Looking for his mini-cons and realizing they’ve cleared out of his habsuite, unsettled by your distress. So is he, but he can’t just abandon you. Not now. Servos sliding against your spine you take a shuddering breath and wipe at your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you manage, voice breaking and that only fuels his anger.

• “I’m never taking you back there,” he growls, servos wrapping around your wrist, able to overlap easily. “I don’t care if you beg me to.” Flinching at his angry tone, you tip your head up to look at him and his denta are bared. Angrier than you’ve ever seen him before but then he lifts your hand and presses his mouth against your palm. “You belong here with me and you’re staying here.” Lips parting as he wraps his arms around you, crushing you to his chassis until you almost can’t breathe.

• “I want to stay,” you whisper and his grip eases some, had been worried of frightening you in making those demands, but he can feel the rightness of them. You’re not Cybertronian and he’s not human, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Because he wants you. Wants to keep returning to you after missions and patrols. See you smile up at him, happy to see him. Believing he’s good and not the monster Megatron was trying to twist him into. “I want to stay with you.” Your head lifts and your mouth is so close to his. Can feel your warm breath on him.

• Breathless as he leans forward until his lips are almost brushing yours, you’re painfully aware of him. Of the way you fit against him mass displaced. And the warmth of those big hands on you. “I’m not letting you go,” he growls, the words almost a threat. A warning as those serious optics watch you and he vents against you. Can feel his spark thrumming where you’re pressed against him, the hum of his internal systems as his wings flare slightly to draw your eye. Realizing suddenly what you want, what you really want as you close the distance, lips ghosting over his. And those big hands tighten on you, his mouth crashing against yours when you start to pull away. Kissing you back.

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[worldofstoriesanddreams]

Is there an age limit chapter 3 - Christmas edition

Wrapped in a straitjacket, his utility belt and every gadget stripped away, Batman pulled himself up to a sitting position and scanned the room. 

Across the room, Superman was sweating bullets — his face as green as the kryptonite handcuffs that chained him to the wall.

Wonder Woman, in the WayneTech Virtual Reality suit, was in her own world, fighting imaginary battles, unaware of their plight.

Green Lantern was trapped in a yellow cube.

In the agency cage of fire, Martian Manhatter had lost his humanoid form — incapacitated by terror.

Green Arrow without his arrows. Black Canary was gagged and had a metapower inhibiter collar around her neck. Both of them were in straitjackets, unable to escape.

Flash was trapped in a containment field which severed his connection to the Speed Force.

A bald man in a lab coat, calling himself the Master of the World, taunted the Dark Knight with empty boxes that once contained Batman’s contingency plans and resources he had prepared to take down each and every member of the Justice League, should the need arise.

Checking his watch, he announced. “It’s 3pm. Time for Captain Marvel to show up to save his friends.”

He loaded a gun with bullets from the box with Captain Marvel’s lightning on it. These bullets were made of pure lead — deadly to Daxamites. 

“Why put one into his shoulder when I can shoot all of them into his heart?” The villain cackled.

Batman’s contingency plans were never meant to kill. They were to neutralise members of the Justice League when they are under mind control or go rogue, or otherwise become a threat to humanity.

Captain Marvel crashed to the roof, landing in front of the villain.

“Release them,” said the Big Red Cheese.

Click

“Duck,” Batman growled. “Pure lead bullets!”

Bang! 

Bang! 

Bang! 

Bang!

Bang! 

Bang! 

Captain Marvel didn’t flinch as the flurry of bullets struck his chest, bouncing off without leaving a scratch.

“My turn,” he tapped the villain’s shiny head, knocking him unconscious.

He looked at the boxes with their insignias and stared at Batman. His eyes blazed with anger while his smile dropped as he scrutinised Batman. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Disappointment coloured his voice.

“Hm.” Batman glared back.

“Then you’ll know how to free them,” Captain Marvel’s brilliant smile returned as he ripped open the straitjacket, releasing Batman.

So he’s not Kryptonian. He’s not Daxamite.

What was he?

*

Back in the Watchtower, the atmosphere turned chilly. Every hero gave him the cold shoulder. They should. In their line of work, it was unwise to trust so easily. A certain level of paranoia was essential for survival.

Martian Manhunter sat in the break room, still shaken by his exposure to fire. He refused to look at Batman.

“Have some milk and cookies,” Captain Marvel walked in with a tray.  It held a plate piled high with an assortment of chocolate cookies with cream centres, and two glasses of milk. “This really helps after a tough day.” 

The alarm went off. 

There was yet another alien invasion.

Did the various alien races have some kind of time table to invade the earth on a monthly basis?

The screen showed an armada of fiery spaceships that covered all visible space. His sensors showed each ship exuded flames with heat that rivalled the sun’s core.

“Hold this," he handed the tray to Batman.

Captain Marvel beamed, “I call dibs on this invasion.”

A blur of red cleared the sky of the fiery orbs in a blink of an eye.

The Captain was back in the room, with another mug of milk in hand. “Join us for milk and cookies?” He beamed at Batman.

*

It was the night before Christmas. Batman hadn’t a clue who or what Captain Marvel really was. He was only available outside elementary school hours, so he had to be an elementary school teacher, but the bat computer scanned the photos of every elementary school teacher in the country but couldn’t match any of them with the elusive Captain.

As he retired for the night, he noticed milk and cookies laid out near the entrance of each home. Even his own children would set out milk and cookies for Santa Claus before they go to bed on Christmas Eve. 

He looked at the chimneys. Santa was known to enter homes through chimneys. Some fireplaces were still burning, so Santa had to be flame proof.

In one single night, Santa visits every home in the entire world, delivering presents to those who have been good, and coal to those who have been naughty. Bruce knew. Ever since he started those contingency plans to take down every one of his team mates, he had been getting a coal in his stocking every Christmas.

The clues fell in place.

Captain Marvel loves milk and cookies.

He’s great with the kids.

He’s flame proof, which meant, going down the chimney while the fire is still burning wouldn’t bother him.

He moves so fast, he could visit every home in the world in one night.

The way he looked at Batman after seeing the contingency boxes in use, reminded him of how his dad would look at Bruce when he was naughty.

That bright red suit and white cape - same red as Santa's suit. Same white as the trimmings.

The perpetual smile. 

The Captain’s favourite catchphrase — “Holy Moley” — “Ho Ho Ho.”

Of course.

He knew Captain Marvel’s real identity.

Captain Marvel is Santa Claus!

[countlessofvoids]

What would you change about Grimmels dynamic/relationship with other characters if you could? (Including dragons if you want)

Starting off with the most important dynamic for his arc — Hiccup. I would have it begin similiar to how it is in the movie ; him seeing Hiccup as just some weak, barely significant nuisance hiding behind a hoarde of dragons. Then as the story progresses, it turns into genuine loathing. Not in a "He keeps disrupting my plans!!" way, but more personal. Hiccup becomes sort of a reminder of what Grimmel could've been, except instead of re-valuating his life choices — he takes it as Hiccup getting lucky. Because "If someone else tried this stunt, they'd become a laughing stock at best, and get exiled at worst." He believes Hiccup only got to where he is thanks to his dragon and the Berkians being weak minded. Grimmel does manage to get under Hiccup's skin, but Hiccup tries to keep his focus on defending his people rather getting rid of him. After all, the three armadas tracking them are a bigger problem.

With Toothless, I actually like how Grimmel's attitude towards him was not caring much, outside of the embarassment of everyone kbowing a night fury is alive. I'd keep it like that, but have a scene or two where Toothless tries attacking Grimmel. I mean, wouldn't you want to at least beat up the guy responsible for your species' exctinction?

Then we have the other Dragon Riders. I do wish they were more involved in general, but I don't actually mind them not having any direct interactions with Grimmel too much (ignoring the Ruffnut incident for my own sanity). They probably don't matter enough for him to differentiate them from one another. But one dynamic I'd like to see is with Valka. Partially because I firmly believe she should've had a much bigger role in the story, but I also think them not having at least one conversation is a missed opportunity. The man who supposedly believes seeing dragons as your friends is the epitome of idiocy, does not have a single thing to say about someone who left her child for them? Of course, you'd have to be careful when writing a scene like that. Since it could easily support the fandom's sexist idea of wanting to see Valka get 'punished'.

I know Stoick is dead, but I'm gonna include him anyway. I think they spoke to each other a few times, but that's probably where it ends. I imagine they met through gatherings similiar to the one Stoick mentions in the second movie. Despite Stoick siding with dragons, Grimmel's opinion on him remains on a more positive side.

Now for the characters who got him involved in this plot in the first place ; the Warlords. All I need is for them to act accordingly to their status. They're the ones he works for, he has no place to give them orders. He's just a hunter, they can easily hire a new one.

I left his deathgrippers for last because I've already talked about this. The scenario I'd favor the most is for them and Grimmel to be friends. Doesn't need to be a deep friendship, they could have a coworkers type of dynamic. If he has to be abusive, then at least write it in a way that makes sense. Have the dragons be afraid of him, like flinching when he raises his hand and such. Or have them act like how drugged animals actually act. In the movie, they're just a little too calm around him for me to be convinced Grimmel treating them horribly is not just a barely thought out addition.

[quasarwake]

Healing Wings

Also readable on Ao3!

Sometimes life gives you lemons. Sometimes, it gives you giant alien jet men that have parallel abuse trauma to some of the things you went through. Jay doesn't want to worry about that though! There are wings to patch up!

Shy ~3000 words, Starscream/Original Human Character No set universe/Lean on the IDW and Armada vibes CW For mentions of abuse, hurt/comfort, physical trauma (Starscream needs patching up because of that One Guy he hates So Much)

Something was off with Starscream.

Usually when he entered their quarters (as Jay was starting to think of it), he would demand his pet's attention, settle down to rant about Megatron (the leader of the Decepticons, as Jay had quickly learned), or his latest plans to seek out or manage “energon” mines, or any other number of things he had responsibility over as second in command.

Jay was really starting to feel less like a pet and more like a service animal, in truth. And Starscream seemed to appreciate that he didn't just nod and agree with him- once, having even pointed out a logical error in one of his plans.

Jay had wondered if he was going to lose his life- the rage on that snarling metallic face, the raised, clawed hand, and he barely had time to flinch, to think "figures", before that hand was...

Lowered.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Until it rested so gently on the edge of the desk, claws tapping along the surface, the sound like rain on a tin roof.

"...I had not considered that," came the rasped reply, before he turned, leaving the room, leaving Jay to his own devices (few that there were, at the time).

That had been a week in, and Jay had not seen another show of anger directed towards him since.

Starscream's expressions were often tinged with such a cruelty, but there had been times where something Jay had said had made him laugh . He couldn't remember exactly what it was that he'd said, but it had been after a particularly long-winded rant about Megatron, and the smile that had alighted Starscream's face was so malicious and sadistic, his laugh that rasping voice with a click and a squeak to it now and then.

He tried not to dwell on how he wanted to recreate that sound, preferably as often as possible, let it live and fill the silence in the room. Two weeks in, and the secondhand guilt he was feeling for not wanting to return home, for essentially leaving humanity behind, was just starting to fade.

What he saw at present had him doubting that laughter would be on the table anytime soon.

Today (or tonight, his phone seemed to keep jumping around with timezones), Starscream had been so silent in his entrance, barely a hiss or a grumble.

Jay couldn't fully see what Starscream was doing, at first- could only hear the faint sound of metal on metal, could feel the desk shift beneath him, not quite like the usual feeling of Starscream leaning on it. He usually kept the curtain closed until his attention was demanded, but this time, Jay was curious. Moving aside the items that he'd cobbled together to make into furniture, he tugged aside the blanket that had become a most insulating curtain-

And felt his eyes widen, a cold clawing sinking into his chest, a feeling he didn't try to name drying his mouth.

Starscream was sitting on the edge of his desk, clawed digits trailing over jagged edges in his armor. Dents. Clean cuts right through what to Jay had felt to be truly solid metals. He seemed to be doing it deliberately , face contorting from displeasure to... something like a grim satisfaction. Jay could see faint tints of glowing… blue? Pink ? Droplets falling to his desk and to the floor.

Was it... fuel? Blood ? The hues shifting in the light were hard for him to look at directly, his mind struggling to interpret it as something singular.

He watched as claws dug themselves into his chest, more of that ‘ blue’ spilling over them, and Starscream snarled , his body shuddering as he pulled his fingers free, a shard of something held between two claws. Air gusted from the vents along his face as he let out a long groan, the creaking of his body loud in the room. He set aside the shard, a torn chunk of metal beside Jay's enclosure, blugenta fluid pooling outside of the storage container.

And Jay watched as he started to patch himself up with a strange feeling of familiarity , though the tools utilized were different from what he would have handled.

A small welder, a pinch of a shiny gel from a drawer, a bit of some kind of bandage-like metallic mesh.

It was a lot of work.

"If you're going to stare, you may as well help."

The rasp startled Jay, falling past the curtain and out in the open, Starscream's face so dark from below, red eyes a pair of haunting beacons in the shadows- though when he was this close, there was only that other few feet of distance between their eye-levels.

‘Only.’

Steeling himself, Jay stepped out, feeling those eyes on him as he approached, reading a weariness in that expression.

What can I do?

"What happened to you?" He didn't mean for that to come out, but it was out, and Starscream was scowling down at him. Jay waited for anger, but instead, he looked away, a brief flash of gritted teeth as he pulled another piece of scrap from his body.

"There are defenders of your planet, amongst our kind," he stated. "We found ourselves in a skirmish with a group of them. It..." Jay could see the metallic teeth in his mouth gritting, remembering that this creature had them. “...did not go well.”

Starscream had never been coy about the Decepticons (so... interestingly named, really) being invaders of his planet, seeking natural resources that had apparently been seeded there before there even was life. But the idea of others on the side of humans, or the Earth at least?

What did that even mean , for him?

Starscream seemed to pick up his hesitation, and narrowed his eyes.

“I didn't get these from some Autobot, however,” he hissed. “As if they could ever really damage me. ”

He stopped quite suddenly, the shift in his demeanor coming with a faint low hum in the air. His face had a more careful expression, vermillion irises wrapped in crimson looking at Jay down a perfect, angular nose.

"They would probably try to take you back to the planet, if they ever found you here,” he mused aloud, the edge in his voice more… delicate.

What was he getting at? That the defenders of Earth would make him go home ?

Perhaps Starscream meant it as an out, should such a thing ever occur. Or a test, so soon in his captivity, to test loyalty?

