#lethal and emotionless

[chaotic-orphan]

Partners in Crime (Merry Whump of May: day 21)

Charismatic : “sit”// vial // balcony

Tw: forced swallowing of suspicious substance, handcuffs, small spaces

Completely unedited :) so read at your peril

~*~*~*~*~*~

Casper let out a groan as the car finally came to a stop. With his hands cuffed behind his back and his legs bunched up in the tight space, there was no way to stop himself from hitting his head off a corner at the sudden stop. It only aggravated his headache from the beating Monroe’s goons had given him before they stuffed him in here.

Casper heard two car doors open and close followed by footsteps that got closer and closer to the boot. Casper knew this was inevitable, if you stuff someone in a boot and park the car, usually you’re going to have to remove them from the boot, but still… his heart pounded all the same.

It was Gavin who opened the boot and stared down at Casper with a wicked grin. “Enjoy the ride, Casper?”

“I’d enjoy it more if I didn’t have to see your face, ugly,” Casper replied, already moving to sit up in the boot which turned out to be more of an effort than he initially thought.

As soon as he sat up Gavin had a fist wrapped into Hero’s shirt and yanked him forward. Casper’s eyes went wide but he could do nothing to stop himself as his body went with gravity and he fell face first onto the concrete. At the last-minute Casper jutted his shoulder forward, taking the brunt of the impact there instead his face but it still hurt.

“You’re such a dick,” Casper spat, rolling onto his back and wanting to kick his legs at Gavin. He would have too, except for his legs being dead. His blood fizzed as feeling slowly returned to him. Gavin let out a stupid laugh that grated on Casper’s ears, hurting more than the fall.

God… Casper really wanted Monroe to just kill the fucker already. Give Casper some peace, hire better goons.

“Oi,” the other goon called, voice drawl and monotone. “What’s the holdup?”

“He’s being difficult,” Gavin said in reply. Casper heard a sigh and then the other guy walked around the car to see Casper lying on the ground. Casper instantly scurried backwards as best he could on his cuffed hands and pins-and-needle-riddled legs that was just becoming awake.

Monroe’s other favourite goon, who Casper only knew as Dante, was far scarier than Gavin thought he was. He was lethal, efficient and humourless. His pale eyed stare pinned Casper in place after Casper’s back hit the wall. Casper watched as Dante reached behind his back and retrieved his gleaming pistol, drawing back the hammer and loading a round into the chamber with the simple flick of his thumb.

Dante inclined his head, voice monotone as he said: “would you like to walk up to Monroe’s suite, Casper? Or crawl?”

Casper set his mouth into a resolute, thin line, trying to maintain any of his dignity that vanished when Dante was involved. “I think I’ll walk,” Casper replied, already pushing himself up by leveraging his back against the wall.

Dante’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t holster his pistol; he just walked over to Casper and grabbed the crook of his elbow before pushing him towards the lift that led to the hotel above. Casper knew exactly where he was. Dante had brought him here multiple times before. The handcuffs and the boot treatment was new, but Casper didn’t have to think twice about why he was cuffed. Why Dante was being especially impatient…

Gavin followed him into the lift and pressed the button for the penthouse suite. This was when the nerves usually kicked in, but today Casper was more scared of Dante than Monroe. Monroe, he could sweet talk. Dante was like talking to a wall. An imposing, emotionless brick of a wall. The only advantage Casper had for assurances that Dante wouldn’t kill him was Monroe’s… fondness for Casper.

On good days, Casper liked to think on his relationship like more of a partnership. Where Casper and Monroe were equals. That’s the way it had always been, but lately… well, things have been tense to say the least.

He cast his eyes to the ascending numbers of the lift, watching every floor rise until he reached floor 63: Monroe’s home, the penthouse suite.

Dante punched in the six-digit passcode to enter the penthouse, while Gavin nudged Casper with his shoulder. “You fucked up big this time Casper, I don’t think Monroe’s gonna be so forgiving.”

Casper scoffed, glancing back over his shoulder to Gavin. “Even if he kills me, it would be a blessing. At least I wouldn’t have to stand so close to you.”

