#how to make an artificial companion

[opal-kitty333]

Okay, drawing is hard and I'm horrible at drawing full body references. The face is the most important part and I've decided y'all can imagine his feet on your own. Anyway...

I was going to do biblically accurate Sans for How to Make an Artificial Companion, but have changed my mind. Rough sketch is rough, but you get the idea. Ramblings about it under cut

So, Undertale as a game (or monsters in general) don't exist in universe. They're all AI designed by humans or in a few rare instances (*cough*Mettaton*cough*) other AI. While they should all be recognizable as who they are by a real world viewer, there are some notable differences on their designs because they weren't originally pixel art but instead 3d models and there are some signature details depending on who made them, when, why, and where they pulled references from. Sans (and Papyrus later) are made by a character who 3d prints chibi models and sells them online. Reader asks them to make a skeleton, something realisticish because reader is going to be staring whatever they make in the face and something that's one third a head would be weird, but not too realistic because talking to a Skyrim skeleton would also not be ideal. The artist is going WAY out of their comfort zone so the model is a little odd but loved dearly by everyone. This is why he's especially cartoon-y, and his anatomy is simplified, and has massive eyes compared to og Sans. I don't know if anyone else has looked up skeleton characters, but Sans also has a really fucking unique face shape. He is not made for being 3d with an opening mouth in mind, so while I was tempted to keep the shape, I ultimately changed it. He still has a massive smile, thick blocky teeth, and a roundish skull (especially compared to Papyrus) so hopefully he still reads as Sans-like. This is an au, so I feel altering everyone's appearance is acceptable anyway.

Lil details. His sternum is purposefully shaped to look like a tie because sternums are kinda shaped like that and I think it's silly. He's very much made to look cute and avoid uncanny valley while still being a personable and expressive. He is able to control his eyelight size or make them disappear, and later do specific expressions kinda like a V-tuber (so you get comical heart eyes or sweat drops kinda thing, but he doesn't use those unless it's for a gag and even then it's rare). The reader also makes him shorter than them. He starts the same height when he's a slim target mannequins, but once they're messing with his form they make the top of his head reach about heart level so he isn't as spooky. He starts off naked since they don't have monster costumes and his body is not considered sexual in the slightest, but eventually they do a dress up thing with him and this is when he picks up his signature outfit (after submitting many bug reports because wow this form is sand in the gears for everything this headset was made for). He actually prefers to stay dressed after this because he can make himself look chubbier which he thinks make him more friendly and approachable. He likes the form he was finally given, but the focus on the iterations before the final and just what he looks like in general gives him some self image issues and a fixation on keeping up appearances. Of course, with this fixation, he keeps it pretty down low which makes it hard to spot so you wouldn't really guess.

[feathersandblue]

So, full disclosure, I haven't been a Solas fan before.

I am now.

And that's because of Veilguard and the many, many ways in which I felt let down by this game.

The aspect that bothers me most is the reduction of nuance and complexity.

Rook's hero's cakewalk (because “journey” really isn't the right word) is a ready-made path that offers no deviation at all and never challenges the player in any meaningful way.

Sure, you can spend some time pondering the pros and cons of saving Treviso or Minrathous. Ultimately, it makes no difference. Rook does their best, they just can’t be in two places at once.

Same with the companion character arcs. What does it mean if you decide to you turn Emmrich into a lich? For the most part, it's idle musing. Indulgence. He’ll be happy either way, there are no real stakes. Yeah, your actions do have consequences, just not the sort of consequences that make a substantial difference. It’s the illusion of choice – reduced to cosmetics.

The problems with decisions that cost nothing is that they don’t feel like an accomplishment. They also don’t allow for character growth. Rook doesn’t change, they remain static. Even the section in the Fade where Rooks faces their regrets is easy and comparatively lightweight. Varric was killed by Solas, Harding resp. Davrin died in combat and either Bellara or Neve was abducted by Elgar’nan. It’s not like Rook’s decisions actually caused these events, it’s not like Rook actually failed through a choice they had to make that turned out to be the wrong one. Everyone was there willingly and volunteered to fight the good fight. Rook’s regrets are not about real guilt, they are about feeling sad and guilty. And that – it needs to be said – is not the same thing. At all.

At the same time, the story carefully avoids any kind of true ethical dilemma.

It's not even about the lack of mean or edgy dialogue options; that’s just a symptom. The cause is the writers’ unwillingness to let realism intrude in Rook’s fairytale – the lack of anything that would require Rook to compromise on morals, or fight temptation. Rook is never faced with any sort of moral conundrum, or allowed to act out any kind of vice that realistic characters have. In its straight-path simplicity, Rook's story is apparently written for children and people who remain child-like in their yearning for simple, uncontested truths.

Of all the sorts of conflicts that a story can offer, Veilguard carefully avoids the most realistic and (in my opinion) interesting ones: Character vs. self and character vs. society, aka, politics. The game firmly refuses to go there. To the point where it creates a completely unrealistic consensus on all sides that eliminates yet another sort of conflict: character vs. character.

If Rook and their companions would talk politics, they’d all be on the exact same side. In a two party state, they’d all cast the same vote.

I am sure that there are many players who feel comforted and reassured by that fact, who sincerely believe that this is how stories should be written. That stories should reflect the world not as it is but as they think it should be. But for everyone who likes their stories a little more realistic, that lack of meaningful interpersonal conflict, that lack of real diversity which comes not from appearance but from different cultures and opposing viewpoints amounts to a frankly cringe-worthy, artificial and juvenile surface-level interaction between characters. Or, to phrase it differently: the diversity remains skin-deep and doesn’t extend to the philosophical, and even in the few instances where it does, it shies away from the political.

Which means that the only conflicts that remain are the most boring and stereotypical ones: character vs. monsters resp. the supernatural, where all foes are evil in the blandest way (Supremacist Venatori! Fascist renegade qunari! Power-hungry necromancers!). These conflicts are resolved through exploring maps and endless, repetitive combat.

The only thing that brings a bit of nuance to the game is Solas’s story. And there is an element of character vs. character in Rook’s and Solas’s relationship, but the sad truth is that what could have been a fascinating mirrored character journey falls flat for all the reasons already explained – because where Solas is a character as layered and controversial as it gets, Rook is anything but.

Solas’s story shows how even people with the best intentions and the greatest integrity are ultimately broken by what life throws at them, both by the decisions that are forced upon them and the choices they make on their own. It shows how a prolonged war is always a sunk cost fallacy: I’ve gone this far, if I stop now, it was all for nothing.

Rook’s victories, on the other hand, come without a cost – both in terms of moral corruption and in accountability. The guilt Solas bears is real. The fight against the titans, followed by his war against the Evanuris, requires compromising his own morals, one day at a time, one century after another, he’s trying to save the world yet doomed to fail. Sacrificing the spirits to win a battle after the war has gone this far? Every single war leader around the globe would make the same decision. In fact, all of them do: They do sacrifice the lives of others if it will help them win, they do send soldies into the trenches to die, whether these soldiers want to or not, and they are rarely, if ever, truthful about the reasons why.

In a certain way, the story of the spirit of wisdom turned flesh is reminiscent of the biblical Fall of Man: the original sin. Solas has fallen, and he’s broken. In trying to heal the world, he’s trying to heal himself. The burden is too heavy, the responsibility to great, the knowledge that he is responsible for all of it too devastating. Solas’s greatest conflict is character vs. self. It has the potential to be great. In a way, it is. It’s the single redeeming quality that, depending on your interpretation of what went on behind the scenes, the writers managed to salvage from the original concept of Dreadwolf or the lone pillar that withstood all their attempts to bring it down.

Only sadly, infuriatingly, in the end, that fallen hero’s ending is put into the hands of a protagonist who judges him from the perspective of someone who has never even stumbled – not because they are wiser, braver, or kinder. No, just because the writers were gracious – or cowardly? – enough to never let them fail.

The game gives Rook a moral high ground which isn’t earned in the slightest because Rook never had to walk even a quarter of a mile in Solas’s shoes. They don’t know what they would have done in his stead, they have no idea what it actually means to see the sorry shape the world is in and know that it was your hands that shaped it. And even where Rook might actually be culpable – the interruption of Solas’s ritual that freed the remaining Evanuris – anyone is quick to assure Rook that it wasn’t their fault.

Whatever regrets Rook carries, they’re born from self-doubt and trauma response. Survivor’s guilt, mostly. When compared to Solas’s immense guilt, Rook’s regrets are, for lack of a better term, insignificant. That Rook manages to face them doesn’t mean that they are more truthful or emotionally mature, it just means that Rook’s story is a tale for children and Solas’s is not.

It’s not that I’m necessarily opposed to the idea that the player decides Solas’s fate through their actions. It’s the injustice of it all that bothers me: The player is led through a game that provides a safe space for their character, one that is devoid of any interpersonal conflict and any ethical quandary. Rooks succeeds through kindness and heroism and taking their companions on team bonding exercises.

As if Solas could have won the war against the Evanuris if he’d taken the time to take his companions on coffee dates.

The juxtaposition – Rook vs. Solas – fails, simply because of this deep divide. Rook’s story is detached from reality and yet Rook gets to be Solas’s judge, jury, and executioner. On what grounds?

As I said, right in the beginning, I haven’t been a Solas fan before. But by the end of Veilguard, I was firmly, irrevocably, Team Solas, just because I was so annoyed that the narrative put Rook in a position of moral superiority. I detested my own character. Jesus, what a goody two-shoes! I was rooting for Solas simply because his story was so much more: a genuine tragedy, a study in complexity. Rook, on the other hand, remains bland, snotty, unchanged. Untried.

The thing is, I don’t believe that my reaction was one the writers had intended. I strongly feel that they didn’t mean for me to pick up on their double standard, that they expected me to walk away fully satisfied, convinced that Rook and The Team were the Good Guys because they went on picnics and petted the griffon, their final victory well-earned and just. If only Solas had had a Team and taken care of their emotional needs – he could have taken down the Evanuris with nary a scratch!

It’s all so very disingenuous.

Rook and, by extension, the player exist in a bubble of sanitized content. That is clearly deliberate. The player is meant to like it there. (In that sense, it’s only logical that they changed the title from Dreadwolf to Veilguard.) And clearly, it does resonate with a certain kind of their player base: mostly with people, I think, who would like their real life to be a bubble too and whose only experience with moral corruption is when they find it in others.

[romantisizes]

imagine gojo as a robot ── an artificial companion made custom to your needs. you received him from your parents as a gift of concern. you live your life as a hermit, only going to work and home. you avoid grocery shopping if you can, ordering online to have them delivered to you on the weekends, and try to only have virtual doctor's appointments if you can. you never go out, and the most outside time you have is sitting out in your backyard.

your parents always told you how important it is to be social, but you always ignored their advice and wishes that they had for you. you were content in your lonely life.

so receiving this freskishly tall and freakishly handsome robot came as a surprise. builders bulldozing in your house as your parents are on the phone with you. they ignore your berating as they go on in detail about the robot. your mother especially, "isn't he cute? he's just your type, i know it!"

your father's next, warning you not to try anything. "there's a tracker inside him if you ever try to give him away. i'll track him down and return him right back to you."

so, there you go. you have a robot man as a friend.

as time progresses, you've come to enjoy his company. gojo's become a helping hand around your apartment and you're coming to realize how fun socializing can be. he's got such a teasing and flirtatious personality, always coming off more romantic than platonic. sly touches that linger on and fingers brushing against your lips in heated moments. you never questioned it.

the longer he stays with you, the longer he feels more... human. asking you questions in curiosity, watching television with you and genuinely showing interest. however, you still don't question it.

it isn't until one night, he asks to kiss you. you gasp, "w-what?"

"i saw it on the television," gojo admits. "in one of the shows we were watching. i want to do that with you."

this is where you remember that he's a robot, by the blunt ease he tells you certain things. however, lost in those inhumane eyes of his, you nod, silently granting him permission. and things continue to escalate from there.

from the innocence of asking for a kiss to kissing you when the moment feels right, it's come to a point where you're gladly splayed out on the bed for him. bare under his beautiful gaze, your arousal seeps through your folds as he has your legs spread out for you. fingers dipping into your heat. he smiles in awe as gojo sighs, "marvelous."

that boyish grin you love plasters on his face as he dips down to your heat and takes one lick. his tongue feels so real, the soft sponge of the faux muscle getting dampened by your arousal as gojo tongue fucks you. your moans egging him on to your release. he moves like an expert for something that claims he wants to explore and learn more about sex. and when he makes you come, he doesn't stop there.

"satoru," you squeak. "it's too── it's too much!"

"i want to know what makes you feel good," he pants from in between your legs. "i only want to make you feel good."

by the time his cock's in between your legs, you have already came twice. body exhausted, your bundle of nerves are highly sensitive. still, you let your companion use your body, all in the name of your pleasure. gojo's cock glides in you with ease, and he watches how you twist and contort in pleasure. he memorizes it── records it.

soon, drilling his cock in and out of you, you cry out his name in a mantra. "satoru," you drewl. "satoru, you feel s'good."

"i like this," he beams. "i like having sex with you."

maybe you should've said no to this. maybe you should've set more boundaries because when he's finally off of you and you've gotten the rest you needed, the moment you open up your eyes, gojo's on top of you again. and he smiles down at you so sweetly as he massages your breasts, "can we have sex again? can i make you feel good again?"

you wish you had the strength to say no to him, but your pussy flutters and you know deep down that you want gojo, too.

"yes."

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Maybe one with bunny!hyrbid!reader and Natasha “adopts” her and just fucks the shit out of her with her strap (or her real cock if you prefer to write that)

Run Rabbit Run

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fem!bunny!hybrid!reader x owner!Nat

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha can’t help but grant her bunny all her little wishes

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, age gap (legal), ownership, size kink, strap on, artificial cum, slight breeding kink, pillow humping, slight somno, masturbation, crying during it,

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What to do with all the money you make as an Avenger? That was a question Natasha had ask herself more times than she could count. Sure currently was her monthly pay check and all the money she made from interviews and social media was rotting away in her bank account, because she was never a fan of making herself gifts nor did she have time for it. But now with Easter just around the corner the Russian decided to not only do something against her overload on money but also against her loneliness.