Who was he to know?

Jay glanced at his new little house, something that more or less had privacy and creature comforts- more space and books than he'd had back home, for sure. A few weeks with Starscream had already started to build a comfortable routine. A sense of almost comfort, that he was too twitchy yet to grow accustomed to. And that medic- Knockout? He had been… not awful to talk to. More curious about human culture and biology than Starscream, for sure- and while it was overwhelming , and it made Jay need to recuperate for some hours after any ‘light’ chat… it wasn’t un pleasant.

It wasn’t exactly what he’d call positive attention. But it wasn’t negative, either.

“So if you're too tough to be beaten this badly by an… Autobot-” Unwieldy name. Probably another very rough translation? “-then who, or what, did this to you?”

There was that glare- and Jay was getting so familiar with this particular expression.

“That oaf Megatron,” he spat, “Has a temper. Today’s skirmish with our enemies- his rival ? Put him in a very bad mood. I can hold my own well enough,” he added, his back straightening in a display of clear pride . His wings, in their tattered state, drooped after a moment. “...but he’s insane. It’s the only way he can possibly best me. His time as a gladiator gives him some experience in a fight, and while I have the advantage in the air…”

He scowled.

“...no matter. Next time, not only will I send him running, but I will rule the Decepticon army, as is my right- to victory and the end of this blasted war.”

Now, Jay had heard of Starscream’s rants of Megatron- usually in his incompetence as a leader, his impatience, his war mongering, often, like now, tinged with a sort of bitter admiration.

But this? He hadn’t realised that Megatron would beat his subordinates, let alone his second in command. Nor, in truth, had he recognized the extent of Starscream’s hatred, or his ambition .

What must it taste like, to be so close to the top, your own goal? Only to have the one holding it control you, beat you back until you may as well be grounded in place?

“...I’d like to see that,” he said. “Knock him on his ass. And give him a kick or two for me while he’s down, yeah? And let me get in there a bit, I’ve got enough pent-up aggression, bet I could leave at least a dent if I’m feeling motivated.” The widening of those red eyes was just a touch frightening- Starscream’s face in that uncanny valley right in the spot that left Jay only slightly breathless- and the nasty little smirk was worth it.

“...of course, my pet would have to get in on the fun,” he said, in that way he had of not addressing Jay quite directly. “What a delightful way to extend Megatron’s humiliation- defeat, and a fleshy little human adding insult to- slag ,” he hissed, his wings jolting and locking into place, more of that fluid leaking onto the desk. “Pet, I need you to assist me with this. Think I can trust you to not damage me further?”

He pushed one of the jars from earlier towards Jay, and shoved what looked like an oversized paintbrush- or a really nice mop- into his hands.

“Reaching every spot is difficult right now, and I need my wings to be in pristine condition- do well, and I may even reward you later.”

Rewards? That was something new. Jay gripped the swab-thing in his hands, nodding quickly.

"...tell me where to put this.”

Was that a… pleased sigh he heard from Starscream? He was starting to think he was getting the hang of recognizing the sounds the bots made with their vents.

The desk shook slightly as Starscream shifted, turning his wings towards Jay- and with the deep blue scores along them, he got the idea.

"Take care of it quickly," Starscream rasped. "I will require a rest period afterwards. The... podcast you have been listening to- I want to hear more of it. It’s been an interesting little diversion."

...oh? Starscream had been oddly quiet while Jay had played previous episodes... it hadn't occurred to him that Starscream might be enjoying his little fantasy stories- dragons and towers and haunting seas.

But a surprise like that so easily brought a warmth along with it, and he smiled, dipping the brush into the strange ointment.

"Alright. Hold still and I'll get this taken care of."

...he hadn't expected those little groans and hisses, Starscream so reactive to every layer of gel Jay applied. Now and then, when he seemed to touch on a particularly sensitive spot, those massive wings would twitch, and Starscream would shudder, claws gripping the edge of the desk and back curling, arching -

Heat flooded his face at one sound, something that combined the vents along Starscream's face gusting softly as he almost seemed to moan, wings shuddering from their tips to his shoulders. It always was so unusual to see the way the 'armor' was part of his body , and sensitive in many ways- and of course, there came the natural curiosity, the wondering -

How sensitive were those wings?

Were there other sensitive areas, on these creatures that were also machine?

And was it only for pain, that they could feel?

He could have asked.

But how quickly would that smile, that laughter from Starscream, turn to frustration and anger? He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was almost awful how long it was taking to fall.

Starscream was venting from his chassis and his helm, great gusts over the desk whipping at Jay's clothes and hair, his hands firmly gripping the desk as his whole body trembled.

Was it that much pain?

Was it relief that he saw, flickering quickly across Starscream's face, a glow of that colour on his cheeks? Like a flush , his fuel, his blood, could be from pain.

Jay stepped back, hands gripping the swab tight enough that his arms shook, trying to ignore the way his mouth and throat had dried.

"...I think I got all of it," he stated, swallowing around the tightness in his throat. "Does it feel better?"

"It doesn't feel worse ," Starscream muttered, his voice more strained than usual, his shoulders trembling. He took back the container, tugging the swab out of Jay's hands, his own still shaking slightly- even through the calculated and careful motion, Jay was always waiting for some kind of pain-

But it never came.

He only felt that shiver.

Clearing his throat, he tried to ignore the heat that crept up his cheeks, looking away when Starscream looked at him directly again.

"...so you wanted to hear more of my audio stuff?" His new tablet was able to sometimes catch wifi enough to download podcasts onto, and he was fairly certain he knew which one his captor wanted to listen to.

Grunting, Starscream nodded, and seemed to wait for Jay to get what he needed-

And Jay thought that would be that. He had a good speaker, and he was simply going to put it on the desk to make it close enough for Starscream to hear (though his hearing did seem to be quite acute, never asking Jay to speak up).

But Starscream had such an odd look on his face, suddenly. Like something had finally, properly occurred to him.

Tilting his head to the side, he gestured towards Jay’s enclosure.

"Grab yourself one of your blankets, Pet," he stated firmly, and that shiver ran down Jay's spine again. "You will be joining me on my berth while I rest."

What?

This was new- this was unexpected.

He should have felt demeaned.

But there was that part of Jay that jolted whenever Starscream directly referred to him as his pet.

That made him feel wanted .

Other ‘cons on the ship would call Jay by proper pronouns regardless of how he appeared- he had told the medic his name and his preferences all of one time before that had started.

But Starscream had seemed resilient to it, calling Jay an ‘it’ or simply his pet. Pet, as if that were the name he’d chosen- if he’d even considered that far.

Musing on this had taken too long for Starscream’s liking, and before Jay could react, he felt Starscream’s hand around him-

He hadn’t been grabbed like this since he had first been captured, and he waited for metal fingers to grip too tightly, to hurt -

And again, the pain he expected to feel never came.

Instead, he was simply carried over, held firmly but gently in Starscream’s grip until they were both more horizontal.

Starscream had even grabbed a small handful of Jay’s blankets. He didn’t want to think about the mess he would have to tidy in his makeshift environment.

“Here.”

Starscream had lain on his front, wings spread wide on his back, and settled Jay onto the blankets near his head. It was actually a cosy little nest, even with Starscream’s claw half-open around him. Something to lean against, even, the edge of his palm coming nearly up to Jay’s shoulders while sitting.

And warm.

The quietest, softest voice in Jay’s heart begged him to lean into that warmth, to trust it, to let himself be held like this, the occasional wind from Starscream’s vents feeling almost like breathing, the low inaudible hum of the ship that rattled his bones cancelled out by the natural thrumming of whatever it was that ran Starscream’s system, his own heartbeat starting to sound like a natural drumbeat to that tone- 

“Have you fallen asleep? Start the story, Pet,” Starscream muttered, and Jay marveled at how close his face was-

The sharp features framed by a dramatically edged helm, the plated chin that almost looked like a beard, but off , the way his eyes cast a red glow everywhere he looked, everywhere on Jay’s clothes and skin…

And there was a growl from the impatient Decepticon, the back of his clawed thumb nudging at Jay’s cheek, before settling on his knees. Heavy, but not unpleasantly so.

“Admire me another day. Entertain me for now. Or do I need to remind you that that is what you are here for?”

…of course.

Starscream was demanding of his attention, and his time. And Jay was starting to get more and more accustomed to that attention, to giving that time.

He managed a genuine smile, and wondered if he mistook how Starscream’s eyes softened, how gentle the claw stroking his arm was, like he had his own level of admiration to attend to.

If he let himself believe that, would there ever be a home to return to?

Nodding, he found the story he had been listening to, glad that he and this alien being could have something from his side of the interaction to share . Starscream’s eyes remained on him for a long moment while the intro played, before they began to dim, metal lids closing so much like shutters. “...you will stay here until I finish resting,” came that rasping mutter, in a voice that was nearly incapable of being soft, and Jay nodded, finding a blanket in the mess and wrapping himself in it. Starscream never seemed to rest for long.

And maybe, if he let himself…

He would sleep, too.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 5 - And Fresh-Fallen Rain

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

It was only a matter of time before Pomni blinked herself awake. 

Wave after wave of pulsing pain, synchronized with the beat of her heart, relentlessly pounded the back of her skull. A landscape of crimson curls, wild weeds, and shimmering stars expanded, contracted, and twisted before her half-lidded eyes. The disorienting sight was more than enough to make her stomach do flips — and fail to stick the landing every single time.

But even so, it was hard to feel anything but content. 

The wind was fierce and frigid, but Pomni didn’t know it. She didn’t feel the bitter cold, even as gale after freezing gale slashed her skin like the crack of a whip. All the pain in the world wouldn’t have phased her, not as long as the wind’s touch highlighted the slightly-wet spots where Ragatha’s lips had so lovingly grazed her face. 

Stalks of overgrown grass wavered as a brisk squall flew across the yard; a palette of fallen leaves, which just so happened to be sleeping in its path, was cast into the sky. Red, yellow, orange, and brown — the cozy colors swished and swirled through the air, then drifted back to their resting spot below the jungle-like lawn. 

It only took a moment for the breeze to return. Coming from the other direction now, it passed through Ragatha’s red yarn hair before pummeling Pomni’s face. All at once, the saccharine aroma of the ragdoll’s locks — strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain — introduced itself.  

And it was heavenly. 

Pomni’s eyelids drooped further, and a dumb, wobbly smile blossomed on her face. As her tiny arms wrapped around Ragatha’s plush, guffawing belly, she didn’t worry about how embarrassed she was to have fainted, or what Ragatha’s little kisses had meant, or why someone like her even deserved to be treated with such affection. Those pesky doubts were for future Pomni to agonize over; for now, they crumbled to pieces with each precious peak of Ragatha’s laughter.

“Oh! There she is!” Ragatha flinched as Pomni’s arms enfolded her. “I was starting to worry I up and killed you…”

“Nope! Still kicking.” Pomni chirped, “But just barely…” 

Slowly, Ragatha’s giggles began to peter out, but their spirit still tickled every word she spoke. “Goodness me — aren’t you in a good mood! Your head didn’t hit the ground too hard, did it?”

Pomni waffled. She decided not to tell Ragatha about the big lump on the back of her head — the redhead would just worry herself sick, after all. “...I’m fine. Just a little bit dizzy.”

“I really am sorry.” Ragatha placed her soft hands atop Pomni’s, idly dragging her digits across the jester’s worn leather gloves. “I should have warned you before I…” she paused. “Well, y’know…”

Pomni could feel the heat rising in Ragatha’s hands. She waited patiently for her to finish, but as the silence dragged on, it became increasingly clear that she’d have to be the one to break it. 

“No, it’s okay! Really! I just, um, wasn’t expecting…that. And if you think about it, it was actually my fault. I wouldn’t have fainted if I had just listened—”

“No, no! It was sweet! I don’t know. I just figured…” Ragatha said, a nervous tilt to her tone, “...since you were having so much fun getting into your character, I ought to return the favor.” Ragatha's hands were twitching now, “And…”

Somewhere nearby, a ladybug crested a wobbling blade of grass, flitted its wings, then buzzed away to who-knows-where. Another brisk gust wandered through the dilapidated yard, sending an armada of dandelion seeds sailing swiftly through the air.

“And…?” Again, Pomni was the one to shatter the silence. 

“Oh, nevermind.” Ragatha forced out a laugh. Pomni swore she could hear the woman’s blush. “I think I’ve just got an overactive imagination.”

Another pause. That made three. 

Pomni’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Unsure if this was even real, she slipped her hand out from beneath Ragatha’s, eager to simply trace the woman’s strong, soft frame…

… but her finger didn’t get very far before arriving at the gaping hole slashed across the ragdoll’s abdomen. 

Guilt flattened Pomni’s heart like a speeding train. Holding Ragatha close, the jester sat up in a snap, examining her friend’s injuries with a level of determination that could only be described as ‘obsessive’. 

Talk about a mood-killer — it was as if Pomni had never even bothered to stitch Ragatha up at all. Stuffing leaked out of the ragdoll here, there, everywhere. Nearly all of Pomni’s makeshift threads, nowhere close to well-crafted, were already failing — if they weren’t coming loose, the strings themselves were coming apart. 

Pomni clenched her teeth. Her brow descended, and her lips trembled fiercely. 

“Hey, hey! Don’t cry! You don’t have to worry about me.” Tenderly, Ragatha pushed herself against Pomni's little frame, “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

“I’m not sad.” A stormy look came to Pomni’s face. “I’m angry.”

“...Angry?”

“Stupid #$&%ing tree monster. Stupid #$&%ing Caine!” Pomni bared her teeth, “Stupid #$&%ing circus!”

“H-Hey, now! Take a breath, okay? Let’s not get ourselves worked up—”

“No! I’m pissed!” In a snap, Pomni leapt to her feet, firmly holding Ragatha in her arms. “I’m not gonna let you get hurt anymore,” she said, making a beeline toward the haunted mansion, “Not a single scratch, from now until we escape this horrible circus together — I promise!”

Ragatha’s eyes were sparkling, though Pomni was too focused on climbing the front porch’s creaky staircase to notice. “Pomni, Y-You don’t have to do all that…!”

“Too bad. I want to.”

“O-Oh…” Ragatha’s breath felt warm against Pomni’s chest. “I see…”

Without another word. Pomni summited the porch stairs, where a pair of double-doors patiently awaited her arrival. She eyed the doorbell, but her hands were full — so she opted for three mighty kicks at the doors’ expense instead. “Hello? Anyone home?” 

