#watcher au

[leena-with2ee]

I think we don’t consider enough, that Grian wanted to be a watcher. We always talk about, how he escaped them. But I think the whole story becomes a lot more interesting and terrifying when we take into consideration that Grian wanted the watcher life. He wanted that power, he wanted to leave his human life and become one of them.

At the end of Evo he choose to join the watchers. Which means the story is not one of a cult member escaping, but of a person joining something he probably didn’t know was a cult and slowly realizing all the fucked up things going on and then escaping.

Also just the act of realizing he made the wrong choice, that he traded his life for this. Hating himself for being this dumb and joining; and now having to deal with his choice, fully knowing it was all his own fault, his own greed for power.

It becomes even worse when we start thinking about this in terms of the life series. I mean, imagine escaping a cult and being happily out of it and out of its reach (hermitcraft) and then you‘re thrusted into their power again (life series).

The horror, the angst, the flashbacks of being one of them. All of that after thinking to have escaped for good.

[dulldoll-0]

Drew some more Wallys in traditional style :3

[a-mimixuk]

I swear im alive still

these were a gift for a friend of mine :3

[tismsystem]

I love giving Sam bad karma soooooo much

[sofieartz]

[ Hermitcraft AU ]

Hey umm, so do you guys remember that one HC/Watcher AU of mine?

The one where Grian and the Watchers are nice to each other?

(Because I do)

Also, I know Grian is probably IS Xelqua canonically, but as a way to seperate my AU from the more accepted fanon.

I made Xelqua as another character / Watcher OC

[4mumbo]

grizzie req

[wishwingalpha]

Yk I had to be angsty with Scott’s creaking skin

Let’s just say I have many MANY headcanons for this. Might make a fanfic.. we’ll see.

What’s My headcanon? Thank you so much for asking. The watchers slowly took over Scott’s body as the season progressed. The real Scott is trapped by the watchers in the void while ‘watcher puppet’ Scott roams the server as their spy.

I haven’t posted art in a MINUTE. Holy moly. I haven’t drawn fanart in a while. (Click for better resolution bc it’s ass)

[sart7alex]

I'm actually really surprised no one has made a animatic of the watchers with the song butcher vanity

if anyone has made this please send it to me lol

[mrbuttercup]

Watcher AU: @deadlyeyez

Hehe-

[kora-kat]

Random doodles with my watcher Grian and Listener Jimmy designs and their humans

[paradoxlemonade]

Take a Chance On You

Fandom: Life Series

Ships: Grian/Martyn

words: 3272

Warnings: Restraints, captured character

My @mcytblrholidayexchange gift for @destinys-dragon!

Ao3: Here!

Martyn, player-born listener and jewel of the Listener Empire, has been disconnected from his past as a player for a while. It all comes crashing back into him when a prisoner shown off at a ceremony is none other than Grian, his old partner. Now all Martyn has to do is save his life.

Martyn didn’t bother going to most Listener ceremonies. He’d always been requested to attend, but he got good at figuring out which ones were safe to blow off and which of those “requests” were orders delivered with a veneer of politeness—most listeners had to attend all meetings befitting their rank, but Martyn’s rank actually let him shirk most of them.

Unfortunately, most was not all, so that was why he found himself back in ceremonial robes (stiff from lack of use, heavy, and utterly pristine) and gold jewelry, seated in a highly visible but ultimately unobtrusive box seat while leagues of highly-ranked Listeners slowly filled the amphitheater. Some openly stared at him, though most attempted to keep their shock to a minimum that the Jewel of the Empire finally deemed it worthy enough to grace a ceremony with his presence.

Ugh, Martyn wanted to choke himself with the fancy chains draped over him for even thinking something like that.

He didn’t notice he’d zoned out until there was a small commotion down below. Two guards were marching—though parts of it looked a little more like dragging—another person onto the stage. Unlike everyone else’s white, gold, tan, or grey wings, theirs were a black that shone violet when the light caught them with pale spotting near the ends.

Huh. They captured a Watcher. One important enough that Martyn’s presence was desired, apparently.

The Watcher was small in structure, much shorter than any Martyn had seen before, and their wings were forced into a flightless mantled position with a harness. It didn’t do much to make them look bigger, especially when their arms were chained tightly enough behind them that their shoulders pulled back.

