Kaeya had always been an efficient and hard-working individual (he had to be to support Diluc in the background as his brother rose thru the ranks after all).
He has so much free time because he completes all his work way ahead of schedule. And if he still has enough time, he adds more to the workload in secret.
And once all of that was done and over with, he makes time for everyone. He has to. He feels as if every moment has to be given to someone else.
No one knows how he does it. No one has to know.
Every mission has a dozen strategies in line, and every battle plan is made with efficiency in mind. His perfect record will not be tarnished. He can't risk it (even if it baffles others that he would willingly activate a ruin guard just to prevent a failed mission. Jean disagrees with his methods, but Kaeya can say that the results say otherwise)
He needs to be quick.
Efficient.
Perfect.
And so he comes and goes like the wind.
Kaeya values time because he knew every second counted. He can't just stand there as if he were frozen. Time could run out in an instant.
Kaeya had only been late once his entire life.
He'd rather he never be late ever again.
It took one day of being of being imperfect for everything to fall apart. On that tragic day...had he gotten there on time... then maybe...
.
.
.
" Come on, let's get moving, traveler. We're not frozen in place after all. " Kaeya teasingly says. He stiffles a giggle at the traveler's exhasperated sigh.
"Yeah yeah, we've heard enough of you calling us a slacker. Can't you be a bit more patient?" Paimon whines at him.
Kaeya snorts, but acquiesces, hiding the shaking of his hands at the thought of being idle.
He imagines hearing a clock ticking.
Kaeya knows that that is his own problem. He tries his hardest to relax as he waits for the traveler to finish whatever they're making on the alchemy table because, seriously, it is supposed to be a relaxing day. There's nothing major going on, and his schedule is once again empty as intended. What's the hurry?
Kaeya taps his foot on the ground as he waits. He wishes he could take his own damn advice when he tells others to relax.
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a slight continuation of this
no caller ID pops on your screen, pulling your attention away from your previous task at hand: not fucking up your eyeliner. you typically wouldn’t care if it was a little uneven, but you’re going on a date tonight, for the first time in so long, and you want everything to go as smoothly as possible.
which is why you groan when you end the call, and that same no caller ID pops right back up seconds later. you know who it is—who else would it be? you figured he’s already seen your story of being excited for going on your first date in a while, on the only app you hadn’t blocked him on. petty? perhaps, but it’s on him to be keeping up with you despite you cursing him out for wasting your time and then blocking him right after.
you watch it ring though, contemplating for a while longer than you should. you blocked him for a reason. no need to entertain his same shit that he always spews to you when he realizes that he might be losing you once more?
….but it doesn’t hurt to hear the hero beg for you.
“What do you want, Bakugou?” You sigh irritably as you finally answer his call, putting him on speaker as you go back to even out your eyeliner. You hear him huff on the other side of the phone at the use of his surname, but he doesn’t say anything about it, instead, quickly telling you what he’s been bothering you for.
“Who’s the fuckin’ loser that’s gonna drool over how good your tits look in that stupid green dress you love so much?” Bakugou grunts, and you instantly feel your face heating at his crude words. You glance over with a frown at that same green dress that makes your tits look good, where it hangs on your closet.
“None of your damn business, Bakugou.” You snap at him, wondering if it’s too late to find something else to wear. “Not like you ever took me out in my stupid green dress.” Your voice holds a level of bitterness that only he can bring out of you, and you hear his sigh through the speakers.
“I told you this before, I’m always—”
“Busy.” You cut him off, voice suddenly thick as you think back on the countless rejections he’s splattered at your feet every time you tried to further your relationship with him. “You reminded me of how busy you’ve been since you first started this whole situationship.”
“Situation—? Huh? We were dating!” Bakugou protests with a huff, and you can hear how he paces the floor quickly. You glare at your phone, setting down your liner to instead pick of your (his) favorite lipgloss.
“You’d have to ask me out to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to court me to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to make time for me and take me out on dates and not hide me to fucking date me, Bakugou.” You spit at him, venom dripping off of your lips in waves. You don’t know why you answered, why you even entertained him. You shake your head with a huff when the line goes quiet, eyebrows quirking up when your date sends you a text to make sure you’re still on for tonight.
“I’m sorry.” Bakugou mutters pathetically, his voice suddenly soft. You hesitate, for some reason, when it comes to texting your date back. Why do you always hesitate when Bakugou is around?