Pomni and Ragatha waited for an answer. And then waited some more. Pomni’s shrill voice echoed at least a dozen times in the stiff silence. 

“Hellooo!?” Pomni’s ill-fitting boot pounded the door thrice more. “We don’t have all day, you know! Open up!”

“Pomni! It’s been five seconds!” Ragatha chided, “Don’t be rude!”

“Rude? What am I doing — interrupting supper time? They’re NPCs.”

“I know that! But still. It just feels so wrong…”

A relaxed smile found its way to Pomni’s face — at this point, the jester wouldn’t have been surprised if Ragatha were hiding a pair of angel wings underneath that pretty dress of hers. “Let me guess. You’re the type of person who feels guilty about not giving equal attention to all of your stuffed animals, aren’t you?”

“I—” Ragatha sputtered, glancing off. “N-No! I’m thirty years old! What makes you think I own stuffed animals?”

Pomni raised an eyebrow.  

Ragatha had been caught red-handed, and she knew it. It was incredible how quickly her face flushed completely pink. “Okay, first of all, how dare you attack me like this—”

Before Ragatha could even finish her tongue-in-cheek response, both girls simply lost it. Their uncontrolled, side-splitting laughter — one giggling, one cackling like a witch — spun together into a harmonious duet, and for a fleeting moment, both captives felt like they were home. 

“Alright, alright.” Ragatha wiped at her eyes. “Enough joking around. How about I just ring the doorbell for you, Sweetheart?”

“Huh?! No way! You have to stay still or you’re going to rip yourself! Look, I’ll just set you down—”

“On the dirty porch? Are you out of your mind?” Ragatha reached for the ornate button beside the door. 

“Hey! What are you doing?! I just told you—”

“Oops!” Ragatha poked the button, then quickly fell back into Pomni’s arms like a helpless princess. “Sorry, dear. Didn’t hear you!”

Pomni grumbled, and the doorbell replied with its signature chime. Windswept shutters battered cracked windows as Pomni and Ragatha stood there, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Pomni’s patience was in short supply. She stamped her foot, and the old porch whined. “Seriously?”

“Maybe the entrance is around the back? My old apartment building was like that.” Ragatha said. “Ordering anything by mail was just the worst. It’s like — I get that the mail carriers had to stick to a tight schedule, but they would never read the signs. Oh, and trick-or-treat was a nightmare every Halloween—”

Ragatha’s riveting tale was cut short as, at last, the double-doors swung open at the sound of the magic words — trick-or-treat.

Ragatha’s mouth fell open. Pomni wrinkled her brow. Both women studied the other’s outfit in stunned silence — and suddenly, Caine’s choice of costumes didn’t seem quite so arbitrary. 

“Ohhh…” They nodded in sync. “Right…”

Cautiously, Pomni poked her head through the door frame. If the scent of stale tobacco pouncing upon her senses was any indication, the surprises weren’t over yet. 

“It’s…” Pomni breathed, “...an elevator…?”

“Ooh, and an old-fashioned one, too!” Ragatha tapped her fingers together, excitedly peering inside. 

The interior was nothing if not visually striking. Each of its four walls, carved from cherrywood, hosted polished panels gilded with gold. Winding bands of white and black and gold and blue danced a tango across the smoke-stained carpet. An expensive-looking chair sat in the corner; an equally-elegant end table, complete with a flickering lamp, complimentary cigars, and a half-filled ashtray, sat to the left. 

“Gosh, and just look at all these little aesthetic flourishes!” Ragatha gushed. “Folks back then really put effort into making every little thing look beautiful. You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh. S-Sure…”

“Sometimes I wish that attitude would make a comeback. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an old soul…” 

Pomni blinked, regarding the elevator’s interior through empty pupils. She would have instinctively eyed the exit had she not already been standing in the middle of it. 

The jester couldn’t recall something as simple as her own name — but, by some cruel twist of fate, everything else about the life she’d had stolen from her remained crystal clear in her head: including her swarming, overcrowded menagerie of obsessive anxieties.

Back home, Pomni’s teeny-tiny cubicle — something she couldn’t believe she actually missed now — was located on one the higher floors of her employer’s drab highrise. Entering the lobby, a lengthy carpet led the eye to a conveniently-placed pair of lifts. Their metal doors, constantly opening and closing as employees funneled in and out, was a sure sign that another busy day of work lay ahead.

Pomni was quite familiar with the contraptions — which was reason enough for the tie-wearing twenty-something, armed with her trusty backpack, to begin each morning with a hard left towards the musty concrete stairwell instead. By the time she’d reach her floor, the young accountant would be out-of-breath, weak in the knees, and far sweatier than any sane person would ever like to be. In her book, though, it was worth the trouble. She would do anything in her power to avoid the sensory torture that was riding in one of those cramped sardine cans. 

Elevators were awful. Just awful. Women wearing far too aggressive perfume; men who had forgotten to wear any deodorant at all. Extroverted co-workers trying to make small talk; creepy strangers trying to hit on her. Idiots with no concept of personal space; morons with no respect for the fire marshall’s occupancy limit clearly posted on the wall in big, bold letters. 

But being stuck inside of a tiny box with eight other people was a dream compared to the experience of riding alone — where her mind could wander, and the simmering fear of some catastrophic malfunction could consume her thoughts. What if the power went out? What if she got stuck? What if she were trapped inside and ran out of oxygen? What if the cables snapped, and the final moments of her life would be her screaming in horror as the car was sent plummeting down the shaft?

Nope. Pomni didn’t like elevators. Not one bit. Sensitive to Ragatha’s feelings, however, the young woman tried her hardest to force a smile onto her face. “Wow. C-Classy…” 

For a moment, Ragatha didn’t even react. “...You’re nervous.” she tilted her head in concern, “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s the matter!” Pomni lied, and rather poorly, at that. “I was just…” she floundered, “...admiring the craftsmanship! Gee, don’t you wish they made stuff like this nowadays?”

“...Yeah. I just said that.”

“Right…! S-So…! Anyway…!”

Pomni closed her eyes, ducking her face behind Ragatha’s shoulders. Oh, come on! What are you waiting for? Just go! It’s just an elevator! You’ve had your whole life to be a coward — now’s the time to be brave. For her! You can do that, can’t you!?

The shaking jester steeled herself. The sole of her oversized boot departed from the sturdy wooden porch, swung forward, flirted with the elevator’s artsy carpet, pressed down… 

…and the entire car shifted with an ear-splitting creak. 

Pomni’s whole body seized up — she couldn’t stumble back onto the porch fast enough. Nope. Nope. Abso-#@%$ing-lutely not.

“Pomni! You are nervous!” Ragatha rubbed at her chest, “Oh, no — Ugh! I’m sorry! Are you afraid of elevators?”

Pomni squirmed in place. Her gut commanded her to keep up her defenses — to deny, deny, deny, because showing the slightest inkling of vulnerability had been punished so severely in the past. Despite all of her strongest instincts, however, the soft look of concern on Ragatha’s face hit her like a magic spell.

“Um,” Pomni’s shoulders slumped, “Maybe a teensy-tiny bit...”

“Oh, Sweetheart…” Ragatha drew closer, “Forget it, then. Why don’t we try looking for another way in?”

“N-No! It’s fine! This way is the fastest!”

“But I want you to be comfortable, too…”

“You’re worried about me?!”

Ragatha twisted her lips. “Is that bad…?”

“Yes!”

“O-Oh…”

“God, Ragatha — can’t you just be selfish for once in your freaking life!?” Pomni’s voice was sharpened to a fine tip. “I mean…look at yourself! You’re falling apart at the seams — literally!”

“Pomni! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Watch me!” Pomni squished Ragatha against her chest before the ragdoll could even think to protest. Surging with adrenaline, she clenched her jaw, made peace with her god, and barreled forward. 

The ancient elevator quaked beneath her feet; each time it stirred, her body seized, preparing itself for the whole contraption to plummet into the endless abyss below. Pomni quailed at the sound of squeaking metal, cowered at the buzz of hydraulics, and pined after the whistling wind outside the car — a beacon of safety and stable footing. 

She shivered, choking on every haggard breath that just wasn’t enough — but somehow, the slight weight in her arms gave her the courage to open her eyes and face the music. 

“I…” Pomni stood in the center of the elevator. She looked down at a begrudgingly-happy Ragatha, each stammered word framed by bouts of breathless laughter, “...I did it!” 

Ragatha beamed, practically singing. “You did!” 

“Yes, indeed!” A series of polite claps sounded from behind. “Jolly good show, darling!”

Pomni just couldn’t stop smiling. “It was, wasn’t it?” she agreed. Sticking out her chest, the young woman pulled in a deep breath, and then…

…Wait a minute! Pomni spun around on a dime. Who said that!?

A ghostly figure, surrounded by an otherworldly aura, sat with her legs crossed in the elevator’s cushioned chair. Her outfit, equally as old-fashioned as her surroundings, evoked all the stylings of a suffragette. Her wide-brimmed hat cast a spooky shadow over her face. Her ruffled shirt was tucked neatly into a long, floral-print skirt. A silk sash spanned the length of her chest, bearing a progressive slogan spelled out in a simple typeface.  

An eerie smile crawled across the phantom’s ashen face. Slowly, she looked up from the book in her lap, and the lamp’s struggling flame gasped its final breath, “Going up?”

Pomni SHRIEKED. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” the ghost marked her place with a bookmark, closed her tome, and sharply raised her other hand, “Dining room. Fifth floor.”

With a light ‘ding’, the elevator’s sole exit slammed shut, casting the car in total darkness. The elevator rumbled as if caught in an earthquake, rusted gears whirring and whining all the way. 

“Uh…” Ragatha’s face fell. She looked up at Pomni, who was taking things exactly as well as you would expect. 

“WHAT?! HEY! NONONO! WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“There’s the handrail, darling.” the ghost pointed with a wink, “You might want to make use of it sooner rather than later.”

“NONONO! LET ME OUT!” Pomni pounded her foot against the door, “WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT—”

The ghost shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Suddenly, the elevator shot into the air at gravity-defying speeds, thrusting Pomni and Ragatha roughly into the floor — and pinning them there for the remainder of their abrupt ascent. 

🎪  🎪  🎪 

The haunted lift halted the same way it had started.

Painfully. 

The doors slid open with an innocent chime, and the girls shivered in sync as the ghost’s ethereal high-heels passed straight through them. 

“Right this way, ladies.” the phantom twirled her fingers. A magical aura surrounded Pomni and Ragatha, dragging their aching forms behind the ghost as she stepped gingerly out of the car. 

A cozy dining room awaited beyond the threshold. Autumn-toned streamers stretched across the ceiling. A perimeter of potatoes, turnips, and radishes, strung up on strings and carved with grotesque faces, was proudly displayed on each wall. A large banner pinned to the wall read ‘ALLHALLOWTIDE GREETINGS’, just in case the apple-bobbing stations weren’t sufficiently on-the-nose.

A long, wooden table was situated in the exact center of the room, dominating the space. The ghostly woman sat herself at its head, and, with a flick of her finger, sat her dazed guests across from each other. 

“Well, well, well!” The ghostly specter fanned her face with her weighty novel. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has another troupe of wayward rabble-rousers dared to trespass upon the esteemed estate of—”

“Oh, God!” Pomni, green in the face, scrambled to slap her hands over her mouth. “Oh, holy #$@%—” She swiped the closest open receptacle she could find — a gorgeous Edwardian vase — and held her mouth against the opening. Her whole frame crumpled forward as her body quite ungracefully emptied itself out.

“P-Pomni!” Ragatha’s fingers grazed the side of her face. “Oh my goodness — are you alright?!”

The jester groaned. Plopping the vase back onto the table, she weakly nodded, trembling hands hugging her ailing stomach. “I’ll be fine. J-Just…give me a second…” she faceplanted into the large heap of candy corn piled on her plate. “This happens more often than you’d think…”

Ragatha pouted, watching Pomni’s face sink deeper into candy corn mountain. Individual pieces slid off of the young woman’s plate and scattered across the table. “Remember your breathing, okay, Sweetheart?”

Pomni flashed a flaccid thumbs-up.

“My word! What is the meaning of this?!” The ghostly apparition clenched her fists, lips curled back in disgust. “Perhaps if your detestable generation spent less time listening to that boorish ‘jazz’ music — and I’m being generous calling it music at all — you’d have room in those cramped skulls  to remember proper etiquette!”

In a flash, she tore open her book —  the cover read, ‘THE LADY’S BOOK OF COMMON ETIQUETTE & ASSORTED DEMONIC SPELLS — 1860 EDITION’ in embossed, glossy lettering.

The ghost loudly cleared her throat. She pointed to the text with a manicured fingernail,  “Immediately upon entering the parlor, find your hostess, and speak to her first. It is very rude to stop to chat with other guests before greeting the lady of the house.”

Ragatha blushed, shrinking in her seat like a scolded child. “Ma’am...”

“Hmph. As appalling as your conduct is, I suppose you aren’t completely hopeless. It’s worlds better, at least, than that infantile rabbitoid or that foul-mouthed modern-art abomination.” The haughty ghost shook her head. “But I digress — what business do you mortal wretches have in the decrepit domain of I, the great Margarethe MacGuffin?”

A long, drawn-out pause ensued — longer than usual. “Um…” Ragatha rapped on her chin, “…Who?”

“Who? What do you mean ‘who’?”

“Come to think of it, I’ve completely forgotten what we’re even supposed to be doing here. Pomni…?”

Groggily, Pomni lifted her head; more than a few candy corns came along, sticking stubbornly to her cheeks, chin, and forehead. “Brooch,” she sighed. A single morsel tumbled off her face, “We’re looking for the—”  

“Brooch, you say?!” Margarethe flinched at the word like a trained dog hearing its name. Her sour mood shifted in an instant. “You couldn’t possibly mean…” she drew closer, “...that brooch, could you? The legendary MacGuffin family heirloom? The priceless treasure forged in the highlands beyond Hadrian’s Wall, passed down from generation to generation—”

“Uh-huh! Sounds about right!” Pomni abruptly pushed her chair out, sending an avalanche of candy treats pittering and pattering across the hardwood floor. She wasted no time racing to Ragatha’s side — and gently, so gently, hooking her arm around the dolly’s. “So where do we go? What do we do? How do we leave!?” 

“I…” Margarethe balked. “Sit back down this instant, young lady!”