Every jostle from the guards sent their head whipping to face the source of the touch in spite of the hooded blindfold. Their jaw moved, but no sound came out.

… What?

They were in a Listener amphitheater; the acoustics would’ve still been fantastic even without the aid of the magic that filled the place. Martyn might not have been able to understand them from up in the box seat, but he should have at least been able to hear them; their body language didn’t exactly read ‘I’m controlling my volume.’

The guard standing nearest to the crowd did something to get the Watcher’s attention and they turned again. Their lips pulled back as they spat something out, silent.

Martyn’s eyes widened.

Every time they went to speak, thin wisps of a gold symbol shimmered over their mouth but disappeared as soon as they stopped trying; definitely a silencing spell, though there might’ve also been something else wrapped up in there.

The attendants didn’t bother trying to read their lips, instead pulling them along by the shoulders to a small raised platform maybe half a block high on the far side of the stage. They stumbled on the edge before getting manhandled up and onto it and turned to face the crowd.

One of the guards said something, but the watcher recoiled as if offended and shouted back mutely. The other shook their head at their compatriot before they could try again.

Instead, they each tightened their grip on the watcher’s shoulders and shoved them to the ground. Their knees cracked against the quartz floor and Martyn winced. That he heard.

He couldn’t help but stare at them as the rest of the set-up continued. They eventually slid back from a kneel to instead sitting on their heels with their head held low and shoulders hunched. Martyn frowned. They were a watcher, and he’d hated the Watchers ever since they stole Grian from him and their friends.

But it was much easier to sympathize with someone hooded and chained before a crowd than similar people playing toys with players’ lives.

He mostly paid attention when the leader of the Listeners (also known as Martyn’s superior and one of a small handful of listeners he answered to) began the ceremony, but he kept looking back at the figure on the platform. No one mentioned or even acknowledged them for a while, but it wasn’t long until they were the topic of discussion.

“The Watchers are cowards and fools,” His Grace said, hitting a fist down onto the podium. “Even when able to make attempts towards greatness, they fail to reach the greater heights that Listeners are capable of. For this reason, we have sought out and taken hold of their highest accomplishment to date.”

Martyn’s brow furrowed. Accomplishment…?

His Grace snapped a finger and an attendant snatched the hood off of the watcher.

The man recoiled at the suddenly light and tried to curl up, but the other guard’s grip on his shoulder kept him upright.

He couldn’t hide his face.

Soft blonde hair that curled over his ears, a square face with a crooked nose from being broken in an incident they promised not to speak about again, a jaw that Martyn’s hands still remembered the shape of—that wasn’t just anyone.

No.

Whispers rippled over the crowd.

His Grace smiled and gestured with a sweeping hand. “I present to you all, the one nearly equal and opposite our own Prince: the player-born watcher.”

A wounded noise clawed out of Martyn’s throat.

No.

His hands clutched at the box's wall—when did he stand up?—until he thought his fingers might break. The Evolutionists could only assume Grian was killed when he was taken by the Watchers. He'd been one of them this entire time? How could Martyn not have known?

The watcher’s—Grian’s—attention snapped to him. His eyes went wide and a thousand different emotions flashed across his features. He was just the same as the last time Martyn saw him, yet also utterly alien.

The wings were new.

A rumble of a clearing throat punched through the air and Martyn flinched minutely. His Grace was focused directly on him, as were the shifting masses. Awareness of their Attention forced the weight that it brought to the forefront of his mind.

Martyn suppressed the urge to shy back. He stood up straight and steeled his expression into a trained neutrality. By the tightness in his jaw, it didn’t really work.

His Grace inclined his head towards him. “Prince.” The edge in his voice left no room for negotiation. “Would you like to share why you’ve interjected into this ceremony? Speak freely.”

“A-aye, Your Grace.” Each word reverberated through the hall with piercing clarity. He’d never been permitted to speak during a ritual before. “I have known this watcher once. As a player.” That wasn’t even the half of it. “I was… merely startled.”

The crowd did not react audibly, but that was feedback enough. If anything, the silence threatened to swallow him whole.

Martyn and Grian. Player and Admin.

Partners.

Now, the player-born listener, their Prince, their Jewel of the Empire, and… whatever Grian was to the Watchers.