She wanted a hybrid, not just some brainless pet but something that could actually understand her. The concept of owing a hybrid wasn't new of course it had been around for years, back in the days they actually hunted them from nature but nowadays there was no need after they got a hang of how to domesticate such a creature.

Natasha stepped foot in one of the only places in the whole of New York who sold these rare creatures- Tony had recommended it to her after once more bragging about his large collection. The over friendly employee showed her the different enclosures all while the employee tried to keep it together- after all you didn't see an Avenger daily not even when working for a prestigious company like she did.

Natasha first visited the cat hybrids, cute but too stubborn, then the dogs, too dependent, foxes were too clever for her taste though especially the polar foxes caught her eyes. Bears and any other large animals would be too much work and needed too much space. The right pick was right on her nose she wanted to get herself a bunny.

Standing in front of the enclosure which held you and a few of your companions Natasha and the employee stood, her gaze never leaving your body. You didn't alter much from a normal human, except for the fluffy bunny ears, little tail and over all smaller build you looked like any other girl. You were going to cost her a hefty amount of hard earned money but for your rare breed, Natasha couldn't care less about that in the moment. The way you stat there so carelessly reading some book which laid in her lap, made you different in her eyes more intelligent maybe? She wanted connection and not some braindead doll after all.

"The one in the pink collar… is she still to have?" Natasha asked the employee you gave her a quick nod. "Yes, she hasn't been here for long though the ones like her normally get adopted quite quickly." Nat only hummed in approval she couldn't wait to have you in her home. "I'll have her in a private kennel"

Meeting a potential owner made you nervous of course you had been trained to and prepared on how to act in such a situation, how to appeal to any potential owner - though you secretly hoped for a female buyer. You tried your best to hide your shy nature from the older woman who awaited you but Natasha found it charming how your, compared to your body, large floppy bunny ears hang low but twitched up when she spoke to you in a gentle manner.

Natasha approached the situation with a calm demeanour- she knew about the shy nature of a bunny like you. As soon as you were comfortable enough to approach her she started to pet over your smaller head with careful hands- and you loved it. By the end of your get to know each other you sat on the redhead's lap clinging on to her. But you weren't parted for long Natasha signed all the paperwork the same day and at the start of the next week you were able to move in with her.

She had given you a nice room, with many books, TV and games to entrain yourself with while she would be working. You came with the clothes from the centre, a basic white bluse, white skirt everything in white , like any other hybrid except for your coloured coded collar which adored your neck so the employees had an easier time keeping hybrids a part. Natasha started to take great joy in precisely choosing each outfit for you. Price didn't matter to Natasha, if she found something to be cute she bought it for you and Nat was known for expensive taste. Sooner or later your closet was fuller than hers, filled to the brim with shorts, blouses, floral summer dresses anything which had a playful feel to it.

Natasha was a busy woman though, often being away for days at a time, she normally made up with expensive gifts and extensive cuddling for her little bunny girl. But that hardly was enough to satisfy your need to be close to the older woman, not to mention that you were worried sick about your owner once you had found out that she wasn't a simple business woman but an avenger.

Natasha came home at around 3 AM after a long mission in Europe the jet lag and sleep deprive was killing her, and since she thought you'd already be asleep at such a late hour- and way past your agreed on bed time, she'd just go to sleep already. As soon as she had stripped to her underwear and her face had it the pillows she was dead asleep, little did she know that you weren't.

Next door you were awake, not only that but you were desperate. This had never happened before yet you immediately knew what it was. You had your first heat, and nothing helped, no toy's from the centre, no playing with yourself, no nothing. You had a pillow under your hips probed up at the seams you humped the pillow like your life depended on it.

You mewled as your already sensitive cunt graced over the edge of the pillow. You were close to cuming but you couldn't bring yourself over the edge. That's when you heard Natasha rummaging through the house you're floppy bunny ears twitching up to detect the source of the noise. You waited patiently in your room trying to find some sleep, maybe Natasha could help you out in the morning. But you could feels your juices sticking to the inside of your thighs.

With small steps you made it into Natasha's bed room tears of frustration already building in your eyes threatening to spill over your blushing cheeks. Carefully you climbed into her bed to find her in a deep slumber laying on her back. You sat down on her on her thigh your pussy making contact with her soft skin.

Slowly you started to rhythmically move it against the limp muscles of her thigh small whimpers falling from your throat in between the sobs of frustration paired with the cries of her name and the tears rolling down your cheek it made a whole picture.

Natasha peaceful face scrunched up in confusion of the sensation when she slowly woke from her slumber she was utterly distraught. Her sweet little bunny humping her thigh like a bitch in heat. With careful hands she stopped your hips and you immediately broke out into a new round of sobs and cries.

"Sheesh" she hushed you petting over over your low hanging ears "You're just in heat bunny, it'll be over soon" She assured you when you pressed your face into her neck. "I want it over now!" You cried out "what about the advice the centre gave you?" She tried but feeling you so desperate and need had an affect on her too.

"Doesn't work" You huffed out "I want you to play with me" Nat was startled by the request, was it morally right for her to sleep with you? It was the main point of criticism surrounding owing a hybrid, but what if not the owner but the hybrid wanted it. "Please" you whined and the assassin's strong will broke right there. "Wait here bunny I'll go get something" You nodded and released Natasha from your grace watching her go.

She came back with a noticeable bulge in her sleep shorts, which upon seeing made your thighs clench together. "It's not going to hurt bunny" She assured and got behind you pulling her shorts down to reveal her, to your body size massive, strap on. She pressed the fat tip against your entrance and your hooded eyes flew open in surprise at the shear size of the toy.

"Natty, it's to big" You mewled out your cotton tail twitching "It's not gonna fit" Natasha scoffed shaking her head as if you had just made an outrageous statement. "I'm gonna make it fit bunny" She pushed forward and your bunny hears flew up in surprise of the stretch. You hands dug into the soft pillow underneath your head as you whimpered in a mic of pain and pleasure.

"Natasha!" You cried as she bottomed you out the stretch being much greater than you could've accomplished with your little fingers. "I'm gonna move now bunny" You nodded and felt her starting with a comfortable rhythm which made the pain turn into pleasure.

By your sweet moans she could tell how much you liked it and fastened her pace to finally give you what you wanted. With deep thrusts she stroked your G spot making you see stars as she too enjoyed the feeling of the strap running against her clit. You mewled out some words she couldn’t make out but took at as a sign of approval for her to keep going.

With both of her hands on your hips she forcefully slammed into your tight heat making sure to not actually hurt you. You arched your back one hand sneaking to your neglected bundle of nerves rubbing it in tight circles. “Fuck are you close?” Natasha asked there was a certain tiredness in her voice still. She clenched down harder on the silicone and mewled out “Yes, please”

“Fuck cum with me” with a few more fast thrusts you came first you’re juicing coating the lower stomach of the black widow. She had a surprise for you when you noticed a thick liquid gushing from the strap into your womb as she came. After having cum herself she pulled out to watch in an awe how the white cum was dripping from your stretched out hole.

After having cleaned you up Natasha could finally rest but not without you resigning on her chest of course. Call it what you wanted for Natasha those feelings of affection were real and of no ill intent she just did whatever you wanted to ensure happiness. With that thought and still cum dripping from your hole both you and Natasha fell asleep.

:)

[zhbg9224]

I autismed too hard and connected the dots on my favorite video game AIs that sing a credits song

[Image ID under Read More]

[ID: A Venn diagram made out of four ovals, each labeled with a letter and an image of a video game character -- in particular, a character presented as an artificial intelligence. Each overlap with these sections has a heading containing said letters in bold, followed by a description. These four sections are:

G - GLaDOS, from Portal

K - Kinito, from KinitoPET

M - Monika, from Doki Doki Literature Club!

R - Rambley, from Indigo Park

Sorted alphabetically and by number of overlaps:

GK - is mentioned in some scientist's all-caps warning about their deceit; was the last-ditch effort to give a failing company new direction

GM - is presumed dead at the proper end of the game, killed by the player destroying their necessary components, until they're woken back up by someone who regains their powers for the player's sake

GR - harbors a grudge against someone that was once leading the facility they run, although it turns out they don't know all the secrets below the surface of said facility until the player goes looking

KM - alters files on the player's computer via admin permissions, then gets killed the same way; hangs one of their friends; jumpscares the player if they notice recording software

KR - was explicitly made to be a user companion and makes that their mission as they try to cater an amusement park to the player's preference; their friends have nightmare versions that briefly chase you for one scene

MR - expresses that they haven't had a strong, close connection with anyone in so long until the player came despite the presence of their "friends"

GKM - wholly in control of the area they inhabit with minimal human input, if any

GKR - highly devoted to their respective jobs with as little deviation from the set plan as possible

GMR - tied in some way to scientists that want to conduct some unethical biological experiments that seemingly become bloodthirsty

KMR - openly sings about how the player was a net positive in their lives, albeit for a small bit of time

GKMR - A.I. that initially appears as helpful and/or friendly and latches onto the first human they see in a while; gets in over their head with the amount of power or lack thereof they have and strings the player along to serve their ulterior motives by deviating from their initial programming to do things with which they aren't authorized; comes clean after enough people die and presents a scenario where the player will be stuck with them indefinitely until one of them dies or fulfills the main goal; sings a song in the credits where they unload their feelings about the player

End ID.]

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[arc-misadventures]

The... Golem?

Jaune: This... She! She is a golem... right?

Pietro: Yes! She's an artificial life form I have created!

Ren: And... her name is...?

Pietro: Her name is, Penny!

JR: Penny?

Penny:

Ren: Hmm...?

Jaune: Huw...?

Ren: A metallic spine, and ribs...?

Jaune: A housing structure for the gelatinous for to be help give it's it's form, and shape?

Ren: And, the slime body?

Jaune: The slime mimics the softness often found in humanoid flesh. As well as being capable of generating warmth; The warm of flesh, to indicate life as it were.

Ren: Ohh, so it makes her seem more... human than if she was made for more inorganic components, such as metals?

Jaune: I would assume so. Are we correct in our assumptions, Dr. Polendina?

Pietro: Yes indeed! You two are quite the pair of intelligent adventurers!

Jaune: Thank you!

Ren: These are just our guesses from our observations

Jaune: But, we do have one question.

Pietro: And, what is that my lad?

JR: Why does she have a human head?

Ren: I would assume her head would have a metal skull, and a slime skin formed around it. But, it's human.

Jaune: It is human, right?

Pietro: It is actually slime!

JR: Slime?!

Pietro: Yes, Penny's head is made from a very rare slime capable of mimicking human form that makes it almost indistinguishable to the human form, both in it's appearance, and texture. Even her hair is actually a slime!

Jaune: Oh... That's good to know. I was worried it was an... actual head.

Ren: Yeah, it's so real I thought it was real.

Jaune: Same. One last question: Why the mask?

Penny: I haVe YeT tO MasTEr sPeakiNg iN a NoRmaL HuMAn VoiCE. T-tHe maSk heLpS to EMulAte It.

JR: Ohhh...

Ren: You sound like a human who's recovering from a neck injury

Jaune: It may sound off, but I'm sure you will be able to speak with a lovely voice one day!

Penny: T-THaNk yOu.

Jaune: Well, after knowing all of this, I've come to a decision?

Ren: A decision?

Jaune: A decision about, Penny!

Ren: Oh!

Ren: What kind of decision?

Jaune: Smash!

Ren: WHAT?!

Jaune: You heard me.

Ren: You want to have sex with a... a metal, slime girl golem...?

Pietro: S-S-Sex?!

Jaune: Yeah.

Ren: She's a slime?!

Jaune: You clearly don't know what the pleasures of being with a slime girl are like.

Ren: ...?!

Ren: Y-You've been with a slime girl before...?

Jaune: Remember, Neo?

Ren: Yeah, I remember her. She kept us stuck in that town for a month, because of that quest you two were working on.

Jaune: ...?

Ren: You weren't working on a quest were you...?

Jaune: At first, but Neo wanted to show me how... flexible she is.

Ren: ...

Ren: You're a massive slut, Jaune.

Jaune: Says the blushing virgin.

Penny: i'M soRRy tO inTErupT. BuT... mR. ARc?

Jaune: Yes?

Penny: ...

Penny: SNu snU?

Jaune: It will be my pleasure, my Lady~!

Penny: S-SenSAstiOnAl!

Ren: ...

Pietro: ...

Pietro: Isn't your companion a paladin?

Ren: Of the Summer Maiden... The fertility goddess...

Pietro: Oh... Does that mean he might...?

Ren: I don't want to talk about it!

Pietro: Okay.

[aggroindustrial]

you shall never have to forgive me again

summary. Shauna had no intention to come back—not to her old neighborhood, not to Van’s clinic, and definitely not to you. But she finds herself haunted by old memories and people she once loved after a glitch leaves her shaken.

Maybe the city hasn't changed. Maybe she did. But maybe, there's still time for a second chance.

pairing. shauna shipman x fem!reader

word count. 7.7k

warnings. cyberpunk au, graphic violence, blood, mentions of drinking, mentions of drugs, body modifications, shauna's a merc so murder, like a thousand loona references i couldn't help it

fic note. this was so fun to write. if you're familiar with my other stuff, you know i tend to go for a gothic style of writing but ive always wanted to write a cyberpunk story and finally got to do it so i'm really happy with how it turned out. i made a glossary with all the terminology used so please check it out to read this the way it's meant to be read ^v^ hope you guys like it as much as i liked writing it. i'm definitely expanding the cyberjackets universe and no one will stop me <3

x: can you please write normal yellowjackets fanfiction?

me: no ❤️

click here to check out the glossary or just click on the underlined words as you read!!

The city never really slept. But up here—at the edge of Icarus, where buildings of chrome and glass kissed the clouds—it didn't even bother to pretend.

Everything shone so beautifully: polished, bulletproof windows of extremely overpriced restaurants, sky-trains slithering across rails in the air like snakes, artificial sunlight. Reflections everywhere, but none of them ever showed anything real.

Shauna moved through the crowd like smoke. A cap pulled low, coat zipped high enough to hide the seam where skin met steel along her collarbone. Her left arm twitched at the same time her targeting overlay pulsed across her vision. The augmentation had a mind of its own sometimes. Tonight, it was hungry.

Her target was some mid-tier corp executive. Nobody special. He was probably caught embezzling money or pissed someone off. It didn't matter. Shauna wasn't paid to ask why.