“Uh, hello?! Do you not see that my friend is practically in pieces, here? We don’t need your stupid theatrics — none of this is even real, anyway — just spit it out so we can go back to the tent and get her fixed!”

Margarethe’s posture was as sharp as a tack. “For shame! Never in my sixty-seven years have I witnessed such uncharismatic, uncouth, unbecoming behavior from a young bachelorette. Simply appalling —  you’ll never find a husband with that attitude.”

“Aw, really? You mean it?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“HAHAHA!” Ragatha slapped the table, “G-Golly, Ms. MacGuffin! This glassware is just to die for! Wherever did you procure such a stunning collection?”

Margarethe hesitated — but then curtsied in appreciation. “Well! I’m glad you noticed. They’re just wonderful, aren’t they?” she proudly mused, “The help says they’re made of this newfangled, petroleum-based material that’s cheaper than glass and impervious to breakage. Bakelite, I believe it’s called — the material of a thousand uses!”

Pomni flicked the nearest goblet. She whispered in Ragatha’s ear: “I think they’re plastic.”

“Indeed — we are truly blessed to be reaping the plentiful fruits of the industrial age. Now, where was I…?” Margarethe tapped her bottom lip, “Ah, yes!”

Margarethe launched herself in the air with a flamboyant pirouette. “To make a long story short, the MacGuffin clan is, sadly, no more — our treasured brooch is the only artifact that remains of our storied legacy. My life is long behind me, but alas, as the matriarch of my kin, I cannot pass on into the next life until I find a soul brave enough to carry on the great MacGuffin legacy. Someone like…you two!”

Pomni and Ragatha looked at each other. “Us? You’re sure?”

“Certainly! But a MacGuffin knows no weakness.” Margarethe continued, “In order to secure my brooch, and carry on my proud family name, you must venture through my audacious abode…and confront your greatest fear!”

“Greatest fear…?” Pomni stammered. 

Margarethe flexed. “Then, and only then, can you consider yourself a true MacGuffin!”

“G-G-Greatest…” Pomni repeated, almost choking on her words, “...f-fear…?” 

“Why, of course, darling! You didn’t expect this to be a walk in the park, did you? It wouldn’t be much of an adventure without a little bit of challenge!”

Pomni stared straight ahead — but her pin-sized pupils didn’t perceive a single thing. 

Greatest fear.

The room shrank. 

Greatest fear. Greatest fear? What in the world was that supposed to mean!? Pomni didn’t have a greatest fear — as far as she knew, the obsessive thoughts that constantly terrorized her mind did so with total parity. How was she supposed to know which one had cost her the most sleep over the years?

Car crashes, plane wrecks, train derailments, high-speed transportation in general, being bitten by a wild animal and dying of rabies, stepping on a rusty nail and dying of tetanus, contracting some other horrible disease after forgetting to wash her hands and dying from that, being stalked by weird men, being assaulted by weird men, being kidnapped and murdered by weird men, weird men in general, disappointing her friends, disappointing her parents, disappointing her boss, people in general, her boss in general, being late to work, performing poorly at work, being fired from work…

Pomni’s eyes bulged. 

Work — oh, no. Work. WORK. 

Pomni’s mind had already overloaded itself merely accepting the notion that she was trapped forever in this weird, obscure computer game — so overloaded, in fact, that the horrific question of how the world was proceeding without her hadn’t even occurred to her.

Until now. 

How long had she been gone? One week? Two? Even more? Her blood ran cold at the realization — even if she were to escape the circus this very instant, there was no way she hadn’t already been fired, no way her cubicle wasn’t already cleaned out to make way for the next poor sap to apply to that god-forsaken office. 

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t happen. What was she going to do? Beg for her old job back? Apply for a new one? How the hell was she supposed to do that when her degree sucked, her resume could fit on a sticky note, and all her single reference could forward a potential employer was years and years of middling performance reviews?

Even if her boss was merciful, her rat bastard of a landlord wouldn’t lend her a single shred of sympathy. Not in a million years. The clock was ticking for Pomni to locate an exit before next month’s rent was due. Should she fail, and she certainly would, she’d return home to find someone else living in her apartment. Her space. The only place in the whole entire world where she felt safe. 

Her belongings would be auctioned off at best, and thrown away at worst. 

And…oh, God. She was a missing person. There were probably posters all over town. Posters plastered with her face and name, front-and center. Stapled to telephone poles, printed in the paper, pinned to those little bulletin boards at the supermarket. Everywhere. Millions of eyes, looking at her face. Reading her name.  

Pomni could already feel them burrowing into her back. Judging her. Pitying her. Laughing at her. The best thing they could do was look away in apathy. 

Her friends and family were probably searching high and low  — but their resolve would dull as the months paged over into years. Embers of hope, pining for her return, would still burn in their hearts until the very end, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run. In the back of their minds, they would know she wasn’t coming home.

The few friends she had, unwilling to carry the burden of their grief, would almost certainly make an effort to forget her. Just to ease the pain. Her voice would be forgotten as old videos and voicemails were deleted. Her face would be next. And then, one by one, each of her friends would speak her name for the final time. 

Pomni whimpered, burying her face in the soft fabric of Ragatha’s arm. Her chest was tight, pressing harder, harder, harder against a hollow core. Each heaving breath sent shockwaves of pain throughout her shrinking, shivering, pitiful body. 

Time. She was running out. Running out of time. She had to find a way out. A way out. A way to get home. Home. Home. Home. Time. Running out. Get out. She had to get out. Get out get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT RIGHT NOW BEFORE EVERYTHING SHE’S WORKED FOR CRUMBLES TO DUST AND SHE’S DEAD AND FORGOTTEN AND AND AND AND AND AND—

Pomni choked back a scream as a dreadfully-familiar, searing pain stabbed the tips of her fingers. Blackened flesh creeped like cancer toward her palm, each heinous step piercing her skin like a thousand poison needles. 

“R-Ragatha!” Pomni gasped. Abstraction shackled her wrists as the tips of her fingers sank into the ragdoll’s downy flesh. One, three, five, ten twitching eyes sprouted beneath her gloves. “No…no, no, no! I’m going to—!” She couldn’t bear to say it. “I…I need to—”

Ragatha turned. “P-Pomni? What are you—”

“I’m sorry!” Pomni strangled the ragdoll’s wounded arm, squeezing the bulky limb hard enough to force clumps of cotton out of her own failed stitchwork. 

Her eyes squeezed shut. 

Her breathing slowed. 

Shaky breath in, shakier breath out. 

In and out. 

In, and…

The grandfather clock announced the hour with a half-dozen chimes. Pomni cracked open a single eye. Like magic, her mind was calm and clear.

Her weary gaze swept over Ragatha’s shredded arms, over her shoulder, her neck, her furrowed brow, her gnashing teeth, her wincing eyes.

“P-P-Pomni! I said let go!” Ragatha’s complaints finally fell on Pomni’s ears, “That hurts!”

Flinching, Pomni released the doll’s arm, “Ah! I’m sorry! I-I—”

“What’s gotten into you?! Is everything okay!?”

“Y-Yes! Everything’s just fine! I just, uh…” Pomni slumped over, still gasping for air. “Um…” she shrank beneath the shadow of Ragatha’s stern gaze, “...just needed a hug?”

Ragatha’s stony face didn’t crack. “You’re hiding something.”

“What?! No, I’m not!” 

“Don’t lie to me! What’s going on?! It looked like you were just about to—”

Margarethe hissed. “Alright, alright! That’s quite enough chatter!” She clonked Pomni’s head with her hefty book. “In case you forgot, I was in the middle of explaining—”

“HEY!” Pomni barked like a dog, rubbing the back of her head. “Who the #@$% do you think you are, you ancient &!$#% !?”

“Heel.” Margarethe’s razor teeth flashed a ravenous smile, “...If you know what’s good for you.”

Pomni growled — but wisely kept her big mouth shut. It helped that a small part of her was thankful for the excuse to drop the subject with Ragatha. 

Margarethe chuckled. Referring to her book once more, she flipped to a specific page and began chanting a hex under her breath. Before either Pomni or Ragatha could ask what was happening, a pair of blindingly-bright orbs had already emerged from both of their chests. The magical objects drifted toward MacGuffin’s outstretched hand. 

“Now. Let’s begin with the darling coquette. What are her nightmares made of?” Mararethe peered down at the two white spheres orbiting each other in her open palm. Studying one for a moment, she cocked her head with a sneer. “Hmph. Typical.”

Ragatha slouched, looking sullen. 

“Centipedes. It’s centipedes, right?” Pomni leaned on Ragatha’s chair. She had only just walked herself back from the verge of tears, but she had made a promise to protect Ragatha, and she intended to keep it. “Don’t worry — you’ve got me by your side, remember?” She spoke through a confident facade, “I-I’ll squash ‘em for you!” 

Ragatha covered her mouth like she was about to vomit. “Ugh, Please—” she shook her head, “D-Don’t make me think about their guts...” 

Margarethe flicked Ragatha’s orb back into the ragdoll’s chest, leaving only Pomni’s circling her palm. She cleared her throat. “As for the untrained whelp…” she was already laughing as she lifted her long-fingered hand to her face — but the moment she gazed into the orb, her smug affect faltered. 

The phantom’s cold, soulless eyes ping-ponged between Pomni and Ragatha. “Well.” Grinning, she flicked Pomni’s orb away, “Isn’t that sweet? I wouldn’t have taken you for the type, darling.”

Pomni jerked her head. “Huh? What type? What do you mean sweet?!”

Mararethe’s face simply radiated superiority. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, now won’t you?” She mocked, fanning herself. “Oh, shame on me! I haven’t been this worked up since the summer of nineteen-aught-five. This is going to be fun…”

Pomni’s knees locked together as the ghost faded away. “Wait! Where are you going?! What’s my fear?! What—”

“Best of luck!” The candles flickered to the rhythm of Margarethe’s cackling laugh. “You’ll need it…!”

With minimal fanfare, the door to the next room swung open all by itself, creaking horribly on its rusted hinges. 

🎪  🎪  🎪 

Margarethe MacGuffin’s maniacal mansion was truly massive, and, within the last few hours, Pomni and Ragatha had been treated to a terrible tour of every last nightmarish nook and creepy cranny. Just as Caine had advertised, an assortment of ‘tricky traps’, ‘perplexing puzzles’ and ‘supernatural sentries’ had been set up for them to navigate, ranging in difficulty from ‘mind-numbingly easy’, to ‘psychologically traumatizing.’ 

Surprisingly, Pomni’s accounting skills had come in handy in the manor’s ‘money-counting room’. The horrifying puzzle, involving the petty minutiae of tax codes and estate settlements, was easy pickings for the seasoned number cruncher. Still, no one was perfect, and Pomni’s sole mistake — in which she’d forgotten the purpose of box 12D on form 5E-344-B  —  left her at the mercy of a swarm of greenbacks-turned-paper-cranes. 

In the music room, Ragatha would have taken the opportunity to show off her cello skills, but Pomni, concerned that Ragatha would worsen her injuries in the process, had flatly refused. A small back-and-forth had ensued — but in the end, both parties agreed to disagree once the instruments, magically stirred to life, started to viciously attack. Poor Pomni had never sprinted so quickly in her life. 

The place where Ragatha’s expertise did come in handy, however, was the stables. A pack of raging horse skeletons ran rampant, threatening to trample anyone foolish enough to stand in their way. Ragatha’s prior experience with equines, however, gave her all the tricks she needed to quickly soothe the wild herd. In retrospect, the room’s main obstacle wasn’t even calming the horses — it was reassuring a shivering Pomni after the jester had learned first-hand what a horse’s skull looked like. It wasn’t pretty.

In all of that time, not once had either of their so-called ‘greatest fears’ reared their ugly heads — or even so much as teased them. Every single task, no matter how asinine, was turned terrifying by the prospect of transforming into an unimaginable nightmare at any point in time.

The sheer anticipation was a torture all of its own — but the girls’ latest assignment, apparently designed to drive them straight to the precipice of insanity, was a close second place.

“Ohoho, don’t fret! It’s quite simple!” Margarethe had announced shortly after Pomni and Ragatha had arrived at the spacious ballroom. The phantom hadn’t even tried to hold back her laughter — she truly was having the time of her life. “The door to the next room is just a hop, skip and a jump away. All you have to do, honored guests, is locate the key.”

In a snap, Margarethe was gone, and Pomni and Ragatha had looked at each other with dread in their eyes. Nothing in MacGuffin Mansion was ever that simple. 

Every part of the ballroom was sculpted with painstaking precision. The moon peered in through a series of extravagant French windows; long, velvet drapes, slightly darker in color than Ragatha’s licorice locks, spanned the length of each one. The checkered marble that spanned the floor hosted a spattering of perfectly-set tables; a crystal glass and a set of unsoiled silverware framed each empty plate. 

A mountain of keys — brass, silver, and gold — sat upon each plate, sparkling in the moonlight. The drinking glasses beside them were similarly filled to the brim…with keys. Keys, keys, keys. Keys were floating in the flower vases, floating in the wine bottles, floating in the air.

Finding a key would be a cinch — finding the key, however, was a task tedious enough to make Sisyphus himself blush. 

And so, there Pomni was, kneeling in front of the locked door, sunken eyes looking like they hadn’t had a wink of sleep in years. The young woman glanced down with a harsh sigh — the marble floor wasn’t exactly the softest surface, and her knees were starting to hurt. A lot. 

Head drooping low, she half-heartedly held out her hand. “Next…”

Ragatha, slumped against the peeling floral wallpaper, perfectly matched Pomni’s energy. Without even bothering to look, she stuck her hand into one of the myriad piles of untested keys that surrounded the pair. A moment later, she plopped a plain-looking one into Pomni’s palm.

The jester ran her finger across the dented brass surface of what must have been the thousandth key to pass through her hands in under an hour. Her eye twitched. 

This was the one. Their ticket out of this god damned ballroom. It had to be. She had no rhyme or reason to explain why — she just knew.  

With a curt nod, Pomni crammed the key’s metal teeth into the lock and turned her hand clockwise. She leaned forward just a touch, listening desperately for a ‘click’ — but of course, just like the nine-hundred and ninety-nine attempts that came before, the stubborn door simply refused to accept her offering. 

So Pomni stared. And smiled. 

Slowly and silently, she stood, squirming grin blooming into a wide, razor-toothed smile. She turned to face the nearest pile of keys, filled her chest with a patient, hearty breath…

…and drove her foot into the metallic mound with all the force her skinny little legs could muster. 

