#drabble.txt

[bitemedotmp3]

🌀 for a random number!

11. — heartbeat

"Frickin'- Move, dude! You're taking up way too much space!"

"There's no need to shout, I can hear you fine. And I'm already back against the wall, so this is as much room as we have."

The only thing visible in the dark, cramped space is two pairs of eyes, one a honeyed amber, and the other a clashing gradient. The yellow eyes wear an expression of strained indifference, while the others are just glaring.

"I hope you understand this is your fault," says J. "If you weren't snooping around these unstable ruins, we wouldn't have gotten trapped beneath the rubble."

If Uzi's eyes could shoot lasers, J would be a puddle by now. "My fault- Bite me! It was only unstable because your fat ass was following me! The platform would've been fine if it was just me, I know what I'm doing!"

"My body is a perfectly reasonable weight. It isn't my fault that the construction of this place is so... shoddy."

Uzi rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure if JCJensen built the place, all the buildings would still be standing, and they'd be made of gold, too."

The corporate slander makes J seethe. "I don't see why you're being so hostile."

"You were stalking me! I didn't even know you were in this city and the first time I see you is right before you knock the floor out from my feet!"

"It wasn't on purpose!"

Uzi scoffs and lapses into silence. She comes out to Yesteryear to get away from people, so who would've thought she'd have someone tagging along without her knowledge, and it'd be J?

J is equally dis-inclined to talk, and Uzi can see the glow of her phone screen as she pulls it out. "Ugh, no signal here," she mutters.

"Gotta call your boss to come bail you out?"

"If the alternative is overheating to the point of catastrophic system failure while being stuck with you, then yes. I'll call the boss."

"Bit off more than you could chew. Classic J."

"Or maybe I'll kill myself sometime in the next hour. It'd be preferable to this."

"Yeah right. Disassembly Drone OS doesn't have a self-destruct function."

"...How would you know?"

Can't admit she was poking around in some of their heads, that's good leverage. "I'm dating one, idiot."

J squints, and then her eyes widen. "You're dating V?!"

"Wh- No! N! I'm dating N!"

"Oh! Oh. I haven't seen him in so long, I'd forgotten he exists. Though I suppose he could've been replaced with a large lamp and it would more or less be the same thing."

"Don't be a dick!" There's the sound of boots scraping against rubble, and J cries out.

"Stop kicking me! You're going to make this place even hotter, moron!"

"Bite me!"

"Don't tempt me! It'd help me live longer, and it'd be quiet!"

Uzi huffs and stops, because J does have a point. Both drones run hot, and if the alcove they're stuck in gets too warm, they'll probably shut down. And it would be super embarrassing if Uzi's first death in Spirale was getting stuck in an oven with her... enemy? Yeah, enemy. But now that she's stopped for a moment, she can give this some more thought. Cyn put J up to this, right? And the only reason J hasn't attacked is because of the "deal" her boss has made with Uzi, which is also the only reason Uzi didn't jump her on sight.

All this way from Earth, from Copper 9, all this way from their whole frickin' universe, and J is still some lame bootlicker.

...Actually, that's not the only reason Uzi doesn't have it out for her. There's also V to consider, because the last time Uzi zinged J (and she wasn't even here!), V got upset. Whatever's going on there is... complicated, and Uzi likes V enough that if she asked her not to blow J's head off with her railgun, she'd hold off. For now.

"Stop staring," says J.

Uzi blinks, a soft blip sounding through the alcove as her processors spin down from deep thought. "Wasn't staring. Was thinking about stuff."

J snorts. "And what do worker drones think about? Huddling in fear? Their impending deaths? Big doors, apparently?"

"You're so uncreative that I actually feel sorry for you."

"Wh- I don't need your pity!"

"Uh-huh."

The two drones lapse into silence again, and Uzi can see J pointedly not looking in her direction. Now that she thinks about it, a disassembly drone would actually be able to see her with their enhanced sensor suite. So can she see Uzi do this?

"Really? Middle finger? How childish."

"Huh. Guess you can see me."

"Of course I can. Not that there's much to see."

Uzi watches J roll her eyes and go back to staring at the wall. After another short silence, she speaks. "Y'know, I would've told you if you just asked."

J looks over, eyes narrowed. "Told me what?"

"What I was doing. You ever think to just ask?"

"No. You'd have no reason to tell me."

"No reason to hide it, either. I just come out here looking for stuff to salvage in the ruins. Also, it kind of reminds me of Copper 9, especially now that it's snowing. That's all."

"That's it? How... Disappointing."

"Yeah. You're about to die, stuck in a wall, for no reason other than someone told you to. Classic J. Hehe-ow!"

Those peg feet hurt. "What would you know? About me, about anything?" snarls J.

"I'm not telling you that! Especially since you kicked me! Bitch."

"Toaster."

"Ugh."

"Sigh."

"...Did you just say sigh?"

"Quiet."

And so more silence ensues. Bit by bit, Uzi can feel the temperature rising in their crevice, but it's not coming from her. "I can feel your core overheating from here," she says, frowning.

J sighs. "I haven't had much oil since I got here."

"You can just buy some from the store, dude. Synthetic, but-"

"I know, I know. I've just been busy. Not that you'd understand."

"Busy stalking me?"

"Sure. That's all I do, yeah. I just follow you around. You specifically, because you're the most important thing in the entire city."

"Aw. And she does it for free."

"Has anyone ever told you you're the most irritating person on the planet?"

"Yeah, like two-thirds of my classmates. And my teacher."

"Wonderful."

The heat is getting uncomfortable now. "Oh, you're even worse off than I thought," says Uzi. "I think I can hear your core trying to pump."

"Robo-God, I hope I die soon."

Uzi does too, but... Well, she's got her reasons. She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small bottle, holding it out to J. "Here. I don't wanna be stuck in here with your corpse."

"Trying to poison me? That's new."

"No, stupid." Uzi unscrews the lid, and her chemo-sensors can easily pick up the crude scent in the small space. "It's oil. I don't go out without an emergency supply because I'm not an idiot."

One of J's eyes flashes to an X, and Uzi can hear her shift forward. "And you're... Giving it to me? What's the angle here? How does this benefit you?"

"I mean, you can have some. And you... You honestly wouldn't get it."

J's eyes dart from Uzi, to the bottle, and back, and she finally snatches it away. There's the sound of desperate gulping- gross - and then a satisfied sigh. The bottle is handed back to Uzi, noticeably empty. "I said some."

"I heard. But you know this doesn't change anything," says J.

"I know."

"You're just making a tactical decision, as am I. We're both stuck here, in this city, and in this hole."

Uzi can hear something rumbling outside, and she just thinks Finally. "Well, hopefully not much longer," she says.

"We're still going to die, of course, but- What's that noise?"

Both drones flinch from the sudden light that floods their prison as a large chunk of rubble is lifted away. As Uzi's optics adjust, she can see a familiar and weirdly-hot silhouette standing against the moon, and she sighs in relief.

"Uzi, you good?" says V. "Honestly, I just followed the path of destruction, and- You."

Her eyes settle squarely on J, who flinches for a moment before rising to her feet. "Yes, me," she says, brushing dust from her skirt. "But as I was telling this purple thing, it was entirely her own fault that we were trapped. Regardless, why are you here?"

"Texted her as soon as I saw you were following me," says Uzi. "So I knew she'd show up eventually."

"It's far without wings. But about her" -she tilts her head towards J- "do I need to do something about this?"

Uzi considers it for a moment. If there's consonant-on-consonant violence, would that violate her deal with Cyn? But more importantly, is it worth it? V might be ready to throw down, but Uzi can't help but think that if she'd lifted the rock and found J's body, it probably would've bummed the mood. After a moment, she shakes her head. "Nah, forget her. 'Cause look what I found!"

From the inside of her hoodie she pulls out a snap case and holds it out to V. "Check it out! Jurassic World!"

V grins, snatching the DVD. "Finally. Thought you'd never find it."

"Well, probably could've gone faster if someone helped."

"Hmm... Nah. C'mon, let's go. This place is depressing."

Uzi turns, but J speaks up. "You watch movies together?"

"Yeah. Let me guess, no movie nights with the boss? Bummer," says Uzi, grabbing the case back. "Maybe if you ask nice, she'll let you watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre or something."

Snickering, Uzi turns to follow V, who's making an effort to not look at her former coworker. But after a moment, and a quick thought, Uzi looks back at the third drone.

"Hey, J," she calls. "Here."

J turns to face her, and her expression instantly falls. "Middle finger again? Really?"

Yeah. Really.

[slashisms]

a mutual understanding

pairing: billy loomis x reader

rating: M. 18+, minors dni

warnings: possessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, violence mention, slight dom/sub dynamic

word count: 1.4k

summary: modern!au inspired by some tumblr post i saw.

a/n: i wrote this on mobile so if grammar gets you hard, skip!

billy loomis is possessiveness personified. not in a jealous or overbearing way, or because of any unspoken insecurity (so he says). it’s a character trait. if you’re with him, you have to belong to him. you accept those parts of him as easily as you accept his wit or charm or humor. he’s been upfront with you about it, what he expects and how he wants you to behave. honestly, it looks unpleasant from the outside, but the last thing on his mind is what anyone thinks. you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t enjoy it and your opinion is the only one that has a hope of mattering.

he’s never more than a foot from you if he can help it and keeps a very close eye on you when he can’t. he dislikes when you’re out of his sight, touching you at all times. every second his arm is around your waist or shoulder, a hand on your arm or hip or thigh or ass. he wants you close, where no one else can look at or reach you without catching his eye and invoking his wrath.

he’s a firm believer that people around you shouldn’t be allowed to look at you too freely. the moment he took an interest in you, he made it his mission to prevent strangers from approaching you. he’s like a scary dog, glaring at them with dark eyes that promise violence. he made it clear to everyone you were his. walking with billy’s arm around your waist, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd and darting to you every so often with a tiny smirk is a common sight.

when he catches someone glance at you for too long, his dead eyes bore into theirs, face void of any expression, but with a clear message: fuck around and find out. very few have found out, quickly choosing to direct their attention elsewhere. the ones that have are surprised by the strength behind billy’s lithe form, the viper like quickness behind each movement and the unrelenting bloodlust in his attacks. he’s a sight to behold, a whirlwind of limbs and an unhinged grin on his face. he lives for bare knuckled violence done in your honor, like a prayer of one fucked up heretic. if he thought you’d let him kill for you, he would.