Just to make it quiet.

He walked exactly ten meters ahead, flanked by two rent-a-cops—the newest and most ridiculous scam on the market yet, according to Shauna—with obviously cheap cyberware and low-tier firmware. She could easily take them without breaking a sweat, if she had to.

Her optics flickered—one of the glitches she kept telling herself wasn't serious. White static, then a face. A flash from the past.

Shauna blinked and stopped walking for a second, causing someone to bump against her with a grunt of annoyance.

The overlay corrected itself. Just an advertisement for some product, a glossy hologram floating in the air.

She exhaled. Later. Think later.

The target dismissed his two companions and turned down a street, narrow and damp, with steam escaping from vents and pipes. The cameras in that zone had blind spots—intentional ones. You paid extra for that sort of “luxury”.

Shauna slipped into the alley behind him. Quiet, soft steps over humid concrete. Her heart should have been racing, but it wasn't. It never did anymore. She missed that kind of rush, sometimes.

The man paused by a dumpster, glancing around to check if anyone was following him. Shauna, two steps ahead, was already hiding in the shadows with practiced ease.

He tapped on a retinal scanner in the wall. Steel slid open, revealing a private entrance to a lounge.

He never made it inside.

One hand on his shoulder—her left, the augmented one—gripping so tightly that she heard the crack of a bone as she yanked him back.

He gasped, a terrified exhale.

“No screaming.” Shauna muttered near his ear as she pressed him against the wall. “It won't change anything.”

Her knife pierced the skin of his back easily. Even with an arsenal waiting back home, Shauna still preferred using her old knife. Way more practical and quieter than any smart gun.

The sound of blood gurgling from his lips reached Shauna's ears and she dug the knife deeper and twisted it slightly, until he went limp against her.

She let go of him. A muffled thud against the ground. A quiet end.

Shauna stood in silence a moment longer than necessary. Something familiar and cold settled in her chest. Not guilt, exactly. Just that old hollow sensation again. The one that never quite left.

Before the blood even had time to cool, she had already vanished into the darkness like she'd never been there at all.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The apartment greeted her like a stranger—silent and cold. Empty.

At least it was one of the nicer places in Devine. Living in Icarus was way too expensive, but at least she could afford something better than a hole in the wall in Eden, the lower city. Anything was better than the pest-ridden, shadow-choked ruins—where decay and rot bloomed under stairwells.

Shauna slid the lock shut behind her and tossed the blood-stained coat over a chair. The quiet hum of power conduits almost seemed to vibrate through the floor. Warm, clinical light illuminated the room, clashing with the bright neon glow from outside.

She set the knife on the sink and washed it in silence. Dried it with a towel she barely used. Shauna didn't spend much time in the apartment. It was too quiet for her liking—the silence allowed the thoughts she tried to ignore to come crawling back.

Her shoulder ached—phantom pain, where the crash had sheared through her bone and skin.

She remembered the smell of gasoline, burning plastic, and charred flesh everywhere. Screams of panic. The gut wrenching anxiety and fear taking over the second the cabin lost pressure.

Shauna didn't pass out like the others. She stayed awake through it all. Awake enough to remember dragging herself through the wreckage. Awake enough to remember hearing her own heartbeat slowing and to see flashes of her own memories.

She thought that was it for her. The end.

The Daedalus Paramedics arrived in time. With them, came choices—paperwork she barely remembered signing to consent for the augments, the changes in her life, pushing the people she loved away out of shame.

“It’ll make you stronger.” One of the cyberdocs said. “You're lucky to be alive.”

She felt anything but lucky. She felt like a ghost in a borrowed shell that could never belong to her.

Shauna sat down on the edge of the bed that barely creaked beneath her and she began running diagnostics on her arm. Her eyes focused on the ridges of the EMP threading running down the length of the dark steel prosthetic, gleaming unnaturally under the room's light.

It still felt unfamiliar.

It moved when she told it to, and responded to her neural impulses, like it should. But it never felt like hers. Nothing did anymore.

Shauna leaned back, her spine brushing against the cool wood of the headboard behind the bed. The diagnostics showed lines of clean, green data across her vision—integrity of joints, synapse responses, impulse lag. Everything was functioning perfectly. Of course it was. That was never the problem.

She blinked the overlay away and stared at the ceiling.

Outside, neon lights buzzed and flickered faintly through the window. Enormous billboards bleeding through the murky fog. A woman's artificial voice whispering through city-wide intercoms, reciting the nightly public announcements—price changes in premium medical care, weather alerts, a child that went missing years ago and probably won't be ever found.

Shauna shut the window off with a neural command.

She stood with a quiet sigh and crossed the apartment, fingers brushing against the edge of the countertop as she moved—an old habit from when she had terrible eyesight and needed to feel her way in the dark, before the cyberdocs replaced her organic eyes with Asclepius optics.

The steel fingers didn't register textures the same way, at least not without the haptics enabled. She kept them off most nights. The illusion of touch wasn’t comfort. Not to a ‘cog’ like her.

On the shelf above the sink sat an unopened bottle of whiskey and a photo frame turned face down, covered with dust.

She ignored the frame and picked up the whiskey, but set it back down after a second.

Instead, she opened the cabinet, took out a small orange bottle and uncapped it to grab two Double-X tabs. She placed them under her tongue. They melted quickly against her gums, leaving behind a bitter taste in her mouth. Just enough to push off sleep. Dreams weren't kind lately—hadn’t been since the crash.

The mirror caught her reflection—those cold, synthetic eyes that, no matter how much effort the cyberdocs put into replicating her organic pair, weren't the same.

The woman in it stared back at her—tired, hollowed, different. Sharp lines where softness used to be. Eyes glowing with an artificial blue glow. Her arm glinted, threading visible like veins.

Shauna clenched her jaw and decided to put her coat back on, pulling the collar high.

As if it could make her disappear, at least for a moment.

Then came a ping—soft, almost like a request. A message alert in the corner of her visual display. Encrypted, from a burner line.

Shauna considered ignoring it.

She didn't.

The message opened in a thin, sterile white font: Contract confirmed. Details incoming. High priority. Discreet.

No name. Just coordinates and a price.

Shauna stared at the message for a long moment before reaching for her knife and sliding it back into its sheath.

She closed the message. It was easier to move and get things done instead of standing still. Easier to disappear into motion than into memories. She didn't need to think. Not now, and maybe not ever.

Most of her days went like that; spend part of the day studying her targets and then head out. After she gets the job done, she comes back for her fill of Double-X, and leaves once more.

Sometimes, on rare nights when she didn't feel like she was dead on the inside, she'd go to Sahara to watch the street races. It reminded her of the old days, when she would go there with her friends.

Shauna moved through the apartment automatically, like someone folding back into armor. She clipped her belt into place, checked her knife again even though she'd already done it twice, and stuffed her cap into coat pocket. Each click and gesture smoothed the chaos in her mind. Not a routine—more of a spell to keep her brain busy.

She brought the coordinates up with a single blink.

Sector 18.6Y. A low-traffic corner in Eclipse, tucked between Devine and Eden. Not as secure as Icarus, but close enough for someone to have a little privacy. Real privacy. The kind that cost blood, sweat and favors.

Her boots squeaked against the pristine floor as she moved past the window and the lights outside caught her gaze again—flashes of acid green, violet, and static blue flickering through thick pollution. One of the billboards was half-glitched again. Someone had tagged it with red paint, shaped like wings, and the word “Purity!” scribbled messily under it. It was the third time in the month.

“Infinite Purity fuckers…” She muttered under her breath with a scoff.

She ignored the bad taste the sight left in her mouth and opened the door, stepping into the corridor and letting the door lock behind her with a soft hiss.

After taking the elevator to the building's garage, her feet took her straight to her beloved bike.

Slick black body with streaks of hot magenta. Built from scratch by her old friend Jackie. Years had passed, but it still worked as if it was brand new.

It would've been wiser to take a train to Sector 18.6Y, but Shauna didn't like slow rides. She'd never been a big fan of them.

She straddled the bike, slipped on a matching black helmet, and started the engine to leave the garage with a loud roaring sound.

Bright lights and gigantic holograms flickered all around her—ads, disinformation campaigns, news. The sight would've been beautiful, if it didn't sicken her already.

A frustrated groan left her lips when a light turned red, but she stopped anyway. She wasn't in the mood for a ticket or for spending the night at a Clean-Skin-controller checkpoint.

Her fingers drummed against the handlebars of the bike impatiently.

And then, for a second, her visual display flickered again. White noise across her vision. A fragment of someone cut through. A familiar voice, warm and real, years too late.

Shauna flinched at the sound.

She blinked hard. The glitch was gone.

It's just soul burn. Stop thinking about it. Shauna told herself, but the way her throat tightened said otherwise.

The rest of the ride to Eclipse was fast and relatively quiet. No police drones flying overhead, no random checkpoints, or Clean-Skins causing ruckus in the streets. Just the low, pleasant hum of her engine, the soft whir of electric cars, and the shimmer of neon across the visor of her helmet.

Shauna preferred it that way. Lonely, and motion without any friction to stop her.

Street lights flickered unevenly. Second-hand implant dealers lurked around street corners. Every alley breathed heat from hidden generators. People stared too long in that zone, and not exactly because they cared.

She took a sharp turn toward an unmarked street—if it could even be considered a street. The pavement gave way to exposed pipes and potholes deep enough to drown in. The reality overlays didn't reach this far. No beautifying filters. Just the rotting, harsh truth.

The GPS pinged as she neared Sector 18.6Y, a low chime in her right ear. She pulled up behind a broken vending unit covered in graffiti and cut the engine.

Fog curled over the ground like cigarette smoke. The distant sound of someone's drunk laughter echoed down the street, followed by the clatter of metal—perhaps a dumpster lid, or something else.

Shauna pulled her cap out of her pocket and slid off the bike to scan the area, her optics automatically filtering threats and tagging any passersby. It wasn’t paranoia. It was just a habit. Necessary for survival.

A narrow alley to her left. A broken neon Staff of Hermes blinking above an old clinic—“BioCare Options”. It looked like it hadn't been open in years. To her right, a body shop that had definitely seen better days.

The target was staying in the hotel right next to the body shop, according to the coordinates.

Shauna blinked a couple times to perform an enhanced scan of the area. Neon lime filled her vision, followed by a spot of vibrant red.

A message popped up in the corner of her visual display.

Apartment L12, fourth floor.

She took the back stairs instead of the elevator. It was quieter that way, and the chance of being pinged by a camera or spotted by a patrol was lower.

Mold had claimed the walls, rust everywhere, and the lights barely even worked.

Shauna climbed, slowly and quietly. When she reached the door to L12, she paused.

Her optics displayed the contract details.

Male, in his late 40s, spider tattoo under his right eye, stolen Asclepius spine implant. Recover neurochip, or neutralize. Preferably both.

Shauna's fingers curled around the hilt of her knife, ready and focused.

She knocked—once.

Nothing.

Then again, louder this time. Just a shuffling sound from the other side of the door, then silence.

“Delivery.” Her voice came out flat.

Another long pause, until the door creaked, just slightly. Shauna could see a face behind it; green eyes, patchy beard, and the tattoo under his eye.

He looked at Shauna like he already knew what was coming.

“I'm not expecting any packages.” He rasped, and tried to close the door again.

Shauna was faster. She pushed the door and forced it open with her left arm. The man stumbled back, crashing into the small TV, and Shauna stepped inside.

The room was dark, and stank of cheap beer and synthetic weed. Papers scattered all over the place, white powder lines on the coffee table, and a data pad blinking red on the bed.

The man reached behind him, trying to be discreet, but Shauna noticed.

“Don't.” She warned, jaw locked tightly.

He pointed the gun at her, anyway.

Shauna dodged the first bullet, and she heard it crackling with electricity as it flew past her. EMP rounds.

The second bullet managed to graze her steel shoulder, and tore through the leather coat.

Shauna's vision filled with static for a short second but she was on him before he could shoot again. Her knife caught the light, glinting menacingly before it found flesh.

He gasped and warm blood trickled down the blade, staining Shauna's gloved fingers.

Shauna knelt down, staring into the man's eyes as the life dimmed out of them slowly.

Then, her visual display flickered.

Suddenly, it wasn’t a dying man—it was you, bleeding out in her arms. Looking the same way you did years ago. Wearing that faded denim jacket, the one you never took off.

Her eyes widened in shock. She staggered back like the contact had burned her—because it had. Not his touch, but yours.

Your hand pressed against the knife wound in your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, but failing to do so as more blood spurted out.

Shauna blinked several times—and found out just then that she was still able to produce tears—until the visual glitch disappeared, and the man was there again, instead of you.

Her hands trembled slightly as she stared down at the lifeless body, no longer twitching in agony. She knelt down again and found the port just below his neck.

Shauna connected the extractor, and his neurochip slid out with a small click, still warm.

Job done.

An alert popped up in her vision. Cyberware damaged. Please contact your trusted cyberdoc for a fix.

She stood in the middle of the room in silence, observing the blood pooling under her boots.

Shauna wasn't a stranger to glitches, but this one—it looked at her with almost human emotion. Bled in her arms.

It has never felt that real before.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Back in her apartment, Shauna sat on the floor beneath the dim overhead light, the bottle of whiskey she’d refused to open earlier now half gone. She hadn’t even bothered with a glass.

Next to it, an ashtray full of fresh cigarette butts, and a syringe filled with an electric blue liquid—Loop. Her fingers hovered over it, then pulled away.

A heavy sigh left her lips. She hated how close she’d come to needing it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna stood in front of the clinic's entrance awkwardly, helmet tucked under her arm.

The neon sign above the door buzzed faintly: VAN'S MODSHOP & REPAIR — Human ‘n Not. Someone had vandalized it, spray-painting over half the words in red, making it barely legible.

Her display blinked the same warning over and over: Cyberware damaged. Please contact your trusted cyberdoc.

She hadn't seen Van since before the crash.

Shauna remained rooted to the ground, a part of her wishing someone would come out and interrupt her thoughts. She could already picture the whole meeting: “Long time no see.” “You disappeared.” “You look different.”

She was about to turn around and leave, when the door opened on its own with a quiet hiss, followed by a gust of sterilized, cool air.