“You just think you’re so smart, don’t ya?” Gavin cursed, shoving Casper forward. Casper didn’t brace for a push and so he stumbled forward, just at the perfect timing that the lift doors opened. Casper lost his balance but recovered slightly and only dropped to one knee.

“I don’t think I’m smart, Gavin,” Casper replied easily, getting one foot under him. He shot a smirk over his shoulder to the bull in a China shop and said: “I just know I’m smarter than you.”

Casper got his second foot under him and went to stand but froze when he felt Gavin’s meaty hand on the back of his neck.

“Why you little—”

Dante’s cool voice cut through Gavin’s no doubt colourful insults. “You’ve wasted enough time already.”

Gavin’s hand disappeared from Casper’s neck, instead Dante’s hand replaced it and yanked Casper up. Before Casper could protest, Dante shoved him forward, further into Monroe’s apartment, the threat clear. Keep walking or else.

“Okay, alright! I’m going,” Casper grumbled, rolling his shoulders, thankful his legs had stopped prickling and was now fully functioning. Casper walked into the kitchen and froze.

Sitting at the kitchen island with a steaming cup of coffee beside him sat Monroe. He smiled when he saw Casper and stood to greet him. A hand pressed between Casper’s shoulder blades shoved him further into the kitchen, barely catching himself.

“Casper,” Monroe greeted, his voice soft and melodic like a warm tenor, pleasing on the ear. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Casper bit back his unhelpful reply and just beamed a smile at Monroe instead. He had to play this safe, otherwise he’d probably end up dead. Casper matched Monroe’s steps forward, shrugging as casually as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Yeah, well. Not every day you get thrown into the boot of a car by two goons, is it?”

Monroe’s grin was sharper than a Stanley blade as he extended a hand to Casper’s forehead where Gavin had slammed his head against the ground to stop him from fleeing.

“You’re bleeding,” Monroe said, tenderly touching the broken skin around the wound. Casper barely caught the greedy look in Monroe’s eyes before he pressed his thumb to Casper’s cut. Casper hissed and recoiled, but Monroe caught the back of Casper’s head with his other hand and kept him still. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes!” Casper hissed, trying to shoulder Monroe away from him.

The corner of Monroe’s lips twitched up. “Good,” he said, digging his thumb in harder before pulling away from Casper altogether. The pain was more of an annoying ache really, a loss of sensation but he wanted to relieve it somehow. He wanted to reach up and press a tender hand to it, but with his hands cuffed he couldn’t really do much of anything.

He watched as Monroe strolled over to retrieve his coffee off the island, then shot a pleasant smile back and Casper.

“Shall we enjoy the sunset on the balcony, Casper?” He asked, but he was walking before Casper could answer. Casper glanced back to Dante and Gavin before setting his jaw and reluctantly following Monroe out to the balcony.

“I’d enjoy the sunset if you took these cuffs off,” Casper told Monroe, voice sweet like honey. Monroe smiled at Casper as he sat in his favourite cushioned armchair and set his coffee on the glass table in front of him.

Monroe gestured for Casper to take his usual seat in front of Monroe’s, “please, sit.”

“You know what, Monroe? I’d love a coffee, if you’re feeling generous,” Casper said with a sigh and a cheeky smile as he settled into his own cushioned chair.

Monroe laughed. “Oh, Casper… I am feeling a lot of things towards you at the moment,” his brown eyes cutting into Casper’s. “Not one of him is generous.”

Casper reclined back into the chair, kissing his teeth and switched his gaze to the bustling city instead. The sunset was beautiful, casting the buildings with soft orange light as the sun sank low into the blue and pink sky. Casper wished he could enjoy it like he usually did. Instead, he was here, sitting across from Monroe and trying his best to ignore the claw of fear that had gripped his chest.

“I thought we had an understanding, Casper,” Monroe began with his soothing tone and sugar-coated words. “I thought we was partners.”

“Yeah,” Casper said with a scoff, turning to look at Monroe. “I thought so too. Then, next thing I know Dante’s at my door, beating the shit out of me to drag me here to you! My phone didn’t break by the way, it still works. Normal people call when he need something.”

Monroe’s eyes flashed with a drop of cruelty, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.