thankfully, you draw the line at beating up assholes who don’t know how to take no for an answer. it’s the closest to worshipping you he’s going to get, shoving the face of some prick into gravel until he coughs out an apology. he knows you’re truly made for him because your eyes sparkle, voice low and sultry as you smile up at him and murmur, ‘thank you, billy,’ afterwards. the two of you are shameless, eye fucking until you can find a place to be alone (your decision, not his. he’d tie the guy up and fuck you right there let’s be honest.)

as much as he wants to, billy can’t put his hands on everyone. particularly, losers in your DMs. he despises social media and the shallow, vapid people who gather on there like sycophants and no matter what he says, you don’t share the same burning hatred. it only takes one good picture of you— and they’re all beautiful, for the desperate creeps to come crawling in. it’s almost a ritual: you post, choosing to ignore any incoming notifications while he scrolls through them and soon after it’s not long before he’s discarding your phone for the rest of the night while he fucks you senseless.

if he’s feeling particularly cruel, he’ll record you on it, ignoring the way you stammer and protest. he works smoothly to cajole you into it, forcing you to show him who you belong to. the way you shout his name has his heart in a chokehold, he’ll never let you leave him. you’re quick to block all of them later, even if you are amused by how annoyed he gets.

billy feels it doesn’t send enough of a message, that you’d never think of entertaining them because you have everything you could possibly want and need from him. he’s painfully aware of how lucky he is to have you, you’re gorgeous and smart and compassionate. he satisfies you and they should know it.

speaking of, he’s laying in your bed on your phone when he sees a notification. it’s not even a real message, a pathetic attempt from a spineless coward that’s never gotten past ‘Hello’ with a woman and communicates like a child. that’s what the sad heart eyes emoji he’s sent conveys.

why does this guy think he could pull you with a fucking emoji? as far as compliments go, it’s laughable. you deserve to be exalted. it makes him angrier. if they’re going to ignore the clear signs of a happy relationship he insists you leave all over your page, they could at least be a viable alternative. as the equivalent to dog shit left on the sidewalk, their audacity was infuriating.

billy reaches for you where you’re curled into his side, occupied with the movie you’re watching until you’re distracted by his soft touches to your skin. you look up at him, raising your eyebrows. he’s able to slide his hand under your neck and a thrill runs through him at the way you tilt your head to give him better access, without question. your skin is warm and your pulse thrums softly under his fingers. “c’mere,” he orders, pulling you forward.

you melt under him as he kisses you, arching eagerly into his mouth. he squeezes the sides of your neck softy, a firm pressure that has you settling down obediently. he moves from your lips to your neck, placing gentle kisses on the hollow of your throat. your pleased sigh is followed by a squeak of surprise when he bites you, sucking and dragging his tongue against your skin until the blood vessels burst. bruising appears faint on your skin which billy has always taken as a challenge. his experienced mouth has your skin coloring in no time, ignoring the whimpers you let out beneath him.

you easily distract him from his original intentions, pupils blown wide, chest heaving and lips parted into an adorable pout. he can’t resist climbing on top of you, lording over you for a moment to gaze at your expression. no one else would ever see you like this. “billy, please,” you whine.

he bites back a smile. you’re so cute, not even sure what you’re asking for, content to let him decide what to give you and when. it feels as if he’s gonna burst into flames. “open your mouth, sweetheart,” he murmurs and you do.

fuck, he wants to ruin you. to see how much you’ll take, what you’ll let him do. he curls four fingers around your jaw and pushes his thumb into your mouth. your eyes flutter closed and you wrap your plush lips around the digit, lavishing attention onto it with your tongue. he’s painfully hard, all coherent thought rushing south with his blood. “good girl,” he praises just to watch you squirm, rubbing thighs he knows are soaked together.

as much as he wants to fuck you, he still has to address the matter at hand. when he pulls out your phone, your eyebrows furrow and your eyes move around his face. you don’t say anything, waiting for his direction or explanation. the power you give him over you makes his cock throb, he’s aching to be inside of you, to mark you inside and out. he leans forward and presses your foreheads together. “you’re mine.” he says darkly. “all these fuckers begging for your attention, but that’s mine too. all of you, every inch. isn’t it, baby?”

and you’re perfect, nodding along to his every word, eyes wide and desperate. he pulls back to take the picture, sending it without a second thought. it’s a close up, nothing visible besides his hand wrapped around your throat and the bruising on your skin but he’s committed the image you make to memory. the message ‘she’s not interested’ follows the picture and within seconds, the seen notification appears.

billy’s done with this nobody, he’s got an obedient little angel to take care of. he tosses your phone on the bed and focuses all his attention on you. the guy unsends the message. so does every one after him.

[winetae]

⇨ set myself on fire (m).

ex bf!yoongi. college au. 3355 words. slight age gap, slight angst. hand holding. dirty talk, possessiveness.

With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

.

.

Break-ups, you eventually learn, are not a good look for you.

Self-doubt keeps you awake at night more than caffeine ever has. The lack of proper sleep has disastrous consequences on your school life and your general appearance.

Even the most skilled makeup artists would consider you a lost cause. All their professional training and years of experience would not be enough to breathe new life into your dull and haggard appearance, not when your exhaustion is still so visibly apparent through the layers of concealer you regularly apply under your eyes. When you stare at yourself in the mirror you see a ghost, a creature from the past anchored in the wrong reality.

This goes on for a week, then two. You probably would have hit the third week mark if your friends hadn’t staged an emergency intervention.

“Your first big split can be hard, I get it.” Mari pats your shoulder. “That’s why you gotta listen to us. This can't go on any longer than it already has.”

Liz is a little less sympathetic. She’s always hated your ex-boyfriend and has no reservations reminding you of what an asshole he is.

You don't agree with her snide remarks but know it's useless to argue. Any objection has her rolling her eyes.

"You think being nice is ignoring your calls for a week?"

"It wasn't a week-"

"Do the details matter?" she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "If he really respected you, he'd let you know he was gonna be busy instead of letting you waste your time and energy worrying about him."

Maybe she's right. Maybe you need to stop finding excuses for his every action.

Thanks to your friends' gentle but firm guidance you learn that there’s a code of conduct one must follow post break-up. Detailed steps one must take to numb the side effects of heartbreak.

It’s challenging to keep track of every little thing you’re supposed to be doing - and not doing - but you’re determined to become a functioning member of society once more.

RULE 1. BLOCK THAT MF. Your friends collectively warn you to lose your ex’s number. Delete it, block it, forget it. It makes moving on easier, they insist.

RULE 2. STAY OFF SOCIAL MEDIA. Don’t keep tabs on him. Seeing him be happy without you will make you swim in misery (and wine).

RULE 3. KEEP BUSY. Meet with friends, talk to family. Study, work out - whatever keeps your mind occupied.

The list goes on, some rules making less sense than others, but you’re so desperate to move on at this point that you’re willing to try just about anything.

It works - for the most part. You’ve never been more social in your life and the constant human to human interactions take up most of your free time and energy.

You try your best. Really, you do. It’s not enough, but it helps. So far you’ve successfully avoided any major meltdowns.

RULE 13 : NO LISTENING TO SAD SONGS/WATCHING SAD MOVIES in particular has kept you from recreating the typical kdrama scene where the lead wallows in her own sadness, a tub of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, before a nicer, smarter, more handsome love interest sweeps her off her feet.

It’s week six, almost week seven, when your friends decide that you’re ready to take the next step.

“What you need is a distraction,” Mari says, wagging her eyebrows, the implication of her words evident.

“She’s not that kind of girl.”

“What do you mean?” Except you know exactly what she means. You just want to make her say it. 

“Well, aren’t you the relationship type?” it’s defensive, like she knows she’s said the wrong thing. 

“Sometimes.” You say, but the answer is distracted, your mind elsewhere.

You’re thinking about lists and rules, adding this one to the ever growing manual you’ve sworn to follow. RULE 26. DATE OTHER PEOPLE. THERE ARE OTHER FISH AT SEA.

“You don’t need to find the love of your life right now. Just - like go out, have fun. It doesn't have to be a big thing."

"Why don't we go clubbing!" Mari proposes, excitement building in her tone. "Even if no one catches your eyes, I think it’ll do you some good to go out. We haven’t been out together in forever!”

You think about the alternative. Going home, watering your plants, microwaving the leftover lasagna, feeling bad for yourself. Reluctantly, you nod.

“That settles it then!” Liz cheers, already making her way to her closet to dig up the perfect outfit. “We’ll help you find a hot rebound. Nothing is better than good dick to help you realize there are plenty of great options!”

Next to you, Mari nods sagely. “It’ll help you - make you realize that there are other guys out there. Your world is much bigger than one single person, no matter how great you thought they were.”

Her words of advice settle into your bones, haunting. You want to believe her but if there's anything these past weeks have taught you, it's that your heart is stubborn. It cares little about what's better or nicer or kinder.

When you return her smile, you know deep down that you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.

.

.

.

.

Rule 26 is tiresome work, requiring more effort than advertised. But like every rule before this one, you give it your best shot.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to zero in on tonight’s target.

The guy in front of you is handsome. Objectively. Prominent features with long lashes and pouty lips. Slicked back hair, well dressed, and clearly on the lookout for a one night stand. He ticks all of your boxes - if you had any to begin with. 

Somewhere over his shoulder you see Mari shoot you a thumbs up, grinning like a proud mom, and the sight helps steel your resolve. You can do this.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to shift to the dance floor, chests pressing against one another.

His hands on your waist are warm. The way he’s moving his body - the slow grind of his hips against yours - it should be enticing.

But you feel - detached. Your brain registers everything that’s happening to you in an almost clinical way. Two hands, a set of lips, the rub of stubble against your cheek. Your body is responding in a rehearsed fashion, like it’s following a set of pre-set instructions, and all the while your mind is elsewhere. 

You’re not distracted, you realize. You’re bored. The space between your ribs and beating heart is just as hollow as it was before. Briefly you wonder if the emptiness will ever fill itself back up again, or if you’re supposed to live the rest of your life searching for the missing pieces that used to make you whole.

“Gotta go to the bathroom.” You squirm out of his grasp. There’s no point in playing this game anymore, not when the promised prize is this lackluster.

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

He nods, smiling, but his eyes are already flitting around the crowded room, on the lookout for your replacement. You wander off, weaving through the crowd of swaying bodies, and take a left instead of right, heading for the backdoor instead of the bathroom. 

