#even if previous admins don’t return he would get a companion of some kind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetest-honeybee · 4 years

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To Hell and Back

Chapter 31

Summary: Introducing a new evil hermit in the story and Doc nearly chokes BadTimes to death.

Characters: Doc, Impulse, BadTimes (Oscar), Hex (my Evil Mumbo) (NPC Grian, Xisuma, Hels, Wels, and Evil X mention)

TW: Strangulation and (kind of) swearing I believe?

Notes: Yes, notes will become a consistent thing lol, but I love this chapter a lot because of Oscar’s characterization :D

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The Evil Hermits were interesting to say the least. BadTimes led them around the vast area which resembled their server in some way. The land seemed generated quite the same, and in the places where their bases were in the overworld, they were there in HelsCraft, as BadTimes called it. The castle for The Champion was actually the Hels version of Grian’s castle he built, just the land was changed here and there.

There was a ‘jungle’- large burnt trees- close to it, and within the jungle was a very tall withering tree, presumably the HelsCraft version of Iskall’s base, owned by who BadTimes called Iskill. However, they weren’t on their way there after getting a glimpse at the other bases. The moment they were through the lava and flying around, their eyes landed on Mumbo’s HelsCraft base. Unsurprisingly, it was built nearly identical to it but gears and hundred block tall machinery ticked with metallic groans outside of the temple. Smokestacks made their way from the ground and the place looked more like a factory than the preserved temple.

BadTimes decided that that was where they would be visiting first as far as actually talking to the Evil Hermits was concerned. He said he had an ally there named Hex. Hex was supposedly Mumbo’s evil doppelgänger and that all of the Evil Hermits, and a large portion of HelsCraft itself, tended to rely on him for materials. BadTimes said he was respected, nearly a Champion but lacked a will to fight all the time and didn’t care to please The Lord of Darkness.

Already had been flying around, BadTimes led them to land on the spire in the middle of the factory, wings folding behind them neatly. Doc and Impulse were absolutely stunned by the build itself, not that Mumbo’s general base in the overworld wasn’t already incredibly impressive. Just the intense amount of machinery and watching farms grow and be harvested in amounts at a time by the hundreds. It was incredible and that made Impulse particularly giddy to meet this redstone master.

BadTimes had them land on the highest layer of the spire and let Doc and Impulse take in the ginormous build and it’s details. Occasionally, they saw BadTimes glance around, presumably looking for his friend. Though, were friends a thing here? BadTimes said Hex was an ally, not a friend. Yet, Evil X said Hels considered the Evil Hermits to be his friends at one point.

That also brought a thought to Doc, from something Hels told him a while back. He decided to ask BadTimes anyways while Impulse was busy looking over the edge. The creeper stepped up to the evil terraformer with a grunt.

“Weren’t you the one who helped in dethroning Hels?” He asked, not sparing a glance at the other, simply watching Impulse gawk and ramble about the machinery as he stood next to the evil hermit.

On the other hand, BadTimes didn’t seem fazed by the question, simply keeping an unmoving gaze. “Yes. I helped NPC get the throne. Wasn’t the one who stabbed em’ though.” He side eyed Doc carefully. “Why.”

Doc nodded, taking in the information that Hels, in fact, didn’t lie if he was talking shit about his previous companions. “We need your help,” he muttered.

That brought a chuckle out of BadTimes. “What, with The Lord a’ Darkness?” He whistled, emphasizing the size of that kind of task. “Can’t help ya’ there. ‘S got all of us wrapped around his finger. You want help, you get NPC. Kid’s got tons of power.”

The creeper sighed, then faced BadTimes curiously. “Why did you help us? In the castle?”

“Aw, now don’t bring none a’ that here. I did y’all a favor, but I don’ do it out of the nonexistent kindness of my heart, Doc. You owe me.”

Doc hummed, a fair point. “Right, well, you didn’t say you wouldn’t help us with The Lord of Darkness because you didn’t want to. You said it because you’re not able to.”

BadTimes snorted at the observation, nodding his head fondly. “Who said I like workin’ for em’? I don’t care about none a’ y’all, but I like not having to murder people all the time for his satisfaction. I want out just as bad as you do, but that’d hurt that Scar fellow.”

That was true. Hels trying to get out only landed in whatever was going on with Wels. “Right, right. Why’d you overthrow Hels then?”

The other shrugged. “Needed NPC up there. He don’ hurt anyone, really. Soft kid, actually. But even without whatever The Lord gave em’ as a reward, he’s got enough power to wipe out a city with a snap.” BadTimes sighed, almost sadly. “Kid ain’t from here, Doc. He could change this but it would risk everything we got here.”

“Change what?”

The trio turned their heads towards the familiar British accent, though much deeper than they thought it’d be, more distorted. There stood, who Impulse and Doc assumed, was Hex. Unsurprisingly, the man was still sporting the curled handlebar mustache, and his outfit screamed the word Victorian. This man, they already could tell, was some kind of inventor. Maybe the googles were the deciding factor for that thought.

“Howdy, Hex! Showin’ these fellas around. Lord a’ Darkness took em’ from the overworld.” BadTimes pointed a thumb at the two behind him.

“Figured,” the Brit replied, though not hardly showing much interest to them. “Touch anything and I'll have you ground in the gears down there, understand?” Doc and Impulse nodded, Impulse still with a grin on his face.

“You are like- holy shit, how long have you been doing this?!” The redstoner asked excitedly. “This is amazing!”

Hex tilted his chin up proudly. “Years. This world kinda forces you to get better than most. Competition, I’d say, is probably why it happens to look like this anyways.”

“You’ve got to teach me,” Impulse replied, bouncing on his heels.

“Better hope you can keep up, I don’t wait.” Hex ended his sentence on a cold stare, but even behind the mustache, you could see his lips perk up just slightly.