Equal and opposite.

His Grace nodded and smiled thinly. “Of course, of course. Your former playerhood. Important to you, isn’t it?” He continued before Martyn had the chance to reply, not that he planned to. “You are beyond playerhood bonds, now, but this—” he gestured again to Grian, still frozen stiff as his eyes leapt back and forth between the two of them. “—is no mere player. Do you not agree?”

Grian was never a mere player. Not on EVO, and not right then, either.

Martyn clutched his hands together under the edge of the barrier, just out of view of the hall. “Aye, Your Grace,” he echoed.

Satisfied, His Grace nodded. “Then you shall prove your strength. Would you like to join me at the altar?”

Something caught in Martyn’s throat. That was not a question.

Silently, he beat his wings and glided down to the stage below.

As he cautiously landed, the nerves crept higher in his spine. The few Listeners standing before the crowd all towered over him by as much as a full block. All were True Listeners. There had only ever been one player-born.

His gaze briefly flicked from His Grace past him to where Grian was still sat on his heels in shock.

Two player-borns.

A part of Martyn wanted to retreat back to the dreadfully boring box seat, or perhaps to that morning, before his world had been been turned on his side. He crushed the feeling in his chest.

His Grace nodded at him and turned to the audience.

Martyn mirrored the action.

Even the individuals right before him the front row blurred and melted into the background energy that threatened to eat him from the inside out. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Maybe the other Listeners could hear it. His stomach turned at the thought.

“My fellow Listeners. Our Prince, born a player but having ascended to us, is a testament of Listener strength. He has been gifted with incredible power, a power that the Watchers could not stand that we possessed. They created a player-born of their own to compete, but that effort has been subdued and bows before our might. I have elected to give our Prince the honor…” he trailed off expectantly. Martyn could picture the self-assured smile on his face without even looking—it painted his voice a smug, sickening tone.

“…of deciding his opposite’s fate.”

Martyn could’ve collapsed. He was given what?

An attendant’s hand—when did one of them approach him?—between his wings guided him over to Grian’s display. Each staccato footstep echoed like a crossbow shot.

One mercy the world could offer him was that Listeners had more acute hearing than sight. Wearing a face of control like a mask was just a holdover from his player days. Though he’d grown rusty with time, it rarely mattered. No one there noticed the fragility of his composure.

The second mercy was that Grian had bowed his head, scowling tightly at the ground. He’d always been too good at reading Martyn’s thoughts with just one look.

He stopped beside the platform, and the attendant slipped away into the shifting mass of ritual folk upstage. Despite the crowd, despite the audience, all he heard and saw in that moment was Grian.

Grian still did not look at him.

The honor of deciding his opposite’s fate.

Martyn was no fool; for every handful of ceremonies he avoided, he attended another and paid rapt attention. The way higher Listeners moved around meaning, left the truth to implication, implied what they wanted and punished failures to deliver: he drank up the bitter taste until he spoke their language almost as well as they did.

His Grace’s hidden expectation was more than clear, so Martyn had one shot to actually decide.

He cleared his throat.

Showtime.

“The Watchers have wasted the gift they gave you.”

Grian went still. Even his muted breathing seemed to pause.

His Grace’s Awareness pressed into the back of Martyn’s skull. Addressing the captive instead of the crowd? Unheard of. But interrupting to ask what the hell he was doing would cause a much bigger scene than Martyn being a little unorthodox, so he stayed his hand.

Good. Martyn needed that wiggle room to talk like a Listener while saying something else.

“Strength unused is strength wasted. It would be so easy to strike you down here and prove the dominance of the Listeners.” He paced forward and grasped Grian by the shoulder, pulling him to the side to face him instead of the crowd.

Grian shrugged the hand off his shoulder and glowered with red-hot ire, but the glassiness in his eyes betrayed him.

“But doing so would only squander the potential you might have.” Martyn prayed to any god that was listening Grian would understand.

Grian’s brows knitted together as he scanned his face. ‘What?’ he said soundlessly.

Good enough.

‘Trust me,’ Martyn mouthed back. ‘Please.’ His mask all but crumbled to dust.

Something in Grian shuddered before being quickly boxed back up. Sharp teeth needled at his lips, dark gaze still trained on Martyn.