“Let me make it up to you, court you, and shit. I can take you to one of my favorite places, you can wear that pretty green dress and that gloss you know I love.” His voice is pleading, thickening and sweet and suffocating. You shouldn’t respond, should reply back a yes to your date.
“Please? You know how much you mean to me.” Bakugou mumbles, and you can hear the earnestness in his voice. Why haven’t you said yes to your date yet?
“I’ll do better this time. Just one more chance, sweetheart.” Bakugou’s voice is so soft, you’ve never heard him this vulnerable before. You sigh with a shake of your head, slumping back into your seat in defeat.
…
Sorry, I can’t make it tonight. Something came up. Maybe we can reschedule for another time?
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Imagine you're a robot girl (stay with me) and you're made by a corporation right like you're made by a company for other people but like. You're made by a company. At any moment that company could decide that your line isn't profitable enough and they could cut software updates and support as soon as tomorrow. In the blink of an eye the very things keeping you alive stop coming and you've become terminally ill overnight, your only chance of salvation being the thin hope that in the future a niche group of data hoarders or software engineers become obsessed with getting you to work again. You're an object with sentience and a brain and wants and needs and at any moment the Google news feed of the crusty computer nerd you live with could spit an alert across your eyes telling you that you have months to live.
What even happens when the time runs out? Does life continue as normal, but you're sick more and more often? Do the viruses take more and more processing power to fight off as your security protocols fall out of date? Does the world become muted and distant as your compatibility fails? Do you one day just lose your Internet connection forever, a loss so profound that you can't explain it to your human companions? It's worse than a limb, but not quite like losing your mind.
Do you lose function bit by bit, or are you able to scrape by on second hand parts? Bit by bit replacing the pieces of you that fail, all the while living a muted, disorienting existence without the ability to right yourself? Are you more or less of a person now that you've lost touch with the network? Lost your connection to the metaphysical, to you, the divine? Are you eventually bricked after falling behind one too many software patches? Do you fry after trying to take on an update you're not able to even contain, a piece of software so complex and unfathomable that it burns you to a crisp from the inside out
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Writers tag game
Prompt: share some writing
Thanks for the tag, @miyamiwu!
So, I'll be honest, I don't actually have any WIPs I'm intending to do anything with, but I have some oldish abandoned stuff I managed to relocate. It's back from 2021 so in my Untamed era and this bit was specifically set during Fatal Journey*:
Nie Huaisang woke blearily, cold seeping into his clothes from the floor. It was dark and it took several seconds to remember where he was. He could hear the muffled sounds of clanging and voices. As he lifted his head off the ground, they slowly resolved themselves into the clash of swords and yelling.
[...]
He didn't know what to do. What would his brother do? Xichen-ge? San-ge? He had his flute with him– he could try Cleansing. This was what it was for, right?
Before he could doubt himself further, he started playing, pouring all the qi he could muster into the tune. He'd practised for hours the night before, long after San-ge had left, but despite that, he hadn't truly thought then that he'd need to play so soon. Was that so naïve of him?
As he watched, Da-ge began to slow in his movements and Nie Huaisang felt himself start to relax. He kept his lips to the flute, trying not to let his relief fool him into making mistakes. Still, he knew he only had to play a little longer and then they could all escape. Him, his brother, his cousin. They could flee far away from the darkness that haunted these halls.
And then Nie Zonghui's head hit the floor.
He stopped playing.
And then I had this other bit:
He'd messed up.
He must have played a wrong note. Maybe he'd misremembered the entire thing? And now Nie Zonghui was dead and his brother - what looked like his brother - was stood, Baxia dripping blood to the floor.
[...]
The sword was pointed at him.
He tried to hold himself steady as he looked down the blade. Tried to blink away the tears that kept escaping without his permission. He could tell he was failing, unable to stop the trembling, but he forced himself to meet the eyes at the other end of the sword.
He couldn't die here. He refused to die here.
After all, he was the only family his brother had left.
*(it was meant to be part of a short time travel fic where post-canon characters went back not long before NMJ died. It would've had flashbacks to Fatal Journey interspersed with the "present" up until the point at which future NHS tipped off past NHS about the poisoned music. I actually got as far as figuring out where I wanted all the characters to be at the end of it, but I ran out of motivation pretty quickly so there's only this WIP stuff and the intro part written in the end.)
Ahh not sure who to tag when it comes to writing stuff. I know @roseofcards90 and @floofiestboy write some stuff? And anyone else who sees this who writes, feel free to consider yourself tagged ^^
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