BadTimes decided to interject their little conversation. “Ay Hex, gotta ask you somethin’. Think you can do anythin’ to help this whole Lord a’ Darkness thing?” he asked, putting a hand on the brit’s shoulder.

He’d shook his head. “I don’t believe so, no. NPC can’t do anything?”

“Ah, ‘s what we were thinkin’. Hels ain't havin’ a fun time though, Wels is gettin’ possessed by The Lord.”

“Serves him right....” Hex muttered. “Evil Xisuma dragged him over there, he can stay for all I care.”

“Hex, he was just tryin’ to please The Lord. You know what happens when you don’ please The Lord.”

“Well, The Lord can punish me,” he replied in a disgusted tone, plucking the other evil hermit’s hand off his shoulder. “I don’t care about Mumbo. I’m not being paid to sit around and do his handiwork. I invent for myself, Oscar.”

BadTimes huffed, quirking a brow at the inventor. “So you won’t help us with a little revolution?” he asked with a pout.

Hex merely rolled his eyes with a slight smile, then looking at Doc and Impulse. “What’s been going on in your world, anyways? We heard it’s getting bad. Your own admin is starting to turn on you.”

The pair’s eyes widened, jaws dropping at the phrase. Xisuma turning on them? Had he been possessed as well? Doc wondered about it, then realizing now how aggressive the admin had been since this whole thing started. Now, he and Keralis were off somewhere, probably finding Hels and Evil X to figure out what was going on. That could only lead to something bad.

“Uh….” Doc started, promptly shutting his mouth in confusion. “I….don’t know apparently. I didn’t know Xisuma was….” he trailed off, the Evil Hermits stared at him curiously.

“You’re an idiot,” Hex commented. Doc sent him a glare, but that was quickly returned by the inventor. “You seriously haven’t noticed this entire time? Whew boy, you’re in for a treat.”

“Yeah,” BadTimes agreed. “Can’t believe you didn’t know Evil X was bein’ punished too. I mean I don’ like the guy, but just somethin’ you should know.”

The pair dragged their hands down their faces, glancing at each other worriedly.

“We’ve gotta get back to the overworld,” said Impulse. He looked at the Evil Hermits with pleading eyes. “There’s gotta be a way for us to get back.”

“Look, I’m sorry boys, but-“

The Evil Hermits paused, pulling out phone-like objects from their pockets. Impulse and Doc realized quickly that the Evil Hermits had their own communicators. That quickly gave the both of them ideas.

“Xisuma experienced kinetic energy,” Hex read. “Hm, guess he’s not doing great either.”

“You have communicators?” Doc asked them.

Quickly, they pocketed their comms. “Yeah, they ain’t for you though, back off.”

“You don’t understand, we’ve gotta get back home, BadTimes,” the creeper growled.

“I think we’re done meetin’ people for today, Doc,” the other replied rather blankly.

“I thought you wanted to get out of this!”

Impulse turned to pull him away from BadTimes. “Doc, don’t-“

Doc pulled his shoulder away from Impulse harshly. “No, we’re getting out of here. You’ve gotta help us, because if you wanna leave this,” he gestured around them. “This is how.”

Without hesitation, both Evil Hermits drew their swords, the familiar netherite blades reflecting the luminance in the spire. Hex stepped forward with BadTimes and Impulse stepped away from the trio, far away. Doc stood his ground with a snarl. Yet, he spread his arms away from him with a smirk.

“Go on then. Kill me. I’ll get stuck on that island again, won’t I?”

“No, actually.” Hex looked at Impulse darkly. He walked back and pressed a button on the wall, one of many of them littering it. “But he can go.”

A couple seconds after the button was pressed, an arrow shot out of a hidden dispenser, striking Impulse in the chest. The redstoner, having been close to the edge, stumbled backwards, finding no more ground behind him. Despite this, his shock kept him from yelling on his way off the edge. Doc ran to catch his hands but at the last second, Impulse’s fingers slipped through his grip and he watched as his friend descended painfully into the machinery at the bottom of the build, watching blood splatter in the large gears.

ImpulseSV suffocated, they knew their communicators read. The server mechanics wouldn’t be able to name any other death.

The creeper took a step back, silent at what’d just happened to his friend.

“Don’ worry about it. He’ll spawn back up there. I’m gonna go grab em’-“ BadTimes was interrupted by a metallic grip around his neck pushing up against one of the stone pillars. He grabbed at Doc’s arm, clawing at it, but the hold didn’t budge. Quickly, he was lifted off the ground, left squirming in the air against the wall.

“You don’t respawn, Oscar. You can help me or I strangle you to death,” Doc snarled. “Just a damn pitiful creature. Nothing more than a skeleton, aren’t you.”

With that, Hex pulled a bow from his inventory, aiming it at the creeper. “Let him go or I call NPC. He won’t be merciful.”

The hand around BadTime’s throat tightened and he choked, swallowing thickly. “H- Hex don’t—“ he rasped. “Doc,” he swallowed again. “I’m sorry- Can’t help your world.” The Evil Hermit began to feel lightheaded. “But I can get you out- I can-“ At those words, he fell to the floor, the hand no longer around his neck. He hacked and coughed, bringing his hands up to his now sore throat.

“Tell me how.”

“Oscar, you’re not seriously going to help him!”

“We need the NPC,” BadTimes muttered. “But you,” he pointed up at Doc. “Don’t ever call me Oscar, ya’ hear?”

“Noted, now go get Impulse.” Doc smirked at how BadTimes scurried away, stumbling to stand, and fumbling with his liftoff. Man’s all bark and no bite, isn’t he. The creeper turned to Hex, who stood motionless. He was confused as to what to do now.

“You’re gonna help us, too,” Doc growled.