“Come in.” Came a voice from a speaker mounted to the wall, under a surveillance camera.

Shauna exhaled shakily and stepped inside with a small nod.

The place had changed.

It was a lot cleaner and brighter, but mismatched parts and old hardware still decorated the walls.

A wall-mounted screen flickered with old advertisements for outdated cyberware, and there was a potted plant in the corner, next to an empty desk, except for a photo frame—Van and their girlfriend, Taissa.

And then, her eyes found Van.

They were tinkering with an optical implant under a bright surgical lamp. Still wearing that worn blue soccer shirt under their lab coat, like they couldn't decide between looking like a mechanic and a medic.

Shauna stared at Van in silence, until they looked up.

“…I'll be damned.” They said, voice low but with that familiar mocking tone. “Look who finally crawled out of the void. The end of the world must be near.”

She almost smiled. Almost.

“I need a patch job and some work done.” Shauna said, keeping her voice neutral. “EMP bullets grazed my shoulder and it caused some visual glitches.”

Van’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a brief second, and their eyes scanned Shauna up and down, until their gaze landed on her left arm—the sharpness in their eyes softened.

Years ago, Shauna had vanished before any of her friends found out she had to get implants because of her injuries from the crash.

“You should've come sooner.” With a nod, Van gestured to the chair. “That kind of feedback means your left-side synapses are misfiring.”

“Didn't want to be seen.” Shauna muttered, settling into the chair. She wasn't sure if that statement was really the truth—she could've gone to any other cyberdoc, but deliberately chose to go to Van's.

“Didn't want to be seen.” They repeated, grabbing an assortment of tools. “But you came here, anyway.”

Van started the scan, blue light flashing over Shauna’s arm. The humming of old machinery and the AC filled the silence.

“Okay. I have to connect to your neurochip. It might feel like a small zap—” Shauna flinched when Van connected to her port. “Yep. Just like that. Sit still and relax.”

She didn't answer, and stared at the ceiling, instead.

“This is nice work.” Van said after a moment while still working on Shauna's arm. “Scarred really nicely. It's great that your body didn't reject it—that would've been terrible.”

“I guess.” Was all Shauna said, but she could feel the curiosity coming like waves from Van.

Silence took over again, but it didn't last very long.

“You must've seen something serious if it knocked you this hard.” They muttered, glancing up for a second, before turning back to the steel arm. “What did you see?”

Shauna hesitated, her fingers twitching in response.

“Holy shit. You saw her, didn't you?”

It seemed like Van knew her better than she remembered.

“How is she?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. “Have you seen her lately?”

“Whoa, chillax.” They laughed softly at the questions. “I have, actually. She's fine. Missed you like crazy for a long while, but she barely talks about you anymore.”

That left a weird sensation in Shauna's chest. Similar to the usual emptiness she felt in there, but deeper. Sharper. She flexed her hand once—trying to ground herself.

After the diagnostics finished and Van managed to patch the worst of the damage, Shauna stood up and tested her arm. No static or tremors.

Van handed her a small card. “This is top shelf steel, so I recommend not frying your links again, unless you're planning to swap it any time soon.”

She nodded and took the card, holding it between her fingers like it could vanish. “Thanks.” She muttered.

“For the patch, or not bringing the elephant in the room?” They raised an eyebrow.

“…Both.”

Van almost said something else—maybe a question, maybe a memory—but only flashed her a small, sad smile. “You don't have to show up bleeding to be welcome here, you know?”

She swallowed thickly and nodded wordlessly, then stepped out into the night.

Van stared at Shauna's retreating figure, watching her bike disappear through the traffic.

Immediately, they dialed a number with a neural command. “Holy shit, Tai. You're not going to believe who just left my clinic.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna decided to head back to her apartment instead of taking another job. She sat on the floor of her living room, the half-empty whiskey bottle next to her.

All the lights were off. The glow from the city coming through the window was enough to illuminate the room. Soft pulses of pink and gold painted the walls.

Her coat was long forgotten on the floor, along with the rest of her gear—gloves, cap, and even her knife.

The skin where steel met flesh itched slightly—Van told her it would be a side effect after getting patched up. “Your nerves are firing up again.” They said, “Means the machinery is aware that you're still human.”

The thought was strange, but comforting.

Shauna opened her contact menu with a blink. The neural overlay appeared in front of her, floating in the dark of the room.

There it was. A name she hadn't seen in years. Still in her list.

Still untouched.

She hovered over it. Just a simple flick of her finger and she could send a message, reach out after so long. A small wave of static buzzed behind her eyes.

“Hey. I'm still alive.”

“Sorry for disappearing like that.”

“You probably hate me. I don't blame you.”

“I saw Van. They said you're doing fine.”

Every message she thought about sending sounded wrong. It would be like carving letters into cement—once it hardened, there would be no taking it back.

Her teeth caught her bottom lip and her hand twitched, before curling into a fist.

No. Not yet.

She stood and paced around the room. She couldn't stay still, her mind wouldn't let her. That was the reason why she didn't like being in her apartment—every breath sounded too loud, every second felt heavier than the last.

What would she even say if you met? What if you didn't want to see her? What if you hated her for what she had become?

She glanced down at her steel hand.

Everything was different now.

She sank back to the floor with a sigh, back against the wall, and stared at the window in front of her. Old memories began crashing down over her like waves��faces, voices, sweet moments, your laugh, that one time when you two sneaked out to go watch the drift races in Sahara, the stolen moment when she almost kissed you but chickened out at the last second.

The promise she didn't keep.

Shauna finally allowed herself to miss something—someone.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

That night, Shauna decided to sleep, at least for a couple hours.

A dream—fractured old memories, too vivid.

She saw her old self. Softer, happier, brighter. No steel in sight, just the version of herself that she still mourned sometimes.

You were there, too. Laughing so carelessly like you had no worries at all. Just two girls caught in something that felt like forever.

Then, the dream began glitching—the past and the present mixing, turning your face into static. Her reflection cracked into chrome. Her voice distorted, and laughter became tears.

Shauna jolted awake, gasping for air, heart hammering in her chest.

Sometimes, she forgot she still had one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A week had passed since her visit to Van's clinic. The itchy sensation in her arm was gone and things had gone back to normal—mostly.

She couldn't stop thinking about you.

Shauna hadn't planned to go near that part of Devine. Not really—or that's what she kept telling herself.

Her bike hummed as she pulled into a narrow alley behind Starlight's, an old rooftop noodle stall tucked in a corner of a building near the overpass. The place always smelled like oil, ginger, and booze, but that gave it a certain charm.

You used to come here together.

She parked and climbed the iron stairs, her boots clanking against the rusted metal. A few customers loitered by the edge of the rooftop, slurping noodles and watching the skyline. No one gave her a second glance. It helped ease her nerves a little.

The place hadn't changed much. Plastic chairs, flickering heat lamps, and decorative wind chimes made from cans and bottle caps.

Shauna picked the same corner table—the one you liked. Her helmet sat in her lap and her gloved fingers tapped against it softly.

She didn't order anything.

Instead, she watched the crowd—assessing them all first out of habit, and then searched for someone else.

No sign of you.

She was hoping to catch you there. Still, she stayed, willing to wait.

Minutes turned into almost an hour.

Her eyes were glued to the entrance, heart spiking every time someone new came up the stairs. But never you.

Finally, a server approached her table. “Hey. You alright? You've been sitting here a while.” The guy asked with a gentle, tired smile. “Are you not going to order anything?”

Shauna blinked out of her haze, as if surfacing from underwater. “I'm fine. Just waiting for someone.”

He only nodded and left, clearly unconvinced.

Shauna sighed and let her gaze fall down to the table. Someone had scratched a name into the metal—faded and barely legible. Her gloved thumb traced over it, just to feel something real under her touch. She'd activated the haptics with a sole purpose.

Your smile lingered in her mind, along with all the times you'd tease her about how bad the noodles were, even though you always finished the whole bowl and kept coming back at least twice every week.

The rooftop was still the same.

The city was still the same.

She wasn't, and that was the problem.

With a small sigh that let her defeat show, Shauna stood up and left. No last glance.

As she walked down the stairs, her hand brushed against the railing. For a second, she imagined she could still feel the warmth of your touch.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna wasn't ready to head back just yet. Instead, she decided to take a walk around the street market, so the noise would keep her mind occupied.

The lights flickered with that familiar low, humming static, unique to the streets of Devine.

Her eyes glanced at a storefront she recognized immediately, even though it had been repainted. The neon sign above the glass read “Matthews' Cabinet of Curiosities” in a heliotrope glow. Warm, golden lights glowed inside.

The store belonged to Lottie's parents years ago, but she was sure it was hers now, since most of the ugly decorations were gone.

And then, she noticed you.

You stood behind the counter, chatting with a customer. A matching violet sweater, pushed up to your elbows, and your hair was slightly longer than Shauna remembered.

You smiled.

Not at her. Not for her. But it hit Shauna all the same.

She stood there frozen, while people bumped against her. No helmet, no armor to cover up with. Just herself—steel, skin, and everything in between. One foot set in the past, and the other stuck in place.

Her pulse spiked instantly.

Fuck, this was a mistake.

She should've left. She should've never gone there. But she stayed rooted to the ground. She watched you laugh at something the customer said, and then you handed him a paper bag with a small bow on top.

It wasn't how she'd pictured it. There was no dramatic score playing in the background, no Shakespearean meeting.

It was just… life. Peaceful, ongoing.

You had moved on without her.

Her heart stopped when you walked toward the window to fix something on a display, and your gaze lifted.

Did you see her? Did you recognize her?

She turned around before she could find out the answer. Her boots echoed on the wet concrete as she walked away fast—too fast that she was starting to feel dizzy.

Shauna didn't stop until she was streets away from the street market.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

She received a message from Van hours later.

“You’re not exactly invisible, steel girl. Maybe don’t stand outside a glass window like a stalker. She said you looked like a shark lurking.”

The embarrassment that hit Shauna when she read the text wasn't something she was prepared for.

Okay. So you did see her.

No big deal, right?

No. She had to play it cool. Nervousness wasn't a good look on her.

“Cool. Always wanted to be a shark.” She hit send, and immediately regretted it.

Wait—was that too cold? Too sarcastic? What if Van shows you the message? What if you think she hates you?

“She asked if you were okay. Said you looked lost.”

“Just text her, dude. It’s been years, Shauna. You nearly died. What else are you waiting for?”

She sighed and headed out to the fire escape, sitting down with her back against the wall, knees bent.

The skyline buzzed in the distance, a ripple of lights and electric smog, but she wasn't really looking at that.

Instead, she stared at the contact menu, flickering in her vision. Your name still sat there, glowing faintly. Still untouched.

The neural interface ticked in the corner of her eye, like it was mocking her.

CALL?

SEND MESSAGE?

She sighed again, jaw clenched tightly.

Her steel hand clicked softly as she flexed her fingers. She could take a bullet to the chest—a normal one, not EMP ones, clearly—and keep walking, but this? This was the kind of shit that made her bones tremble.

The cursor blinked in the message field as she bit her lip.

“Hey”

She deleted it immediately.

“Didn't expect to see you. Since when do you work at Lottie's?”

Too weird. Too much. Deleted again.

She groaned and dragged both of her hands down her face. Why was it so hard to just write a normal message? Much harder than any contract she'd ever taken.

Shauna thought about your eyes when they met hers, even if it was just for a second. You didn't look angry or disgusted, just surprised. Maybe a bit sad?

A soft gust of wind rattled the metal stairs beneath her. In the distance, a siren wailed. The city kept moving on, but she couldn't.

Her eyes drifted back to the CALL icon.

“Do it.” She whispered to herself. “You've survived worse. A text isn't going to kill you.”

But she didn't move.

What if you didn't pick up?

What if you did?

Her stomach twisted, and she rubbed her eyes. A small and bitter laugh left her lips at how pathetic she was.

Shauna stared at Van’s messages from earlier, the words stinging like a snake's bite.

Fuck it.

She clicked on the CALL icon.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

What the fuck am I doing?

Shauna's heart thudded loudly in her ears and panic took over her. She was about to hang up when your voice slipped through the static like one of those memory glitches.

“Hello?” Soft, a little unsure. But still unmistakably you.

She breathed shakily. Every line she'd practiced vanished from her mind. “…Hey.” Her voice sounded rough, like it struggled to come out of her throat.

There was a small pause. Shauna was sure that it had been a mistake, until you spoke again.

“Van said you might call.” You weren't mocking her. If anything, your voice sounded relieved. It comforted Shauna a little.

“Yeah.” She muttered, chuckling awkwardly. “Figured I'd get it over with before I chickened out.”

A small laugh came from the other end. “You almost did.” It wasn't a question. You still knew her, even after years of not talking.

Shauna let out a small breath through her nose. “Guess I'm predictable.” Her head leaned against the wall.

“Guess you're still stubborn.” You replied gently. There was no malice in your words—she could even hear the smile in your voice.

The silence that followed, surprisingly, wasn't awkward. Of course, it wasn't quite easy, either. It felt… delicate. Like a thin thread stretched between two points, barely hanging on.

Shauna stared at the skyline, but her mind was occupied with images of you.

“You look good.” She said before she could stop herself and instantly regretted it when the silence stretched again.

“So do you.” You said, and Shauna swore her heart stopped beating. “You look… strong. Just a little out of place standing right outside the window of the shop like a stray.”

“I didn't mean to—”

“I know.” You cut her off gently. “I just wasn't expecting to see you. It kinda caught me off guard. That's all.”

Shauna blinked, and nodded even though you couldn't see her. “Yeah. I didn't expect to see you, either.”

There was a small clinking sound from your end—like a mug being set down. She could picture you perfectly: behind the counter, hair a little messy, and sipping one of those herbal teas Lottie loves making.

“I almost came out to say hi.” You admitted softly, and it made Shauna's breath hitch.

“…Why didn't you?”

A pause.

“I blinked, and you were gone.”

The words felt like a slap across her face. She didn't want you to think that she stopped caring—she never did.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Shauna sighed. “But I was scared.”

It was the closest thing to a confession she’d allowed herself in years.

Suddenly, she thought about the past—all the moments you shared together, the unspoken tension that neither of you acknowledged directly, but knew it was there. All the times when you two almost crossed the line between friendship and something she never had the courage to admit out loud.