The midnight air is cool against your skin and you breathe it in greedy gulps.

Your mind clears and suddenly fatigue seeps in. Here, hidden in the shadows, you allow your mask to slip. You’re tired of pretending that everything is okay, that this endless list of do's and don’ts you’ve been following is the only way to achieve happiness.

And maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that you should stop running away from your feelings. That no matter how much you pretend, the truth is always there, sitting under the scabs you’ve covered up with makeshift bandages.

There’s a pull, a magnetism you’re weak to. Your eyes land on his familiar figure like you knew he was there to begin with and your world comes to standstill. A feeling you can’t name threatens to burst from your chest.

The gravity must be a two-way street, one of two planets circling around each other, for his gaze somehow lifts and your eyes meet for the first time in months.

The moment he spots you, a three second beat passes with him frozen in place, like his body doesn’t know whether to flee or disappear into the ground. Then, after a small eternity, he relaxes back into his signature slouch, resigning himself to whatever twisted plan fate has schemed against him.

When he doesn’t budge from his position, you decide to approach him, well aware this is going against RULE 4 : AVOID YOUR EX AT ALL COSTS. ANYWHERE HE IS LIKELY TO SHOW UP, DO NOT GO. With every step you take all of your hard work goes down the drain but -

But.

For the first time tonight, your chest thrums with nervous anticipation. You feel alive again - not a shell of the person you used to be or a puppet imitating who you wished you could become.

“It’s been a while," you start off, hoping it comes off casual. It doesn’t. 

He sneaks a glance in your direction before looking back down at the cigarette plucked between two lips. He lights it and takes a long drag before looking back at you. 

“You’ve been doing well.” 

The phrasing throws you off. It’s not a question so you don’t know how to answer. You also don’t know why he thinks that, if it’s the fact you’re out right now instead of sleeping through the pain of a broken heart, or if he’s asked one of your friends how you’ve been doing. Maybe he’s seen your life through pictures, drawn up conclusions that only reinforce his decision.

“… I’m trying to.” 

Trying. With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

Something in his face softens at that. Maybe he realizes it, too. 

“You will be.” He says it with a note of finality, of certitude. Like the few years he has more than you grants him knowledge you’re not privy to.

“Well, what if I won’t?” You huff, wrapping your arms around yourself. “What if - what if I feel like this forever?”

It’s a childish question, one that probably cements his view of you. In the past you’d always crafted your sentences with care, trying to match his maturity in words but the break-up has made you realize he’d always seen through your act.

A smile plays at his lips, not reaching his eyes. “Forever is a myth. You’ll see - you’ll find a guy who actually deserves you, and everything I said will start to make sense.”

It’s infuriating - the way he decides these things for you without your consent. Like your feelings don’t matter when faced with logic and facts.

“I love you. Doesn’t that count for anything?” 

“You don’t want love,” corrects Yoongi, albeit gently, like he knows his words might shatter you if he isn’t careful. “You just want me.”

You swallow, mulling his words over. Trying to understand the unsaid.

“I’m no good for you.” He repeats his words from the break-up.  

“But-” You look down, frowning. “What does that matter? I’ve always been happier with you. Now I’m just - I’m…I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

Your voice tapers off. You just feel so stupid. Young, stupid. Sifting through the ashes of your relationship, desperate to salvage the bits that hadn’t burned to dust. 

Unshed tears blur your vision. You clench your jaw, determined to not break down completely. Yoongi's features twist, his heart weakened by your pathetic appearance, and for a fleeting moment you can see past his unyielding veneer.

“Kitten,” it’s spoken softly, so softly you can pretend it’s a term meant solely for you. 

You can see he regrets saying it as soon as the word tumbles out, unbidden. A slip of the tongue. Yet, you latch onto the sliver of comfort offered before he can take it back.

As soon as you step into his personal space, your world shifts on its axis and adjusts. You feel all the floaty parts of yourself slot into place as they were meant to be. 

“Yoongi, I miss you.” 

When he stares into your eyes, you don’t look away, hoping he’ll see the truth for what it is. How those three words fail to sum up the extent of your never-ending yearning. 

“It’s for the best,” he says. Still, he allows you to take his free hand in between your own. It’s cold to the touch, like his skin is carved from marble, but it only makes you squeeze tighter, hoping your warmth will be enough for the both of you.

“Maybe.”

If life was a chess board, with set rules and clear winners, maybe you’d relent and accept that there was a better fit for you somewhere out there. Someone who was emotionally available, who made time for you, and gave you the validation you needed.

You didn’t start dating Yoongi expecting these things, though.

“But what relationship is perfect?” You demand hotly, fire in your veins. “I’ve never wanted that from you. I don’t care about that. You said I didn’t want love. That’s not true. I don’t believe what you gave me wasn’t love.”

Yoongi listens, patient as always. He takes another drag from his cigarette and silence hangs in the air, heavy with want and regret.

“It’s not fair to you.” He looks away, weak. “I feel like I can do anything and get away with it. I don’t want to have that kind of power over you.”

Your mind races as it processes his confession. It’s the first time he’s phrased it in other terms than ‘you should’, ‘you deserve’, you, you, you.

“I don’t…can’t we work out this out together? Is it easier for you to shut people out than fix things? Was it… was it that easy breaking up with me?”

“It’s not easy.” He wets his lips. “It hasn’t been easy. I only - I’ve only wanted what was the best for you. What I thought would be the best for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I was hurt, though.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand back. The touch is everything you remember - secure, comforting, reassuring.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never wanted that.”

“I know.”

A pause and then, whispered in the night for only you to hear, “I’m afraid I’ll keep hurting you.”

“Whatever you’ve done in the past… It hurts more now, when we’re apart.”

He swallows audibly but his eyes never leave yours. In them, you see your emotions reflected. Logic and facts are meaningless now. The love you'd tried to smother out blazes into a wildfire, so untameable and overwhelming Yoongi can only get caught in it.

When you stand on your toes and lean in to press your lips against his, he doesn't move to stop you. What remains of his cigarette falls to the floor by his feet, forgotten.

.

.

.

It’s disgustingly easy falling back into bed with Yoongi. You’re partly to blame, though, for having built your world around him, for programming your body to only respond to him. When he kisses you and your knees go weak, you can’t imagine anyone else getting you this keyed up. His hands play you with as much skill as a virtuoso masters his instrument, plucking sigh after sigh of pleasure from your lips.

“These are cute.”

His thumb plays with the small bow adorning the front of your brand new pair of underwear. A self-care gift to yourself. They'd looked nice when you'd tried them on but now they look slightly out of place - the ruffled, pale pink fabric a stark contrast against his black bed sheets.

“Yeah…” You lift your hips, trying to entice him without needing to voice out your needs. “Wanted to get laid tonight.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi smiles but there’s an edge to it. He laughs as he snaps the band of your lace underwear against your hipbone. “You planned on bringing any old guy home tonight?”

Yoongi doesn't get jealous. But - sometimes - he gets weirdly possessive, intent on reminding you how only he affects you. It's silly, this need for validation, especially because you've never shied away from telling him how much you want him. You suppose that's just another difference between the two of you - you speak love in words, him through actions.

“Uh-huh. Wanted to forget.”

“Hmm.”

His hands continue to map out your body. He's lazy about it, like time isn't important - even though the both of you have to be up by seven to catch your morning lectures.

“Found someone but - wasn’t fun. Only thought about - ah - you.”

“He would’ve been so lucky, though. Look at you.” His hands travel up your thighs, opening up your legs further so that you’re exposed shamelessly. “So fuckin' pretty.”

Your mind flickers back to the guy you'd danced with earlier. You can't even remember what he looks like, let alone his name. All you know is that no one in that club you could have gone home with tonight could ever measure up to this.

“You still get so wet, kitten.” Yoongi kisses down your neck while deft fingers slide under the band of your underwear. He swipes through the small puddle of arousal, his fingers ice cold against your heat.

A moan escapes your lips, your hips pushing down against his hand in search for more friction. He lets you do as you please for a few drawn out seconds before pinning your hips in place, growling against your ear in warning.

“Tell me,” He forces you to hold his stare. “Would you have let him play with your pussy, hm?”

You bite your lips, hesitant. “N-no.”

“Liar.” Yoongi kisses you, tongue pressing against your own, until you can’t think straight. “You think he would’ve gotten you this wet? Sopping like this?”

His fingers thrust harder to prove his point, loud squelches ringing in your ears. It’s so fucking embarrassing to hear the proof of your desire but Yoongi smirks, amused by your discomfort.

“No, no.” You moan, pussy clamping to keep him buried deep. “Only y-you. I’m yours.”

“That’s right, kitten. I trained your pussy to take cock, get it this fuckin’ wet.” He yanks off your new - now sodden - pair of underwear and stares between your legs, famished. A shiver runs down your spine, each filthy word going straight to your core. "Gonna make you squirt all over my tongue. Remind you who this pussy belongs to."

"Fuck." You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid that the image of Yoongi's head between your thighs will be enough material to push you over.

"Look at me." Yoongi slaps your thigh, his expression unforgiving. "You're gonna watch me while I eat this pussy."

You nod, already half delirious. You know you're no match for his tongue - a fact he loves reminding you the best way he knows how. Before meeting Yoongi, you'd always been wary of the idea of oral sex. What if you smelled weird? Looked weird? You'd never imagined a guy could actually get off eating you out but Yoongi literally thrives off the sounds you make when his lips are attached to your throbbing clit. He wants you loud, neighbors be damned.

"Cum whenever you want," he instructs, lowering his head so that he's eye level your soaked cunt. Hunger is set deep on every line of his face, the muscles in his jaw tense from having to hold himself back.

You blink, not believing him for a second.

"Cum," he challenges, his pupils dark with arousal. "But I'm not gonna stop until you're begging for my cock."