#my fic #to hell and back #docm77 #hex hermitcraft #badtimeswithscar #impulsesv #long post

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in-class-daydreams · 4 years

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Parlay | (Kuroo x Reader) | Chapter 6

- Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~1,600

Genres: Fluff, angst if you squint, general buffoonery

CW: Swearing, mention of intoxication, more secondhand embarrassment

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

With Oikawa on the court, and with the opposing team so unprepared for him changing the team’s dynamic, the whistle blew soon enough and Tokyo U had secured their victory. The team lined up in front of their school’s spectator section and said their thanks. (Y/N) noticed Kuroo’s eyes roaming the stands as if he were searching for someone. Stating they had a history exam in the morning, Shusei and Tamaki said their goodbyes, though not without Shusei lamenting not getting to meet ‘them hotties’ with (Y/N).

“Kenma! You were so cool today!” The setter caught her in his arms when she nearly tackled him outside the locker room. She continued poking fun at him as he blushed and looked away.

“Hey, hey, hey, who’s this cutie?” the eccentric spiker from before came up to them with the Pretty Number 6 beside him. Kenma sighed at his loudness.

“(Y/N), this is Bokuto Kotarou and Akaashi Keiji.”

(Y/N) bowed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Both of you played beautifully today.” Akaashi thanked her politely for the compliment while Bokuto struck a power pose.

“Oya, you’re Kenma’s friend? You wanna come get drinks with the team after this?” Bokuto asked. (Y/N) shook her head in embarrassment at the idea of spending time drinking with a group of guys.

“Oh no, I couldn’t intrude on a team event. You guys should celebrate your victory together as a team, not with some spectator,” she protested.

“Please, you wouldn’t be intruding,” Akaashi spoke up. God, even his voice was pretty, “The event isn’t so exclusive. We’d love to have you.” No one can really resist a request from the pretty setter, so (Y/N) reluctantly agreed.

“All right! The cutie is coming to our party!” Bokuto leaned in, “But don’t think I’m reducing you to ‘cutie’, and please don’t hesitate to tell me if any of my nicknames for you make you uncomfortable.”

(Y/N) smiled at his sweet words and told him he’d done nothing to make her feel unsafe. He gave her a grateful smile in return. The sound of squealing reached her ears once more, signifying a certain someone’s appearance.

“Ah, and who might this cutie be?” the newcomer asked teasingly, holding out a hand for her to shake, “It’s been a while since our court was graced by a girl so pretty~”

Playing along, (Y/N) took his proffered hand, which he turned and brought up towards his lips. Iwaizumi’s large hand came into view when it smacked into the Oikawa’s face.

“Stop being greasy!” he scolded.

“But Iwa-chan, it’s just (Y/N)-chan!” Oikawa whined.

“I don’t care. Don’t flirt with girls that way. It’s not classy.”

“He’s right, Tooru. Your charms have gotten a bit cheesy since we last saw each other.”

“Ehhh? (Y/N)-chan, how could you say that?!”

By then, Kuroo was freshly showered, and ready to have a drink and relax. Exiting the locker room, he saw (Y/N) surrounded by his teammates.

“(Y/N)-chan, how could you say that?!” he heard Oikawa cry. (Y/N)-chan… -Chan? -CHAN?? Did she and Crappykawa know each other somehow? He frowned at the way she giggled at the brunette’s antics because… because she was flirting with him right in front of Kenma, of course! But, man, Kenma didn’t look concerned at all. In fact, he looked completely relaxed. Kuroo wondered if there was something he was missing.

“Sksksksk.”

“I’m tiktok famous!”

“Bitch lasagna~”

“WHAT ARE YOUUUUUUUU?!?! AN IDIOT SANDWICH???”

“AN IDIOT CHEF MAKES FOR AN IDIOT SANDWICH!!!!”

“Apple bottom jeans.”

“Boots with the jeans.”

“Shawty got jeans, jeans, jeans--”

“No, it’s ‘SHAWTY IMMA PARTY ‘TIL THE SUNDOWN’”

“Uhmmm nooooo….it’s ‘yo nice skirt’ get it right sksksks.”

Ah, boys. They are an enigma. College guys were just tall 8 year olds with muscles and student debt. Drinks was being hosted by the tall, intimidating, taciturn spiker that introduced himself politely as Ushijima Wakatoshi. The man in question was lounging near the minibar. The apartment was clean and modern, if not somewhat minimalistic.

Bokuto and Nishinoya, the energetic libero she’d met upon arrival, were somehow already shirtless and… having a flexing match, maybe? (Y/N) wasn’t entirely sure. It hadn’t been 20 minutes since they’d arrived, and (Y/N) had the sinking feeling that both of them were doing this completely sober. To the right of the large studio apartment, Kenma, Kuroo, and Oikawa were playing Pario Marty 8.

“Wahh, I wanted to be Peach!”

“Just be Rosalina!”

“But Tetsu-chaaaan, I wanna be the O.G. badass!”

Akaashi walked up to the counter and sat down beside her. He offered her a drink, which she declined, saying Iwaizumi was bringing her one. Settling into his seat, Akaashi followedr her line of sight to the group of idiots yelling at each other across the room.

“They’re always so loud like this. I’m not sure why,” he sighed.

Iwaizumi appeared to (Y/N)’s left and sat down as well. “Probably because they share one tiny brain cell between the two of them. Kenma has his own that he refuses to share.”

(Y/N) thanked him for the drink he handed her. Amused, she asked, “A whole brain cell? How many do those two have, then?” She gestured to the shotgunning challenge Bokuto and Noya were having.

“Zero,” her companions said in unison. The three of them laughed. They made small talk together about their majors, the match they played earlier, the tea house. (Y/N) thoroughly enjoyed the pretty setter’s company as well as getting to spend time with Hajime-kun again. Despite the overall chaos in the room, there was a certain warmth that came from spending time as a group like this.