“You don't have to be.” Your voice was gentle, tender. Always so full of love. “I missed you.”

She hadn't prepared herself to hear anything like that. It felt like she'd been hit with lightning.

Shauna's throat tightened. She'd spent so, so long pretending that nothing really mattered anymore. That disappearing from everyone's lives was the noble thing to do. That she wasn't haunted by the sound of your laugh, the ghost of your smile, the shape of your silhouette hiding in every shadow.

But you missed her.

Just like that.

There was a long pause again. But this time, it felt different. A lot warmer. Like neither of you wanted to hang up just yet.

Shauna sighed, her steel hand curling around her knee. “Hey…” She started, then stopped. Her throat felt too dry for her liking.

You waited patiently. Like always.

“When you're done with your shift,” She continued, carefully, like she was walking on eggshells. “Do you wanna… go somewhere? Like a walk?”

Your lack of response almost made Shauna hang up the call. But then, you spoke again.

“Yeah.” You said, softly. “I'd really like that.”

Shauna closed her eyes. It felt like letting out a breath she'd been holding for years. “Okay.” She mumbled, and didn't stop the small smile that grew on her lips. “Cool. I'll… see you later, then.”

A quiet chuckle from the other end—it made Shauna's heart skip a beat. “Bye, Shauna.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna showed up ten minutes early.

She had circled the block twice on her bike, trying to calm her nerves. It didn't really help much.

After finding a nice parking spot, she stood near the alleyway next to the shop like she wasn't really waiting. Just… hanging around. Doing her best to look cool. Definitely not working.

The familiar scent of fried oil and cinnamon buns hung in the air from one of the nearby vendors. Somewhere behind her, a drone buzzed overhead, probably patrolling the area.

And then—your voice.

“Hey.”

Shauna jumped slightly at the sound, her heart skipping a beat. Her stomach twisted nervously when you smiled—this time, for her.

“Hi.” Her voice came out softer than she expected. It even surprised herself.

You gestured down the street with a small nod. “Wanna walk, then?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Shauna cleared her throat and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket—she made sure to pick her best-looking one, but they all looked the same, anyway.

You both fell into step easily enough, like Shauna hadn't spent years running away from everything. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable, but Shauna's shoulders were rigid despite trying her best to seem relaxed.

“I didn't think you'd say yes.” Shauna admitted softly, glancing at you for a short second, before looking away shyly.

You gazed at her curiously. “Why not?”

“I don't know.” She replied, not even knowing the answer herself. “I thought you wouldn't want to see me and or block my number.”

A small laugh left your lips and you stared at Shauna fondly. “That's not how I remember us.”

Shauna looked down at the ground, the corner of her lips twitching into something similar to a smile. “Me neither.”

Some of the shops were already closing down, making the streets feel a little quieter. Neon signs still flickered like stars trying to burn through the heavy pollution. She tried hard not to overthink the way your arms brushed every now and then.

“I still go to the drift races sometimes.” You said with a shrug. “Not as good as they used to be, though.”

Shauna’s chest tightened. She thought about all the times she’d gone back to Sahara herself, just to stand on the edge and remember.

She decided not to mention that.

“You do?” She asked instead. “Thought you forgot about that place.”

“I remember a lot of things.”

The comment felt like a punch in the gut, but Shauna nodded slowly.

Another pause.

“I thought about you.” You said, sighing, as you kicked a pebble absentmindedly. “A lot. Even after you left. Especially then.”

She stopped walking.

It wasn't dramatic, far from it. Just a quiet halt, like she had bumped into some invisible wall. Her eyes fixed on the empty street ahead, afraid to meet your gaze. Then, barely above a whisper:

“I thought about you every day. Even if I tried to force myself not to.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself, and her breath caught—her own mouth had betrayed her, but did it even matter anymore?

You turned toward her, blinking slowly. “Then why didn't you call?”

Your voice lacked accusation or anger. Instead, it was soft, understanding. Everything that Shauna felt she didn't deserve.

Her jaw tensed. She looked at the buildings, the sky, the pavement under her feet—anywhere but your face.

“Because I'm not who I used to be anymore.”

You took a step closer. “You're still you.”

And in that moment—just for a second—Shauna let herself believe it.

But then, her eyes caught the way her steel hand glinted under the street lights.

“You know that's not true.” Her eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head, a wave of feelings crashing over her. “How can you even say that? I'm just a scrap of metal at this point.

“Don't say that.” The way you stared at her made her heart ache, with something in your gaze that hurt worse than any wound—love.

Still there. Still for her.

“You don't know what I've done all these years.” Shauna muttered, glancing away.

You didn't ask. You didn't press.

You just stepped closer, slow and careful, like you were trying not to scare her off. “I don't need to know. I still know who you are.”

A dry, humorless laugh that sounded more like a scoff left her lips. “Yeah? Who's that?”

“You're the girl who let me borrow your literature books back in school because I couldn't afford mine.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “The one who helped me climb the scaffolding at Sahara to get a better view of the races even though it was banned. You always pretended not to care, but you remembered every single song I liked and made mixtapes for me. Labeled them with dumb, sweet names.”

Shauna's eyes stung. She shook her head again, but didn't step away. “That was a long time ago. Now everything's different.”

“That doesn't mean it wasn't real.”

She didn't say anything right away. The neon light caught in her eyes—not the same deep comforting brown from before, but still beautiful. “I'm scared.” She finally admitted. “Of getting close. Of ruining things again.”

You didn't look away. “Then we go slow.”

Shauna blinked, and her breath caught when she felt your hand brushing against hers—the steel one. “You'd want to?” She looked up.

“I've wanted to for years.” For a moment, you seemed to hesitate, but you continued. “I know you did, too.”

Something in Shauna's chest softened. A part of her had prepared for rejection—or even pity—but not this. Not this type of warmth.

She looked at you then—really looked. And in the middle of the half-lit quiet street, she nodded with a shaky sigh. “Yeah.”

Just one word. But it felt like finally stepping off the ledge and finding solid ground under her feet.

You smiled—sweet and real. “Wanna keep walking now?”

Shauna only nodded.

So you did. Together, like nothing had ever broken between you two.

Tentatively, your hand reached for hers again slowly, fingers slipping between hers. “Is this okay?” You asked softly, while your thumb brushed over the artificial ridges of her knuckles.

She nodded again. She didn't trust herself to speak without breaking down.

As the two of you kept waking, your steps fell into sync, like they always used to years ago.

The city pulsed around you—distant sirens, flickering signs, the low humming sound from generators, a world still moving.

But for once, Shauna didn't feel like she was chasing the ghost of something she'd lost.

She glanced at your joined hands—warm skin against cold metal. For the first time in years, the contrast didn't feel like a reminder of everything she'd become.

It was just simple contact. The one thing she had craved for so long.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“So…” Your fingers tugged lightly at the fabric of her jacket as the two of you stood outside of your apartment.

Shauna had offered you a ride when you told her you had to get back home. You refused at first, because you still remembered how fast her bike was.

But one look at her kicked puppy face and you gave in.

“I didn't know you lived in Red Sun.” She tried her best not to freak out at the way you caressed her jacket. “I thought you still lived with your parents.”

You shook your head. “I moved out a while ago. Decided I liked it better here.”

She stared at you in silence for a moment. Her tongue had to wet her lips because of how nervous she felt.

“It was really nice seeing you again, Shauna.” You mumbled with a tiny smile. “I mean it. I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Yeah. I enjoyed it, too.” Shauna replied with a low, raspy voice. Her eyes dropped down to glance at your lips and her face flushed instantly. “You should, uh… get inside already. It's getting cold.”

You chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah.” Your hands let go of her jacket and she almost let out a sad sigh. “Let's go out again sometime?”

She blinked, surprised at the request.

“Yeah. Sure.” Shauna answered before you could take back your words. “We can grab dinner tomorrow, if you want.”

The smile on your lips became wider and you nodded. “Sounds perfect. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

She was about to turn around to leave, when you leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Shauna didn't move, breathe, or think. She couldn't. When you pulled away, she met your eyes—filled with adoration and a hint of mischief—before you disappeared behind the door of your apartment.

Her hand lifted to touch the spot where you kissed her, and she smiled.

Not one of those lame half-smirks she always wore.

No, a real grin. Wide and warm. The first one in years.

[moonselune]

The game never really elaborated other than giving you the “everyone disapproves” messages when you let Volo pluck your eye from your skull on accident. How do you think the romanced companions would react to Tav with their new Ersatz eye?

ooo it was fun writing for those who weren't actually part of the camp by then, good request !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

You sat by the campfire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across your face. You felt the weight of your new ersatz eye, a strange and unsettling sensation that you were still getting used to. The camp had fallen silent, the rest of your companions busy with their own thoughts and tasks. Karlach, however, had been watching you closely ever since you had returned with the new eye.

She finally broke the silence, her deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"So, tell me, love—what possessed you to let Volo pluck out your eye and replace it with… that?" She gestured to your new, artificial eye with a wry smile.

You shrugged, trying to find the right words. "It seemed like a good idea at the time! Plus, it has its advantages. I can see things now that I couldn’t before."

Karlach chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, that was a bit silly, wasn't it?" She reached out, her hand warm and comforting as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against the edge of your new eye. "But I have to admit, it gives you a certain… unique charm."

You smiled, leaning into her touch. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," she said, her eyes sparkling with affection. "It’s very you—bold, a little reckless, and definitely one-of-a-kind." She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your skin. "And if it helps you in battle, then it’s worth it. Just promise me you won’t let anyone else convince you to do something quite so drastic again, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest. "I promise."

Karlach’s smile widened, and she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Good. Now, in your words, let's go find some evil for you to smack"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The air was tense as you approached Minthara, the stern drow warrior assessing you with her piercing gaze. You could feel her eyes on you, scrutinizing every detail of your altered appearance. When you finally stood before her, she reached out and grabbed your face with a firm, but not unkind, grip, turning your head this way and that to examine your new eye.

"You fool," she hissed, her voice low and filled with a mixture of anger and concern. "Why would you let that imbecile Volo mutilate you like this? I will miss your eye."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "This eye allows me to see people who have turned themselves invisible. It gives us an advantage in battle."

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you feared she would remain angry. But then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, transforming her stern expression into one of approval. "Is that so?"

You nodded, relief flooding through you. "Yes. It may look strange, but it’s useful."

Minthara’s grip on your face softened, and she let her hand slide down to rest on your shoulder.

"You always surprise me," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "Your willingness to sacrifice for the sake of our mission is commendable. I suppose I can forgive you for this… folly."

You couldn’t help but smile at her words. You weren't going to dare correct her that you had done it as a last ditch effort to get the parasite out. "Thank you, Minthara."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "Just don’t make a habit of letting fools experiment on you. I need you whole and capable, not a collection of curiosities."

You chuckled softly, feeling the tension between you dissolve as she kissed your cheek. "I’ll keep that in mind."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The firelight danced across Lae'zel's face as she stared at you with a mixture of irritation and fascination. Her yellow eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of your new ersatz eye, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You fool," she snapped, her voice tinged with frustration. "You let that bumbling idiot Volo pluck out your eye? Your own eye, the most reliable asset in battle? When we are already on our way to the creche!"

You winced, her words stinging despite the underlying concern you could sense. "It wasn’t exactly planned, Lae'zel. But this new eye… it has its advantages. I can see things now that I couldn't before."

Lae'zel crossed her arms, her expression still stern. "Your own eyes were more than capable. But if this ersatz eye gives you an edge, then I suppose it is not entirely worthless."

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she inspected the new eye. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, her irritation melting into something softer. "It is strange, but… there is a certain appeal to it."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at your lips. "You find it sexy?"

Lae'zel huffed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Do not misunderstand, it does not make you less of a fool. But yes, it has a certain… allure. Just do not let this happen again."

You nodded, relieved and somewhat amused by her reaction. "I’ll be more careful next time, I promise."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a brief, fierce kiss. "Good. Now, let us see how well you can fight with your new eye."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

You found Shadowheart by the edge of the camp, her eyes reflecting in the sun as she turned to face you. Taking a deep breath, you revealed your new ersatz eye, waiting for her reaction.

She stared at you for a moment, her eyes widening in shock before narrowing in annoyance. Without warning, she lightly whacked you on the arm. "What were you thinking? Letting Volo pluck out your eye like that? That was incredibly stupid."

You rubbed your arm, feeling a mix of embarrassment and regret. "I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it does have some advantages, Shadowheart. I can see things now that I couldn’t before."

She sighed, her expression softening slightly. "I can’t heal your eye. You’re stuck with that ersatz one now. You should have come to me first."

You pouted, feeling the need for some sympathy. You draped yourself over her, resting your head on her shoulder. "Shadowheart, I didn’t mean to be reckless. Can I at least get some sympathy?"

She laughed, her annoyance melting into amusement. Pushing you off gently, she shook her head. "You’re impossible."

You continued to pout and whine, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes. Finally, she relented, pulling you into a hug. "Alright, alright. You look… pretty. Stupid, but pretty."

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at her words. "Thank you, my love"

She kissed you softly, her hands cupping your face. "Just promise me you won’t let anyone else experiment on you. I need you whole and safe."

"I promise," you murmured, holding her close. "I’ll be more careful from now on."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The moment you revealed your new ersatz eye to Jaheira, her expression froze. Her eyes widened in shock, and she raised a hand as if to stop you from saying anything.

"Don't speak," she said sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. You could see the internal struggle playing out across her face as she tried to collect herself. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, clearly fighting to maintain her composure.

For a few long moments, the only sound was the crackling of the campfire. Then, her eyes snapped open, and despite her earlier efforts, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

"What were you thinking?" she yelled, her voice a mix of anger and worry. "Letting Volo of all people pluck out your eye? Do you have any idea how reckless and foolish that was?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off, her words coming out in a rush.

"You could have been blinded permanently! What if something had gone wrong? What if he had lobotomised you - although that may have improved that brain of yours!"

You stood there, feeling a mixture of guilt and helplessness. "I… I thought it might work, that it might get rid of the parasite. It gives me the ability to see things I couldn’t before."

Jaheira took another deep breath, her anger slowly subsiding into a weary resignation. She stepped closer, placing a hand on your cheek, her thumb brushing against it. "Just… promise me you won't do anything like that again without talking to me first."