“Are you really trying to play coy with me, Casper?” Monroe asked with a laugh. “We both know you’re smarter than that.”

Casper sat forward in his chair and tried for a charming smile. “How about you take these cuffs off and we can have a lovely little chat, hmm? That’s what you want right? To smooth everything over.”

Monroe hummed, taking a sip of his coffee and glancing out across the city’s skyline. Casper huffed out a scoff and rolled his eyes, glancing back to the door to track where the other two arseholes was.

“Of course, Casper. We can have a civil conversation.”

Casper cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the and, if or, but. Monroe in reply, took something out of his pocket and placed it on the table between him. Casper made a point of looking at it — it was like a scientist’s test tube but smaller with a cork in it, or a vial of some toxic substance. The liquid inside was a deep purple where the sun hit it, but otherwise it looked black. When Casper glanced back at Monroe he was smiling, looking very comfortable and pleased with himself.

The warning bells was already blaring in his mind, so Casper just remained silent. Even if he wanted to speak, he wouldn’t know what to say.

“I’ll take off your cuffs, as long as you drink this.”

“I can’t drink it unless you take the cuffs off,” Casper shot back, agitated.

“Nonsense, “Monroe waved away, grabbing his coffee from the table and nodding at someone behind Casper. “That’s what I pay Dante for.”

A hand crossed in front of Casper, and he recoiled back, his heart racing. He jumped to his feet as Dante appeared in front of him, but a pair of hands on his shoulders dragged him back down to the chair and held him there.

There was a pop as the vial was uncorked.

“No, no, no! Wait!” Casper cried, struggling under Gavin’s hold as Dante stepped too between Casper’s legs that ruled out the use of his legs. “Monroe! What is that?!”

“Open up, Casper,” Dante said in the same monotone droll. “Don’t make me force you.”

Casper’s chest rose and fell too fast as he continued to struggle, turning his head away as Dante reached forward. A hand in Casper’s hair had him crying out as Dante wrenched his head backwards.

“Aagh! Get off of me!” Casper cried, twisting and turning, trying to stop Dante’s hand from getting closer or even better, spilling the fucking contents of the vial.

“Always so difficult,” Dante sighed, yanking Casper’s head back until he was staring at the sky. Casper grit his teeth to keep from crying out or opening his mouth. Dante leaned over Casper, pressing his forearm across Hero’s forehead, keeping him down and with his freehand he grabbed Casper’s nose and plugged it between his fingers.

Casper’s eyes widened, his struggles renewing as he realised what Dante was doing. Those pale, uncaring eyes stared down at Casper’s, waiting for him to open his mouth.

“You could have done it the easy way, you idiot,” Dante said, watching as Casper went purple from holding his breath. The struggling didn’t help with his lack of oxygen and Casper was afraid he’d burst or pass out and so —

Casper gasped and then the cool liquid was running down his throat. Casper coughed and sputtered, trying to spit it out. Before he could, Dante slammed his palm under Casper’s chin and dug his fingers into Casper’s cheek. Those pale eyes stared down soulless and bored.

“Swallow it, you child.”

Casper tried to twist his head free, but Dante didn’t let him. Dante slammed Casper’s head back again, so he was staring at the sky.

“Oi,” Dante drawled. “Do I have to cut off your oxygen again or are ya gonna behave?”

Casper pulled every ounce of hatred from his body into the glare he shot at Dante, his nostrils flaring but he knew there was only one way that this ended.

Casper swallowed the now warm liquid. “Is it gone?”

“Mmph,” Casper tried to affirm.

Dante tilted his head. “Swallow again.”

Casper obeyed. Satisfied, Dante let go of Casper’s cheeks and stepped away. Casper let his head fall forward, rolling his neck to try and get rid of the creak. Dante stepped to the side of Casper’s chair and snapped his fingers onto his palm in a ‘come here’ gesture that Casper understood to mean give Dante his hands.

Casper leaned forward, coughing slightly. Dante grabbed Casper’s cuffed hands none too gently and Casper heard the satisfying click that signalled his freedom.

Casper coughed again as he brought his hands in front of him, glaring at Monroe as he rubbed his wrists.

“What—” Casper said, cutting himself off with a cough. “What was that, Monroe?”