[scara-meow-che]

❥⠀FEATURING⠀ⵓ⠀ kaeya, childe, zhongli, xiao, diluc and albedo with a sick gn! s/o

❥⠀DETAILS⠀ⵓ⠀SFW, drabbles, you're basically sick and they take good care of you

❥⠀NOTES⠀ⵓ⠀hello, so i was busy the whole day and felt lethargic as usual (i'm really anemic and i need iron cock in my body but i can't even stand up for more than 5 minutes let alone dash to a nearby pharmacy which is more than a 10 minute walk) so i thought of these drabbles with our genshin men together with their sick s/o!

you were feeling under the weather today, having been exposed to changing temperatures as you went out to travel under the blazing sun and would settle for the night with a cold breeze of air blanketing your whole form. the fact that you also run in caffeine instead of getting more rest lowers your immune system and now you're laid helpless in bed, a blanket settled on top of your whole body, nose so clogged you struggled to breath through them and lips just stutters with every shaky breath as you tries stopping yourself from making your throat sore by coughing.

you know too well the struggles of being sick and it would be such a headache handling it alone. but, you knew that you aren't alone, not when you expect someone to come dashing through the doors.

"i thought you were busy today?" you teased kaeya while eyeing the bag he carries along with him. he huffs, frowning at your poor state. "jean informed me of your sick cute self so i was told to leave early." as much as he wants to think of a witty comeback, his heart can't bear to see what used to be an energetic and bratty f/n all slumped down in bed, hair disheveled and eyes watering from how tired you must be. without a word said, you can feel in his actions how much he cares, visibly struggling to fight back every coo and jokes thrown at him. "stop moving around and let me take good care of you." kaeya muttered when he gives you some soup (even to the point of feeding it ro you) without any complaints. that obviously made you soft so you let him be.

"awe we can't fight today?" childe jests with this cringy puppy eyes he often use to tease you. he thought he'd get a similar reaction as he often receieves from you but you were too weak to just glare at him, being all soft and raised both hands and asked "can we cuddle?" in such a soft voice. childe looked at the side, embarrassed at how adorable you were that he felt his heart thump loud inside his chest. with a laugh, he walked at your side, pulling off his shoes and shifted his tall frame besides yours "only if this cuddle can cure you then i won't kind doing it."

xiao immediately frowns as he entered the door, observing the gentle rise and fall of your chest when your eyes slowly closes in to sleep, showing how the minutes had passed since you started waiting for him. he heard your strained voice calling out his name that causes him to leave his post and went straight back to your shared room. he was worried, of course, who wouldn't be when he can feel from miles away your poor condition? as so, he sits down beside you and gently stroke your hair, feeling your skin burning up. his mind panicked for a moment, wanting to pour water on you but stopped as he knew that wasn't the way to help you at all. so he leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and decided to look for some medicines that can help you from your sickness.

"darling?" zhongli calls from behind the door, feet gently tapping across the floor as he brings you some herbal tea. "i kept hearing you coughing so i thought this might help ease out the tension fron your throat." you nodded and gratefully taking in the cup filled with warm beverage. the faint scent of honey soothes your senses and you slowly took sips until you finished it all. throughout the wntire time, zhongli watches you and sees if there are anymore ways he can help you but you shook your head and patted the empty space beside you. "i'd love it if you can stay with me for a moment." he nods but of course, that short moment lasted longer than you thought.

the moment the door swifts open, you have to embrace yourself from the casted shadow on diluc's expression, obviously worried and quite disappointed because of overworking yourself to the point you got sick. "i told you that you should've went back home after you visited that family." he knew of your endeavors but not pried too much as he gives you your privacy. diluc had always been attentive and dots on you when he can, when he's not busy working. "i'm sorry." you looked down, regretting at how you pushed yourself in going further than you're supposed to. but he can never be mad, not that long so he moves to your side, putting both his hands on your cheeks and pressed his forehead on your hot ones. "as much as i want to kiss you, i want you to get better first so let's change into something more comfortable and i'll serve you one dish that you want. but promise me that you'll take some medicine after."

albedo already knew how to cure you of your sickness and searches for the bottle of syrups he made specifically to high fever and a fatigued body. he immediately exits his office and trudges through your shared room where he thought you'd be sleeping. but you weren't, opted to read a book while thick blankets pooled around your body. he chuckle s at how cute you were, gently knocking at the door and you saw him. you mirrored his smile but your heart could already leap out your chest when you saw how prepared he was to take good care of you. albedo walks towards you and placed a kiss on your burning cheeks and sat down beside you, placing some bottles of medicine at the side accompanied by water and some biscuits. "try eating these first then let's get you settled, yeah?"

←⠀masterlist⠀ ++ ♡ ++ ⠀main menu⠀→

[fantrollhoard]

[ cerise belongs to @alienarmada ]

>What the fuck just happened. 

You really weren't completely sure yourself. 

All you currently knew was that Cerise was back in the area, for reasons you didn’t know.  You had hoped to never see her again, but it seemed as if fate had different ideas.

You ran into her during a brief walk through the woodsy area of your neighborhood, the same one you always took when there was too much on your mind. At first you weren’t sure it was even her until she walked closer to you. You were going to try to ignore her, but the fact that she was in your neck of the woods rubbed you the wrong way. You asked her what she was doing here, and why she wasn’t with Fyero, since the last time you checked the two were inseparable. She gave you a snide remark at the question, and while normally your impulse control was pretty decent, hearing her speak to you the way she did was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Before you could even think about what you were even doing you had charged at her, reeling back a fist fueled by all the frustrations and sheer hatred you had carried for her in your heart. She was the reason your life had gone to shit. The reason you lost everyone you had thought cared about you. The reason why you had been so uncomfortably alone for a sweep. She was the very troll that was, and you quote, better than you in every way. And you hated her with every fiber of your being.

Your fist collided with her torso, however, you had left yourself completely open for her counterattack. She grabbed you and quickly swung you around by the collar. Seconds later she hit you straight in the face with her cold, metal arm, sending you skidding backwards on the ground after a less than graceful fall. Broken nose and bleeding mouth aside, you opted for a verbal assault instead of getting yourself into a fight you were almost certain to lose.

To add insult to literal injury, she denied knowing you, Fyero, or anything about the situation she had put you through. 

How did she not remember? Forgetting a date or a name is one thing, but forgetting an entire ordeal was just something you couldn’t wrap your head around. Nothing about what she was saying to you made any sense.

So, you screamed at her, shouting out all the things you had wished you had told her forever ago. You told her she was a hive wrecking, good for nothing down right dirty piece of garbage, how what she was saying was utter bullshit, how she ruined your life, as well as some other things you honestly didn’t recall verbatim in the red haze of your repressed anger. While you were yelling, you hadn’t noticed she had slowly closed the distance between the two of you. You continued to scream, figuring if she was going to beat you to death you might as well give her all you all had to say.

She didn’t punch you again, but you had almost wished she had. She instead crouched down, grabbing your bloodied face with her hands and yanking you into a disgusting snog. Before you could protest this, she hopped back up as quickly as she had come down and gave yet another snide comment, and an ear grating au revoir with a promise to visit later. After she was done with whatever bullshit she was up too. 

>Welp

You currently sat in the same spot she had left you, simply trying to process the events that had transpired. It had felt nice to have your small piece of revenge, if you could really call what happened revenge. Regardless, it was a small weight off your shoulders, which was quickly replaced with a sinking confusion. Where was Fyero? Why didn’t she remember anything about him? What was she doing here? Millions of questions flooded your thinkpan as you sat in the grass. You had a sinking feeling life was about to get a lot more complicated…

[proshiphannibal]

Will being taken care of by Hannibal for so long he doesn’t mind it so more much anymore. He gets to stay home now and read books he actually likes instead of case files. He gets to try new hobbies and eat new foods. He doesn’t miss the motels, or the excessive traveling, or grading papers, or the judgmental people.

He misses people the least of all. He’s never felt better since going without masking. No forced eye contact, no tone policing.

Most days it’s just him, Abigail, and his service dog. Just the way he likes it.

[spiritrxns]

Before I forget and go to bed I wanted to repost here a drabble I wrote and posted on Gil. It’s more relevant here because in includes the Master OC I’ll be adding to this blog. Enjoy it under the cut!

The finer details never really mattered. Not after the disastrous revelation. A decent Mage with the fate of humanity in his hands along with the skeleton crew remains of Chaldea. Not exactly the most promising thing. But with the resources at their disposal, limited though they were, there was still glimmers of hop within the crushing darkness. So the young Mage, with the Doctor's help, gamed the system for summoning Servants. If all that was left was to fight for humanity's future then he wanted to bring as much overwhelming force to the table as possible.

So there he was standing in a uniform of white flanked by two Servants swathed in darkness. One a dark knight plagued by madness and the other the black shadow of a king. Ultimately...he was disposable. So why not be as vicious as possible? With the darkened shadows of Lancelot and King Arthur what challenge could be posed in their way?

Supporting both Servants was straining, yes, but it was a small price to pay. When it came to their enemies, there was no reasoning. No negotiating. Only brutal force back-lit by the screaming of the mad knight. There was a certain elegance to the brutal efficiency with which his Servants tore down their foes. Bluster and posturing soon gave way to despair as dark blades sang songs of destruction through the air.

The first time he used them in battle, the young Master thought he was going to die. The strain brought him to his knees as his body felt like it was immolating from the inside out. But it was over in moments and a heavy, gauntlet-covered hand had lain upon his shoulder as the blackened king hauled him to his feet again. A momentary meeting of the pale woman's hard gaze was all he needed to be reassured of a simple thing: they would not permit him to fall so ignobly.

No mercy. No respite. Such were luxuries they could not afford. The young Mage was soon of the mind that you either joined them, got out of the way, or perished. Overwhelming strength and power were the keys to victory. Saber Alter and Berserker were his links to both of those. For their victory there was no price to high to pay.

Dreams were crushed and ground to so much meal beneath their boots. For those dreams were not worthy of seeing life. No matter the odds, the young Master would not bow his head and succumb. He could not, after all, afford to embarrass himself before a king. Such weakness would not be tolerated, she had made that much clear.

The blackened Excalibur cleaved through the final familiar to stand against them, the body dissipating into motes energy. Another battle won in what seemed an endless stream of fodder. “Whoever the master of these minions is seems determined on wearing down our strength,” the young Mage commented idly.

“A wasted effort,” Alter said curtly. “These familiars are as a trail of breadcrumbs right to his door.”

“Well no one said this guy was particularly sound-minded,” the Master replied. “Isn't that right, Berserker?”

The black knight simply let out a growling sound muffled by his helmet, the visor gleaming a sickening red with the vocalization.

“See? He agrees.”