“So it’s only 12:30 and Kuroo’s overly competitive ass has had EIGHT drinks already, right?” Bokuto had come down from his adrenaline high, humbled by his tragic loss to his much smaller opponent, and the owl-haired boy was content with embarrassing his his close friend, “Bro thinks he’s just tearing it up on the dance floor, but by then he was just kinda swaying a little, but it’s all good because he’s hot (no homo), and this group of college girls is in a booth makin’ eyes at him because, again, even if he’s deliriously drunk, he’s still hot as funk (no homo times two). Eventually, one of the girls struts over - all confidence and long legs and dang - anyway, they flirt a bit, and he gets invited to their table (tfti). I end up sitting at the bar and getting a drink, and when I look over, my boy is sloooowly leaning in, and I’m like, ‘Okay, Tetsu, get it!’ The girl’s friends had left the booth the give them a little privacy, but they’re still kinda watching from afar because, friends, yanno, and the girl has her eyes closed and she is ready for this kiss aaaaand...” Bokuto stopped for dramatic effect. “Homeboy misses her face entirely and faceplants into the table, dead asleep.”

His audience erupts in laughter and the wild-haired boy’s expense. Speak of the devil, as he walks up right as Kenma is starting his own story.

“At lunch today, (Y/N) was taking his order and--”

“DON’T TELL PEOPLE ABOUT THAT!” Kuroo screamed in horror. His teammates laughed even harder. Enjoying catching their scheming teammate off-guard, they pressed harder.

“What did you do, Tetsu-chan? Did you get lost in (Y/N)-chan’s eyes?”

“I bet he did that ugly laugh and scared her off.”

“Maybe he flirted too hard and got slapped.”

They took turns smacking Kuroo on the back, making the boy bury his head in his arms. He felt a smaller, softer hand, not like any of his teammates large, beefy hands, running its fingers through his hair. The tension in his shoulders immediately dissipated until he realized that only a few people had hands that gentle and only one who would actually comfort him right now.

‘(Y/N), I appreciate the thought right now, but if you keep touching me, I’m going to dIE,’ he screamed internally. His teammates ended up dragging (Y/N) away from him to play some sort of game he wasn’t really listening to the name of. As those delicate fingertips faded away from his scalp, he looked up discreetly to find (Y/N) already looking at him.

She gave him a smile, that smile he was beginning to see whenever he closed his eyes. He smiled back, but his eyes dropped to where hers and Oikawa’s hands were intertwined. The (Y/N) Kuroo had been spending time with as of late didn’t seem like that kind of person, but he knew men could be sharks, and he needed to make sure he wasn’t one of them.

For the sake of Bro-Code, and for the sake of Kenma’s relationship, Kuroo decided he had to really try to distance himself from her.

He had to, before he found himself in too deep.

(A/N): Hello everyone!! Things will start to take a turn that will make you wanna slap Kuroo through the screen...but for those of you who are Oikawa stans (I am too), we’re planning an Oikawa x Reader as well :) Once again, thanks for all the support it really means a lot to us! See you soon!

- Admin Kiwi-Chan 030

Friends and Best Friends help you out when you’re drunk, but only best friends expose your ass afterwards. Hope you enjoyed!

- Admin Mango-Chan

Taglist: @joyful-jimin @nekomas-kuroo

#haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #ushijima wakatoshi #nishinoya yuu #bokuto kotarou #akaashi keiji

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chocobro-hijinks · 7 years

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Android Companion AU

Lucis is an advanced civilization, the crown city of Insomnia is self sustaining and generally safe, but the limited land with which to build on can barely fit the growing population. You are an independent adult who had landed a dream job in the heart of the city, your parents bid you farewell from their farmhouse just east of Lestallum, and now you are living alone in a very crowded, claustrophobic, and constantly noisy business district.

One day, you find an offer of comfort in your solitary life:

Model: NOCT-1.5 (limited number of units produced):

This model is the cutting-edge technology of all companions available in the market, the be-all end-all royalty of the trade. it is never advertised because very few people can afford it, but you’re a tech nerd and you’ve heard of the legends

It’s usually ridiculously expensive and waaaay out of your range, for some reason, this one is on sharp discount in your local computer shop

the clerk tells you it’s on a discount because it has been taken out of the box by a previous owner and returned, but is in top shape otherwise

it’s a small investment even after the price cut and you’re seriously trying to talk yourself out of it, but the more you look at the android behind the sheer plastic, the more you are entranced by the sharp features and slim design.

a part of you hungers to see what the eyes look like once turned on, and what kinds of apps and functions you can install on such a rare product

you take it home, and the moment you plug it- him in, bright piercing eyes glow red for three seconds, and then mellow out to a soft crystal blue

he doesn’t smile as per programming, he doesn’t greet you and ask you what username you would like to sign in as; he simply asks “where the hell am I now?”

turns out this particular android is defective, he has a tangible fracture in the enamel of his back that can’t be seen under the realistic silicone flesh, you start to believe the creeping suspicion that he has been sold and resold several times before finding his way to you, he has learned to loathe it

his energy depletes fast no matter how long you charge him, sometimes he will not respond to your voice commands even though you are 100% sure he heard, the string running between the balljoints of his hip and knee snaps out of place sometimes, and you have to rewind it back into it’s slot every time

his library is mostly filled with video games and movies and you don’t have the heart to wipe it out, eventually you start taking an interest in them as well, and he teaches you a hilarious card game called King’s Knight which you’re pretty sure is made up

his algorithm slowly adapts to your lifestyle: helping you with the cooking, suggesting places in the city for you to visit together, helping you wind down to sleep at the end of a stressful day

he’s not very fond of the alarm clock app, though, and had repeatedly attempted to delete it

he doesn’t have a lot of domestic functionality, either, you’re not sure if it’s lost with the injury to his crystal core or if it’s just the limitation of a ‘leisure’ model

you find his presence, if unexpectedly somber, comforting. it’s nice to have someone waiting for you at home just to talk to you after a long day

now when you see posts gloating about interacting with this model in some tech exhibit, you thank your lucky stars that you found the ‘defective’ one, because the factory default seems to be a tearfully boring and obnoxious prince-type cliche

Model: MT-Series Line: Argentum:

The Argentum (Silver) line is manufactured to look male, while the Aurum (Gold) line is manufactured to look female.