Monroe’s smile was cruel as he leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands between his knees. Casper’s throat felt so dry, and swallowing wasn’t doing anything to relieve the scratchiness.

“You remember Colt,” Monroe said.

Casper raised his brows. “Yeah? Vaguely?”

“He works in science, in a lab more specifically. Remember he made those power dampeners that the police love.”

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones,” Casper spat pointedly. His wrists weren’t the only things those stupid cuffs affected. It left Casper’s abilities disoriented afterward, something Monroe no doubt wanted Casper to experience. That off kilter, claustrophobic—

Something lurched in Casper’s chest, as if someone had just hit him from inside with a hammer. Casper’s hand went to his chest, fingers digging into his ribcage.

“Something wrong?” Monroe asked kindly.

“What—?” Casper breathed before another pang hit him and Casper jerked forward, taking in two long, panicked lungfuls of air. Casper got to his feet, needing to get away because something was wrong. Something was so so… wrong.

His vision turned as if Casper was on a waltzers or something and he barely managed to brace himself with his hands before he hit the balcony floor, heaving.

“AGH! Mo— Monr—” Casper cried, screaming as his chest burned, spreading a current of pure pain from his heart around his body. Casper’s strength left him as his body convulsed and felt like it was burning. As if an army of fire ants was crawling under his skin, biting and cutting and burning.

Casper curled into a ball, grabbing his knees and digging his nails into his waist as his breath seemed to falter and stop and he was so hot, his mind blind with pain as stars burst behind his eyes and something was wrong!

Casper shivered, his clothes scratching and uncomfortable as he writhed in pain, loud whimpers and screams torn from his throat as the poison made its way through his veins. That’s all that little vial could be… poison. Monroe… Monroe was going to kill him…

As if reading Casper’s thoughts Monroe stood, pressing his heel into Casper’s shoulder and kicking him onto his back. Casper’s glare was probably teary and ineffective, but he glared up all the same as his energy ebbed and flowed through his body, shivering and almost paralysed.

“Yeah, nerdy Colt. Little genius really,” Monroe said with a casual shrug, crouching so he could get closer to Casper. Casper tried to lift his arm and push him away, but he could barely lift it off the ground. “Well, I asked Colt if he could somehow manufacture an ingestible version of the power dampeners.”

Casper’s eye’s widened in horror, mumbling out incoherent protests as his body spasmed beneath him.

“Oh hush, don’t worry. I don’t want your abilities gone, I just wanted to punish you for disobeying me, Casper,” Monroe said softly. His words anything but soothing. He reached out and brushed some of Casper’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and smiled down at him almost tenderly. “The effects are temporary, Colt assured me, maybe two or three days—”

“You’re a bastard,” Casper spat, teeth chattering.

Monroe grinned.

“The effects are temporary, Casper, but I hope the message won’t be,” he said as he moved his hand to Casper’s throat and squeezed. Casper’s body only responded weakly, his arm brushing Monroe’s trying to dislodge it, but Monroe leaned so his breath fanned Casper’s cheek. “And if the message gets lost along the way, well, I had back-ups made in case you need a little reminder every now and then.”

Dark spots crowded the edges of Casper’s vision and for a moment he thought Monroe was going to choke him out.

Dante said something to the side and Monroe raised his brows, intrigued. Then as lazily as he cut off Casper’s oxygen he stood to his full height and grabbed his empty mug off the table. Casper gasped in air, turning on his side as he guzzled in sweet, fresh air into his lungs.

His smile was the same, usual charismatic one he wore when he was trying to imitate a human being. “Wonderful. Well Casper, get up. Duty calls. You can’t just lie around on my balcony all day. I’ll put on the kettle.”

Casper rolled onto his back and stared at the colour-streaked sky, his body spent and his mind racing. All he wanted to do right now was sleep, or die, or kill Monroe and Dante— or all three.

As soon as he got his breath back, he’d do one of him. Maybe. Probably, for now he just stared at the sky.

“Casper!” Monroe called from inside. “If you don’t move in the next ten seconds, I’ll get Dante to administer a second dose.”