The young Master was keenly aware of just how lucky he was that Berserker did not see Alter as a proper form of King Arthur. Were that the case, putting them in so much as spitting distance of each other would be disastrous. But luck was one thing the Master had on his side. He knew that Roman and Mashu worried about him. About the state of his mind. But he was fine, wasn't he? Softness was simply a route to failure. A sure path to humanity's destruction. They were all simply tools to mankind's salvation. His future, his dreams, his wants...none of those mattered. In service to the greater good of the future of humanity he would give it all up and that fact, in his mind, was cemented by the choice of Servants he summoned: a pair of hollowed engines of destruction.

He knew he had changed since the summoning. He had hardened his heart and soul for the daunting tasks. Singularities like the one they were in the midst of. Even small events like this needed to be dealt with so they would not balloon into world-shattering catastrophe.

He regarded the two Servants he had come to rely on the best. Saber Alter was in his view first. A walking weapon, for sure. An empty shell of a being who seemed to live only to destroy. Only to crush what was before, what stood against her. Her dreams, her wants, her desires were all meaningless to her. The Master drew some twisted sense of strength from that. As a means to harden himself to the world. He could never match her prowess, no, but perhaps he could match how cold and callous she was. Her lack of pity and empathy. Hell he was already blackening. The thought of the sickly black patches coloring around his command seals brought mirthless laughter to his mind. Overworking himself was causing it along with straining his magic circuits to manage two powerful Servants at full yield.

Would he even live long enough to see everything done? Did it even matter?

His eyes turned to Berserker, ever the watchful eyes of the trio. The blackened knight had an extraordinary way of reacting to threats even when seemingly at full rest. Though perhaps such a state did not exist for the madman. Mad he was, certainly, but he never once let harm come to the young magus. No matter what. There was something to be said in that. Something to take away from the shreds of decency within the cloud of madness that surrounded Lancelot.

A motley trio they made but they were effective. They could save the world. He was sure of that. He had to be. There was no turning back now. No different choices to make. He chose the hard road. The road of no mercy and unrelenting force.

He would own that. And win. Again. And again. And again.

[naughtystiel]

It wasn’t raining.

For some reason whenever Dean thought of this day, he imagined the sky to be covered with heavy dark clouds. Clearly this wasn’t the case. Instead, everything seemed so lively. Spring brought chirping birds, vividly coloured flowers began to bloom and the sun shone brightly high in the sky. The few people gathered around wore light jackets so it really had to be a beautiful day. He wished he could feel the warmth on his skin too.

A priest stood on the opposite end of the deep hole and Dean grimaced. He had never been a religious man and he wasn’t going to listen to anything that was coming out of the priest’s mouth now either. Meandering between people, he walked further away. Yeah, Lord have mercy and rest in peace o’wayward son.

So, where did he go from here?

“Hello.” Somebody said next to him, but Dean didn’t even bother to look. They weren’t talking to him anyway. They couldn’t be. With arms loosely crossed over his chest, he looked skywards. It was a beautiful day.

“Dean?”

Dean looked to the side, an eyebrow raised. A man in his thirties observed him, hands tucked in his dress pants. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

The man nodded his chin towards the priest, “Heard him mention a Dean, so I’m guessing that must be you. Nice suit.” He smiled and Dean looked down at his outfit. Suits weren’t exactly his thing, but he didn’t really think to make a will and they shoved him in this. Did they even bury people in plaids? Probably.

“That would be me, indeed.” Dean tilted his head to the side and scanned the graveyard. Interesting. “Are you dead too? I guess you gotta be.”

The man hummed, “Mmm, you could say so.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Was that a yes or a no? “So, is it just you and me or is anybody else here with us?”

“Nah, they moved on.”

“And you?"

“In the process.”

“I see.”

They both stood in silence, watching the ceremony. A few roses got dropped into the hole. A nice gesture, but it was a waste of money. They could at least put it on top once the casket was actually covered with dirt.

Low rumble disrupted the quiet. “How are you feeling?”

Dean splayed his arms and shrugged. “I mean, I’m dead. I don’t really know.”

The man turned his head towards Dean. “Okay, lemme ask you this - what’s on your mind? Anything particular?”

Now that was a good question. Nothing. A lot. First thing that came to mind was that he wouldn’t be able to see that new Indiana Jones movie he was so looking forward to. But that was just stupid, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his regrets? Unfinished business? “I wish I could feel the sun on my cheeks.”

“Ah, that I can agree with. The sunset kind. Not too sharp, soft like a gentle veil that droops over your face.” The man gave him a small smile and Dean nodded.

“You see that tall guy there? The tallest of them all. My brother. Last time I saw him we argued.” Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I guess it kinda bothers me that this is how he’s gonna remember me now.”

“Probably not. Usually when a person dies you remember the good things. Unless of course the bad outweighed the good which I don’t think is the case here.” The man scuffed the tip of his polished shoe in the dirt. “Grieving is complicated, it messes with your head. I bet you heard about how it usually progresses but personally I think it’s more like jumping back and forth between the steps. It does pass though.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

The man shrugged, his dark lock tousled by gentle breeze. He kept his gaze down, chewing on his bottom lip. “Only stating the facts. Anything else bothering you?”

just a snippet of "the art of moving on" which i might work on more in the future. and if i do, it wont be very long but i think itd be worth exploring :)

[advernia]

A soldier and fear - how can those two things go together? You can put me to the proof.

Once upon a time there was a soldier that had fought years of war without despair or complaint. He fought well and bravely stormed the front lines whenever his general called upon him, and when peace had finally been achieved; his general called upon him one silent night and said:

¬ It is finished, our country shall finally know rest and men and women and children shall speak of peace for centuries come. You and I have done well, and so have all those that have departed. Now you and I are free.

¬ Free? What do you mean?

¬ Now that this land is free from war's chains, we are yet again ordinary men, and ordinary men choose their own obligations. Your sword you shall now wield for your name and yours only until you see fit, and your blood shall no longer flow as part of this country's heart. Freedom is a reward as much as it is a burden, and it is up for you decide which form it shall take.

Now it so happened that the brave soldier had no home or family to return to. So to the general he had fought together with for years, he had asked:

¬ Then where shall I go?

With his sword strapped to his back the soldier went forth into the world, taking along with him what was left of his provisions and the sack of gold that was given to him as a reward for his service. By foot he decided to head south, towards the country where it was said that spring thrived all year long.

¬ What spring is I shall endeavor to learn, for all I have known is the bite of the winter snow.

But no sooner than he had left the borders he encountered a hound on its lonesome, shivering from the sheer cold in a hovel. With haste he stripped himself of his mantle and covered the poor animal with it, and with bandages he made a small cot.

¬ What I would do to give you a warm bed and a roaring fire, little one, ¬ but alas! Forgive me, for this is all I can spare.

Now the soldier continued to travel in this manner until he had come to a point that all his provisions he had given away to the animals he took pity on in the wild. Finding respite in a frozen glade; he sat down on the roots of a large tree and began to think over his fate.

¬ I have walked for days end and all I have left my sword, a map, and a sack of gold; ¬ a village is near reach, but how bitter the cold grows! ¬ Perhaps I shall not learn what spring is, after all.

All at once there was a rustling, and when the soldier had stood in full attention a strange person stood tall before him, dressed in a robe of a deep dark green with its hood covering the draping over the person's face. The strange fellow said:

¬ Listen well, for I shall tell you what I had seen for days end: there was a soldier who had given away his mantle and bandages to a shivering hound when he could've wrapped his wide back and frozen knuckles with them; ¬ a soldier who had given away his jerky to a skulk of foxes then a herd of deer when he could've skinned all their fur for warmth and roasted their meat; ¬ and a soldier who had given away his herbs to a trapped wolf then a struggling cub when he could've used them for his blistered feet and chapped skin. ¬ Now you shall tell me what I see before my eyes, ¬ I see a foolish man before me, money and sword he has but close he was to drifting off and catching himself into the winter's cold embrace. Do you agree?

To this, the soldier replied:

¬ The soldier you had seen for days end and the foolish man before you are one and the same, ¬ money and sword he has, but freedom he also possesses. ¬ The bite of winter I had learned to accept during my days and nights, ¬ so it is no skin off my back, to help such creatures in their plight. ¬ Were I to be captured by the winter, it is then I am a true fool; ¬ for years of war had not claimed me, but simply sleep had become my lure.

The strange person laughed so hard that their shoulders shook violently, causing the hood to fall away from their features. The soldier had been talking to a man; a man with long hair the color of the night and sharp eyes a strange pinkish hue; like the flesh of a pomegranate. The stranger laughed and laughed and when he had gotten his fill, he said:

¬ Is that so? Very well! ¬ Then look behind you.

The soldier did as he was told and he saw a large bear approaching the glade, growling and baring its large teeth.

¬ Let us see what will take ahold of you first.

— bearskin. | 1815

1: post-reading notes here! 2: tl;dr: bearskin is about a soldier who encounters the devil when he was in despair what do with his life. the devil challenges the soldier's bravery, and in response the soldier kills a bear that was about to charge at him. with the bear dead, the devil is satisfied and offers the soldier as much riches as he wanted, as long as 1) he would wear the skin of the slain bear over himself, 2) he would not shave, bathe, cut his nails + hair, change clothes, say the Lord's prayer, and 3) he would do all this for seven years straight. thinking this to be a deal that would not do him harm, the soldier agrees; and thus his moniker over his years of wandering, bearskin.

[bitemedotmp3]

 🌀

36. — conditional

"Uzi, I'd like to ask you something."

Despite her rebellious nature, Uzi can admit it feels kind of nice when an adult is actually paying attention to you, even when it's one as uptight as Aurelius is. He even brought her a a pack of batteries- a thank-you for her Christmas gift, maybe? She doesn't remember ever telling him she can use them, but why complain?

"Shoot," she says, sticking a AA in her mouth.

He stares for a moment. "Two questions now, but one can wait."

"They give me a little charge. You couldn't live off them but it sparks some reward circuits. Tastes good."

"That is truly interesting," says Aurelius, and his tone is so neutral that Uzi can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. "But I was actually curious about something I've heard you say several times. Something about a 'Robo-God' and, more confusingly, 'Robo-Jesus.' Are those- No, that's the wrong question. Uzi, do you believe?"

She finds it kind of hard to meet his intense gaze, because it's communicating very clearly that he does, to whatever degree those things exist in his world. So it's her turn to adopt that neutral tone, or at least try to.