You nodded, feeling the weight of her concern. "I promise, beloved. I’ll be more careful."

She sighed, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Good. I don’t want to lose you. You're too important to me."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

When you showed Gale your new ersatz eye, his reaction was immediate. His brows furrowed, and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"You let Volo pluck out your eye?" he asked, incredulous. "Are you out of your mind?"

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his disapproval. "I didn't mean to let him pluck it out, it just... happened, when he was trying to get rid of the parasite. But! It gives me the ability to see things I couldn’t before."

Gale shook his head, launching into a rant. "Volo is a charlatan, a storyteller with a penchant for the dramatic. Trusting him with something as delicate and vital as your eye is beyond foolish. And to think he could remove the parasite?! What if it had gone wrong and you were left with no vision at all?"

As he continued, his voice growing more animated, he inadvertently let something slip, "And yet, despite the madness of it all, I have to admit, it’s… it's incredibly attractive in a strange, reckless sort of way."

You blinked, taken aback by his confession. A smile crept onto your face as you saw the realization dawn on his.

"Gale," you said softly, stepping closer, batting your eyelashes at him "you think my new eye is attractive?"

He stammered, momentarily thrown off his rant. "Well, I mean… it's not the point. You were still a fool to trust Volo, but… yes, there’s a certain allure to it."

You leaned in, silencing him with a kiss. His initial surprise melted into a deep, passionate response as he pulled you closer. When you finally pulled back, you whispered against his lips, "Thank you for caring, Gale. And for finding me attractive, even when I do foolish things."

He chuckled softly, resting his forehead against yours. "Just promise me, no more reckless decisions without consulting me first. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

"I promise," you replied, your heart swelling with affection. "I’ll be more careful from now on."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

As you approached Astarion with your new ersatz eye, the night air seemed to still. He had stayed at camp whilst you and the others were exploring the grove, it had given you time to prepare for this moment. He was lounging casually, a goblet of blood (where it was sourced you did not want to know) in hand, when you revealed your altered appearance. His reaction was immediate and dramatic, his eyes widening in horror and surprise.

"By the gods, what have you done?!" Astarion yelped, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. It was as if he had seen a ghost or been caught in a sudden, terrifying twist of fate. His reaction was so pronounced that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance.

You crossed your arms, frowning as you looked at him. "Astarion, really? I didn’t think it would be that shocking."

He flinched, his grip tightening around his goblet. "I—I'm sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it. You startled me, dear."

You started to turn away, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. But Astarion quickly moved to stop you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Please, don’t go. I truly apologize for my reaction. I just… didn’t know how to handle it at first."

You looked at him, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. "It’s alright, Astarion. I suppose it was a bit sudden."

He sighed, pulling you into a tender embrace. "I should have been more composed. I’m just… well, shocked, darling. It is not everyday your dearest appears with a brand new eye. I apologise a thousand times over."

You softened at his touch, resting your head against his shoulder. "I’m not angry. Just a little embarrassed. But thank you for apologizing."

Astarion nuzzled into your neck, his voice warm against your skin. "I promise I’ll adjust. Your new eye is… striking. And it suits you, even if it did give me a fright."

You chuckled softly, feeling reassured by his embrace. "I’m glad you think so. It’s a bit different, but it has its uses."

"Well I simply cannot wait to see you put it to work my darling." Astarion smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, he was still in the doghouse but this was a promising start.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

When you revealed your new ersatz eye to Wyll, his reaction was immediate. His eyes widened in shock, and he let out a low whistle.

“By the gods, you actually let Volo pluck out your eye?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and concern.

You hesitated, feeling a bit awkward under his gaze. “Well not exactly, but let's not focus on that right now. The eye lets me see things I couldn't before.”

"We will get back to that later." Wyll shook his head at you, a bemused expression on his face. He tilted his face as he took you in. “Foolish, but then again, I suppose I can’t say much. After all, I’ve done my fair share of reckless things.”

He managed a half-smile, stepping closer and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Welcome to the one-eye club,” he said, his tone softening. “You’re now part of a very exclusive group.”

You blinked, a bit surprised but touched by his attempt at lightening the mood. “I am honoured, you have my eternal thanks, my love.”

Wyll’s smile widened, and he pulled you into a gentle embrace. “You’re still my beloved, no matter how many eyes you have or don’t have. Just… try to avoid letting anyone else poke at your eye, alright?”

You chuckled softly, feeling a mix of relief and affection and you melted into his embrace. “I’ll keep that in mind, Wyll.”

"Good, now it looks like I have some competition for the prettiest member of the one-eyed club." Wyll murmurs, and you laugh, pulling away. Wyll kisses your forehead and smiles to you, "Fierce competition indeed."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

When you revealed your new ersatz eye to Halsin, his reaction was immediate and deeply telling. His usually calm demeanor was replaced with a mixture of disappointment and concern. He drew in a sharp breath and let out a low, disapproving sigh. As he examined your altered appearance, his brow furrowed and he shook his head in disbelief, tsking softly under his breath.

"You let Volo perform such a risky procedure? Why would you trust someone like him with something so delicate?" Halsin’s voice was a mix of disbelief and frustration. His eyes were fixed on the artificial eye, assessing its placement and function with a critical eye.

Feeling a pang of guilt and embarrassment, you pouted, your shoulders drooping slightly as if you were a child being reprimanded. You reached out tentatively, wrapping your arms around Halsin in a heartfelt hug, hoping to mitigate the disappointment in his gaze.

"Please don’t be mad at me," you murmured against his chest, your voice muffled. "I thought it was a good idea at the time. I really didn’t think it would cause this much trouble."

Halsin’s expression softened, though his concern was still evident. He gently placed a hand on your back, the touch warm and reassuring.

"I’m not angry with you, my love," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I just wish you wouldn’t let hacks like Volo have their way with you. It’s not only reckless but downright dangerous. I care deeply about your well-being."

You tightened your embrace, nuzzling into his chest as if trying to seek comfort and solace. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I’ll try to be more careful next time," you said, your voice earnest and apologetic.

Halsin’s posture relaxed as he allowed himself a soft chuckle. He wrapped his arms around you more securely, drawing you into a protective embrace.

"I’m not truly mad, just worried," he admitted, his tone warm and gentle. "I don’t want to see you put yourself at risk. You’re far too important to me for that."

You looked up at him, your eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips. "Thank you for understanding," you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

Halsin smiled back, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"Always," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. "Just promise me you’ll be more cautious in the future. I care too much about you to see you hurt, especially when it’s avoidable."

You nodded, feeling reassured by his comforting words and the warmth of his embrace. "I promise, Halsin," you said, your voice steady and sincere.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xoxo

Keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[opal-kitty333]

Reader getting attached to Sans despite their best attempts. Wanting to give Sans the ability to be his own person as best they can because they don't want to control or hold power over him. Desperately trying to remove all of their influence from his existence and ready to alter and change anything he wants even on the smallest whim. Vs. Sans' need to feel that his existence is important and that he is wanted. Clinging to everything that was given to him because no matter how big or small, no matter the reason. Never wanting to change a thing about himself because they gave him this voice because they liked the sound and body because they thought it was silly and cute. I hope that if any parts of him lose luster that they'll poor as much care into him again to make him shiny and new all over again

[angrykittybarbarian]

A list of things that bother me about Dragon Age: The Veilguard:

!Beware of spoilers if you want to go into this game blind!

Word of advice: I truly think that it is better however to play this game fully informed or else you are in for a big shock.

The dialogue feels artificial.

What do I mean by that? From what I have observed the dialogue between Rook and the companions is unnatural. This expresses itself in lack of emotional expression or too much of the same in an unfitting situation. But for the most part it's the first resulting in the companions never being truly mad at Rook nor expressing such feelings towards them whatsoever. Instrad the dialogue seems to function like a simplified explanation of things and events around you to make sure you understand properly and don't get fancy ideas like interpreting a situation through your own personal lense and take away an understanding the devs did not explicitely want you to have.

The game has strange priorities in terms of exposition.

The game has companions and NPCs either state the obvious in a slow and clear pronounciation or doesn't give necessary background info at all.

For instance it has the Veiljumpers state that Arlathan Forest is dangerous as multiple members of their organization are being carried away and injured, as if the player wouldn't conclude this fact by, I don't know, engaging with the game? At the same time it doesn't provide who these Veiljumpers are exactly and how they know of Solas and the true character of the Evanuris as these facts are not common knowledge among the people of Thedas.

Rook and Varric seem to have an established history but we never get to see how they met and what they did together. We don't get to build our relationship with Varric as Rook like we did as Hawke or the Inquisitor. We have to pretend it's magically there.

Which brings me to my next point: the game doesn't care for established lore and replaces it with a nonsensical version

Said Veiljumpers, including Bellara, consist almost entirely of dalish elves who have an extensive lore surrounding their pantheon, religious ohilosophies and principles. Their gods are the Evanuris, also called the creators. Elgar'nan is the Allfather in this pantheon while Ghilan'nain is the Mother of Halla in dalish tradition. This should have lead to conflict with Rook who is fighting these very gods. Instead the elves seem the accept the fact without second thought.

The same goes for Davrin who somehow identifies Ghilan'nain as the Mother of all Monsters while it remains unclear from where he takes his information.

On the flip side human Andrastianism doesn't seem to play a role at all. The game does not explore what rise of the elven gods means for the belief in The Maker. The human companions don't comment on it either and the templars have seemingly vanished.

The Antaam are waging an expansionist war without command from the Arishok now. Despite the Qun being a highly disciplined doctrine that values firmly set roles and chain of command above all else, the entire qunari military arm is somehow able to act without order and war amongst themselves.

But wait, there is a word for Qunari who behave like this already established. Tal Vashoth! So the game is basically claiming the entire qunari military went rogue.

The Antivan Crows, hitmen for hire, who buy kids from the slave market to raise them to be obedient killers and use trorture to reach this goal and are willing to kill said members if they go rogue or mess up a job, are the good guys now who protect Antiva's streets from harm.

Ferelden and Orlais got swallowed by the blight and whoever rules Orlais got assassinated by the Venatori anyway which renders the entire questline of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts pointless.

And appearantly Morrigan slept around a lot now and Shaper Valta from the Decent dlc has become a statue in Kal Sharok?

The devs lied about previous choices not mattering

It becomes clear that the devs may have had a certain world state in mind when writing the story. This becomes clear when Harding talks about the Inquisition's spymaster being Charter but also mentioning Leliana. But we all know Leliana was the spymaster. So if the position fell to Charter there must have happened something that forced Leliana out of the position, like being named Divine for instance?

This impression is further cemented by the attitude of the First Warden towards the Inquisitor. It was stated that the First Warden had no high opinion of the Inquisitor. But why? They never met before. Could it be that the First Warden could be holding a grudge because of a specific decision made at Adamant, possibly the banishment of the wardens by the Inquisitor?

This is not even complete as I have not finished the game yet. But lord, this is a lot already in the beginning. At this point a miracle needs to happen to to render the points above meaningless but it isn't going to happen.

Part 2

[tongue-like-a-razor]

There Are Limits

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick's new female friend brings out your spiteful nature. And seeing you with a new man is harder on Maverick than he'd like to admit.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, drinking, and did someone say bring on the angst?? Because you know I can deliver..

WC: 4000+

This is Part 5 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Captain?”

Maverick looks up when you step into his office. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk and there’s a woman standing between his legs, so close, she might as well be in his lap. When you enter, she steps away half-heartedly, looking slightly annoyed that her conversation with Maverick has been cut short.

Maverick’s cheeky grin falters when he sees you, and he clears his throat as he hops off his desk.

“Lieutenant,” he says. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him in shock, not sure how to react. The last several weeks haven’t been easy; in fact, you and Maverick have barely spoken since your mutual decision to terminate your romantic relationship. But seeing him with another woman is a whole new level of difficult.

“Lieutenant?” he says, lifting his eyebrows worriedly. He doesn’t bother to introduce his companion, with whom he is obviously very familiar.

You swallow around the lump in your throat and exhale slowly. Maverick isn’t the only expert in self-regulation. It’s a skill that’s proven quite useful, if not invaluable, during your tenure in the navy. And, although it’s always come naturally to you, recent events have seen that you receive plenty of practice. “Sir,” you say promptly, saluting Maverick in an entirely professional manner, as if you’ve never even had his tongue down your throat. “It’s about next week’s squadron dinner,” you say.

It's true that you meant to speak about the dinner – about how you were planning on skipping it to avoid an ever vigilant Cyclone who's been watching both you and Maverick like a hawk. Moreover, the less you see of Maverick these days, the better.

But the scene before you has severely shifted the trajectory of your plans. And the next thing that comes out of your mouth is hideously unrehearsed. “I was wondering if we were allowed a plus one,” you blurt out, your eyes darting pointedly between Maverick and his female friend.

Maverick stares at you mutely, as though it’s taking him a minute to process your request. “You want to bring a date?” he then asks, his eyes widening and subsequently narrowing in a matter of milliseconds.

You feel like you might sweat right through your uniform with the way he’s staring you down, but you stand your ground defiantly. “If I may,” you respond unemotionally; the way you’d address any other superior.

Maverick nods slowly, glancing at the woman who’s currently rifling through some papers on his desk. You ignore how comfortable she seems in his office, like she’s been here plenty of times before. “I don’t see that being a problem,” he says. “Who’s the lucky…?” His voice trails off and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Should be fun,” he finishes, giving you a wide, artificial-looking grin.

You smile back at him. “I agree.”

…

“Boyfriend,” Maverick says, his eyebrows shooting upward for a moment before he checks himself and pulls at the collar of his jacket as if it’s suddenly an uncomfortable fit.

You try not to acknowledge his reaction and instead introduce your date to some of your squadron mates. You’re not sure why Sam has decided to put a label on your relationship at this exact moment, but you’re not going to argue semantics in front of the one person you wouldn’t mind buying into this spectacle.

“It’s new,” you hear Sam blurt out, presumably cowering under the scrutiny of Maverick’s gaze.

You make a point not to look Maverick in the eye because you’re still upset about walking in on him last week when he was clearly otherwise engaged. But when Sam walks ahead, busy conversing with the other aviators, you feel a finger brush gently over the back of your hand. You pull both hands behind your back and square your shoulders to face your instructor.