“Pomni!” Ragatha shouted. Hundreds of keys clinked and clanked as they skated across the marble floor. “Really?!”

“This is it, isn’t it?! My greatest fear?!” Pomni shouted, “Isn’t it!?”

“Pomni!”

“Trapped with no way out, taunted by an exit just out of reach, forced to perform pointess, tedious tasks until I go insane?!” 

With every word that Pomni spoke, Ragatha’s furrowed brow disappeared to make room for a look of grave concern. “Hey! Are you listening to me?!”

“The same thing, over and over, never changing…” Clutching her head, Pomni let out a laugh, strained and dry, “As if I’m not already living that nightmare every single day!?”

“Pomni, stop it! You’re scaring me!” Ragatha finally raised her voice. Acting on instinct, she reached out to touch Pomni’s arm — but the doll’s fragile skin punished her with another gut-wrenching tear. Pain warped the doll’s face as she crumpled forward.

That brought Pomni’s breakdown to a screeching halt. “Ragatha!” snapping herself out of it, the jester immediately scrambled to Ragatha’s side, eyes pleading forgiveness. “I-I’m sorry! I was just… I didn’t mean to—” she clenched her fists, grunting in frustration, “Are you okay!?”

“Are you?!” Ragatha snatched Pomni’s shoulders. Her face was brutally stern. “You are freaking. Me. Out! Tell me what’s going on! Right now!”

Pomni swallowed. She tried to answer — she really, truly tried, yet no words came to her blanking mind.

Ragatha frowned. “Y-You’re doing it. You’re acting just like the others. Just like him.” 

“H-Him…?” 

“Tell me the truth. Back in the dining room, when you were squeezing my arm, did you...” Ragatha’s voice wavered, “Were you…?”

Pomni’s pupils were the size of pins. Buried memories — of her bedroom, of the forest, of the mansion’s dining room — swarmed like locusts through her mind. She could practically feel the blood freezing over in her veins again, feel the despair grabbing hold, feel her whole body rebelling against her, transforming against her will into a mindless, violent beast. 

“...abstracting?” Pomni tore away, arms coiled tightly around herself. Her strong voice was stuffy and rigid, “I-Is that what you’re too scared to say?”

Ragatha’s eyes softened in an instant. “Oh, no. No, no, no! I didn’t mean to—” she winced, holding her arms out as far as they would go. She was this close to tearing open another wound. “Just…come here.”

“Wh…What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Ragatha said, “Come on. Let me hold you...”

Pomni looked the other way, still hugging herself. She tried her best to look disgusted, to pretend to be angry, to act indifferent. “P-Put your arms down. You’ll hurt yourself…!”

“I don’t care.” Ragatha’s wavering smile held true, bending just slightly under the weight of her pain. “It hurts so much more to watch you cry, Pomni.”

“I’m not crying!” Pomni’s voice cracked, widening gaze sweeping across Ragatha’s arms. Her trembling arms weren’t helping her case. “I’m just…”

“...Just what, Sunshine?”

Sunshine. Pomni’s eyes were wet. She blinked away the unwanted sensation, shaking her head all the while — but it was no use. Ragatha really was the nicest person she’d ever met. “...R-Ragatha?” 

“Yes…?”

“Why do you keep calling me that…?”

“Calling you what?”

“Sunshine…” Pomni’s lip quivered. She tried with all of her might to quell the storm, but there was little she could do now. A pair of shimmering streams traced the length of her face, and at long last, she cracked, collapsing into Ragatha’s open embrace. 

“Oh, dear…” Ragatha wrapped Pomni up as tight as she could, squeezing the little jester like she would never, ever let go. Even she was trembling now. “Do you like that name?” 

Pomni nodded. 

She felt a lot of feelings. But most of all, she felt loved. So very, very loved. 

🎪  🎪  🎪 

The ballroom had nary a clock to announce the hour, and the eternal night gleaming through the windows wasn’t much help in telling the time, either. Pomni had no idea how long she’d been venting — just talking, talking, talking through the tears, explaining everything that had happened over the past few days. 

“...and it’s happened three times now.” Pomni spoke softly, at last lifting her head from Ragatha’s chest. However much time had passed, it was enough for her eyes, shocked by the sudden influx of light, to immediately recoil.

She rubbed her eyes, easing them back into the light. “...it just happens. Like a nightmare. My mind starts racing — thinking the same obsessive thoughts, over and over, until the thoughts take control. And I…” Pomni winced, shaking her head. “...w-won’t say anything else.”

Ragatha hummed. She listened quietly, finger tracing winding lines around Pomni’s back. 

“...But every time, I’ve managed to stop it.” Pomni said. She cringed a little at her own words. “Well, I guess that’s obvious...”

“Obvious or not…” Ragatha’s voice was calm and clear, “I’m glad.”

“Glad…?”

“Glad you’re still here.”

“O-Oh!” Pomni perked right up. Almost hypnotized, she stared into those beautiful, mismatched eyes. “Um, th-thanks. Me too...” 

Ragatha giggled. “Sorry to interrupt.” she said adoringly, lightly stroking Pomni’s backside. “You were saying?”

Pomni felt light, absentmindedly curling a lock of red yarn hair around her finger. Never before had she felt so heard, felt what it was like to have someone hanging onto her every word. It felt good.  

“I don't know, Ragatha. When I start to abstract, it’s not easy to bring myself back from the brink, but…” she breathed, “...it’s kind of like what you were saying before.”

“Oh?”

“I try to think of a silver lining. Something that makes me feel safe. Something…”

Ragatha’s thumb shooed away the final, thin teardrop drying on Pomni’s cheek. The ragdoll’s hand felt just like a cloud — softer than anything the jester had ever felt before. “Something…” Ragatha mused, finishing the jester’s thought, “...that makes life worth living?” 

“Yeah…” Pomni welcomed a cautious smile, “Something like that.”  

“Ah-ha!”

Pomni flinched. “H-Huh?!” 

“There she is!” Ragatha snatched the jester’s cheesing cheek and gave it a little wiggle. “There’s my funny girl!” 

Pomni tried her hardest to squirm out of Ragatha’s embrace — but the redhead had her decisively pinned. “Ow! S-Stop it!” she protested — but her sunny laughter only encouraged further torment, “That hurts, you jerk!” 

At last, Ragatha relented. “Sorry, Sunshine. Couldn’t resist.”

Pomni’s first instinct was to do the same thing back — to even the score, so Ragatha could see how it felt — but the woman’s words left her melting, all the way down to her soul.

Sunshine. 

She was putty in the ragdoll’s hands. What in the world was happening? What was this fluttery feeling? Why did her face feel hot enough to burn her fingerprints clean off?

“R-Right! In any case!” Pomni pushed herself off, lest she faint a second time. She could hardly believe how quickly her heart was thumping .“Th-thanks for listening and everything, but…” she glanced around in a panic, “...We should probably get back to it, huh?” 

Ragatha didn’t react right away. “...You’re sure?” She surveyed the endless piles of keys that surrounded them — many of which were now scattered about the floor thanks to Pomni’s most recent tantrum. 

“Of course I’m sure! Wh-Why wouldn’t I be?

“Well, it’s awfully sudden. I don’t mind talking a bit more if you need to! Really — I’d watch paint dry as long as you were next to me. Um! Not to say that listening to you is boring…!”

“It’s fine!” Pomni giggled. “Honest.”

“You’re feeling better?”

Pomni nodded.

“You’re sure?” Ragatha squinted. 

“Yes! I’m sure! We can’t keep stopping like this, Ragatha. We’ve got to get you back to Caine, remember?” 

“I…suppose we can get moving again, if that’s what you want.” Ragatha sighed. She glanced sadly at her freshly-vacant arms. “Just do me a favor, won’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get stuck, try to keep your lid on — for me?”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry about that…” Pomni turned, scratching her head. The very moment she caught a glimpse of the piled-up keys, however, her face scrunched up. “This just — this sucks! How did the other members figure this out?!”

“Pomni.” Ragatha groaned. “Breathe.”

“Right. My bad…”

Despite herself, Ragatha still managed to look amused. “Think of it this way, Sweetheart. If the rest of those goofballs can figure this out, then so can we. We just need to put our heads together — think outside of the box.” 

“Outside of the box…” Pomni stepped across the checkered floor, scratching her chin. “Like…maybe what we’re looking for isn’t a literal key?” 

She scanned the ballroom through her pouting gaze. A series of large chandeliers, far grander than the tacky setpiece in her own bedroom, supervised the spacious room from above. On the northern wall was a small stage, complete with chairs, instruments, and music stands for performing musicians. A piano, paired with a small chest, sat at the far end. 

The jester’s mood soured, and not just because of her recent run-in with haunted musical instruments. Keys, keys, keys — what did any of this stuff have to do with keys!? Ragatha desperately needed help, but here she was, stuck in the world’s most contrived escape room. Ugh! Did people in the real world really do this kind of thing for fun? This stupid puzzle—

Suddenly, Pomni perked up. She eyed the piano. 

Piano. Keys. 

Piano! Keys! Of course!

“Ragatha!” Pomni raced to where the other woman was sitting, frantically waving her arms in the air. “Hey, hey!”

“Hm? Did you figure something out?” 

Pomni nodded, smiling broadly. She scooped the ragdoll into her arms, hopped atop the stage, and set her down in one of the chairs arranged neatly across it. All told, she only knocked over three music stands, two metronomes, and one priceless clarinet in the process. 

Pomni turned Ragatha’s chair so that it faced the piano. “Watch this!” she chirped, dashing across the stage. Her fingers pressed down on the piano’s lowest white note, and then the lowest black; the hammered strings within the instrument sang a long, colorful scale as Pomni dragged her digits across all eighty-eight keys. 

Hands clasped in hope, she spun around to check the door — but her face fell when, despite her genius plan, the door remained firmly in place. 

“What? But—” Pomni’s fingers pecked a low Do, a high Re, and the middlemost Mi. “They’re keys! Pianos have keys!” She laid her hands flat on the ivory, and the piano unleashed a dissonant, un-musical scream. “Are you kidding me? How is that not the solution?!”

“No, you’re right!” Ragatha clapped her hands together, “Good thinking, Pomni! You’re definitely onto something!” 

“I…am?” Pomni blushed, “But I already pressed every single key — every one! And that stupid plank of wood still won’t open!”

“Maybe it’s not about pressing one specific key.” Ragatha scratched her chin, “Maybe it’s a special combination. Notes can have letter names —  A, B, C, et cetera — so perhaps they want us to spell a certain word?”

“Ooh! A keyword! That’s good!” Pomni snapped her fingers. She didn’t hesitate to start sniffing out clues for such a solution — and it didn’t take long for the old chest beside the piano to catch her eye. 

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the lock — but, thankfully, it was only for show. Breathing a sigh of relief, Pomni opened the lid. The antique chest was filled to the brim with a series of long, frayed, dust-coated cardboard boxes. 

Curiosity piqued, Pomni opened one and cautiously unfurled the bulky scroll stored inside. A series of small, perfectly-cut holes stretched across the yellowed paper. Some existed in isolation, while others were grouped together into long lines — as if a leaf-munching insect had eaten its way through the fragile material.

Pomni’s tonge prodded the inside of her cheek. “Ragatha? You said you played the…” her gaze flicked aside, “...violin, right?”

“Violoncello.” Ragatha deadpanned. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering — since you’re a musician, do you have any clue what these weird rolls of paper are for? They seem related to the piano somehow, but…”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Ragatha gasped, clasping her hands together. “Those funky bundles of paper are called piano rolls!”

The redhead had responded to Pomni’s question in plain English, but the baffled look on the jester’s face suggested otherwise.  

Ragatha clarified. “Back in the day, these were used to play piano tunes without the need for a human performer. Each one plays a different song when loaded into a player piano.”

“Player piano…?”

“Oh, right. Sorry! That’s a special type of piano that plays itself. I’m not quite sure how it works either. But back to the topic at hand — see those little holes cut into the paper? Each one represents one music note. As the roll slowly unfurls, a sensor reads them and tells the machine which keys to strike.”

“Ohh…” Pomni ran her fingers across the parade of perforations that spanned the scroll. Slowly, she nodded. “...So it’s like a music box?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ragatha beamed. The look on her face as she watched the concept click in Pomni’s head was a painting of pure joy; was it any wonder that she had worked as a teacher prior to her captivity? 

Pomni sighed. She planted an elbow on the old chest and cradled her cheek against her palm. “Your students must have loved you...” 

“Well, I did receive my fair share of apples.” Ragatha shrugged. “Never had to pack a lunch.”

“Wait, seriously…? That’s a real thing?”

“No. Not really.”

A silly smile teased its way onto Pomni’s lips. Heart stumbling, she turned away, fingers unconsciously fiddling with the old chest’s loosened lock. “S-So, um, is there anything else you can tell me…?” 

“Nah — telling is overrated. In my classroom, I always liked to take a hands-on approach.” Ragatha said. She admired the antique instrument seated on the far end of the stage. “There’s a player piano right there. Why don’t you give it a whirl? It’s been a while since I’ve listened to music.”

“S-Sure thing! I’ll find a good one!” Pomni said, eager to please. Just about tearing the lid off of the antique chest, she rifled through its tightly-packed contents with purpose, scrutinizing the faded titles printed on each box. She didn’t recognize a single song, much less any of their long-dead composers, so it was anyone's guess as to what the music would actually sound like. She may as well have just swiped a roll at random — and, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what she did. 

Pomni set the bulky scroll inside the automatic piano after a bit of clumsy fumbling — and more than a little help from Ragatha. With the flip of a switch, the paper started spinning, and the premier notes of a lofty, leisurely tune stirred to life beneath the ballroom’s vaulted ceiling. 

Pomni’s fingers drew circles on the mechanical piano’s smooth, wood grain exterior. For a moment, she forgot where she was, utterly fascinated by the simple elegance of the century-old contraption. 

It was funny. The long-forgotten piece it played, humbly subtitled ‘a ragtime two-step’, had set her up to expect something more peppy and up-tempo. As the piano roll steadily unfurled, however, the melodic constellations impressed upon the paper sang a far different tune. 

It was the type of jaunty music one would expect to accompany a silent film, just…polished. Refined. All of the musical tropes of the era were present — the driving bassline, the active, syncopated melody — but the piece’s dignified pace and finely-crafted harmonies would have sounded out of place in a rowdy, turn-of-the-century saloon. 

Here in the ballroom, though, it was right at home — at least, that’s what the haunted furniture seemed to think. 