"I'll be honest, this kind of thing isn't my area of expertise, but... I guess there's two parts to it. So like, humans usually think of god as the guy who made them, right? And he gave them a bunch of rules and told them to obey or get punished?"

"That is... A questionable way of putting it, but I suppose it can be forgiven, in the circumstances."

"Right. So to drones, that's humans. We already know who made us, and it used to be that if we didn't do what they said, they'd shut us down. So humans are like, drone gods, but we don't worship them." She plucks another battery from the packaging, wiggling it between her fingers. Proof of intelligent design, they created robots that ran off of fuel they also created. Also proof of capitalism.

Aurelius is silent for a few moments, his severe features relaxing in gentle thought. "So 'Robo-God' refers to humans?"

"Well, that's the second part. When all the humans died, worker drones just kind of started copying them. And humans loved to use that guy's name in vain, so we did that too. We just added Robo to it because... I dunno. Thematically appropriate, I guess?"

"I see. The world you come from sounds fascinating, Uzi. Man was said to be created in God's image, and so man created you in their own." Aurelius leans back in his chair, closing his eyes as he collects his thoughts. For a few minutes, the only sound throughout the room is the noise of ceramic teeth biting through metal, and Uzi is content to keep it that way.

"But you do believe, in the way that's appropriate for your kind," says Aurelius, when he finally speaks again.

Something in Uzi's mind says to pick her words carefully. "I mean, it doesn't matter if I do or not. Humans existed, my dad knew some. There's literally a mental health poster in my classroom that talks about 'dealing with the knowledge that we have been abandoned by the gods that created us.' But we don't have like, a church if that's what you're asking."

"So, humans are your gods, but not Gods."

"I guess. Humans are pretty flawed, after all. They did a lot of messed-up stuff, like wars and pollution, things like that. And like I said, defective workers just got shut down and thrown away. Hardly benevolent."

There's a touch of sorrow in his face that Uzi barely notices. "That's truly a pity. Where I come from, God's love is unconditional. All of His creations are worthy of His love."

"But then he has rules. And you guys have hell, too."

The sorrow is gone, and now he's bristling a tiny bit. "It's hardly His fault if some should turn away from Him, in the same way that a father cannot control his son."

"I guess if you saw your god die, you'd feel a little differently about it," says Uzi, shrugging. "Especially if he was kind of a dick about everything."

She's out of batteries now, and she doesn't really want to talk about religious stuff, anyways. "Look, I'm literally just a teenager, so I'm not the person to talk to about this kinda stuff. I don't care about god, I just wanna make out with my boyfriend. Seems like you have some... intense feelings about this."

The tenseness in his face melts away. "I suppose you're right. It wouldn't be fair to you if I were to vent my frustration on your words. After all, all of our experiences are limited in their own way. But I appreciate you indulging me, Ms. Doorman."

She groans. "For the- I said just call me Uzi. Anyways, I wanna know something about your world now. It's only fair, right?"

"I don't have a problem with that. Ask away."

"Cool. You guys got video games over there? I heard about this thing called Fortnite, and I wanna try it out but I can't figure out where it comes from. If you know, you gotta tell me!"

There's a small smile on Aurelius' lips. "It's comforting to know that teenagers are the same no matter where you go, I think."

Uzi doesn't know what he means by that, but she's not hearing a no about the Fortnite thing.

[slashisms]

Slashers First Time Seeing S/O’s Nipple Piercings

X

Minors DNI.

Michael Myers: Congratulations, you have his undivided attention, which is bad news. You should have locked your bedroom door. He would have barged in anyway and you would’ve had to buy another lock, but you could’ve delayed the discovery of his new favorite toy. You wouldn’t escape him for hours that night. Make your bras scarce or they’re going missing. He’s 100% Free the Nipple, enlightened by the sight of iridescent barbells running through your buds. Hope you like having your boobs pinched and twisted by his rough, massive hands. You complain that they’re sensitive, but he enjoys the noise you make because of it. It’s also his new favorite place to cum, don’t bother trying to stop him. Just stop protesting, it turns him on. He starts to steal jewelry from high end stores because you’re obviously concerned about metal quality of jewelry coming from Michael, who is frequently a dirty, bloody mess. You look up the engraving on a pair and the comma in the price tag seems like compensation enough.

Jason Vorhees: Absolutely scandalized. He didn’t even know people could put jewelry there! Practically faints when you describe the process. You let them stab you with a needle twice? Why?! The only one you’ll have to encourage to look at you. He’s suspiciously scarce whenever you’re undressing, so you may have ambushed him. You push your chest into his view and say, “Because they’re pretty!” He glances down at the gold jewel encrusted hearts encasing your nipples and helplessly agrees. He will not touch them, much too afraid to hurt you. Secretly loves when you play with them, especially while riding him. Confront him on his not-so covert glances (It’s adorable how he can’t manage to peek even with a mask.) and he’ll go missing, sometimes for days and come back covered in blood.

Bo Sinclair: He’s speechless, but not for long. It’s a sweltering day and you refused to be anywhere near a bra or put on more than a flimsy tank top. The sight of you bouncing down the steps, breasts swaying and encircled in two hoops had him trailing off mid greeting, eyes darting to your chest and face like he couldn’t believe his eyes. He never would have expected that type of piercing on someone like you, so sweet and shy. Because he’s a bastard, it doesn’t take long for him to start in on the sex shaming. You roll your eyes and make an offhand comment that if he ever wanted to see you with your top off, he better shut up. It’s almost funny, how quickly he not-quite apologizes. Unfortunately for many dead feminists, he seduces you into fucking on the table where you’re much more amenable to his filthy drawl when he’s got your legs on his shoulders, drilling into you mercilessly. If you cum when he calls you his “dirty fucking whore,” that’s no one’s business, but your own.

Brahms Heelshire: Let’s be honest, he saw them long before you knew he existed. He’s spying on you undressing before a shower, because he’s a pervert, but also British (Derogatory) so he’s repressed about it. Nice girls don’t pierce those places, he tries to tell himself. He fails miserably and jerks off furiously, picturing the sparkle of the opal butterflies sculpting your pebbled nipple. When he finally gets to touch you, he’s obsessed, constantly begging you to let him get his mouth on them. He’ll beg you to sit in his lap while he rocks into you, face buried in your chest and lips wrapped around your nipple. His tongue curls greedily over the jewelry, hips pummeling desperately into you until you’re both cumming. Then he insists you cock warm him, unwilling to stop sucking and biting marks into your skin. You will have to pry him off of you because he’ll whine pitifully and ignore your complaints about being sore. He’ll keep his mouth latched onto you for hours if you let him, grinding against you and playing with your clit. The man has a Mommy kink visible from space so if you’re willing to indulge him, he’s a insufferable brat. Good Luck.

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher: Literally fist fighting each other to get to you. [“Move, bitch!” Tiktok]. You watch, amused and a little horrified when they start shoving the other out of the way, trying to get their hands on you first. Your earlier reluctance as you looked over your outfit and the very obvious flower shaped jewelry poking through your crop top was completely unnecessary. The two of them are Peak ‘My girl can wear whatever she wants, I can fight” Energy and are constantly encouraging you to dress more promiscuously. They hadn’t been expecting this though, not with how polite and quiet you were. Despite being shorter, Billy gets to you first due to the vicious punch he delivers to Stu’s kidney. “Babe.” He starts, looking at you before stopping and glaring at your boobs, fingers crawling under your top and caressing the warm metal.

You notice Stu creeping behind you and put a stop to it, hyper aware of their intention to strip you. You regret your stubbornness twenty minutes later when they’re fondling you in public, grinning evilly when a passerby sees them and looks away. They’re fascinated. (And may have been on the fence about killing you before this. Now, you’re way too interesting. Congrats, I guess, you’ve got two killers wrapped around your finger.)

[scara-meow-che]

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[fantrollhoard]

>Don’t let the self-doubt set in.

You had just recently woken up, thankfully you had fallen asleep in your coon for once, and were fully rested. Well, kind of? You spend the previous evening kept awake with thoughts, what ifs, worst case scenarios, you know the good stuff. You hadn’t left your hive for roughly a sweep and a half, aside from the occasional trips to the market or shopping center you take roughly every perigee. Despite that fact you had never been to an event so large in your entire life. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You take a moment to check the time on your cellphone, the ball was in a matter of hours and you hadn’t even begun to get ready. Shit. You observe yourself in the mirror, leaning in you critique your face. Had you always had eyebags this big? Were you breaking out at a time like this? You give a groan as your focus turns to your body. Had you gained weight? You were always a little chubby, and normally it didn’t really bother you much, but now you were feeling hyper self-conscious, and were mentally picking at every aspect of your appearance. Did you really even want to go to this thing? You knew full well there was going to be so many fancy trolls there, much more attractive than yourself. No no stop it, you were going to this! You promised yourself that you would go, one night wouldn’t be the end of the world maline, come on! But… you were super awkward, you don’t know how to hold a conversation to save your life… You furrow your brows and look yourself in the face in the mirror, holding a pointed finger to the reflection.

“You got this! You’re going! Its gonna be fun! You got this!”

Despite your brief self pep-talk, you still felt, horribly anxious. You take a deep breath and splash some cold water on your face and rub your eyes. You blindly reach for a nearby washcloth and wipe the water off. You set said washcloth down on the edge of your sink and walk into your Respiteblock, grabbing the dress you had bought solely for the event.

>Get ready.

You start with your makeup, you place your messy bedhead into a ponytail, and slip on a headband to keep any stray hairs from intruding your canvas.  You apply a layer of primer to your skin and rub it in with two fingers, followed by a light powder foundation. You decide not to do anything horribly flashy for this and instead go with a simple eyeshadow winged eyeliner duo. It takes you several tries to get your wing just right. Why was getting them to look right so hard? Couldn’t go wrong with the basics though right? You apply a light layer of tinted blush to your cheeks and blend it in with your brush. Now, what else, let’s see. Ah! Lipstick! You hadn’t worn it in a while, so you figure why the hell not. You apply the black lipstick in a smooth motion rubbing your lips together. You blot off any excess with a napkin and make some minor touch ups before moving on to your hair.

Why was your hair so thick? You had given some thought into cutting it sometime soon, but that would come at a later date. You struggle to brush out any knots before reaching for a straightener. Despite your best efforts your hair kept its natural wave, so you opt into an updo instead. You tuck your mess into a mostly neat bun that rested atop your head, pulling down some of the extra and curling it loosely  to frame your face.

