#'look how Cool this is! how TECHNOLOGICALLY cool!'

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Seven

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warning: Bloodshed, fight between a man and a woman, tech talk, injuries, future implications of murder on the horizon. Use of your nickname for König.

Words: 2628

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?”

Just because you can, it doesn’t always mean you should.

Sometimes it better to walk away.

Letting things lie.

Leaving them in the shadow of what could have happened if you wanted to act upon your urge to be rid of them.

Your fingers trail along the mask. An incredible gift in your eyes. The sleek material cool beneath your fingers, the curves forming over your face.

As if the material itself bonded together with your face, the digital HUD flickering to life with a gentle hum, casting a soft glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Simon took a tentative step towards you. He looked at it, he said, "It's a beauty," he whispered with a hint of envy.

"Lightweight, customisable, and undetectable by most standard security systems, protects my face from dust, debris, and potentially harmful airborne particles." you described part of it.

Other functions of your mask were less visible but equally important. It had a built-in respirator allowed you to breathe without revealing your position through foggy breath in cold environments or leaving a trail in smoke-filled rooms.

The mask's indented 'teeth' served as a silent venting system for the excess heat your body produced during intense combat. It was a marvel of modern warfare technology, and it complemented your lethal skill set like a second skin.

You don’t know when the chatter around started to grate on your ears and eat away at your nerves. Part of you thinks it was because of a certain part of you being denied sustenance. Thrill of a fight itching to be satiated.

Itching. Aching. Burning in the bottom of your stomach like a meal denied.

“We are all doomed. We are not special. None of us are special. We live on a tiny rock floating amongst other tiny space rocks. To imply we are special is to deny the truth. You are not special, just as I am not special.”

You were tired of the excuses. You were tired of them. “You are mediocre at best and tolerable at worst. I don’t care about you or anyone else here. Your existence is finite.”

“You are mediocre at everything I have seen you do.” You repeated with a narrowed glare. “Everything you are. It could and would be forgotten as long as your superiors benefit from it.”

“You don’t get to keep something someone else owns. Not ever. I don’t need a ‘saviour’ stop implying that I need one.” You murmured, your voice as fierce as a cat's growl. Your hold on his throat base stayed firm, as relentless as desert sands.

Despite your injury, you retaliated fiercely when threatened sufficiently. The cut deep enough to insert at least three fingers. You were always considered difficult to your peers. You didn't care about their opinion as much as they believed.

Imagine talking about someone’s trauma and labelling them as the ‘difficult one’ pathetic morons can’t consider the fact trauma changes people.

If they knew how trauma worked, they wouldn’t be flapping their pathetic mouths so much.

They need to learn to shut the fuck up.

Projecting their morals onto others like they’re the only people in the world.

Shut the fuck up. Most of you are more likely to have the privilege to never go through it.

Stupid pathetic moronic children who can only think of themselves first.

I see Simon receive the same treatment by women who label him the ‘difficult one’. It makes me want to smack the shit out of all of them.

Assault of any kind should not be tolerated. They need to shut the fuck up before I make them shut up.

I am tired of them. I am sick of their justifications of labels on people.

Shut the fuck up, I hate you all.

Trauma isn’t something you belittle. Yet you seem to have fun in doing just that. I hope you die and reach a depth of hell most won’t be able to reach.

It is what you deserve. It is what I want you to have. Now more than ever.

You think you snapped when it happened. Not that you aimed for a psychological snap any time, sooner or later. Yet the whispers and murmurs grated on your nerved like nails on a chalkboard. Call me pathetic and I will give you death.

I will give you a death even your so called god will not look away.

Your enemies cannot reach you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on.

The stars do not know you, prepare, they’ll whisper you your fate.

They look at you and wonder how you are even alive. Fear mixed with disgust. You feel it. You see it. They keep you because otherwise you would have been a darker shell of yourself.

He pushed you far enough to get here. Yet it caused you to laugh. To giggle. The blood gushing from your nose, a bit from your mouth, you laugh. You laugh because you know it’s all a game to them. A game of fear and power. And in that moment, you had all the power. You knew because the stars had already whispered to you, and they had never lied.

"An itty bitty knife? Are you fucking serious?" you taunted him.

The man snarled back a response, "This isn't a game, bitch," as he raised the knife, ready to strike fear into your heart.