Looking impressed, Pomni tapped her foot, wholly oblivious to the perplexing scene unfolding behind her. “Not bad...” She grinned, turning to face Ragatha, “To tell you the truth, I actually kind of ohmygodwhat’sgoingon—”

Pomni stumbled backwards, then forwards, then backwards again into Ragatha’s chair. The ballroom’s inanimate denizens — the one-hundred-odd tables and chairs scattered across its marble floor —  moved all on their own, dancing in time with the mellow melody. A backing band of squeaking wood and clinking keys added a percussive flair to the player piano’s charming, just-slightly-detuned sound. 

Ragatha, for her part, was busy cracking up at Pomni’s complete and utter bewilderment. With a quick breath, she managed to compose herself. “Well, when in Rome…” The ghost of a giggle still lingered in her tone as she offered up her hand, “Shall we?”

Pomni let out a mousy squeak. “Huh?” She flinched, head feeling light, dots flitting across her vision, “But—”

“Come on. Don’t make me beg.” Ragatha batted her eyes, “It’s unladylike.”

Pomni blushed. Without a word, she swallowed, shuddering like a frightened animal as she reached for Ragatha’s hand.

Her fingers curled snugly around the ragdoll’s, plush and doughy. Both women’s palms — one big, one small — fit together perfectly.

Pomni slid her other arm behind Ragatha’s back, powerless to stop the nervous little whimpers sneaking out of her as she lifted up the lightweight woman. For a moment, their faces were close enough to feel each other’s warmth — and it took every ounce of restraint Pomni had to resist asking: ‘Can I please kiss you?’.

With a brief, peppy fanfare, the music transitioned to a new section; the enchanted furniture, as if controlled by a single mind, adapted its routine in perfect sync. 

“I, um…” Pomni’s knees trembled. This stupid furniture was making her look bad. “I don’t really know how to dance…” She winced at the thought, and then at the sight of Ragatha’s grave injuries, “And even if I did, how are we supposed to—”

“Shh.” Ragatha’s thumb glided across the back of Pomni’s hand. “Just…hold me.”

Pomni exhaled. 

Holding her dolly close, the jester closed her eyes, synchronizing her trembling breaths with every other downbeat. Her foot matched the two-step’s gentle pulse, and before she knew it, her whole body was swaying to the rhythm.

Ragatha nestled her head against Pomni’s chest; a blissful sigh escaped her shuddering smile. The tension in her body dissipated note-by-note, phrase-by-phrase, as her darling rocked her back and forth, here and there, to and fro. 

Back and forth they went. Pomni held her plain little ragdolly as tight as she could, finger tracing zig-zags across the curves of her fleece-soft figure. She adored the sound of her peaceful breathing, the way her hands cradled each other as she lay in her arms, all of her happy little fidgets as her body responded to the music. 

Here and there they swayed. Pomni’s desperate eyes wandered to Ragatha’s lips, plush and glossy. Her heart was glowing, but just beyond, a profound emptiness, like nothing she had ever felt before, opened up within her. It begged to be filled, and pained her to resist.

Swing, swing. To and fro. Ragatha was weightless in her arms. The whole wide world, and everything in it, was wonderful. Just wonderful. 

“Ragatha…?”

“Hm.” It took Ragatha a moment to respond. She jostled herself as if she’d just been woken from a deep, restful slumber. “What is it, Sunshine?” She said, keeping her eyes closed. 

Pomni swallowed a shuddering breath. “Do you remember the day before yesterday? When we were trying to film the new intro?”

“That was quite a day.” Ragatha cracked a smile. She nestled herself closer, basking in the rhythm of each gentle sway.  “I didn’t know you could scream so loud. Zooble, either.”

“Yeah…” Pomni tittered. “When you were showing me the way to my room, I remember feeling so exhausted, so frustrated. I didn’t understand why all of this was happening to me. What I did wrong to end up trapped here. I was taking it out on everyone, including you. But…”

“But…?”

“But you were still kind to me.”

Ragatha giggled. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me too much credit. You might hate to hear this, but you’re awfully cute when you get all worked up. If I’m being honest, the hardest part was not eating you up.”

“Cute...” Pomni felt butterflies. Her rocking slowed down, falling out of sync with the beat of the music. “That’s what you said about my hat hair. Remember?”

“I do! And I stand by it.”

The social contract of conversation required Pomni to respond with a laugh, or a ‘that’s funny’, or even a small, near-imperceptible exhale of breath — but instead, she simply stood there, thinking, utterly silent. And when she did get around to opening her mouth at last, her voice took on a noticeably different tone. 

“R-Ragatha…?” 

“Yes?” Ragatha’s mouth curled slightly — and not in the good direction. “Is everything alright? You sound like you have a frog in your throat.”

“Do you—” Pomni swallowed, “D-Do you remember what we talked about before? About…” she took in a shaky breath, “...something to live for…?”

Ragatha’s eyes flashed open with a jolt. The doll palmed the wet spot on her cheek, and flinched again when another droplet pelted her face. “P-Pomni! Are you—” she stammered, “Why are you crying?!”

“Because…!” Pomni’s face crinkled up, “B-Because, if you hadn’t said that…” she gulped down a long, shaky breath, “...if you had listened to me that day, if you had just left alone like I said…”

“Pomni…?”

The young woman’s tear-studded chin curled inward, coming to rest against her heaving chest. “... If it wasn’t for you, Ragatha, I don’t know if I would still be here…”

The old piano roll reached its end with no pomp or circumstance; the haunted furniture took a final bow, shuffling back to their places as the two-steps’s final chord faded away. 

A century of stillness stretched between the jester and the ragdoll. 

Ragatha pressed her hand to her lips. Pomni couldn’t blame her for her silence. What could Ragatha possibly say? Pomni didn’t know, and, given Ragatha’s flat, stunned gaze, it seemed the ragdoll was equally lost. 

“R-Ragatha…? I don’t know how else to say this…” Pomni’s whole body felt twice as heavy. Her body was a paradox, sweltering beneath overwhelming heat and flinching away from wisps of unbearable cold. “I think I, u-um—” 

Enough was enough. At long last, the two hearts spoke as one, crackling voices intertwined in an impromptu duet. 

“I’m sorry, but…!” the jester squeaked.

“That’s it!” the ragdoll gasped, “I can’t take this anymore — I’m just going to say it!” 

Together, they forced out the exact same words: “Can I please just kiss you?!”

…And time slowed to a crawl. 

Each woman was the other’s reflection, looking back from the other side of the proverbial water. Ragatha stared, at a loss for words, gawking mouth twisting into a little half-smile. Pomni stared back, eyes aglow, wearing the world’s dumbest grin without a care in the world. 

Smiles became snorts, snorts turned into giggles, and giggles bloomed into fits of gut-busting laughter. Pomni’s tears flowed still, but their wet, winding trails framed a face brightened by hope. “Did that just happen?!”

Ragatha giggled, pawing at her face. If she felt any pain — and she certainly did — it didn’t show. “Well?” she remarked at last, “I’m waiting.”

“Um…!” Pomni frantically nodded. “Right! O-Of course!” A bead of sweat traveled down her brow as relief gave way to worry.

She hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was doing. 

Pomni’s stance bent backward at a curious angle. Ignoring the added strain on her back, she swallowed, tilted her face closer to Ragatha’s, and then…locked up. For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there, knees chattering, staring into Ragatha’s eyes with a vacant, absolutely petrified expression.

“...Uh, Pomni?” Ragatha blinked. The moment was ruined. It was horribly, terribly, soul-crushingly awkward. “What are you doing?”

“K-Kissing you! Obviously!” Pomni shifted around, forcing a shuddering smile. “I’m just, um, y-you see—” 

“Is this how you usually do it?”

“Um, no. Not really…!” a beet-red Pomni shook her head, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really, um…” her voice shriveled further with every word, “...I’ve haven’t exactly done this before…”

“Pomni!”

“Wh-What?! Is that bad?!”

“Goodness gracious. What am I going to do with you?” Ragatha playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, you already lifted me up. That’s a…start? I suppose? Look, just tilt your head for me.”

“Oh! Sure!” Pomni did — with gusto. “Is this good?”

“No! Not that much!”

Pomni let out a soft little whine. “O-Okay! Sorry!” 

“There. That’s better.” Ragatha’s yearning gaze closed the distance, “Next, close your eyes...”

“Like this?”

“Well, yes — there’s only one way to do it.” 

“Oh! Right…”

“God, you’re cute...” Ragatha filled her chest with a long, savoring breath, “...Now hurry up and kiss me.”

Pomni’s pounding heart was due to give out any second now. This couldn’t be real. Was this really happening? What had she gotten herself into!?

Slowly but surely, she moved her lips closer, closer, closer, until she could feel the warmth of Ragatha’s hushed breaths on her face. Her stomach twisted into a tighter knot with every burst of humid heat — but she’d come too far to quit now.

Carefully, very carefully, she—

“Ugh! Fine, then — I’ll do it!” Huffing just like a princess, Ragatha seized Pomni’s tunic, pulled her in, and pressed her lips against hers. She shuddered, squealing with joy as their souls linked at last. 

Pomni’s eyes were wide, her belly flat, her face a bluish hue as every last gasp of air was suddenly forced out of her chest. Sharply, she breathed in again, and a familiar scent stirred her heart like a siren song:

Strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain.

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter]

[gellavonhamster]

apparition

One Piece || Usopp/Perona || set during the return to Sabaody ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

The great and inimitable Sniper King kept his head (adorned, according to his haters, with far too big a nose, but who cares what they think?) even in the most desperate situations. More than once a Marine armada had kept his proud ship under fire from both sides. More than once his crew – all ten thousand men – had fought entire armies on shore. More than once he had been all alone in the midst of enemies armed to their teeth. He got out of all those scrapes hardily, calmly, and without losing his spirit.

Usopp, on the other hand, occasionally lost his spirit. Every once in a while. However, usually it happened for a reason. It didn’t have to be some danger or trouble, but it had to be at least some gloomy thought which unwound a reel of other gloomy thoughts. At the moment, though, there was no reason for that whatsoever. He was just leaning against the wall of the bar and waiting for Nami to come back and not thinking of anything like that. And suddenly his heart clenched – briefly, piercingly. He found himself remembering the weak smile of his dying mother, remembering Kaya and his young pirates that he left behind. All the times when he was not strong enough, not agile enough, and, frankly speaking, not brave enough to help his crewmates when it was needed rushed before his eyes. Even the times when everyone assured him afterwards that everything was fine.

How many times I’ve already let them all down and how many more I will, he thought miserably.

“Oooh! Got to you after all,” a pleased voice proclaimed.

Usopp looked around, then looked up.

There was a fancy goods shop to the right of the bar. On its sign board, a girl was sitting, swinging her leg, wearing a long black dress fit less for the streets of Sabaody in daylight and more for an evening at the opera or perhaps a funeral of someone rich. The girl had long pink hair that Usopp recognized at once. Just like the saucer eyes.

Usopp instinctively took a step back.

“You!” he blurted out, grabbing the slingshot.

“Me,” confirmed Perona, the Ghost Princess, without ceasing to dangle her leg. “Ugh, leave that stick of yours! I was just wondering if you got better.”

Something flashed in the air on his left, emerged as a smear of watery white on his right. Negative Hollows, of course. That’s what it was.

“It’s not a stick!” he yelled, not letting go of the slingshot. “What do you mean by ‘better’?”

“Well, duh, my Hollows didn’t work on you before! And now they did, even if just a little, I could tell it from your face!”

“Nothing worked on me! I had, uh, a stomach ache!”

“Then you had it because of them,” Perona replied, unfazed.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Usopp muttered.

Perona shrugged. “You should celebrate too! If they got to you, then your self-esteem isn’t as low anymore.”

“My self…” He blinked nervously. “There’s nothing wrong with my self-esteem, okay?”

“My negative ghosties used to have no effect on you at all!”

“Because I’m already negative!”

“See, so you have low self-esteem!”

“I told you nothing’s wrong with it!” he flared up. He didn’t like that conversation. Look at her sitting here and seeing him for the second time in her life and already trying to diagnose him. The Sniper King had terrific self-esteem. Reasonable and unshakeable.

Usopp, on the other hand… Usopp was honest with himself. Perfectly honest. It was right, it was useful. It kept him from getting too disappointed when something didn’t work out because deep down that was the result he had expected all along.

It was… hm.

It was, in any case, none of her business.

“Yeah, I might’ve. Got better,” he agreed cautiously. There must have been a grain of truth here, for on the Thriller Bark, Perona’s attacks made his friends drop to their knees and howl about their worthlessness but didn’t even make him flinch. It was tempting to dare to believe it. Usopp, who talked big in front of the others, usually was perfectly honest with himself. It was right, it was useful, and it looked like it was totally no good for their upcoming journey to the New World. If all or almost all the tales about that place were true, then in order to survive there one needed at least a crumb of reckless self-belief. Shit. “I’ve learned a lot, y’know. Been training and all.”

Perona nodded, satisfied.

“I noticed,” she said, and slid off the sign board. She flew up to him and dabbed his bicep with her finger. Not a ghost; real. “I can see you’ve bulked up.”

The great and inimitable Sniper King, to no one’s surprise, was mightily popular with the ladies. They would always touch his muscles and flutter their eyelashes and rave about his bravery and strength. They would fall at his feet and lie there in piles. Usopp was… less used to that sort of thing. Usopp blushed.

“Don’t I know it,” he said with studied nonchalance after having calmed down, and thrust his chest out. “And you… What brings you to Sabaody? Because if you’ve nowhere to go, we could…”

“I’m already going,” Perona interrupted him. Well, whatever, it’s not like he cared. “I just brought your swordsman. Or he would’ve lost his way, the poor idiot.”

“Zoro? You brought Zoro? Was he your prisoner or what?!”

“My prisoner? More like the other way around! You people have to teach him not to leave his stinky clothes around, ’cause even Hawkeyes couldn’t!”

“Hawk… wait, Dracule Mihawk? Dracule Mihawk was with you?!”

“Oh, he’ll tell you himself,” waved him aside Perona. “I don’t have time for that. Okay, bye!” She tossed her head, hitting his bare upper arm with her hair; it tickled. Not a ghost. Real. Then she soared up. Usopp was left standing between the bar and the shop, following her with dazed eyes.