Ok, outfit time. You slide on an undergarment to help smooth out some of your chub, as well as your only pair of thigh high tights that didn’t have rips on the knees, accompanied by a garter to keep them in place then slip on your dress. It was rather simple, you weren’t much for bright colors or poof. It was an ombre gown, fading up from your blood color to a simple black, covered in a subtle glitter that was only apparent in the light.  The hip high slit on the right leg was held together by a small golden pin with your symbol. You were positive it was gold over silver, much like most of your jewelry, but you thought it was a nice touch.

You take a moment to look yourself over again thinking on what else you should add to the ensemble. Hmm. Oh jewelry! Duh! You reach down and grab a small box which contained, mostly body jewelry. You fish out a new septum ring, not much different than your current aside from the middle jewel and a golden necklace and place them on your person. You struggle a bit getting your current septum out of your nose, but eventually are successful. The necklace you had picked out set a bit too low on your body for your liking so you loop it around itself a few times, giving the illusion on having multiple. The small symbol rests below the bust line of your dress.

You give yourself a once over before looking back at your phones clock, you should really get a move on. You figured you looked at least halfway presentable, and it’s not like you had a date to impress anyways.  You exit your bathblock, grabbing a small handbag to keep your belongings in. You make a brief post on your chirper account before shoving your phone into the pocket.

“makeshiftRodeo chirped: cATCh me at tHe yULe bALl if yOu wANt an aSSKICKINg B):”

You head into the livingblock, jiggling your bell choker which was no longer on your person to alert you lusus to your presence. He gives a snort of acknowledgment and you shuffle over to give the lazy bison a pat on the head before speaking to him.

“Hey, uh Pa.” You were never really sure if he understood you when you spoke to him honestly,  but whatever.

“Pa I’m heading out for the night, I’ll be home, in a few hours probably? Don’t wait up for me though. I left you some greens in the garden just, don’t eat the flowers I potted ok?”

He snorts at you as you speak, flicking his tail a couple times before turning his head away from you. Was he mad that you were leaving? You could honestly never tell with this grumpy old bull. Regardless you give him another loving pat before heading for the door. You slip on your single pair of nice heels that you bought sweeps ago and head out the door, slipping your bell in your hand bag as well.

You take a deep breath as you fish your phone out again to call yourself some transportation to the event.

[naughtystiel]

Leaves of birch trees rustle when gentle wind caresses them on its way. The sound gets carried away only to be repeated when the branches sway again. All things considered, it's a beautiful day; white clouds look like feathers floating on the surface of vast blue above Dean's head. Shadows of the trees dance on the ground, mimicking a kaleidoscope. Such simple, beautiful things that you would miss if you haven't stopped to actually look. There's a small pang in Dean's chest when he stares at the vivid green blades of grass - he misses the tickling sensation of them on his fingers. A raven lands right by his feet and pecks on the ground a few times until it tilts his head curiously, its eyes staring right into Dean's. He hasn't felt seen in a very, very long time. The bird observes him and then hops even closer until it flaps its wings once, strong enough to be lifted into the air, before resting on a stone. Perhaps it's silly, but Dean just hasn't had the opportunity to talk to anybody in... a while.

"Look at my house, it is built so well. If you like the dark and can take the smell." He chuckles, a little bitterly. "My house it... It has got six foot of walls made of dirt and there's long grass swaying on my roof. And the-" Dean looks at the bird still standing there, listening. "This stone reads how long I've been gone. How long I've been gone from home." Its surface so worn out now, it's hard to read the numbers and he has lost count of the years, seasons, days that have passed. The raven shakes its feathers before it flies away and leaves Dean all alone again. He looks at it, until it becomes a tiny speck in the distance. He looks at the place longingly, the place he can't reach. "This is my house now, but Lord it ain't home."

[advernia]

The man asked, who are you. I am death, and I make all equal.

The day Jamil turned seventeen, he received a herb.

The herb was as long as his hand, its sheen a dark green, its leaves broad and scent something fresh. It was just a herb, and yet Jamil held it in between his fingers earlier with such a furrow on his brow and a frown on his lips.

"Oh, don't make that face," Najma says. "C'mon, if you don't know what it is or what it does we can just boil it or sell it."

Jamil sighs. "No need. I already know what it does."

"Huh. Then what's the problem? Who gave it you, anyway?"

"... My godfather."

"... You had a godfather?"

"Najma."

She dabs away at her eyes with a cloth, but she does not face him. Jamil crosses his arms across his chest and leans on the doorframe.

"... What do you want."

"... Your friend. Where does she live?"

Najma turns around, eyes red and glaring. Jamil does not flinch or move from where he stood, his figure ominous under the dim light.

"Why do you need to know?"

"What did you do!?"

Jamil pries Najma's shaking hands off his forearms, steps a few paces away from her. Stray strands of her hair are sticking to her sweaty face, her nose was red and running a bit. Her voice rasps with both exhaustion and shortness of breath.

"But... but... they all said... only three... three... three days left... but how...?"

Jamil looks past his sister, to the hut behind them. Through the open window one could see a family of three huddled together in a tight embrace - two adults and one healthy child in the center, all smiling and tears streaming down their faces.

"She's alive now," Jamil says, reaching out to rest a hand on top of Najma's head. "Isn't that enough?"

One day when Jamil was about to step out of the hut with a satchel strapped to his waist, Najma drops her half-woven blanket to run after her brother and tug at his sleeve.

"I'm coming with you," she says.

Jamil narrows his eyes. "You don't need to - get back to work."

"I'm going, whether you like it or not," she huffs.

They just stand there for a moment, glaring at each other until Najma pushes past Jamil and walks out of the hut.

"So where are we going?"

Light clinking sounds rung out from Jamil's satchel each step he took; no doubt coming from the pouch inside that held enough thaumarks that would feed them well for the rest of the month and then some. The sound was akin to little bells, one that Najma had her herself whistling along to as they walked their way back home.

"So its like a cure-all," Najma says. "like magic in fairy tales."

Jamil snorts at her comment.

"But both those things don't exist," he replies, moving onward.

"Hey."

"What."

"So what kind of person is your godfather, then?"

One could say that like anybody else, Jamil was a creature of habit. He was one whose mornings started with the bow and arrow at the crack of dawn, one whose afternoons were spent bargaining with the merchants of the markets and one whose evenings were knit deep with wool or thread until he had burned his midnight oil. His routine ran as steady like water and like clockwork was his every toil; but that was how he had lived the ten years of his life with his younger sister under his wing.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Najma asks him this halfway through her meal, eyes round and blinking. Jamil had not touched his own portions yet, but both were warm and fragrant under his nose.

A loaf of freshly baked white bread. Stew with generous portions of meat and vegetables.

Removing the weight tied to his waist, he sets the satchel on one end of the table then picks up a slice of bread.

"The chief was looking for you."

"It's about his son, isn't it."

"Yeah. You going?"

"You're the one halfway through the door, though."

One could say that like anybody else, Najma had read fairytales. She was one who had read about wide kingdoms and kind rulers, one who had dreamed of knights and princesses and witches, and one who had wondered about magic and miracles. These are the worlds she had traveled to when she was still a small child wrapped in the warmth of her parents' embrace, but now that she was older and able to stand up on her own, she grew wise enough to learn that her world was vastly different from those in fairytales.

Maybe that is why she gives the old lady her shawl - it is perhaps too colorful, too long, too thin; but it is received carefully and with whispers of tearful thanks.

"Let's go," Jamil tells Najma.

A nod, but Najma's eyes still linger to the old lady - the shawl that Najma gave was now being wrapped around someone else's shoulders; around a young noble boy who was too pale, too small, too frail for such a large bed.

"Can I buy some cloth? One bolt of whatever material would do. Nothing colorful either."

"What are you making?"

"Gonna try making shrouds."

Three months.

It had been three months since they had left the comfort of their hut, their village.

Three months since they have gone around the country, visiting the ill or the ill finding them.

Three months since they have been sought after by kings, queens, nobles, commoners.

Three months since Najma had been making shrouds.

Three months since Jamil had met his godfather.

Three months.

The herb was as long as his hand, its sheen a dark green, its leaves broad and scent something fresh. It was just a herb, and yet Jamil held it inside his fist with such a furrow on his brow and a frown on his lips.

"Oh, don't make that face," Najma says as she draws her hand out from under the covers to swat at her brother's arm. When Jamil would not raise his head to face her, his head still so close to lowering itself on her mattress; Najma closes her eyes and her voice becomes something small.

"Ah... Has your godfather come to visit me, too?"

— godfather death. | 1812

2: going grimm's fairytales!au ft. twst cast for this month's ficathon! the indented text above is an excerpt the actual fairytale + a link to the full tale. there's also a link tied to the fairytale's title at the end of the fic - it shows the different translations/renditions of the tale in other languages. 3: a tl;dr version: godfather death is a story about a poor man with twelve children - when he had his thirteenth child, he immediately sought out a godfather. he meets two people: god then the devil, but he makes neither of them a godfather. instead the man chooses death as his child's godfather, and when the child had grown older death gives his godchild a herb as a present. death says he will make his godchild a celebrated physician. whenever there would be a patient, death would be there too: if death stands by the patient's head, then the godchild would say that the patient could be cured with the herb death had given. however, if death would stand by the patient's feet, the godchild must say that the patient cannot be cured - the patient would be taken by death, so the godchild must not interfere. 4: and since i don't want to clutter this space anymore or flood my tags, each story comes with post-reading notes!

[bitemedotmp3]

There's been a lot on Uzi's mind recently. It would be nice if most of it was normal teenage angst, but lurking between thoughts of Christmas shopping and awkward conversations with her friends, glowing yellow eyes and stilted audio output slice into her memories, tearing pleasant thoughts to ribbons. Why is it freaking her out so much, Cyn had definitely been worse back on Copper 9.

Had she? Their clash back in their home had been over the fate of the planet, but here it was... personal. Cyn wasn't trying to crack open the crust and slurp up the planet's core (yet), she was cornering Uzi in an elevator and threatening her friends. Maybe it was just easier to distance herself from it when it was something as vague and impersonal as the universe, as opposed to her frickin' roommate.

Snowflakes fall on Uzi's visor, their jagged fractals barely visible before melting on the warm surface. The cold feels nice, keeping her processors from overheating into an anxious puddle. Some super-cool hero she'd become; now she was just worried that some edgy meat-puppet would show up at her house to put nasty fingerprints all over her stuff. She wouldn't put it above Cyn to be annoying just because.