“Are you scared? Are you going to run crying to your superiors, little bitch?” you taunted relentlessly. “Gonna cry now?”

A beast circling its wounded prey, every nip, every bite and every taunt. You became more beast than human when your anger wound-up tighter than a coiled snake. Posed and poised to strike. His eyes widened with fear, his breaths shallow, and his smugness replaced with a desperate plea for mercy.

Simon intervened, trapping you inside a headlock, the guy silently murmured and thanked for his timely intervention. He got off lightly in your opinion. Though getting stabbed by a butterfly knife put a damper on things.

"You're the one who should be scared." Simon's voice was cold and firm as he held you back, his grip tight but not painful. "You're better than this. Don't let them bring you down to their level."

“Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?” you growled like a feral creature, clawing at Simon’s arms as he held you firmly in his grasp. His eyes, a mix of concern and irritation, searched yours for any hint of sanity left in the rage-filled maelstrom.

“We need him alive for intel," Simon reminded you, his tone still unyielding. You knew he was right, but the desire to rip the man’s throat out was a hunger that demanded satiation.

“Tell him that. The fucker stabbed me not you.” You jerked your chin towards the man cowering on the floor, trying to push Simon away, but his grip was like steel bars.

You knew he was right, but the adrenaline and anger pumping through your veins made it hard to think rationally.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickling down from your nose, mixing with the saliva on your teeth. It tasted metallic, a flavor you had become unfortunately accustomed to.

“Calm down,” Simon whispered in your ear, his grip on your arms tightening. “Remember who you are. Remember why we're here. And we'll get the stab wound looked at, I promise.”

“I'm not calming down for his sake.” You reminded him.

“No,” Simon's voice was low and controlled, “You're calming down for ours. We need you focused.”

You let out a breath, trying to regulate your breathing, which Simon knew was a sign that you were listening to him. You nodded slightly, allowing him to loosen his grip.

The room fell silent, except for the distant sound of gunfire outside the abandoned warehouse. The man on the floor was trembling, his eyes darting between you and the knife clutched in his hand.

Soap walked in moments after the whole debacle, his eyes scanning the scene before his gaze settled on the trembling man. “Well, well, look what we have here. A little stabbing party and I missed the invite,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. He knelt down, pulling the knife from the man’s shaking hand with ease. “Looks like you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You were about to leave the rest to Simon and Soap when Soap dragged you out instead, muttering things about not letting the bloodlust get to you. “I could have walked outside you know?” you muttered to him.

“You're a liability like this,” he shot back.

“Like what? Stabbed?” you countered.

Soap's smirk grew wider, “Exactly. Now, let’s get that wound patched up before you go full on Wolverine on us.”

“The animal or the mutant?” you snorted. “My life would be easier if it was the mutant. He heals instantly. Don't roll your eyes at me. I read so many X-Men comics growing up.”

Soap chuckled despite the gravity of the situation, his Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “Ah, so you’re telling me you wish for the gift of healing rather than the rage of the beast?” He led you to a makeshift medical station set up in the corner of the warehouse, the harsh lighting revealing the stark contrast of the crimson blood against your pale skin.

“I mean that would just come with the healing right? With how Wolverine is, I wouldn’t mind the rage as much. The claws would be a bonus.” you quipped.

Soap shook his head, his amusement clear despite the seriousness of the situation. He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the wound, “Well, we’ve got bandages, not adamantium, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Simon glared at the comment made from a bystander calling you cute when you are clearly not. You had wanted to be called it when you weren’t bloodied with another person’s blood on your uniform and your knuckles.

Once you were isolated, Price looked at you from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. As you let your aggression out on a punching bag. The smacking of gloves against leather in the background as they continued to speak about the fight between you and a guy who happened to be taunting Simon.

It grated on you enough to lash out. Ending in bloodshed. Despite these fights being rare, they are bloody enough for people to remember them. You felt the weight of Price’s gaze, his silent disapproval heavy in the air. He couldn't be upset with you entirely as you don't escalate them as much as people would love to believe.

“You okay?” he finally spoke, his tone flat.

“If you're angry with me just say so.” you told Price.

Price took a drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'm not angry with you.” He said, “I'm just concerned. This isn't the first time you've lost it like that.”