“Alright, we can go now,” announced Nami right over his ear so suddenly that it gave him a start. She clapped him on the shoulder, and a thin chain bracelet glittered on her wrist, catching a ray of sunlight. Usopp was sure that when she left, as she had put it, to powder her nose, she didn’t have that bracelet on. “Hey, what’s with the face? Did you see a ghost?”

A ghost of a lovely stranger, he thought. A stranger who remembered him and decided to find him and check up on him. That was nice. A voice inside his head was telling him that what she must’ve been interested in the most was whether he had become vulnerable to her Hollows, but it was the same voice that always told him to prepare for the worst. It was tempting to dare to ignore it.

“You know,” he told her with an enigmatic smile, “I kinda did.”

[soundcrusher]

Usually I don't do Canon x OC, but Hot Shot x Flinch is something I'll gladly do. Especially when it comed to the Unicron Trilogy.

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 9)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

Tap! Tap!

Dea's eyes flew open and flinched when she saw movement happening inches away from her face. It took her a few seconds to process where she was. The motion happened again and she caught the golden blur of Deacon's cane. He was tapping it against the nightstand to wake her up.

"Ugh…" She groaned, digging her head back into the sheets.

She felt the mask press against her face. She was sweaty and her hair became tangled in knots under the cloth still attached around her head. Had she slept with her dress on, too? Did she even bother removing her boots last night? She looked at her clothes with a hidden grimace before a masculine voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Good morning, princess.”

That was Deacon's voice. But when she looked up, it was not him she recognized. 

The man standing before her wore a different ensemble - a black hat with a pinched front, and under that remained his bauta mask, except a bandana was loosely wrapped around the lower half of it. He wore a dark trench coat, buttoned on his chest and separated at his stomach, revealing a tight vest. A belt wrapped around his waist with a holster for his gun. His usual cape was missing from his shoulders, which threw her off the most. 

Without it, she was able to see his frame more clearly. His layers of jackets concealed how thin he actually was. His clothes fit so snug on his body that she wondered if he had any fat at all. Her eyes curiously trailed Deacon's stature as he stood straight. He lowered his cane to clutch it with both hands. He discarded his gloves for a pair of black leather ones. Her attention was drawn to them instantly. 

"It's time to get moving." He told her. 

This did not snap Dea out of her ogling. She was only brought back to reality when he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Deacon was no doubt waiting to hear an explanation for her staring, so she blurted out: 

"You're skinny."

She regretted saying that. His eyes subconsciously flicked down to his body. He lowered his arms to keep them to his sides. She wanted to apologize. But he spoke before she could even open her mouth. 

"How are you feeling?"

She finally sat up and rubbed her temple behind her mask. She could faintly remember what happened, but some details were still unclear. She recalled Deacon carrying her up the stairs but that was the last thing she could picture before passing out. She sagged her body and let out a defeated sigh. 

" Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid last night…"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You made a friend at the bar."

"...Not one I got too close with..?”

He laughed. “Not on my watch. Have you forgotten we’re sharing the same room?” 

She wanted to banter some more, but a sharp ache came to her head and her hand shot up to clutch it. She regretted drinking so much last night. She wasn’t hungover, but she felt terribly dehydrated. She needed to brush her teeth and take a shower. Her dress would need a proper wash soon as well…

His voice was quiet. “Do you remember anything?” 

“I think you rudely threw me on the bed and then I ate a lot of meat.” She placed her palm over her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t come to regret that. “Why? Did something happen?”

His silence stretched out too long for her liking. “...No.” He knew she was going to pry, so he tapped the nightstand again and pointed to the bag placed beside her. “You’ll want to change into your disguise, now.” 

She took a quick glance at it before standing and stretching. “Give me a bit to shower, then I’ll do whatever you want.” 

“Bene. I’ll get us some coffee.” 

Dea was troubled as she stepped into the shower. She felt guilty for getting tipsy last night, and on top of that , something happened that Deacon didn’t wish to disclose. Did she make a fool of herself? Had she sung drunkenly at the bar in front of everybody? Is that why he had to carry her away? She narrowed her eyes in thought as she spread the soap on her body. A frown settled on her pink lips.

There was something else bothering her, too. 

She’d be lying if she said his disguise wasn’t convincing. It looked like a bandit had single-handedly made his way into their room and was ready to send a bullet through her skull. She was thankful Deacon woke her up the way he did. But that wasn’t what bothered her about his appearance - rather, that she found it attractive. 

She used to watch westerns with her sisters growing up. They were popular pictures in Monquista. She used to fantasize about the cowboys, imagining herself getting swept away by them. They were silly daydreams back when she couldn’t sensibly comprehend the danger. But her attraction remained, and the man she was assigned to work with unknowingly met the imaginary checklist she’d made for her idealized cowboy boyfriend. 

…And she called him ‘skinny’! She wanted to slap herself in the face. 

She reminded her conscience about the man behind the costume. This was the same guy who read novels when they sailed and took his coffee black. He was the most boring person she’d met to date. Sure, she learned a few interesting things about him…he was musically inclined and was fluent in different languages. He had an interesting trick where he could summon his pistol from thin air, and he could gracefully twirl it in-between his gloved fingers. He also had lovely handwriting and his cape looked mesmerizing when it caught the wind a certain way-

…Hold on..!

Dea stopped lathering herself as her eyes grew wide. Her heart beat intensely and her breathing became unsteady. She willingly emptied her mind, focusing on cleaning herself as best as she could. She was thankful to get the grease out of her hair and properly clean her skin. It felt strange not applying makeup anymore…there was no need to, since her appearance was hidden, and it would get smeared anyway. She sometimes had to stop herself from the habit.

She stepped out and dried herself with a towel, taking the briefest glance into the mirror to spot the faint blush on her cheeks. 

----

Deacon obtained the coffee and added the amount of sugar and cream he knew Dea liked. He carried it back to the saloon. On his way, he couldn’t help peering down at his disguise and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest. It was habitual for him to wear several layers. It kept him warm for his trips to colder regions, like Polaris, and offered many pockets for him to keep various things in. Above all - he liked covering himself. He felt bare to be in anything less. 

Dea had a point, though. He was…terribly thin. 

Being overseas all the time meant that he didn’t have a nutritious diet. He never ate that much, since he was busy working, and rarely spared an evening to have a good supper. He mostly ate on-the-go snacks so he wouldn’t have a growling stomach giving himself away. MRE meals were the most he would consume. But that wasn’t saying much. 

He was happy that his mission with Dea enabled him to eat a little more properly. She wasn’t as content with snacks and wished to have at least one meal every day. This was more than he was accustomed to. But since he moved so much, he burned the calories quickly and didn’t gain any weight. He wasn’t as unhealthy as Bishop was, who starved himself for days when he was engrossed in his experiments, but he must have been thin enough to gain Dea’s attention. 

He felt self-conscious. He questioned why . 

It wasn’t like he held her opinion in any high regard - she’d teased him about his shoes and hat before, which didn't phase him. If anything, he should be flattered, since her entire uniform was solely based on his . And she couldn’t see his face to judge any of his features. But her first comment on his body was what evoked a reaction out of him. He fumbled to articulate why. 

Was he trying to impress her? He didn’t have bodily mass like Rooke did. He’d be the least athletic out of the Elites if it weren’t for Bishop. Deacon chased his convicts down - he didn’t completely lack strength or agility. But he was about as average as any man was. He was unimpressive on the eyes. He knew this. It’s partly why he dressed the way he did. But now he was realizing it was far from stately to gain a woman’s attention.

Deacon forced himself back to the present when he found two swinging doors in front of him. He strode through and climbed the stairs to their room above. 

---

Dea bit her tongue as she struggled to tie the corset around her body. She swore under her breath as she twisted her fingers around. She wished this room had more than one mirror. Why did she even have to wear this with her disguise!? She had no prior experience with these, despite how much her family pressured her to. She wished she had paid more attention when her mother tied her sister's corsets. 

She kept her original mask and zendale with the outfit, but had to wear a red underlayer and corset. She wore longer black boots that stopped below her knees. A modest skirt of similar color came down to her lower thighs, accompanied with a pair of fishnets. Her gloves covered her forearms and she was provided with a small holster for her own pistol. The arrangement was finished with a fancy hat attached with large feathers, and a small coat that would cover her arms. 

The door opened in the midst of her frustration and her head snapped in its direction. Deacon came in carrying two cups. He paused when he saw her posed uncomfortably in front of the mirror. It didn't take long to piece two-and-two together.

"Having trouble?" He teased. She glared at him. 

"Were *you* the one who asked for this!?"

He shook his head innocently, setting their drinks down. "Queen insisted on the corset. I had no say in the matter."

'She's testing me!' Dea thought helplessly as she reached behind her again. Deacon watched her in the reflection. She struggled for a minute or two before he offered his assistance. "Do you need help?" 

She released her grip in surprise. "You know how to do this?"

He nodded. He stepped forward and gripped the string from behind. She couldn't see what he was doing, but watched his arms move along with his eyes. She felt his fingertips ghost along her back and she involuntarily shivered. They’d never shared actual physical contact like this before. His touch was…a little intense. The leather texture from his gloves weren’t helping. She nearly arched herself away from him before she stopped herself, realizing that it might give her away if she reacted at all. 

The corset was secured around her figure as Deacon stepped back. It was close-fitting, but not overbearingly so. She could still breathe and move freely in it, which was what they wanted if they were to partake in some action today. She moved closer to the mirror and turned around to admire his work.

Her partner, however, was a little preoccupied with the sight now laid before him. Dea’s hourglass figure was more prominent with a tight corset wrapped around it. His eyes came down curiously to her skirt, boot, and fishnet combination. He didn’t exactly know what Queen had gone for with the getup; all he told her was that she needed a disguise to blend in with him in Cool Ranch. Whatever it was…it was surely going to distract a few of their enemies, if they looked in the right places. 

Dea repeated something, and he tore his gaze away from her body. She looked a tad aggravated with him. “-Sorry?” 

“I said ‘thank you’. Where exactly did you learn to tie a lady’s corset?” 

He cleared his throat and adopted a more professional stance. “Queen was the one who taught me. She has the mindset that every gentleman should know how to do it.” 

She snickered. “You? A gentleman? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“You’d be surprised how chivalrous I can be, to ladies who deserve it. Now, come on. We need to get going.” 

She rolled her eyes before picking up her gun and coffee, making sure she had everything for their mission. They departed from the saloon in the direction of the docks. When they arrived, Dea noticed The Executioner was nowhere in sight. Instead, Deacon led them to a frigate completely different in appearance. There were no clockwork emblems anywhere on it, leaving no hint to their affiliation with the Armada. He likely picked it up from a vendor nearby. She recognized the crew’s voices as they greeted them - who had changed to blend in with the locals.

She was impressed by his attention to detail. “An undercover ship? Why didn’t I think of that?” 

“--Which is why you didn’t plan this operation.” 

He ignored her offended gesture, leading them onto the ship and preparing to set sail. The wind was a little rough today, so the ride wouldn’t be entirely smooth, but he was confident they could get there in a timely fashion. As soon as all the crew-members were settled and the ship was moving, Deacon decided to get something important out of the way. 

He approached Dea with a serious look in his eyes. “I need you to tell me how experienced you are with fighting.” 

She was a little surprised at the inquiry, but answered truthfully. “I have basic combat and weapon training. I was praised for being particularly good with guns.”

“Are there any weak spots I should know about..?” 

She hung her head for a moment, reflecting on her shortcomings. She hated thinking about this. She wanted to focus on her strengths and prove she was worthy to be in the Armada. But after what happened in Monquista…she understood why he wanted to know. They couldn’t have something like that happening again. 

“I’m not the strongest girl, but I can be pretty quick. Should I know some of your drawbacks, espía ?” 

“I’m not too tough, either, but with some coordination, we should do just fine.” He opened one of his pockets and handed her a pack of bullets, which she accepted. “Since we’re both dependent on our guns, distance is imperative. Be aware and avoid any and all weapons pointed at you. Our main objective is to capture our wanted fugitive - the moment we have them, we leave. I have no interest in arresting other criminals right now.” 

“So, we shoot but don't kill, right?” 

He nodded. “If you can help it.”

Her figure stiffened as she took in the intensity of their mission. They were dealing with raiders, who would undoubtedly be equipped with weapons and thugs. The fighting and shooting would be inevitable. She could only hope they would not be on the receiving end. She took a good look at their crew and felt some hope - they had a dragoon and a battle angel, known upper-fighters of the Armada. Their soldier was intelligent and one of their crew even had extensive medical training. As Deacon informed her of the rest of their game plan, she carried a good feeling that they would be returning with their target without deep repercussions. 

[revelboo]

Even If It Kills Me Pt 2

TF Armada Starscream x Reader

• Primus, help him, because the sound you make when he does finally manage to catch you almost makes him immediately drop you. Screaming your little head off as the Mini-Cons flinch away, chirping and upset by the noise. But as he lifts you to optic level, you give up and fall silent. Those eyes are defiant when they meet his glare head on. “So is this where you crush me like a bug?” You ask, and venting raggedly, he doesn’t know what to make of you. Afraid of him, but so blunt. Almost like you fully expect him to hurt you. Like you’re used to it and resigned that it’s your lot. And staring at that discoloration around your eye, it clicks. He’s seen that on the human kids before. A bruise.

• That uncannily human face is frowning at you, huge servos warm where they’re wrapped around you. But not gripping you so tight you can’t breathe. Not breaking ribs even though he easily could. Which means you might get out of this unscathed, though given your track record, you doubt it. Hope is something for other people. “Humans aren’t supposed to know we’re here,” he says before looking down at the little robot that had wandered up to you first and his servos flex against you. You’re not sure if he can understand the little guy’s beeping, but he suddenly vents hard enough warm air stirs your hair. Laying your palms on his hand, you wonder what he’ll do to keep his existence secret.

• “Will it be quick?” You ask and he freezes, because you’re staring at him, expression oddly blank. And he understands that emptiness, of knowing that pain is coming for you no matter what you do. You took his words and assumed he’d end you to protect himself. No arguing or pleading, just tired acceptance, too broken to resist. Too beaten to even think about fighting.

• Optics narrowing at you, you wait for it to come. Honestly it’s kind of funny, you’d just assumed he would be the one to put you in the ground eventually. Never expected this, though. If there’s any justice in the world, your death will still get pinned on him. He can spend the rest of his life sober and caged like an animal. One last act of spiteful rebellion against him. And you are laughing now, crying and coming apart all at once. “Primus,” the monster growls.