This series was so heavily advertised and mass produced that you absolutely refused to consider an android companion because of the depravity of it!

The whole MT-Series rubs you the wrong way; a bunch of pretty models programmed to act like stuck up bullies with minimum functionality. They’re made to fill up office hallways and do mundane desk jobs

they’re not even good at it, everything about them is mediocre and you refuse to jump on the hype train, not even for the endless customization features.

it is extremely attractive and, because of the affordable price, there’s at least one in every modern household, doing taxes and planning family finances

one day you are waiting on a care package from your family when you receive a huge shipment box covered in foreign lettering. you take it home, assuming they’ve used whatever cardboard container available that can fit all the vegetables of the season, like always

instead you find a used Argentum model with no clothes, bubble wrap hastily stuffed around the hips (to let pass through customs no doubt), no instructions manual, and three charger cables of varying lengths

you’re sure it’s been sent to the wrong address but there’s no way for you to return it because there’s no shipment label or letter.

you have to ask the machine itself where it came from, you plug it in

this boy turned on like a charm, at first he spoke a foreign language but after hearing you speak for thirty seconds his algorithm realigned itself and he switched to Lucian

He introduced himself with machine name “Prompto!” that can’t be modified without inputting a password in Nifillian, he blinks his shiny inquisitive eyes in wait for your name and beams at you when you tell him

you wanted to return him, you really did, but that smile could melt meteors!

you ask him for a rundown of his operating mission and previous location, he stutters, turns off, then automatically wakes up again

most of his default core programs were replaced with homebrew ones, all his optional apps, previous ownership libraries and all of his geolocation data have been wiped clean

this one knows not a lick of complicated math but can vocalize every top40 hit songs for as long as the battery will last

you’ve heard of people who tinker with the androids, and knowing it’s illegal means if you’re caught with a modified machine you could face a fine you can’t afford

he’s yours now, so you decide to teach him how to blend in so that one day you can take him out to see those chocobos he keeps singing about whenever he’s idling

you give him things to do around the house and bless his whirring core he tries. it’s fun learning how to cook with him, what his culture algorithm has learned about fashion, and what kinds of activities his synthetic muscles have learned before he dropped into your hands

the one thing he really excels at is taking photographs, and the love that shines in his eyes when he’s taking pictures of you make you wonder if it’s possible for someone to install a soul in a machine

Model: G.Ladio Line: 飴.citia (Sweet Line):

this one is straight up advertised as a “Lover Companion”, and most series don’t even come with a shirt

the most slandered model in the Android Companion community, praised only for it’s lengthy charge time and sturdy assembly, it’s nearly impossible to damage this one without intending to

you have no need for a lover android, you tell your friends over coffee, if you wanted a jackhammer you’d get one from the hardware store for half the price

so of course your friends prank you by getting you a G.Ladio unit for your birthday

you don’t realize what they’ve done until you’re opening presents the next day and BAM! topless muscle man unfurls from the Styrofoam packaging to engulf you in a tight warm embrace

it takes you a minute to figure out how to cancel the command your friends have set up to switch to idle mode, by then he’s on top of you with both hands up your shirt and a very real mouth on your neck

you’re angry and embarrassed and flustered, one button press away from chewing out all your asshole friends in one conference call, but the warm eyes and soft smile that look back at you persuade you otherwise

his set up process is super simple, all you have to do is input your name and choose an intensity setting

that’s literally what it was called: level of intensity

you sweat nervously and decide to have it on the lowest setting, while searching for the instruction’s manual hoping there’s an intensity equal to ‘off’ or ‘not yet ready for the whole concept tbh’

thankfully you have something big enough to cover the tattoo your friends ordered with the purchase (your least favorite bird: the crow)

now you can start your day without being distracted by realistic silicone man titties; self-heating-silicone if your first encounter was any indication

low intensity Gladio is surprisingly pleasant, he comes with romance novel apps to recite for you, a warm rumbling voice bank to lull you to sleep, he’s waterproof, heatproof, and knows several party games

he waters your plants when you forget to do it according to a botanic encyclopedia he has installed by default (it’s to select flowers on your dates, but this works better for your succulents and lilies)

you find it nice to have someone to warm your toes on in bed, someone to enjoy casual cuddling while watching a movie, someone you can program to kiss your neck juuuust right, someone who never tires of you when you’re overly snappy and moody after a bad day

your friends tease you about ‘how are you liking your overpriced jackhammer’, and you laugh at their blanching faces when you tell them you’re already on the highest level of your Gladio and is considering ordering a new drill bit

Model: Scientia Ign-1S:

This one isn’t nearly as advertised as the others, it is manufactured by a highly specialized company for very specific corporate purposes

the only reason you even know it exists is because it is necessary to have one in your office branch to communicate with the other units around the company building

you and your coworkers consider it part of the office furniture, it’s just always there, idling in the background

It has very basic social apps, there is an admin lock on it’s learning curve so you can’t teach it to converse with you, it watches everything silently, recording, seething