“And it's not the first time they escalated it either. But you don't see that part because by the time you're here. They're on the ground and I'm already stabbed.” you reminded him. “Lecture them before you lecture me.”

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “Look, I know you've been through a lot, but we need you sharp. We can't afford any more… incidents like this. Do you understand?”

“How about you tell them to keep their hands to themself?” you countered.

Price sighed, his gaze flickering to the side, “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Its called keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch someone without their consent.” you reminded him.

Price knew you had a point, but the situation was more complicated than that. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’ll handle it. But you need to control your temper. We're in a war zone, not a playground. If we don’t keep our heads on straight, we're all going to end up dead. Or worse, captured.”

Like the god Hades, you will never been seen as anything other than a monster of your own creation. Maintaining a balance most will never see. Passive. Altruistic. A creature made by whims and wants of others. A creature made and remade repeatedly.

A story retold to fit the whims and wants of those they want to appeal to. Hades went from passive to a main villain because of the lack of media literacy to think clearly. Whittling down his wife to a lost lamb in distress. When she is in fact his queen with strengths of her own.

A falsehood created by those who would rather see their version of a tale prevail than to see a man be gentle with his wife. Better to dehumanise the king of the underworld than to think otherwise.

They don’t seem to understand. Evil has no shading. Darkness does not equate to evil, and living in the shade of blissful ignorance will not save you.

Just as fire causes destruction. It also has a hand in creating life.

Neither side is good. Neither is side is bad. Both sides would have been considered good and great given the angle someone would take. Both sides can be considered a great evil. No matter what happens from this point forward. You will always be referred to as the name you are given. No matter how tainted you feel about yourself.

They will still refer to you by this name. Now, today and tomorrow.

As Elysium and Tartarus are both heaven and hell. It is both. It will always be both.

Choosing to believe one version of a tale over the other reeks of bias.

Much like Hades. You don’t have to go to them. People will come to their own end when they come to you. A fruitless endeavour to ever hope they could live to see tomorrow if they were your target. They are good as dead.

You are the least evil amongst them. It also didn’t mean you are harmless like a pup as much some might think.

“They will all come to me eventually. Regardless of how they feel on the matter.” You muttered. Mostly to yourself than to Simon.

Simon decided to interject, his deep British accent breaking through your deep meditated rhythm. The punches against the bag hard enough to shake through a concrete wall. Strong enough to go through a wall made of wood. You wore specialised earphones to block out background noise.

Now all there is left of you there are memories. It’s been a month since your kidnapping, entering into a second month now. They turned to your private thoughts of your journal in the hope they would find you sometime soon. Hoping König would not kill you out of boredom of you.

People fear death and fawn over theatrics.

People hate you because you represent the end of life.

Death. Grim Reaper.

Retellings will tell them you took them. Kidnapped them.

Even though your intentions were revealed to them and them alone.

Behind closed doors.

Twisting your words against your memory.

Even when your intentions were not what they will assume.

They mix up benevolent with kindness. You will show them, won’t you Mäuschen?

You will show them what it means to evoke the name of death upon their lips, right Maus?

The walls of your old bedroom, no longer the same as they once were. Not like you cared now. It was a moment of another time. Inside a lifetime, you thought you had all to yourself. Fleeting, as they were, finite. You were glad they were gone. As you were about to something so heinous. Even your mother would have disowned you.

No. She isn’t here anymore. She can not save you. No one outside this room can save you apart from yourself.

Rely on your instincts.

“What’s the matter, lamb? Are you scared?” You cooed into his ear. A plan forming in the back of your mind. If this was the game, he set up. He should be prepared for you to win it.

Fair is fair after all.

What is his will become yours.

What is yours will never be his again.

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[here-there-were-dragons]

does anyone else remember that time during when every single thing had these super high definition detailed 3d renders of incredibly glossy hyperrealistic blobs of water undulating and wiggling in very specific tiny ways to show how they could get the simulation to do realistic details so tiny and complicated on it, even when the thing is question had absolutely nothing to do with water, because the technology to render it like that was new and everything was trying to seem cool by going ‘look how real we can make this now’, where someone would have had to draw that before and would likely not have done as convincing a job?