‘Please.’

Grian gave him the faintest inclination of his head, so slight that Martyn was almost scared he’d imagined it.

Relief crashed into his chest like a wave, and he turned to address the crowd with renewed vigor. “If the Watchers were fools enough to create a player-born they could not protect, then it would only be just in the world for a listener to take him and have him, would it not?”

There were mutters of confusion from the crowd, yes, but more important was a budding prideful energy behind it. Yes, their Prince had a point; they should claim anything that their enemy failed to defend.

Martyn grinned wolfishly and made a point not to look back at His Grace. “I’ve made my decision. As a show of our strength, I will make the subdued player-born watcher my personal attendant.”

He reigned himself in when he turned back to Grian. An unbidden apology sat heavy in his mouth. “Rise, Watcher. Accept your role beside me.”

The room held its breath.

Grian shifted to the side and planted a foot on the ground. With shaking knees and unsure hesitation, he pushed himself up. For a tense moment, Martyn feared he’d fall and not be able to catch himself thanks to the restraints, but he stood strong. Unsteady with pinpricks of fear, but standing all the same.

Martyn did not have look down to meet his eyes.

He nodded, just as imperceptible as Grian’s before.

It had to be an understanding.

Martyn held out a hand in front of him. Delicate glowing threads spun out of the air, twisting through each themselves and each other. They wove towards Grian and lunged at the silencing spell. He flinched for a bare second, but faltered when nothing hit him. He stared in surprise when the fibers from the silencing spell unfurled and joined Martyn’s magic instead.

That silencing spell was actually the world’s third mercy—Martyn probably couldn’t have pulled off what he was attempting without its framework or far more time than they had.

The energy slipped below Grian’s chin, shrinking thinner and thinner until only a band about the width of a finger remained. It wrapped around and sat delicately, seamlessly, against his throat like a gold choker.

Even unsilenced, Grian could scarcely do more than breathe. The sound was quiet, but it was all Martyn needed.

Grian was here.

His Grace stepped forward with heavy footfalls, reclaiming the attention of the hall. “A most excellent choice. The Watcher’s player-born, made a mere servant. How… clever.” He jerked his head towards the wings of the stage—and the exit from the amphitheater. “We shall give you time to make sure they understand their duties, Prince.”

That too was an order, but one that Martyn was more than happy to follow. He bowed his head in expected deference. “Aye, Your Grace.” He held up a hand to Grian to offer assistance, only grasping his elbow when acknowledged.

Mask in place once more, Martyn marched out with Grian trailing behind him.

Not much damped the sound of their shoes against the brick. The halls were sparsely populated at the time thanks to the meeting, but that only meant there was little else to catch the attention of the staff not in attendance.

The two of them didn’t stop until they were in a far-off wing of the fortress. A lone guard stood watch over the oversized door at the end of the hall.

“Greetings, Prince. How was—?” she cut herself off, attention falling from Martyn to the watcher behind him, following like a feathered shadow.

“It was fine.” Martyn didn’t give her the chance to recover. “You’re dismissed. Inform the guard rotation that I wish to be left alone for the evening.”

She blinked in confusion but slowly nodded. “Yes, Prince.” After a moment, she unfurled her wings and took her leave.

A moment passed. Martyn rested his forehead against the door and exhaled through his teeth.

He chuckled. “Fuck, I can’t believe any of that worked.”

Grian shifted behind him, bindings clanking together. “...What worked?”

Right, of course. He still had so much to deal with. Including fixing that.

“Saving your life, for one.” Martyn pulled open the door and beckoned Grian to follow once more.

“A-ah.”

Once inside and the door shut firmly behind them, Martyn sank onto the velvet lounge by his bookshelves with a long-suffering groan. The adrenaline was wearing off. He flicked his hand in Grian’s direction. Rattling chains and leather straps unceremoniously tumbled to the floor.

Grian hummed and rolled his newly-freed joints, hissing when they were tight from holding still. “You’d think removing the bindings would make make everything hurt less, not more.”

Martyn snorted at the comment. “Ah, you’d think, but that’d be too convenient,” he said, giving the other a wry smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Grian stiffened all at once. If he’d entered a stillness competition against a stone statue, he might’ve won.