One morning you show up to work and there’s security everywhere, there has been a break-in and the android was sabotaged in an attempt to break the encryption

the camera spheres in the eye sockets were ripped out with a crowbar, damaging the satin silicone finish of the face assembly and shattering the glass orb inside a socket beyond repair

one hand is officially lost, a leg was ripped and used to smash into the glass window overlooking the office of your superior

one of the many crystal cores lay dim in it’s exposed chest, having self-destructed as a tampering defense mechanism

a coworker jokes that now your office has a free punching bag

the technician announces that any sensitive data had been completely wiped and is ready for repairs, but your office refuses to fix the machine because it’ll be cheaper to just buy a new one under a different insurance contract, they order a disposal

at the end of the day you find a limb sticking out of the dumpster behind your workplace and yank it out, it is attached to the damaged Scientia android now missing it’s wig and some internal wiring

you’re virtually broke and absolutely cannot afford repairs for such a limited model, but at this point leaving him behind feels like leaving a human coworker to fend for themselves, robot or not

it takes you months of research and the hunting down of parts, of learning how to weld wires and stitch silicon flesh; eventually you end up with a somewhat functioning Scientia model without breaking the bank!

sure one socket is permanently closed to prevent the constant shedding of glass and enamel shards, there are cuts and spots on it’s face that cannot be restored without reskinning his whole head, but at least the new core you scored in an online bid comes with some fancy custom tools!

now he has a massive concept-generator, a library of battle animation files that control the skeletal rig, an advanced linguistic database so he never runs out of words to say, and some strange fashion-modeling script (it installed itself!)

you also find an extensive voice bank to replace the one that had been locked back in the office, this one only comes in an unusual Tenebrean Accent (no wonder it was free...)

you put on his new hair last, a fancy pompador you got off a cosplay site, his delicate face pulls into a soft smile

he’s been watching you, learning you, for over a year as you patched him up and sowed him back together. He knows what foods you like, what music you listen to when you cry, what breeds of dogs please you the most; he offers all of it to you when he obtains functioning limbs

you find yourself eager to go home to your imperfect housemate who looks at you like you’re his sun and stars, and there’s very little you can do to keep from falling in love with his every smile

he is very protective of you, and you feel safe walking with him in a crowded city where not many people recognize him as a machine

you become protective of him, too, and remove the admin limitations on those battle commands so nobody can ever hurt him again

(there’s not enough android companion stories out there, let me live)

as always, these head canons can be freely used for fics, RPs, art, whatever, change what you want and have fun with it!

#ffxv #chocobros #ffxv headcanons #android companion au #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scentia #loooooooooong post #hella #in the time it took me to write this #i coulda finished Costelmark tower #lmao #rip my fingers

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faeriekim-blog · 5 years

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P.I.S.T. - Chapter 7

Emily had been a vicar for five weeks now. This was her fourth sermon. As she took to the pulpit and began to address the congregation, she noticed that one of her parishioners was absent.

She saw the woman’s husband, a tall, bulky man with messy hair and deep set eyes. He always stank of booze and she understood that he had a drinking problem. She had been concerned about this but didn’t want to pry, especially as she was new. But his wife often came in with bruises about her face. She had been meaning to find out what was going on there and if there was anything she could do to help the situation. But she meant to take a cautious, measured approach to the matter and gently tease out the facts without upsetting things too much. This week the wife was not in the congregation, which only made Emily more concerned than usual.

As she continued her sermon, the congregation hushed and attentive as she addressed the large room, she could feel the angel on her back stirring uncomfortably. “Focus,” it whispered in her ear. “You ask too many questions. You are wilful and rebellious, like all sinners. Focus on preaching God’s word. Stop looking for problems. That’s the sinful nature in you.”

For five weeks she had been learning to cope with her new companion. It was always with her. It never left her. And yet no one else could see it.

She still called it her angel, as she did not dare to challenge its nature openly. It knew everything she thought or said. It even seemed to sense her doubts when she tried her best to hide them, even from herself. She could feel it bristling with discomfort and annoyance whenever the merest hint of doubt or displeasure surfaced within her. If she openly questioned whether the thing was really an angel and whether the thing was even good, there was no telling what it might do. It chastised her and told her she was worthless, rebellious and sinful on an almost daily basis anyway. What worse thing would await her if she openly challenged it?

Emily was even starting to doubt her own sanity. Was the creature even real? Did she imagine the whole thing? Was she mentally ill? She could feel its presence and every time she looked around she could see its ugly face. But no one else noticed it or commented on it. The creature seemed invisible to all but her.

After the service, she shook the hands of all the congregation as they left. When Mr. Baines approached she asked him about his wife.

“How’s your wife, Cathy?” Emily asked. “I see she’s not here today. Is she ill?”

“She’s had an accident,” the big man replied. He looked ridiculous in his smart clothes, like he was too big for them, and he stank of alcohol and cigarettes. “She’s in hospital.” He was a man of few words and there was no visible emotion on his big, brutish face.

“Oh, what a pity,” said Emily with a fake smile, trying her best to be polite and professional even though she hated the man. “I will pray for her. Send her my regards when you see her. What happened?”

The man’s eyes shiftily darted left and right for a moment. She could almost see the cogs working in his simple mind. “Car crash,” he said at last. He’d clearly just thought of that on the spur of the moment. Why the sheepishness? What had really happened?

“Well,” Emily said, shaking the man’s hands and smiling again. “I hope she gets well soon. See you again next week.”

After all the hand shaking was done, Emily walked back inside the church with the intention of tidying up and eventually retiring to her chambers for lunch. But one of the congregation returned and called out to her.

She spun round. It was Cathy’s sister, Margery. She was a thin, wiry looking woman in her early forties. Her greying black hair was long and unkempt and her face was lined with worry and stress. “Might I have a word with you in private, vicar?” She said.

“Of course,” Emily replied, looking around at the empty chapel. “There’s no one else here now. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“My sister isn’t in hospital because of a car crash,” said Margery. “It was him.”

This confirmed Emily’s suspicion. “Does he hit her?” she asked, screwing up her face in concern.

“Drunken bastard,” Margery swore, her face scowling with rage, “without a scrap of compassion in his big, ugly body. Yes, he hits her. He gets drunk and he shouts at her, bashes her and worse. He’s horrible when he’s drunk. This time she ended up in hospital,” she added, becoming increasingly animated and passionate. “I’ve told her. I said to her many times to leave him. Move back with your mum, I’d say. He’s no good. She just keeps talking about her marriage vows and being a good wife.”

