anyways. since i accidentally posted early like a loser. somebody asked me abt my pjsk hcs so heres my wanshow ones! if theres any groups you wanna see just lmk :)
matching friendship bracelets that emu made! she then taught rui how to make them… bracelets galore!!
nene piece of heart necklace. her fave zelda game is totally twilight princess
longer/messier hair for rui and tsukasa!! nene and mizuki have to Force them to comb it and get it trimmed
nene gamer and also vbs and leo need fan! she supports ichika and toya :))
emu gives stickers to her unitmates whenever she finds loose ones!! rui and tsukasa proudly stick them on their cardigans
matching hairclips :)
emu gives rui lots of patterned bandaids to help whenever he nicks or burns himself while tinkering!! same with tsukasa but with sewing injuries
rui and nene are a killer ow duo. nene mains ramattra and rui is her pocket ana
emu breaks the miya dress code like crazy but no one cares enough to chew her out for it
emu loooves cool and new fashion styles and picks one up for a few weeks then hops on another!! she likes the brighter flashier styles like decora kei
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For gunk-ice-tea’s RaMayttra prompts, Day 26: Enraged.
Rating: PG/Teen
WC: 777
Warnings: Fighting, hurt no comfort
=====
It was a failure. Months of planning, of production, reviewing and updating dozens of iterations of designs, all that he had done was now scrap in the streets of France. All a waste- time, resources, his energy. Nothing came from it- nothing! He'd lost his compatriots and still he had nothing to show for it!
His faceplate is incapable of emoting, and yet you can see the tension rise in him. The squaring of his shoulders, the hum of his processes ramping up- and the soft crunching of glass as his fist closes around a data cube. Tiny shards fall from his hand, glittering in the bright display of the screens before him. He pays no attention, doesn't even realize it's shattered. On screen, an omnic talks to a reporter, describes how Overwatch saved him from a Titan. An omnic. You don't want to look to him again.
"Fool!" Ramattra spits, "A coward groveling at the feet of our oppressors, do they really think I would let my army harm our people? I'm trying to save them!"
Metal groans behind you- and if you had to guess he's crushed a dent into the table. You turn carefully, slowly. I'd never hurt you, he'd sworn to you, but you can't entirely summon that trust now. He's spent years keeping his rage carefully leashed- saving it for the personal, gratifying nature of using his fists to overcome resistance. Now it's different. Like it's humming just under the surface, itching for an ounce of satisfying destruction. His base programming is scratching at the edges of his thoughts, HUD lining up combatants.
"Ramattra," It's as much a plea in itself as a call for his attention. His head barely moves, but you can feel the burning of his optics focused on you. It is different. You resist the need to squirm under his hateful gaze. "It's one battle. There will be more."
"One battle." Ramattra repeats quietly. A calm before the storm. You picked wrong. "With every battle we lose my people are suffering, dying. Only a human could see that as an acceptable loss!"
You grit your teeth and fight the urge to rise to his bait. "I didn't say that. I meant-"
His thoughts are racing, processes running out of control. "Oh, I know what you meant," He stands slowly, "You meant to remind me that this war is ongoing, that I've managed to underestimate bunch of a bickering, clueless humans! I somehow forgot the only thing you beasts love more than destroying yourselves is destroying omnics!"
It's all you can do to stand up straight, to stare up into the black rectangles of his faceplate. Rage- you hold on to your rage, let it make you brave just long enough. Your eyes may water and your lip may wobble, but you won't break down here. "Not all of us."
It's a line Ramattra has heard before- and yet this time it's ice water to his circuits. He can see now, pulls back from the tunnel vision- his HUD is flashing red, warnings of run away processes. His optics refocus, settle on your eyes- hard and hurt- helpless to watch as the first tear rolls over your cheek.
You turn and leave him, wiping your face as you go.
He feels- he feels- sick is what his vocabulary banks produce for him, unable to define the mix of shame and grief and regret and the still-lingering rage any better. Sick. He is... unwell, no- destabilized, like core processes have frozen mid-operation. No critical alerts ping in his memory, but he runs a self-check anyway. He must've- that's the only reason he would...
No, he knows. Ramattra looks down at his desk. On the left, there's a perfect imprint of his hand. On the right, the shining, glittering shards of the data cube he'd destroyed. He touches the dust, sweeps one finger through it.
He sinks back into his chair. The self-check dings complete, no errors found. He idly toys with considering his own repair system is faulty, but he knows. His temper has always been... a problem- his need for control, even if by pushing away what he cannot control. An essentialist would say it's in his very nature, unable to escape his original purpose. Ramattra cannot bring himself to disagree.
One by one he forces his locked-up actuators to disengage, releasing the tension across his body.
Later, he will stop by your quarters and apologize. He can't bring himself to do it yet- and you need time to calm down. Instead, he looks back to the screen and watches as they pan over the absolute destruction of Paris.
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