He looked like how he did back in the amphitheater.

Martyn frowned and sat up straight. “That was a joke. You’re fine, I promise.”

It took a moment, but he eventually slackened. Which wasn’t to say all the tension left him—not hardly. “Sorry. I’m… I just—” He gripped his arms in a facsimile of a hug, seeming not to notice he was doing it.

The grimace on his face hurt.

“You don’t need to explain yourself right now,” Martyn said.

Grian shook his head. “So much happened since I last saw you, or any of our friends. Where would I even start?”

Martyn gnawed on his lip. That was the question of the hour.

But he might’ve had an answer.

He scooted over on the cushion and patted the now-empty space. “How about right here?”

Grian laughed softly and ambled over. He sat backwards, half on Martyn’s lap, so he could wrap his arms around Martyn’s neck and press his face into his shoulder. Just like old times.

Martyn leaned into him, gently moving his wing so he could begin preening the feathers that were ruffled or broken by the harness. Grian melted into him more with each smoothed feather, if such a thing were possible.

For anyone else, he would’ve had to ask to preen them or get preened (and it was horrifically awkward, since none of the Listeners knew how to act normal around him as their Prince). But even after all this time, with everything that changed, the two of them picked up right where they left off. It was nice.

They would have a lot to talk about before the next day dawned and they faced the repercussions of Martyn’s choice. Martyn didn’t know what Grian’s life with the Watchers was like, but he got the impression that he didn’t have nearly the comforts that Martyn did, even if Martyn found the Listeners’ treatment suffocating. His Grace’s treatment especially, who no doubt will have had plenty of time to simmer in his indignation by the time they see him next.

But that could wait a moment longer. Martyn liked the quiet.

Grian shifted. Then shifted again. He huffed. “Question. Why was I a glorified errand boy when you got made a Prince?”

Martyn laughed over Grian’s offended squawk.

“Stop laughing! I’m being serious!”

He didn’t stop.

Grian started as well.

Martyn supposed the quiet could wait as well. Martyn liked Grian more.

[fablefaye]

G doesn’t understand the watcher’s sense of humor

[random-things-of-mine]

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

Watcher Wally x GN Reader

Priest Wally x GN Reader

Warning: Angst??

- - - - - 

"What are you two doing?"

Watcher walked in on Priest who was in the middle of a small sermon consisting of him and Y/n. 

It was very small sermon, a intimate one.

The puppet had entered the church, ready to pick up the human, the neighbor they all universally shared. Now it was his turn to have them around his neighborhood.

With his tall posture he looked down upon them both, with a curious expression... and slightly concerned.

Priest raised an eye, a smile remained in his face but he clearly wasn't thrilled at the intrusion. He had finally roped Y/n into participating into his sermon to cleanse their soul or something like that and now this-

"You're the other one of me assigned to pick them up, yes? I must inform you, I'm not done with them yet. I insist you come back at a better suited time." He said apologetically but there was a clear demand in his words.

"You know the arrangement, don't be greedy and selfindulgent. It's a ugly look on you."

As the two where having a intense stare off with eachother the floating red eyes around Watcher started to gather around Y/n. Eager to interact with them again recognizing them as a person who made the star or their favorite show very happy.

They happily waved back, greeting the viewers.

"At least I'm not completely forgotten." They say with small smile.

"But that didn't anwser my question, what is going on here?" Watcher probed again, not liking the sight of this.

"We're here to pray to our lord Home, to seek his blessings and words of guidance." Priest said with unsettling reverence.

He reached one of his hands to their neighbors forehead, putting them back in a praying position on their knees as he shooed away the viewers dismissing them.

But those words triggered something, that name, the same evil that resided in his world. And it was here too... not only that but it was prayed too. 

Unacceptable.

No sooner Y/n was picked up, held protectively in Watchers arms, high off the ground out of reach from Priest.

"I won't stand by and let you drag them into your delusions. We're leaving."

"And who are you to stand in the way of divine will? You'll regret crossing me." 

The priests expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as his mind was clouded with thoughts on how to get back 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝒷𝑜𝓇, 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯, Ⱨł₴ ₴₳₵Ɽł₣ł₵Ɇ and most of all 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.