• Completely at a loss, he looks down at the Mini-Cons then at the human wheezing and sobbing and laughing like a mad thing in his grip. Much more broken than he’d thought. How much further could Megatron have pushed him until this was him? Cautiously, he runs a servo against your hair. Reaching out to you like the kids had reached out to him. And when you touch his servo with a trembling hand, you’re still crying as you look up at him and he knows he can’t just leave you here even if he wasn’t under orders to not be seen.

Previous

Next

I caved and finally replaced my old Wacom tablet so I can remind myself that no, I cannot in fact draw

[paa-official]

Recording No. 5

The floor had a black and white checkerboard pattern, the walls were painted light gray and the ceiling was white. Although the two ceiling lights were enough to illuminate the room, there was also a desk lamp on the metal table where Becka and I sat on two chairs. No matter how pleasant the room could have been, nothing could have changed my annoyance. Becka noticed this immediately as I sat there sighing with my arms crossed. And the handcuffs on my wrists were a little distracting me.

I spent most of my time looking at the mirror and enjoyed making the people behind it nervous. Every time I sensed them feeling uncomfortable or watched, I smiled at the mirror and felt a greater sense of unease building up inside them. But then the wooden door with a pane of glass to see through finally opened and the third interrogator of the day came in. An older man in a thick FBI winter jacket entered the room. He held a file in his arm, trying to hide the trembling in his fingers. Except for this barely noticeable detail, he had been able to control his body language surprisingly well, but unfortunately for him, I could have just gotten inside his head.

The agent placed the file in front of him and sat down in his chair opposite us. First he opened the slim file, looked at a few pictures of the invasion, the destroyed Area 51 base and some snapshots of the Grievers and Phalanx. Meanwhile, you could clearly see the trembling in his fingers before he folded his hands together and looked at us >> If I heard correctly, the invasion wasn't your first time on Earth. <<

>> I'm glad for you that your hearing is still good. << I replied in a friendly tone.

You could see his fear of us slowly diminishing and he looked at me almost disappointed.

>> I see the other two have already warned you. So I suggest that we take this explanation of why the invasion and why we wanted to stop it. How would that be? Because I don't fancy a third round. << I said. Becka nudged me lightly with her elbow and whispered to me that I should calm down a bit.

>> You must understand that you and your people have left a great devastation on our planet. Because of your armada, we are even greatly weakened and now there is a huge UFO floating around somewhere on Earth and no one can locate it. <<

I leaned on the table with my arms >> I understand all that, but without us two we wouldn't be sitting here right now. <<

The agent flinched and leaned back on the seat back >> We're well aware of that. <<

>> Then what's the problem? << I interrupted him impatiently.

>> The problem is that we can't find the UFO that helped defend against the invasion. And we want answers. <<

I put my face in my hands >> We've already told you everything and advised you to look in Dulce, New Mexico. We even gave you the exact location of the entrance to their underground city. <<

>> That's why I want to talk to you. Our forces have found this underground city, or what's left of it. <<

Becka and I raised an eyebrow. Then the agent took another picture from his file and presented it to us. It was a picture of a huge crater in the New Mexico desert, near Dulce. Then he showed us another picture. One that was taken in the underground passage to the town, which was closed off with an avalanche of rocks. The inhabitants of the city were evacuated so that the launch of the ship would not shatter them.

>> We want to know if you know of another place where they could be hiding. <<

I shook my head.

>> Can't your satellites find the ship? << Becka then asked.

>> That would be easier if half of it hadn't been destroyed because of the invasion. <<

I put my face in my hands once more and took a deep breath. Then I wondered if it could be that the Phalanx had lied to us to possibly make their own invasion easier. If that was the case, what had they done with Eriny?

Then he nodded to the people behind the mirror and shortly afterwards I could no longer detect their presence >> Staff Officer Bristol spoke to me. He wanted authorization to take you two in to help with the search. <<

>> How can we help? << I asked skeptically.

>> He believes that you at least have a different understanding of technology that you can use to improve our radar systems. Or at least use it in ways we are not yet aware of. <<

Becka giggled and mumbled to me >> Like we have magical mechanic powers. <<

>> It's worth a try. Otherwise, you and the rest of your people will be taken into custody until a leader has an idea of what to do with you. <<

I scowled at him and lost the last drop of my politeness >> Are you trying to blackmail us? <<

>> I'm only offering you one chance. Either you help with the search and we press the government to assimilate your people into the population, or you'll all be deported to an uninhabited piece of land in the middle of nowhere until everyone forgets about you. Or worse. <<

Becka leaned on the table as well >> Can we have a moment, please? <<

The agent nodded and left the room. Becka then turned to me >> He's just trying to scare us. The governments of this world can't just ignore a problem like alien refugees. <<

I remembered back to the meeting at the Pentagon >> What if? We've both seen how humans can act with a lot of power. <<

>> If you mean this commander... <<

>> That's exactly who I mean. We can't just sit around and expect the weakened humans to lose to the Phalanx. We fought to make sure the humans don't die needlessly. And even if they could do it without us, what happens afterwards? Another civil war between the Grievers? Perhaps a revolution against humanity? That was not our goal, Becka. <<

>> Then why did you want to save the humans if you now think that not all of them are worth saving? <<

I looked at her in astonishment until I realized that I had contradicted myself. So I could no longer look her in the eye and searched for something on the table.

>> Did you want to do that because you saw how defenceless they are compared to us? Did something only change after Luke revealed our secret to you? Or do you have someone here that you can't let die? <<

My gaze snapped back to her >> Then what about you? You were suspicious yourself when the Phalanx took Eriny away from you. Do you really think they brought him back home? Why would they have done that? <<

A great worry built up inside her and she broke eye contact with me. I felt bad for giving her that worry just to get what I thought was right. Then she sighed and hesitated a little before speaking >> At least now I know I'm not the only one with this thought. All right, let's find them and get Eriny back to safety. <<

[mastomysowner]

This is a Russian fan song, originally titled "The Legion Goes to Battle", its authors translated it into English themselves.

It seems to be a mix of old and new canon. When he sang, "on Jaku, Scarif and Endor, all that we have built was ending," it hurt. This version of the song was recorded in 2018, so it's missing the last 4 verses from this post. I translated them myself, but I cannot into poetry yet, so my translation is literal.

Once again to the Venator,

Rifle, helmet, detonator,

We've been summoned to our stations,

Droids invade the allied nations.

The whole galaxy is burning,

As if caught in an inferno,

Into battle we are flying,

And in battle we are dying...

The planets turn, and cities burn,

And we all suffer in our turn:

Camino, Ilum, Dathomir,

Felucia and Dantooine.

But step by step, we forge ahead,

Venator roaring overhead.

I wish we could come back alive,

But our Legion must survive...

Three years straight through storms and lightning,

We marched forward never frightened,

We went where the Jedi ordered,

Hell itself our missions bordered!

Then the news: our foes are broken!

Our blasters were still smoking,

But our generals betrayed us,

Death to all you Jedi traitors!

The planets turn, and cities burn,

And we all suffer in our turn:

Umbara, Yavin, Ord-Mantell,

Jabim, Christofsis, Harrun-Cal.

But step by step, we forge ahead,

Venator roaring overhead.

I wish we could come back alive,

But our Legion must survive...

Here we stand before Darth Vader,

As he lowers his red saber,

His deep voice tells us, “Stand down now!”

The Empire can sleep soundly!

All our enemies defeated,

We thought clones were barely needed,

When again the Jedi traitors

Made us run to our Venators.

We've worked so hard, it is not fair,

Treason was hanging in the air,

They push on us, they try to clinch,

But we won't falter, not an inch!

We beat them back, only we can!

With rifles, knives, and with our hands!

I wish we could come back alive,

But our Legion must survive...

All throughout we chased the traitors,

Hunting them in our Venators,

We will follow all of your steps,

And we'll sweep you off our doorstep!

In the jungle, in the desert,

Wherever you may be present,

With the might of our forces,

We will kill you where your source is!

The planets turn, and cities burn,

And we all suffer in our turn:

They push on us, they try to clinch,

But now is not the time to flinch!

We beat them back, only we can!

With rifles, knives, and with our hands!

I wish we could come back alive,

But the Empire must survive...

On Jaku, Scarif and Endor,

All that we have built was ending,

Our flame was slowly dying,

And our flag no longer flying.

All our plans and our devices,

To put down this Rebel crisis,

Ended with the Jedi winning,

But is this a new beginning?

Our native planets, still in mind,

Our native systems far behind,

The day will come, the hour will pass,

When you will all remember us!

We have no choice but to retreat,

So that we're not completely beat.

But we'll yet hear your dying cries,

For our Legion will survive!

Fallen brethren we've remembered,

Our fight has not yet ended,

New armadas are now landing,

Our vengeance is at hand now!

Our flame is reignited,

And we stand again united,

Terror will instill all your steps,

We are at your very doorstep!

The planets turn, and cities burn,

And you will suffer in your turn:

Jaku, Akiva, Agamar,

Correlia and Hosnian...

Shoulder to shoulder, on we move,

Starkiller's bringing death to you!

I wish we could come back alive,

But our Legion must survive...

Obeying the higher will,

The ice on Exegol cracked.

The Emperor will rise again

And the end of the war will come.

The whole galaxy will bow down,

Our glory will be reborn.

But again there is an alarm,

The enemy is at our doorstep.

We'll burn villages and cities,

We'll burn out the sectors with napalm.

The rebels are still running back,

Let's pave the way for them to hell.

Shoulder to shoulder we tear them down

With knives and rifles and our fists

And after that, leaving the formation,

The stormtroopers will return home...

[niphuial]

Finn shook his head. "She went whaling--Elias wanted to learn to carve on whale bones and so Sage and her new armada of fishing boats aren't expected back for another week and a half." He grunted, pain flaring from his arm. "I taught you, Elijah, Kol, and Rebekah around his age so when he expressed interest in learning carving..." he stopped, tremors wracking his body as his eyes cut to the other side of the room.

"Mother, Elijah needs to be fed. Freya wouldn't want you to--" Finn flinched head jerking from an hallucination's slap, tears spilling from his eyes. "It's okay Elijah. I'll find you some food."

_______

Katerina shrugged, yawning slightly and snuggling up to him. "I don't know. I woke up to someone sobbing and found you strewn across your side of our bed," she informed him, nuzzling her face into his nape. "Are you okay? My head feels atrocious."

_____

Elias cocked his head, frowning deeply. "Why is Uncle Finn crying? Is he hurt? Should we tell Auntie Beks?"

___

Lucian huffed, laying in his hammock and reading his book, idly petting Quicksilver. The raven cooed, beak sliding through Lucian's curls. "Love you, Luke." The raven spoke, voice soft.

this would be fun to watch

[soundcrusher]

Yesterday, I was talking with Tachy again and to make it short, because I can't talk about the whole thing regarding this right now, I realized that I accidentally made one version of my OCs Primus' son.

I mean, Cybertron Flinch was literally created with a portion of Primus' power (a Cyberkey to be precice) and the wish of Nimbostratus. He also, at one point, was nearly "killed" by the Autobots for selfish reasons on their part. Sooo... yea...

Kinda makes me wonder if this means that Armada Flinch could also be Primus' kid... eh, who knows.

Featuring @tachyon-omlette's Eda, because yea! Eda!

[10blue10]

Erets Rant

“You’re right, bud. It’s time. Go. Lead them to the Hidden World,” Hiccup told Toothless. “You’ll be safe there. Safer than you could ever be with me.”

“Bullshit,” said Eret. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Or seeing, for that matter. Once again, everyone was just blindly doing what Hiccup wanted.

“What?”

“You heard me. Bullshit. What makes you think he won’t be safe up here? On this insanely tall island that only dragons can reach the top of?” he demanded. “And what do you mean, lead them to the Hidden World? Who’s ‘them’ exactly?”

“The other dragons.”

“What, the wild ones?”

“No… Eret, the world just isn’t ready for dragons. You saw that armada! It’s better if we let them go; they’ll all be safe in the Hidden World, away from hunters. Toothless is the King of Dragons; he has to go and be their leader.”

Eret scoffed a mocking laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s your argument? I’m pretty sure we just watched your precious ‘king of dragons’ order this entire flock into cages, just to save his sparkly new girlfriend.”

They both flinched. “He didn’t have a choice! Grimmel was gonna kill her”-

“Of course he wasn’t gonna kill her. She was his only bargaining chip. And even if he was, that doesn’t make your dragon a good leader! What the hell happened to ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’?” Eret glared. “I’m just gonna fucking say it. Toothless is a terrible Alpha.”

Everyone gasped. Eret pushed on. “He wasn’t trying to keep the flock under control back on Berk, then he ditched ‘em all to chase after her,” he jabbed his thumb at the Light Fury, who hissed, “and when he comes back he orders all our dragons to please walk into the cages. Grimmel never even told him to!”

Astrid snapped “you’re out of line. How dare you speak to your chief like that?”

Your chief. Something in Eret broke free. He’d already lost a lot of respect for Hiccup; in that moment, he lost respect for Astrid as well. “He’s not my chief. Even if he were, I wouldn’t listen to him. He’s as bad a leader as his dragon.”

More shocked gasps. For a bunch of Vikings, these people sure were sensitive. “Hiccup is a great chief!” Astrid protested. “He’s one of the best we’ve ever”-

“Would a great chief cram his village full of dragons?” Eret sneered. “Would a halfway decent chief do that, risking injury and food shortage? Or force his entire tribe to abandon their home and chase a myth, or force them to give up their scaly friends - why, because there’ll always be bad people out there?”

Hiccup snapped “if you’d warned us about Grimmel sooner, we could have been better prepared. Maybe next time don’t wait until the last bloody minute!”

“Oh, no, don’t you dare try to pin your shortcomings on me. I admit, I could have mentioned Grimmel earlier - but everything I just mentioned, that was all your doing.” He poked the younger man in the chest. “If you think I’m gonna let you strand me on this gods-forsaken rock, I’ve got news for you. I’m taking Skullcrusher and I’m going home. To my actual home, and my actual tribe.”

“Fine! Go! See if I care,” Hiccup scowled. “But you’re not taking Skullcrusher. He belongs with his own - hey!” Eret was already climbing into the saddle.

Well, since he was leaving forever, might as well burn a few more bridges. “Bye, everyone! Gobber, I feel sorry for the next bloke you start creeping on. Valka, have fun getting hit on by Snotlout. Fishlegs… you’re the only one I still like. Good job.” He waved to their shocked faces as Skullcrusher took off.