Emily was torn. Church teaching did hold marriage sacred. “Well, I…” she began but Margery cut her off.

“Begging your pardon,” she continued, “I don’t like to speak poorly of the church or anything. But Rev. Williams, the previous vicar, he spoke to her many times about the abuse she was suffering. He counselled her. But all he did was tell her to pray and to continue to be a good wife to her husband. He was useless in this matter. Don’t you think the church has a responsibility to keep its parishioners safe?” She paused briefly, letting the question hang in the air. “I mean if she is in real danger, then shouldn’t a compassionate Christian organisation be doing all it can to help her, instead of advising her to just put up with it and be obedient and good? What the fuck is that? Excuse my French.”

Emily took it all in, unruffled by the swearing. It hurt her heart to think of that woman suffering. “I’ll do all I can,” she said with a compassionate smile.

“Well, I hope you do,” said Margery. “I don’t come very often these days. Sick to death in my very heart with it all. But perhaps you’ll be better than the last vicar.” She almost turned to go but then stopped herself and turned back around. “She’s such a sweet girl,” she continued, love and concern on her stressed, haggard face. “It’s not fair that she should be married to a heartless bastard like him. We don’t even speak no more, me and him. He’s a vicious asshole. Sorry for the language, vicar, but it’s very upsetting. She’s my sister. And she’s in hospital because of him.”

“I understand,” Emily said compassionately. It was all very distressing. “And I hope I can change your mind and help you see that the church does care. I will do all I can to help.”

“Thank you,” Margery said with a smile. “What a joy it is to have a female vicar for a change.” Then she turned and left.

Susan, the church secretary, was printing out some letters when Emily walked into the admin office of the church. “Good sermon,” she said, barely even looking at Emily as she continued her work. The printer whirred away as page after page dropped into the tray. Susan took out the pages and started putting them into envelopes.

“Thank you,” Emily replied. “Do you know much about Cathy Baines and her husband? I’ve just been told she’s in hospital and the sister told me that it was her husband that put her there.”

Susan stopped what she was doing and frowned slightly. She was a plump lady, blonde and with long manicured fingernails. She was also the kindest, bubbliest, nicest lady that Emily had met in a long time. She looked up at Emily and answered. “Rev. Williams was counselling her,” she said. “The husband is known to be a violent drunk, it’s true. Very sad.”

“Well, can I see the notes from the counselling sessions?” Emily asked. “I think that now they’re my parishioners that I’m responsible for their wellbeing.”

“Yes, of course,” Susan frowned again, looking puzzled and worried. “Only I don’t know where he kept the notes. A lot of that old paperwork is down in the basement. You could look there I suppose. I never go down there myself.” She added the last comment almost as an aside.

“Why not?” Emily asked, suddenly intrigued.

Susan visibly shuddered. “I don’t like to think about it,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

Emily stared, puzzled for a while and Susan got back to work. “You should leave well alone,” said the angel on her back. “This is a distraction from the Lord’s work.”

“Did you hear that?” Emily asked.

Susan looked up from her work again. “Hear what?” She said, looking confused.

“Can you see it on my back?” Emily asked, turning round to show her.

Susan looked wide eyed at Emily, as if scared. The look in her eyes said that she thought Emily was touched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a nervous smile. “There’s nothing on your back.”

Emily sighed. It was just as she thought. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. Then she turned to leave.

She passed Peter, the groundsman, on her way down to the basement.

“This way leads to the basement, right?” She asked the old man.

“Yes,” he said in an uncertain tone, stopping and turning to face her with one eyebrow raised. “But I wouldn’t go down there if I were you.”

She looked him up and down. His clothes were creased and his trousers and shoes were splattered with mud. His long, talon-like fingernails were dirty and yellowed. His beard was unkempt and he smelled of sweat. He wasn’t a very attractive man and he had a kind of leering creepiness about him that made her uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?” She asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.

“I just wouldn’t,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “There’s something nasty down there.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Some dark secret that the Church keeps hidden?” She said, only half seriously, before adding angrily, “or paperwork that nobody wants me to see?” She was getting a bit fed up with all the games people were playing with her. Why couldn’t people just tell the truth?

“No, it’s not that.” He said, shaking his head. “There’s something lurking down there,” he added, widening his eyes dramatically and fixing her with a foreboding stare, “a dark presence.”

“Oh, please!” She said, mockingly quoting The Empire Strikes Back. “That place is strong with the dark side. A domain of evil, it is. Do me a favour and pull the other one. It’s got bells on.”

He merely shrugged and walked away. “I warned you,” he said, shaking his head.

“Look at yourself,” the angel said as she opened the door and descended the steps, “look at all your pride and arrogance. Your cocky rebellious streak is an offence against God. After all he did for you when he died upon the cross. You defy your elders, pry when you’ve been told to let it go. When are you going to turn your back on all your sin and wickedness?”

“Not now,” she whispered to it. “We can talk about this later. I just want to see for myself what Rev. Williams wrote.”

The place was dark, the walls slimy and it smelled of damp, but she turned on the light and it gave a dim glow to the surroundings. There were plenty of crates and bric a brac but there were also some boxes. She made a beeline for the boxes and immediately started rummaging around, rifling through the papers, looking for the notes.

The room turned suddenly cold as she searched the boxes and there was a dull kind of croaking. But she paid it no mind. Old buildings like this could often play tricks on you. If the creak of wind or a sudden drop of temperature was all it took to make people believe the place was haunted by some kind of “dark presence” then she knew she had little to worry about.

There was a lot of paperwork to get through, a lot of notes from various meetings and counselling sessions. It was going to take quite some time to find what she was looking for.