As Watcher walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered, but he knew one thing for certain, he would always stand by Y/n's side. Ready to protect them from the same darkness that he was all too familiar with. He could tell it was already to late for Priest, another victim of Home but he wouldn't let him indoctrinate them aswell.

He couldn't loose anymore people important to him.

- - - - -

[pixxlotl]

theyre watching

[bakuvex]

[rosolind]

i wrote another glitch fic……… watcher au my beloved <33

Ratrick tapped his fingers on the edge of the Monopoly board. He’d insisted they play this game—his idea of “bonding.” Really, he just needed the inevitable chaos to soak up the negativity. Not his fault players got salty over little plastic houses.

“I’ll be the dog,” Cave announced, grinning as he slid the silver token onto the board. His other hand balanced an empty soda can on his head. “Dogs are lucky.”

“No, they aren’t,” Finiahn countered, reaching for the top hat. “And anyway, I’ll win because my aura is perfect.”

“Can we play without calling everything your aura?” Ratrick muttered, already annoyed. He floated a little off his chair, leaning forward. His voice carried that faint hum of Watcher energy, but he tried to keep the influence in check. If he accidentally made Cave hand over all his property again, Finiahn would never let him hear the end of it.

Poot, silent as always, grabbed the wheelbarrow without a word. He was always the wheelbarrow, even though no one understood why.

“Poot, you have no personality,” Finiahn teased, setting the board up properly.

“Yeah, it’s like you’re the NPC of the group,” Cave added, shaking his head sadly. The soda can toppled off his head and clattered to the floor.

Poot just shrugged. “I like being the wheelbarrow.”

They started the game, and it didn’t take long for Ratrick’s usual antics to kick in.

“Wait—how do you already have Boardwalk?” Finiahn asked, narrowing his eyes. “I just shuffled those cards!”

“Watcher powers,” Ratrick said smoothly, adding a hotel to the space with a sly grin.

“You’re cheating,” Poot mumbled.

“Yeah, but like… stylishly,” Cave said, watching Ratrick with mild admiration.

Ratrick didn’t even bother denying it. “It’s not cheating if you’re bad enough to let me get away with it.” He spun the dice, rolling a perfect twelve. Again.

Finiahn scowled. “You know, this is why you lost to me. You couldn’t even win fair and square when it mattered.”

That stung. Ratrick felt a flicker of annoyance rise, and before he could stop it, the room shifted. Cave, halfway through a handful of popcorn, froze. “I think… I think I’ll sell Ratrick my railroads,” he said dreamily, already grabbing the cards.

“What?!” Finiahn yelled. “Don’t—Cave, no!”

Ratrick groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stop! I didn’t mean to—don’t give me your railroads!”

Cave blinked, his grin returning. “Oh. Never mind, then. That was weird.”

Finiahn’s glare could have melted the board. “Stop doing that, Ratrick.”

“I said I didn’t mean to!” Ratrick snapped, his voice sparking with that Watcher hum again.

“It’s fine,” Poot said quietly, landing on one of Ratrick’s properties. He sighed. “How much is the rent?”

“Fourteen hundred,” Ratrick said casually.

“That’s robbery,” Finiahn muttered.

“You’re just jealous you’re losing,” Ratrick shot back, smirking.

The game dragged on. Finiahn became increasingly competitive, practically sweating as he tried to outmaneuver Ratrick. Cave had built a small fortress out of Community Chest cards and dice, only half paying attention. Poot somehow ended up bankrupt after landing on Boardwalk twice but stayed at the table anyway.

By the end, Ratrick sat smugly behind a wall of hotels and fake money. “Well, looks like I win,” he announced.

Finiahn leaned back with a groan, rubbing his temples. “I’m never playing this with you again.”

“Because you lost?” Ratrick asked, grinning wickedly.

“No, because you ruin everything with your Watcher cheating.”

“I had fun,” Cave said, carefully balancing his soda can on Poot’s head now.

“I didn’t,” Poot mumbled.

“Yes, you did,” Ratrick said lightly, nudging the air just enough to make Poot nod in agreement.

“…I hate you all,” Poot said, monotone but somehow affectionate.

The group dissolved into laughter, the tension of the game forgotten. Ratrick leaned back in his chair, letting the negativity seep away. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if he made them play again next week.