Casper held up his middle finger through the window, not caring if Monroe even saw it. Reluctantly Casper sat up and got to his feet slowly, using the furniture to help him up.

He had made up his mind: he was going to kill Monroe…

after coffee.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

[therealsophiependragon]

okay but Mai did care. Like Mai gave many, many fucks about stuff. She's not someone who outwardly expresses a ton of emotion, but "I love Zuko more than I fear you" was not a one-off fluke, guys, it was a build-up.

I heard someone say a while ago that Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee are great representations of what women look like under the patriarchy. Azula becomes incredibly competitive and ambitious, the boss lady, pushing herself further than anyone else would have had to in order to get the respect of her father and his court. And she still has to work really hard for it, they constantly like question her and stuff which is very well-displayed in her opening scene. Not saying Azula's a victim guys. Please don't misunderstand me guys. Please don't mangle what I'm saying guys. But I firmly believe that a significant shaping of Azula was from her environment, and part of her environment was the Fire Nation's sexism.

Now Mai keeps her emotions in check and might be what a drunk guy on the street or an ex-boyfriend or a father might call an 'emotionless bitch,' whereas Azula is a 'psychopathic bitch' or a 'crazy bitch' which you know fair but also we're talking about Mai now. Mai grew up in an environment where a shit ton was expected of her and she had to respect the authority figures being her father and mother even though her father quite obviously didn't know things as well as she did. She had to clam up and keep quiet because that's what a lady was supposed to do, but she turned that silence lethal, and it isn't that she's numb or emotionless or doesn't care, she's just safer and taken more seriously if she's silent, and so Mai doesn't talk unless she has something to say.

Ty Lee is over-compensatingly feminine and girly, which is another way women act out under oppression. People think she's a ditz and even Azula underestimates and condescends to her at times, and maybe she acts this way because she genuinely feels like this is who she is, but sometimes when I see Ty Lee, I see myself in social situations. When people make me feel dumb, I automatically feel like I have to lean into that and make myself seem even dumber even if I'm not. I feel the need to giggle and tease and make self-deprecating one-offs about how I'm blonde or how I left my brain at home and all that shit, and I think Ty Lee does this too. Like a fear-response technique. And she acts this way a lot around Azula too which is telling because Azula embraced and sharpened a lot of traditionally masculine dispositions to use as weapons, and Ty Lee sees that.

So Mai and Ty Lee are really just protecting themselves I feel like. Not saying that they aren't being 'their true selves' onscreen or that, unafraid, they'd be completely different people than presented - there's actually evidence against this - but I'm sick of people presenting Mai as some emotionless and uncaring person who gives no fucks because that's not who she is. Istg like

[marchcozen]

I stop and admire the scenery, sometimes, and i never see it again. Sprawling, lush fields yearn graciously for the horizon, while tall, slim, off yellow monoliths strike down the attempt with an emotionless posture. Windows with no glass, with no meaning, no passerby or viewer to perceive any landscape, outside or in. desks and lamps, kitchens and bathrooms, decor all entailed, with no resident to neglect small daily uses, create stains and rips never to be redone. An entire city of bountiful resource, a haven for all, and taken by none. A small respite, a vigil of peace, ignored. For none with the self perceived sins of lethality, of the self made consequence of a war waged not by two parties, but one, could accept the warmth of a shelter made free. Those decided against themselves, decided against accepting anything, save the nook of misery, as home. The windowless sanctuary of peace, was never made for them.

[shamrockqueen]

Predator in the desert

Chapter 3

Pairing : Winter soldier x reader (post apocalyptic AU)

Warnings : Desperation, starving behavior, references to war, duality of the mind, emotionless man

Word count : 2020

Chapter 1

Bucky MasterList

You stopped breathing, the ghost of an echo bouncing through your ears after he’d yelled at you.

Your eyes snapped from his cutting and cold gaze, further down to the glimmer of his fearsome metal fingers as they closed around the old brass knob on the door. The only opening to the room, the only way out, and you wouldn’t be able to reach it, let alone slip past his solid stonelike frame.

You weren’t ‘calm’ by any means, but he had your attention, and even as you continued to shiver, it was all he really needed.

“Are you hungry?”