Uzi stops walking, and no one else on the street takes notice. "Ugh," she groans. "Ughhhh."

She sags her knees and lets her head roll back. "UGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Feels a little better now. Sometimes you need a nice bitch and moan.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Uzi resumes her walk. If she gets too worked up about the Solver's stupid threats, that's as good as letting it win, so she just won't. She'll distract herself, maybe buy a new video game or music album, or maybe she can see if V's busy and-

"You."

Or maybe people on the street are about to start fighting, that would be fun to watch. Uzi looks in the direction of that venom-filled pronoun, then her eyes go hollow when she sees it's directed at her.

"Me?" she says, raising a brow.

"I've been looking for you. I knew I'd find you, I'm just glad it didn't take very long." The other speaker approaches, a girl with long, dark hair and pointed, fluffy ears atop her head. "I haven't been able to sleep well because of you, knowing you're out in this city... I won't forgive you! Not for taking my name, not for tricking people, not for trying to hurt Mika!"

Uzi looks from side to side, hoping that there's someone standing behind her that she hadn't noticed. The other passersby seem to have thinned out, leaving only her and the other girl. "I think you're confused, dude. I have no idea what you're talking about- Oh! No, I know you! You're Nier!"

Right, the girl Mika has a crush on. Uzi lets her guard down, because she's already figured this whole thing out. Nier is just confused because she became a worker drone for a bit, and Uzi's the only other one in the city. The... stuff that happened with her and Mika in the museum upset her, and now it's an issue of mistaken identity. Thankfully, this is not a work of fiction and thus the misunderstanding will be easy to clean up.

Nier's expression stiffens. "That's right... I'm Nier. You're just some... fake. And I need to get rid of you, or I won't be able to rest."

Uzi takes a step back, her boots crunching in the snow. "Hold on, I promise you've got it all wrong. I'm U-"

"Quiet! I don't want to hear it!" cries the girl, clutching her head. "I can't stop thinking about all the things you did...! You killed them, you ate them, and you tried to eat Mika! I-I can't... stop thinking about their hearts, their blood, everything you did, you... you...!"

Eyes screwed shut, Nier lets out a pained wail. Sobs wrack her voice, and Uzi turns to leave. This is definitely Nier, because the stuff she's saying lines up with the things Mika told her, but Uzi doesn't want to be around for some yandere catgirl's mental breakdown. Better to just let Mika know what's going on, so she can-

"Don't try to run! Death!"

There's a whooshing sound, and Uzi feels her feet give out from under her. No, the pain in her legs and the warning on her HUD are telling her she has no feet, and she cries out as she topples to the ground. Rolling on her back, she grits her teeth and glares daggers as Nier approaches her at a leisurely pace. As she watches, a large, ghostly figure drifts to Nier's side; a dark, humanoid shape with a flowing dress and mourning veil. Uzi's first thought is that it would look awesome on a t-shirt, and her second is Oh great, she has a Stand.

"I could have just killed her, my love..." says Death, her voice a low moan. "No need to drag this out..."

"I know, but I just want to make sure... If she ever comes back, she needs to understand that she can't just-"

"That hurt, you fucking psycho!" shouts Uzi. Oil bleeds from the stumps of her legs onto the snow below, a total waste of the precious fluid. "And you ruined my favorite boots! What's wrong with you?"

"Wh-me?!" Nier stomps to Uzi's side, looming over her. "Did you forget what you did? You're lucky I don't just cut you into pieces right now!"

"Bite me! That wasn't me, idiot!" Uzi can feel her feet are mostly repaired, and her boots too. Nice. "That was your frickin'... dronesona or whatever! It was you!"

"No, no, no! I wouldn't do those things! I'd never hurt Mika, I wouldn't... eat anyone...!"

"Join the club," groans Uzi, trying to sit up. "You were a worker drone, and you were infected, so it made you do messed-up stuff. Don't lash out at me just 'cuz you can't deal, go to therapy like a normal person."

Splashes of water fall onto Uzi's body, making her flinch. She looks up to see fat teardrops rolling down Nier's cheeks as the other girl covers her face with her hands. "No, no..." she mumbles. "I didn't, I didn't... No no no no no no no....!"

"Don't have time for this." Uzi rolls over a few times and gets to her feet, now fully repaired. "If you wanna have a breakdown over your girlfriend, do it away from me."

Nier's look of confusion stops her tears. She looks over at Uzi, brow knit in concern as Death looks from the girl, to the drone, and back. "My... girlfriend? What are you talking about...?"

Shit.

"Distraction! Bite me!" Uzi gathers a clump of snow in her hand and sends it flying with the aid of the Solver. The snowball hits the girl right in the face, and she yelps in surprise as Uzi dashes away. Behind her, Uzi can hear Death wail as her master commands her to the chase, and so she opts not to look behind her.

"Great, cool. Crazy stalker number two," pants Uzi, ducking into a side alley. She doesn't know where she's going, she just wants to take as many turns as she can to throw off her pursuers, get home, and then yell at Mika for not explaining that her frickin' roommate is also a worker drone!

Bleeding out and repair functions left Uzi with a little less than half her normal supply of oil, but it should be more than enough to get her back home. Just need to keep running, and - robo-God, she should've asked for her wings back instead of the cool telekinesis! She ducks under a broken fence and climbs a stack of boxes, starting to feel a tiny bit safer. Just enough that she can chance a glance behind her, and-

"Found youuuuuu...!"

Figures. Uzi hops as Death swings a wicked blade at her legs, hearing the whoosh of air as it sails beneath her feet. "Leave me alone!" she yells.

"Come back and face your retribution!"

"Ugh, is there someone more sensible I could talk to? Someone less murder-y?" Uzi waves her hand again, bringing a pile of garbage into Death's path. It does nothing to deter her however, and her twin scythes slice through the obstacles.

Uzi groans, rolling her eyes. "Or couldn't you at least have waited a few more days until I had time to compartmentalize my last trauma?"

"Stop mocking us!"

Facing forward, Uzi only has a moment before she collides right into Nier. The weight of her frame sends both girls sprawling, and she can hear Nier's sharp intake of breath as she lies on the ground. Don't have time to pity her, thinks Uzi, scrambling to her feet. Gotta get out, if I die here I'll be frickin' pissed!

>[SEVERE STRUCTURAL DAMAGE WARNING!]

She doesn't feel the blade slide into her back. The tip poking out from her stomach when she looks down, narrowly missing her core. A dribble of black flows out from the wound, and when she opens her mouth to cry out, the only thing she can do is cough up some oil. Death's hands grab onto her shoulders, lifting her up as Nier stands, dusting snow off her blue cloak.

"There's no point in struggling," says Nier, brushing white powder from her hair. "Not even someone like you can run from death..."

"Don't wanna hear your monologue," says Uzi, feeling oil dribble down her chin. It hurts, it hurts, and one of her eyes is replaced with a large warning symbol, but there's nothing she can do about it now. "Gloating is for losers. Unless it's me, of course."

Nier grits her teeth and leans in. Her voice is a violent whisper, and Uzi winces at her warm breath against her visor. "Why can't you just admit it? That you did something wrong, and this is what you deserve? You hurt someone important to me, and... I won't let you do it again. I'm going to make you disappear."

Uzi just rolls her eyes and dismisses the warnings in her HUD. Oil leaking, severe internal damage, please find a licensed JCJensen technician, she gets it. "How do you think Mika's gonna feel when she learns about this?"

For a moment, fear races across Nier's face, but it's soon replaced with a mixture of anger and disgust. "She doesn't need to know... When you're gone, it won't be an issue, and we'll both be happy."

Uzi laughs, which trails off into a dribbling cough. "Robo-god, she was really right about you, you have some intense inner darkness. It'd be metal if you weren't such a dumbass."

Rearing back, she spits, sending a glob of oil right onto Nier's cheek. The girl winces as it dribbles down her face and drips onto her blouse, and frowns as she brushes it away with her fingers. "Death... I'm tired of this," she says.

"People come back here, you know that! And I'm gonna tell her myself!" shouts Uzi, struggling in Death's grip. "I'm her roommate you goddamn i-"

She doesn't hear the whoosh this time. She doesn't hear anything. As Death's scythe severs Uzi's neck, her whole body goes limp. The head bounces off the nearby alley wall, and rolls to a stop near a stack of old newspapers. Her mouth is still curled in a snarl of final defiance, but her violet-yellow eyes are gone, replaced with a crimson display: FATAL ERROR.

Death drops the body with an unceremonious thump, and drifts to Nier's side. "It is done, my love..." she says. "Shall we go and tell Mika the good news?"

"Not yet..." says Nier, her eyes still fixed on the small machine's body. "Remember how her feet healed after you cut them off? I want to make sure her head doesn't do something similar..."

"As you wish... I shall remain here, in case I am needed..."

Nier gives the primal a small smile. "Thank you, Death... Thank you for everything."

A minute passes. Then five, then ten. While at first, the snow had melted as soon as it came into contact with the drone's body, it begins to pile up as her temperature lowers. At fifteen minutes, Nier finally relaxes. "I think we'll be alright now... Let's go, Death. Mika is waiting for us."

With the nod, Death dissipates into a black mist, and Nier turns to leave. The body- if you can even call it that, is simply left behind.

Within her chest cavity, Uzi breathes a simulated sigh of relief as the sound of footsteps fades. She never thought she'd be happy to have her consciousness transferred to a gross techno-organic core organ, but it means she won't have to waste time waiting for a respawn. Instead, she just pops the seal on her torso chassis and crawls out, brushing snow off her abandoned corpse.

"Man, I treated her body way nicer than she did mine... In the end, anyways," she grumbles. Skittering around on three spindly limbs, she drags her decapitated head over to her neck stump, hoping the repair function will elect to mend rather than replace altogether. Even if it's purely out of spite, she wants to get back home as soon as she can.

Uzi hops back into her chest and closes the panels. Nestling back into the core housing, she takes a few moments to reconnect all the gross fleshy bits that tether her vital components, and... waits. It's all she can do for now.

After a few minutes, she gets a small notification in the corner of her eye. A small readout that states: >///Run: fnctn ABSLTSLVR; repairmode.exe.

"Oh good," hums Uzi. "Hopefully I can get home with enough time to frickin' kill Mika's crush."