[darabeatha]

/ I think f.ate moved way too fast on o.dysseus

[rizadyke]

Books need to be broken in the same as a pair of doc martens

[july-19th-club]

the major appeal of the Corn Maze is tapping into the human experience of Being Surrounded By Maize During Harvest . i love you corn and i love walking in circles under an autumn sun while you rustle gently and smell exactly as you always have for the past many hundreds of years at this same time in this same spot. effervescent

[jinzouacting]

periodically people have to be reminded that you should be against these large generative ai models because its aggregate content theft and not because of like "laziness" or whatever

[pausegame]

I hope the plotline in DA: Absolution crops up in Veilguard. Devs did say the world keeps moving regardless of Rook/the player so that could be a plotline in Tevinter the same way The Masked Empire was relevant to Inquisition, though not mandatory reading material. Really curious as to what precisely Meredith wants to do. Ressurect all the dead Templars in Tevinter and turn them red and then overthrow??? I am curious 👀

[the-good-luck-anomaly]

[antirepurp]

oh i am having the sneakiest ideas for doing stuff with sonic cd analogue horror that doesn't try to make the game into something it isn't while also delivering a story im afraid im starting to get invested into tinkering with this now

[lwoorl]

I'll say it: "Oh all AI artists do is write a stupid description and immediately get an image with no effort, there's no art in that" is the new "Digital painting doesn't count as art because it takes no effort"

[dwn012]

laptop threw a fit so im on mobile and my rp acct hi confession time for a third time. recently ive been super stressed abt writing Quick bc i feel i can never quite achieve that ideal version of my interpretation of him? i have to like literally confine myself to write him bc im super talkative and emotional and its just so hard in practice augh o|< fr i played myself when i decided to pick up Ariga Quick as a muse

i feel i can never quite achieve that ideal version of my interpretation of him?

I know confession time isn't exactly for advice but at least hear me out: You might be putting too much pressure on yourself to be perfect. From one creative to another I know what that feels like- it's a sisyphusian problem of working up, up, up towards that ideal version of our vision only to look back and see we never left the starting line.

The thing is, that trying to create that ideal version of our creative idea just... It's not going to happen. It was like that with Heat's headcanon piece, sure it was perfect when I decided to publish it but you end up looking back with new experience and new knowledge that changes your creative thinking and suddenly it's not so perfect anymore. The thing about your Quick (and I don't want to try and exactly characterize him here, you know him better than I do) is that, to me hes an enigma, hes something completely disconnected from you or I and I think that's where the issues start to arise.

i have to like literally confine myself to write him bc im super talkative and emotional and its just so hard in practice

You said it here, that your portrayal is completely different from you making it so hard in practice to get that accurate interpretation. I think you should really reassess what you want out of having Quick as a muse- Do you want to have fun? Do you want to be strong? Why are you writing him in the first place?

The thing I've learned recently, with my more recent writing is that I'm not writing to be accurate to anything (you really can't, not with mega man oh NO) and as much as I try to educate myself on current and known science regarding the robotics field (I still need to finish that article)-

Sometimes something is just. Cool. It's badass, it hits that certain spot that makes you sit up in your chair or shift because the energy you just got thinking about that idea was too much to handle.

You were the one who told me that rp is all about fun, it's a game! It's art. I wanna return the favor and say maybe what you're trying to do is not make Quick accurate, but fun. Maybe then you'll find your ideal portrayal.

[sagau-my-beloved]

I just explained to non-Sagau one about Sagau and he drowned me in questions... His first concern was if I`m forcing Traveler into it, this was kind of wholesome.

I haven't even considered doing that, now I'm curious which character— But that is pretty wholesome

Maybe I should post pics of some of my stupid conversation I had when I didn't know about the ability to actually generate multiple replies and had to just do the equivalent of on the spot improv, but I'm probably the only one who'd find that funny—

I so wish the ai's memory was a bit better too causes I'd love to do some actual plot development and worldbuilding, but this is still so far beyond the development of any other chatbot I've ever tried, and I've tried a lot

[ambreiiigns]

i wanna be someone who listens to misfits full time again wtf is ghost

[tortademaracuya]

Having to enter my own drive reminded me of the agonies (people stealing my stuff and none of my professors giving a shit) but it also brought me the wonders :) (finding a storyboard for another class I didnt remember doing and how much I liked the character I made for it)

[earlgreytea68]

Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.