Suddenly she saw a black shape out of the corner of her vision. The barely perceptible croaking sound got louder and angrier until it was a deep growling. She turned to look at the shape. It was like a cloud of shadow with two red eyes. A mouth opened up and revealed large needle like teeth.

“What the…?” She said.

“It’s your fault!” It said in a deep, throaty voice, full of barely suppressed fury. “You brought me here! You killed me and then brought me back. Fuck all you priests and your evil church!”

It roared at her with rage and lunged towards her. There was a gust of wind and the papers flew everywhere. Suddenly it was upon her, all teeth and claws, eyes and shadow. “I will make you fall!” It screamed. “I will bring your religion down and eat your soul!”

It was insubstantial. The shadows moved through her like wind. It felt icy cold and she wondered if she could die just from the chill.

She turned and ran but it chased after her. It roared and screamed, incomprehensibly now, the frantic ranting having turned into non-verbal noise. “It can’t harm me,” she told herself. “It has no body.” Yet claws appeared and she felt them scratch at her while teeth gnashed angrily only inches from her face.

She wasn’t going to risk it. She dropped what she was carrying and hurried back upstairs and out through the door, with not a single piece of paperwork to show for her trouble.

She stood with her back to a wall, panting desperately until she got her breath back.

“Gone strangely silent now, haven’t you?” She said at last, speaking to her angel, who was still attached to her like a child riding piggyback on her shoulders.

“I told you to leave well alone,” it said. “You did not listen because you are still wicked and locked in sin.”

Later that evening, alone in her vicarage, she phoned Rev. Williams for his advice. She sat back on the sofa in her warm, cosy living room and picked up the phone. She dialled the number, he replied and they began to talk.

“You were vicar here before me,” she said. “You never told me about the ghost in the basement!”

“It wasn’t there for most of my career,” he said on the other end of the line. “It reappeared maybe three months ago.”

“What is it?” She asked. “Who is it?”

“A heretic they burnt as a witch centuries ago,” he explained. “He came back as a wraith to torment and destroy the preachers that burnt him. Or so the story goes.” Emily paused to think. She felt frightened that such a creature could be lurking in the church, waiting to attack her. “I only looked into it briefly when the hauntings began again,” Father Williams continued. “It’s an old fable from the 17th century. He’s not been seen for nearly three hundred years.”

“Until now,” Emily mused.

“It’s really best not to go down there.” Rev. Williams said. “Not even Peter likes to venture into the basement anymore. What were you doing down there anyway?”

“I was looking for some of your old counselling notes,” she said, slightly sheepishly.

“Why?”

“Cathy Baines is in hospital because of her husband,” she said, feeling suddenly angry. “I wanted to see what she said to you. What you said to her. She’s my responsibility now, you see.”

He sighed. “There’s nothing you can do, believe me,” he said. “Sad though it is. Marriage is a holy vow. Perhaps the light of Christ can help him reform his ways. But she has to submit to him in every way and stay loyal to her husband. It’s written in the scriptures that a wife must obey her spouse.”

“But she’s in the hospital with God only knows what injuries!” Emily protested. “Must she continue to endure such misery? Is that really God’s way? Is that the compassion of Christ?”

“I understand, I do,” he said. “But we have to abide by the strictures of our faith. Advise him to give up the drink and to love his wife. Advise her to help him overcome his weakness and to pray. You must pray for them both too. Offer her whatever counselling she needs. And him too. There’s really nothing else you can do about the situation.”

“I told you,” the angel added. “Turn from your sinful rebellion and wickedness. Walk in the way of the Cross.”

She sighed. It was true. There was nothing she could do about it. “This angel I met,” she said, changing the subject.

“I have one too,” he replied, as if reading her thoughts.

“Why can no one else see it?” She asked.

“They are invisible to all except the one who carries them.” He said.

“Does it scold and lecture you too?” She asked. “Does it criticise you constantly and tell you how you’ve fallen from the way? It’s almost constantly doing it with me. And the face! Why has its appearance changed from the innocent creature I saw near the woods? What is it really?”

His voice became hard. “It’s an angel,” he said in a no-nonsense way. “It’s your own personal guardian angel. All priests have them, in every denomination or so I’ve heard. It’s there to help you, to guide you, to keep you on the straight and narrow. And the less you question it and the more you obey, the less it will reprimand or criticise you. Eventually you’ll be at peace.”

“It never criticises you anymore?” She asked.

“I have my moments,” he answered.

“But didn’t God give us a brain so that we could question and think for ourselves?” She asked. “Isn’t that why he gave us free will in the first place? Isn’t that the whole point of his infinite grace and forgiveness? What’s the point of obedience that comes from fear of chastisement?”

“Oh, how you have fallen,” Rev. Williams replied. “I can see why it’s giving you such a hard time. We have free will, yes. But we must also repent and serve the Lord faithfully. I’m a good priest,” he added, his voice quivering with sudden anxiety. “I am good. I obey my Lord and saviour. All questions, all wickedness and rebellion have been taken from me.”

Who are you trying to convince? She thought. “Where’s your individual spirit, Rev. Williams?” She asked.

“It’s gone,” he said. The sadness in his voice was clearly audible. “I have surrendered it to the Lord.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I will try to follow your example.” She put the phone down. It was a lie of course. She was more worried than ever about the nature and intentions of the creature on her back. But she tried her best to bury the thoughts. It knew everything she did or felt.

It had been an exhausting day. She pulled out a bottle of whisky from her cupboard and poured herself a large one.

“And now you turn to drink,” the angel said. “A shepherd is supposed to set an example for his flock. See how deep in sin you are?”

“Oh, shut up!” She said.

I’m only posting the first 8 chapters of this story on this blog. To read the rest of the book, please buy The Psychic Investigation and Study Team on Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk

#fiction #fantasy #supernatural #writing #novel #lgbt #ghost #wraith

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