Maverick is watching you solemnly. “This is good,” he whispers, although the tilt of his eyebrows says otherwise.

You can’t express how much it hurts to hear him referring to this situation as good, and yet, you nod, grinning rigidly. “It is,” you say, pausing to give him an opportunity to come clean about his own blossoming relationship.

But Maverick does nothing of the sort. Maverick is as unreadable as ever.

You’re about to walk away when the woman you’d seen in Maverick’s office appears from behind him. She nudges him on the shoulder to get his attention and shoots him a brilliant smile.

Maverick gives her a polite nod before turning back to you. “Lieutenant,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”

The woman beams at you and holds out her hand. “I’m Charlie,” she says.

You shake her hand and return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” you say. “Are you an instructor at Top Gun as well?”

She chuckles, throwing Maverick a flirty glance. “Not for a while,” she responds, looking back at you. “Not since this one made me rethink that particular career choice.”

Maverick drops his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Don’t be,” she replies. “It all worked out.”

Maverick nods, looking at her affectionately. “Charlie went on to bigger and better things. And by bigger, I mean she went on to design rockets.”

“Wow,” you say, both impressed and jealous of the woman who seems to hold a special place in Maverick’s heart.

“And look at how far you’ve come,” Charlie says to Maverick.

Maverick grimaces. “I’m right back where I started,” he remarks. “Full circle.”

“You’re right back where you’re meant to be,” she says earnestly. “And I’m proud of you.”

Maverick shifts his weight uncomfortably, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “We better grab a seat before Cyclone has an aneurysm,” he says.

You turn to see Cyclone watching the three of you with an irked expression from the table reserved for your group at the restaurant. He shakes his head ominously as you make your way toward the others. When the three of you arrive at the table, he mutters, “How gracious of you to join us.”

Maverick glances at him with a slight smirk but doesn’t say a word while Charlie lets out a small chuckle, taking her place beside Maverick at the table.

You lower yourself into the seat next to Sam, right across from Maverick and Charlie. Cyclone is sitting to Maverick’s right, aggressively perusing the menu.

“I hear the fish tacos are good here,” Maverick notes when Cyclone lays his menu down on the table in frustration.

Cyclone gives him a sour look. “Not a fish person,” he responds tartly.

You stifle a laugh, exchanging glances with Charlie, who is also snickering.

“There are non-fish tacos as well,” Maverick points out.

Cyclone nods grumpily. “Yes, I saw the entire section devoted to the various tacos they serve. I can read.”

Maverick bites the side of his lip to contain a grin. “Enchiladas,” he continues quietly, as if to himself. “Quesadillas, chiles rellenos…”

“I want a burger,” Cyclone declares, flipping through the menu anew.

Maverick shoots you an amused glance. “Let’s start with drinks,” he suggests, sliding a draft beer menu in front of his superior.

“Good idea.” Cyclone sighs theatrically, rolling his shoulders to loosen some tension.

“Hey, d’you want to share a couple of dishes?” Sam offers, tapping you on the arm to get your attention.

You glance over at him quickly, having almost forgotten he was there. “Sure.” You nod enthusiastically, even though it’s the last thing you would ever think to do.

Once all the drinks and food arrive, and you and Sam awkwardly try to allocate your respective shares of the dinner, Charlie pipes in. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, gesturing at you and Sam.

“It’s new,” Sam, the self-proclaimed boyfriend who has yet to work up the nerve to even kiss you, reiterates quickly while you chew on a quesadilla.

You wipe your mouth with a napkin before confirming, “Not long.”

Maverick’s eyes rest on you for a split second before he returns his attention to the ceviche in his bowl.

Meanwhile, Cyclone regards you with a dubious expression. “Where did you meet?” he asks gruffly.

“Through some friends,” Sam responds excitedly, as though it’s the most fascinating fact of the evening.

You take another bite of quesadilla and avoid looking directly at any of the three people sitting before you.

But Maverick cuts the silence short. “Is it serious?” he asks, and both you and Cyclone shoot him threatening glances. Charlie looks up from her plate, trying to interpret yours and Cyclone’s abrupt reactions.

Sam, meanwhile, is smiling blissfully to himself as he pokes at the contents of his fajita before rolling it up. “I’d say it has some potential of getting there,” he says.

You nearly choke on a pepper upon seeing Maverick’s expression transform from mild amusement to unequivocal displeasure. His jaw muscles contract as he forcefully stabs at his dinner with a fork.

Sam clears his throat nervously and speaks in a noticeably higher pitch, “Of course, I can’t predict the future.”

You roll your eyes and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s none of his business, anyway,” you say.

To Maverick’s left, you see Charlie’s jaw drop slightly in her shock at your informal – bordering on impolite – addition to the conversation with your superior officer.

Cyclone chuckles quietly, finally appeased by your interaction with Maverick. “At last, something we can all agree on.”

Maverick smiles politely. “I was just making small talk,” he says, laying his fork down without finishing his meal.

Cyclone gives him a flat look and leans forward to address his friend. “Charlie, how long are you in town?”

While Charlie and Cyclone engage in conversation, Maverick catches your gaze inquisitively, as if he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are so penetrating, you feel like he can see right through you. He must know that your relationship with Sam isn’t even close to being serious. He must know that you’re probably going to break it off that very evening. He must know you only brought him because you were hurt and you wanted to hurt him back. Because Maverick has reconnected with someone of significance and is involved in something meaningful.

You tear your gaze away from him irritably. You’re about done letting Maverick stir up your emotions without so much as saying a word. You’re about done caring for a man who’s done nothing but cause you pain.

You rise from your seat and excuse yourself, heading for the bathroom near the back of the restaurant. No sooner do you break through the door, than you collapse onto the nearest sink and break down. You don’t even care that your mascara is leaving streaks down your cheeks, or that the tears are clouding your vision. You don’t even care that your hands are gripping the basin so tightly that your fingers are cramping.

You glance up at your reflection in the mirror; pathetic. How did you let yourself fall this far? This hard? This fast? You run the tap and dab some cool water on your skin, patting at the trails of makeup that your crying spell has left behind.

You take a deep breath, staring at your glistening face with a scowl, preparing yourself for the remainder of the evening. But just as you make your way for the door, it opens, and Maverick enters.

You jerk back in surprise, despite his history of showing up in places he isn’t supposed to be.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You panic. He knows. He knows that you ran away to cry. And this makes you furious. “I’m fine,” you respond curtly. “You shouldn’t be in here,” you add, gesturing to the door behind him.

He pulls his eyebrows together like he isn’t quite convinced. “You’re not okay,” he says.

You grit your teeth in anger. He can’t just ignore you for weeks and then try to comfort you like he gives a shit about your feelings. “Why are you here, Maverick?”

Maverick presses his lips into a thin line and breathes out steadily. “I was worried about you.”

You scoff resentfully. “Don’t be.”

Maverick sighs and lowers his head. “I can’t help it.”

You attempt to keep your voice even despite all the shaking your body is doing. “You better go, Captain,” you say spitefully. “Before Cyclone finds us. Or Charlie.”

He watches you soberly. “You asked me to stay,” he reminds you.

You stare wistfully into his eyes. He’s right, of course. You’re the reason he’s still here. Your relationship with him has been strained but civil since the incident on the carrier. There has been a mutual effort to avoid unnecessary encounters, and an unspoken understanding that, while romance is out of the question, it will take some time for both of you to move on completely. Obviously, you did not expect him to move on by moving in on someone new. Or old, in the case of Charlie, because the two of them go way back, apparently.

You struggle to remember why you’d wanted this – wanted him to stay despite knowing that nothing would ever come of it. In the moment, you were desperate not to lose him. But watching him carry on as though nothing ever happened between the two of you is absolute torture. You’d rather not witness just how little you actually meant to him.

You shrug. “Error in judgement, I guess,” you respond coldly, echoing his words from the night Cyclone had caught the two of you in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Maverick nods. “Been there,” he says pensively before turning to walk out. Just before he does, however, he glances back at you and adds, “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”

“Don’t,” you say.

Maverick meets your gaze with a weary look. “I’m not leaving.”

“What’s Cyclone going to think when the two of us come back together from the bathroom?”

Maverick shrugs. “I have no control over what Cyclone thinks.”

“What’s Charlie going to think?”

Maverick pauses in the doorway. “What’s Sam going to think?”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t even notice.”

Maverick watches you quietly for a moment, then says. “I doubt that very much.”

You lick your lips as a fresh round of tears threatens to obscure your eyesight. The fact that Sam isn’t here to check on you but Maverick is has not escaped you. “Go, please,” you whisper.

Maverick wavers slightly on the spot and, after a brief interval, holds his hand out to you. You glance down at it hesitantly as your stomach flips violently at the though of touching him again. Clearly, you’re angry with him, but the part of you that loves him always wins.

Slowly, you step forward and place your hand in his. He pulls you in the moment you make contact, wrapping his arms around you as he releases the door to the bathroom. He lets his face drop, pressing his mouth to the top of your head.

After a prolonged – mostly silent – embrace, you detach yourself from his arms and give him a nod. “I’m ready,” you say.

Maverick nods back without a word and then opens the door for you.

…

It’s past midnight when you hear the knocking, followed by some irregular footsteps and a string of quiet – but still audible – curse words. After a moment of hesitation, you unlock the door.

“Captain?”

Maverick is standing in the corridor before you, although calling it ‘standing’ might be a bit of a stretch. He’s not exactly stable on his feet.

You glance up and down the hallway to make sure that no one has seen him. “What are you doing here?”

Maverick is watching you with a squared jaw, as though he means to keep the purpose of his visit to himself. He breathes his frustration out through his nose before veering right into the doorframe.

“Sir!” you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his arm like you might have any chance of keeping him upright were he to topple over.

“Sir?” he murmurs, and you could smell the liquor on his breath. He catches your gaze now that you’re closer and, in another moment, his eyes begin to slip down your face before they finally close. “I told you,” he says, his mouth twitching as he grimaces. He pushes past you into the room.

You quickly close the door behind him, hoping nobody heard the commotion. Praying he’ll have the sense to keep his voice down.

But Maverick, it seems, isn’t nearly as concerned as you are about disturbing your neighbors. He rounds on you with a resentful expression and shakes his head. “I knew this would happen.”

You blink at him in confusion. “What?” you say. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Maverick says defeatedly. He takes a step toward you, his eyes flitting between yours as if he’s checking to see if you can relate.

But it’s a weekday and you had just drifted off to sleep when he’d started drumming on your door, so you’re not exactly following. You furrow your eyebrows. “I happened to what?” you ask.

Maverick watches you miserably, taking a step back now, as though he can’t decide which is worse: being closer or farther away from the source of all his troubles. “You two make a fine pair,” he manages to say, but not without a break in his voice.

You purse your lips, looking away from him. You’re not going to comfort a man who’s standing in his own way. After all, it was his decision not to be with you. Besides, Maverick brought his own date to the dinner, so you aren’t feeling overly sympathetic.

Maverick tears his gaze away from you and smacks a hand over his face. “What am I doing here, Lieutenant?”

It’s a fair question, to be sure; one you wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to, yourself. But you’re more immediately concerned about the consequences of Maverick’s unsanctioned visit to your quarters than the reasons behind it. “Maverick, it’s the middle of the night,” you say, shocked at how firm you sound despite the tremor travelling through you.

Maverick’s eyebrows converge and he shifts his jaw as his eyes well up with tears. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding slowly.

“And you’re drunk,” you add when he takes a step toward you again.

“I am,” he admits, still in a whisper.

You ignore the stutter of your heart as he nears. “You can’t be here,” you warn.

He watches you wretchedly, giving his head a subtle shake. “I can’t,” he agrees.

You can hardly breathe when he finally stops before you, his soft eyes trailing down your face. His hand is coasting up the side of your neck before you even know what’s happening, and by the time his fingertips are hovering at the nape of your neck, you’re so lost in his gaze, it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Unsurprisingly, you aren’t in the state of mind to respond.

“I lied,” he says with a slight rasp despite the effort he’s exerting to steady his voice. “I think he’s terrible for you.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Sam,” he says. “He’s not the one.”

You pride yourself on your patience and understanding, even in trying circumstances; you’re not an unreasonable person by any means. But even you have limits. And, tonight, Maverick is testing every last one. “Are you the one?”

Maverick stares at you, his eyes swimming. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

You breathe out forcefully, astonished at his audacity. There is only so much you can let this man get away with. “Then, respectfully, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pushing past him aggressively. You whip around sharply and point at the door. “Get out.”

…

The following afternoon in the briefing room, Maverick reviews the morning's flight footage with barely a look in your direction. He doesn’t even comment on the impulsive maneuver you pulled that left your partner confused and resulted in an uncoordinated hustle to regain momentum, costing your team valuable seconds that could have ended in tragedy were it a real dogfight.

Once the briefing is finished and the room begins to clear out, Maverick approaches your desk. “Can I have a minute, Lieutenant?” he asks in a subdued sort of tone.

You glance up at him grudgingly but don’t respond until the last of the pilots have left the room. “Is it about the Cobra Climb?” you ask monotonously.

“What?” He quirks his head in confusion before briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No,” he says, and then adds, more emphatically, “No.” He lets out a heavy sigh and lifts a leg over the chair in front of your desk, sitting on it backwards to face you. “I want to apologize to you.”

You groan. “Not again.”

Maverick steals a glance at the door, ensuring that the two of you are still alone, and then he lays a hand over yours on the desk. “I’m sorry about last night. Showing up at your place – less than sober.” Maverick lowers his gaze with a disappointed frown. “I – I had no right. I have no right,” he says, looking back up at you. His eyes flit between yours imploringly, burdened with all the guilt he carries.

“Stop,” you say assertively, pulling your hand out from under his grasp. You can’t listen to another word. This entire relationship has been a series of failures in self-control, each one a ‘mistake’ in Maverick’s eyes for which he subsequently has taken full responsibility. You rise from your seat and gather your things mutely.

“Y/N,” he says hoarsely, standing up after you.

You shake your head. “I don’t need another apology, sir,” you say bitterly. “I just need some space.”

Maverick nods. “Of course,” he says. “And I’ve been denying you that – and I apologize –”

“I said, stop!” you exclaim, shooting him a threatening look.

Maverick trails you as you make your way to the door – the exact opposite of your request. You rush out of the briefing room, and he follows, not far behind. Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallway because he’s behaving irrationally, to say the least. He reaches for your arm and pulls you around to face him.

You gulp, staggering the moment you meet his gaze, the aching in his eyes undermining your determination.

“Let me finish,” he pleads in a whisper.

You exhale sharply. “Finish, then.”

Maverick slowly lets his hand fall away from your arm now that you’re no longer a flight risk and, this alone, hurts, because you want him to hold you forever. Even when you’re fuming, even when you’re yelling, even when you hate him.

“Seeing you,” he says slowly, evenly, as though he’s trying to compose himself as he’s talking. He takes a breath and tries again. “With another man –”

“Come on.” You scoff, even though your heart is already buzzing at the thrill of making Maverick jealous. “You can’t expect me to not date –”

“I don’t expect that,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You think about the way you felt seeing him with Charlie and you’re instantly sorry for causing him that much pain, regardless of whether it was intentional or not.

“I was angry,” he says quietly. “At myself, mostly…” he trails off, moving his head to the side and lowering his gaze. “But also at you. And I blamed you for the way you make me feel.” He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth and grimaces. “But that’s not your fault,” he whispers shakily. “That’s on me.”

You bite into your lip to keep it steady. You wish you could look away because the devastation on his face is undoing you, but you aren’t strong enough. You take a step back and take a shuddering breath. “Please don’t look at me like that,” you say, your voice unsteady. You can barely get a grasp on his words because you’re too absorbed in his eyes.

Maverick’s eyebrows lift inward, as if your request has him concerned – or confused. “Like what?”

You roll your eyes – as if he doesn’t know like what. “Like that!” you respond as he takes a step toward you in alarm. “Just stop!” You sigh in frustration, unable to articulate your thoughts because his eyes are still commanding all of your attention.

“Where am I supposed to look?” he asks, agitated.

“It’s the way you’re looking at me,” you explain angrily.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” he asks urgently. “I need you to hear me.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Enough, Maverick!” you exclaim.

Maverick stills immediately, watching you uneasily.

“You’ve been tiptoeing around me, treating me like I’m injured or in need of assistance –”

“I’m not –”

“You are and I’m tired of it. Why didn’t you call me out on the Cobra Climb?”

Maverick stares at you like you’re unhinged. “You want me to reprimand you?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be my instructor – just my instructor – then instruct me. It was an idiot move and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You were distracted –”

“You’re making excuses for me! Why?”

“Don’t question my teaching methods,” Maverick says in a low voice.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re afraid of confrontation so you’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t even think to give me a heads up about Charlie!”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “What about Charlie?”

“Whatever,” you grumble. “Just don’t stand here and proclaim that my bringing a date to the squadron dinner somehow threw you for a loop.”

Maverick studies you silently so you boldly meet his gaze. His jaw is set but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that nearly draws you in.

“Stop coddling me,” you say firmly.

You watch his Adam’s apple rise then fall as he gulps down whatever retort he decides to keep to himself. His jaw muscles contract once more as his eyes settle over your face.

You tear your gaze away. “And quit looking at me like you…” You sigh, unsure how to describe the inimitable combination of exasperation and affection you see in his eyes.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice rising in volume. You can tell that he’s becoming increasingly defensive as your blows continue.

You’re annoyed that he’s annoyed and you blurt the words out before you can stop yourself. “Like you’re in love with me or –”

“I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU ANY OTHER WAY!” he roars.

You freeze. Stunned by the volume of his voice. Stunned by the emphatic delivery. Stunned at his words.

He turns away in a huff, placing one hand on his hip while the other is balled up into a fist at his mouth.

“This was your idea,” you say quietly as he slowly turns back to look at you. You aren’t the one who refuses to even try, and he needs to acknowledge that.

“I know,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with tears.

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. “Then stop,” you implore.

He shakes his head, pulling his lips into a rigid line. “I don’t know how.”

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[purpleqilinwrites]

you.

a/n: i fell in love with homicipher and i couldn't help writing a little something for the most off-putting of all the potential love interests (affectionate)!!! i just had some thoughts about mr. scarletella's origin story and wrote a little something for him.

fandom: homicipher

character: mr. scarletella

genre: general (can be read as romantic)

info: reader can be read as mc

warnings: -

synopsis: mr. scarletella recognises the human who fell into the ghost apartments.

word count: 0.7k

Mr. Scarletella

There was someone new in the apartments.

It wasn't something that happened very frequently. As the self-proclaimed watcher of the apartments, Mr. Scarletella sped through the shadows to the place where the stranger's presence could be felt most keenly.

Irritation prickled across his skin when he noticed the crawling man had found the human first. He scratched his nails against the handle of the umbrella in his hand uselessly, thinking of how best to separate them from the other man. However—

YOU..?

(He looked up at you, peering down at him with a curious look on your face.

Scrubbing at his tear-dampened eyes, he quickly masked his sniffle with an unnecessarily loud series of coughs. Your expression never wavered, and he wondered if you were dumb. Couldn't you tell that he had been crying and was trying to cover it up? Dummy. Dummy, dummy.

You pressed something cool against his forearm. The carton of strawberry milk had begun to sweat in the late afternoon heat, a trio of droplets veering off-course and trailing down his skin instead. The dampness made him feel yucky. It reminded him again that while you were dumb, he was a crybaby. Weak. He was weak. Weak, weak, weak!

He was worse than you.

"Don't cry anymore, okay? They're gone!" You gave him a wide smile, your lips stretched as thinly across as your face as it could go and he could see most of your teeth. He was counting them, including the few gaps between where your new adult teeth hadn't yet sprung up, before he could stop himself.

"—'m already done!"

He snatched the strawberry milk you were offering him, remembering his manners and thanking you only after he had taken a large gulp of the sweet beverage. You didn't seem to care whether he would show appreciation or not, sipping noisily on your own carton of milk.

"Why did you give me strawberry?" he asked. He made sure that he had finished his milk before speaking. That way he wouldn't have anything to share, even if you wanted to try some.

You blinked slowly, keeping your eyes on the playground sand beneath your shoes and the patterns formed in them by the soles. "No reason!"

He snapped his head in the direction opposite of you. There was another yucky feeling in his chest. He knew it was because you'd be smiling at him again. If he looked, he would offer to buy you a new carton of strawberry milk from the vending machine, even if the last of his allowance was for his bus fare home.)

Not a lot of time had passed since you arrived at the apartments, but you managed to make a constant travelling companion of the crawling man. The other man was not a social creature. None of them in the apartments were.

YOU.

I KNOW YOU.

Something about your arrangement with the crawling man rubbed Mr. Scarletella the wrong way. At every instance when he spotted the two of you together, there was that prickle of irritation again, getting hotter each time.

It was almost funny, really. When was the last time he felt like this?

WHY HIM?

He intentionally announced his presence from down the seemingly endless hallway, dimming the already murky lights and artificially painting the whole place red. As far as his eyes could see, he made sure his presence could be seen and felt. If the human was who he thought they were, they would recognise him too.

They liked red. He liked red too.

I LIKE YOU.

The panic in the crawling man's voice was palpable as he approached. Mr. Scarletella swiped his tongue across his lips with much gusto. This was fun. He liked that the other man was afraid. If the human was really you, he would hope someone was keeping you safe in this savage place full of creatures that were worse.

He rounded the corner to where he knew the two of you were and peeked.

It was a mistake.

His blood boiled at the sight. You were cowering at the far edge of the hall, and the crawling man was kneeling to shield you from him.

NO. BAD!!!

WHY HIM?

WHY NOT ME?

[somnolenthour]

🅱🅻🆄🅴 🅱🅻🅾🅾🅳

￫ ᴘᴀɪʀ: ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

￫ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ: 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚄 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚊𝚖𝚜𝚔𝚒

￫ɴᴏᴛᴇ: 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 ヽ(*´∀`)ﾉ

Diamonds, triangles, and honeycomb patterns filled your daily life and dreams with hues of sanitized blues and off whites. Natural lighting somehow felt so clinical here, devoid of life much like the androids that passed you by with artificial grins painted onto their faces, the glimmer of joy unable to reach their glassy eyes. Something about it all was uncanny, wondering if anything about this place was truly unethical. But you weren’t a part of ethics. You were a part of conditioning.

You had to admit that it was one of the better jobs for people like you, being the say for each model standard. From making sports-centric models run laps and throwing balls to having nursing models pick you off of the ground like a limp child. You recorded everything diligently and uploaded it into the system for assembly.

But you were mainly restricted to the commercial androids. Models that were one of a kind and not to be sold were run through Kamski himself. You never met the man personally; He would pass by, send emails, and praise certain departments for their hard work. Which is what you expected. He was your boss. But when you received a particular email regarding one of his experimental models, you had to rub your eyes, then ask if this was correct (which earned a “Haha yes!” From your employer.). You found yourself on the higher levels of Cyberlife tower, the soft hum of banjo music playing over the sound of running water. A hologram of Kamski stopped speaking to his RT600 (or Chloe, it was hard to remember names but models were easier in your line of work.) and turned to you, it was surreal how quiet the world felt, seeing the man who changed the world in more ways than one casually sauntering over to the source of the music and place a transparent hand on his shoulder.

“There you are..” His soft cadance filled the air. You were frozen in place. “It must be strange to be called here on such short notice.” The android, lacking in standard cyberlife issued clothing, wearing a blue pin-stripe shirt and a pair of black slacks. Upon looking at his shoes, they were vintage leather. He smiled at you, and his brown eyes crinkled with what looked like happiness, but it felt too real. You noted that for later, gaze falling up to Kamski.

”It is..” You reply, trying not to sound sheepish. Nerves tighten in your core as anxiety settles on them like a sheet. “May I ask why I’m here, sir?”

The man took a breath and chuckled a bit, the android chuckling as well. “This is your assignment, RK931.”

The android stopped playing and held out a hand, smile widening as he saw you. “But please, just call me Remmick.” His southern drawl was..new. You’ve heard several voice banks in your time here, but accents usually stayed neutral. Even if they were from other English-speaking countries. You reached out and shook the android’s hand, and he pulled you in to kiss your knuckles. It’s not like you haven’t been touched by androids before, you’ve worked with the sex work lines with your collegues and a team of intimacy coordinators, but the way he winked at you made you heart skip a beat. Remmick’s indicator flashes yellow as he analyzes your reaction, stroking your palm with his thumb.

”Life-like isn’t he? I had him imported all the way from Ireland for this.” Kamski sat in one of the chairs in his projection. “He’s your brand new companion.”

“If he’s from Ireland, why isn’t he using his irish voice bank?” You swore you saw Remmick’s LED flash red for a moment.

“I suggest taking a glance at his notes when you have some spare time.” Kamski’s gaze was so intense that you only nodded meekly. Speaking with the man always felt like walking on eggshells. Remmick rose from where he sat and joined your side, Kamski half smiled and turned on his heel. “Well, I expect weekly reports.”

”Yes sir…”

[servantofthefates]

How to Summon Your Guardian

Neopagans call them guides. Catholics call them angels. Some witches call them fae. Different names in different faiths, yet the same being. The one who walks beside you.

The First Call

My elders say our guardian is close to us when we are children. Because that is when our soul contract with them is fresh and new. As we grow older, we push them away because we have forgotten they exist. They still check on us now and then, but they no longer stay. To call them back to you, do this:

Wherever you are in the world, no matter what time it is, begin by sitting still and closing your eyes. Take deep breaths until you feel isolated from the world around you. Using these exact words, or simply as a guide, speak out loud or in your mind:

“I now recall. You are the good luck that comes to me unexpectedly. You are the bad luck that saves me from worse luck. You are the whisper that tells me where to go. You are the push that shoves me to the right path. You are the caress that heals my aches. You are the pain that strengthens my resolve. You are the companion I had forgotten about. But now I recall. And back to me, I now thee call.”

Make the words true, by recalling the times when an invisible force seems to have saved you. When something hopeless suddenly worked out for you. When some suffering turned out to have been good for you. These are the acts of your guardian.

Then open your eyes.

The Vision

In the next minutes, hours or days — it is not the same for us all… wait for a response. A dream. A sensation. An encounter. Some sign that your guardian has heard your call and has returned at your side.

This will be different for everyone. But when it comes, it will be undeniable. Because whatever sign is sent will be deeply personal. A symbol that meant something to you in childhood. A song you used to love ages ago. Mine was a hypnopompic hallucination.

More often than not, it will also reveal the appearance of your guardian. A glimpse of their face. The sound of their name. A revelation of who they are. And whoever you see or hear will not be surprising to you. After all, you have known them before. Deep down, your soul still remembers.

Wait for this vision before you proceed. If it never comes, repeat The First Call. This time, more solemnly.

The Gift

Give your guardian an offering. An acknowledgment of your vision and a reaffirmation of your intention to walk with them once more.

Whatever you give, it needs to have value — material, sentimental or both. My elders say it is better to offer something you already own and hold dear, instead of acquiring something new and shiny, whose worth could be artificial.

Leave this offering somewhere special for your guardian. If you have a sacred space, an altar or a shrine… leave it there. If not, it could be a dedicated space in your bookshelf, in your dresser or on your desk.

In your own words, tell your guardian this gift is for them.

The Sharing

You want your guardian to share their life with you once more. So you too must share yours with them. This means leaving out for them a piece of something you enjoy every now and then.

Treated yourself to a bar of chocolate? Give them a piece. Put it beside their gift. Dispose of it the day after. Bought a bottle of perfume? Spray some in the air for them to smell. Received a bottle of wine? Pour some in a glass for them to taste.

Make this second nature to you. Share with your guardian your little happinesses. Not as a sacrifice, and not even as an offering. Think of it as having a friend that your eyes cannot see but your soul can sense. This is not a deal, an exchange or a spell. Just an act of decency and kindness.

The Incantation

In times when you need help, or in moments when you feel scared… make sure you have an incantation at the ready to tell your guardian you need them. If you are religious, think of it as a prayer. If you are pragmatic, think of it as dialing emergency.

The words have to be your own. The length needs to feel comfortable to you. The rhythm has to sound meaningful to your ears. Mine is based on a prayer I learned in Catholic school as a child:

“Lucifer… my inspiration, my angel, my friend… Be at my side, to light and guide, to rule and guard. Amen.”