You flinched as he spoke; his voice edged only with a lack of patience as it reached out to you with heavy hands to shake you from your reeling thoughts.

You didn’t answer just yet, feeling your pulse thrum along your skin wildly. You just laid there, stunned as you stared at those metal fingers tightening around the knob of the door and trying to ease your own breathing before it made you feel numb.

“I asked if you were hungry.” He was much more stern, and even a little louder this time, watching with equal disinterest as you gasped back and struggled to answer.

“Y-yes… I‘m hungry.”

You spoke weakly, your lips shaking and your eyes welling with a wet dribble of tears. Like a small break in the smallest of bones as you gave in to the absurdity.

Of course you were hungry. You’ve been hungry since you were a screaming infant, just as everyone doomed to a life in the wasteland had been. Food in any amount was a luxury, whether it’s warm meat and grains or smashed bugs you find crawling along the floor by your bedroll.

This promise of food without a single bat of his eye should have felt like a dream come true, but something in your stomach felt heavy before clenching with a sharp cramp. That familiar pang of hunger pains morphing viscerally into obvious fear as your guts knotted together.

This was the only moment in your miserable life that you didn’t crave food, as you were consumed only with dread.

You didn’t want to take anything from this unholy amalgamation of man and metal. It was like cowering beneath the boogeyman, a monster of jagged teeth and twisted limbs that could steal your last shred of innocence, only to find an unreadable being that looked no different from yourself. He didn’t wear enough of his lethality on his skin, leaving you to spiral at the possibilities of what these chains binding you to his lair really meant for your near future.

It was no better than being a rabbit caught in a cage. There is the offer of water and now food, but the danger of your captivity, just as the chain around your leg, was a staunch reminder that none of this would be out of kindness. There is no good reason that you are here—none that could be conceived as all the terrible reasons swarm your aching head.

His expression never seemed to change as he took in every reaction you gave him, seeming to read it like new data to further his own strange purpose. When he was finished searching your jumbled tomes, whether having found his needed information or losing interest, he dragged that door open and disappeared through it before shutting you back inside that room. Only this time, you were alone with the crushing silence he had once held above you.

A silence quickly broken by the hard clack of a lock turning shut in the flimsy wooden barrier this soldier had placed between you two.

He fit the stories from old fantasies of war. An old story long left covered in dust, detailing how both sides ate away at one another until the bones were bare and empty of their marrow. He bore the red star, the mark of a demon of irradiated sands. One head severed from its ranks meant two would splinter out in its place, biting and gnashing its way through the wasteland.

The great hydra was supposed to be dead, a final rest assured long before your own birth. How wrong they all were apparently, and as you recounted those scary fairy tales, your stomach twisted harder and harder.

You tried to steady your breathing, letting it stutter and shake before it finally met an even rhythm.

‘You really did need to calm down’ The traitorous thought was the last fly to buzz through your brain before you let the muscles in your shoulders fall loose to hit the floor.

Your ankle still felt heavy with its new iron cuff, and you struggled back onto your elbows and further onto your feet, the sound of the chain dragging along the wood the only noise left to taunt you.

Your eyes narrow at the brassy knob, a small spark of defiance finally igniting in your chest only to fall short of catching a flame.

You were frustrated at best, hot tears stinging your eyes before spilling out over your dirty cheeks.

‘Why me? For fucks sake, why?”

How were you significant enough to be stolen? Did he pity you, thinking that keeping you would be better for your well-being, like a lost kitten climbing among the rocks he had scooped up?

Why would a monster want to help you? Why would he bother to care for you when he could do what any other villain would do to others who strayed too far from home?

But, this room didn’t look like a pen to keep his livestock. It had a small window at its other end, barred on the outside of the glass for your protection. The bed wasn’t shabby, only worn, and with actual blankets and pillows.

If you were to be kept, you suppose he chose to keep you well.

You turned back to the door, its knob within reach, but you didn’t jump to futilely pull or tear at it. You reach forward, a shriveled shard of hope still tearing at your heavy heart as you slide your fingers around it.

You know it was locked; you heard it happen, but you still clung to the possibility of this being a terribly real nightmare instead. Maybe your mind would let you open the door, but as you twisted the handle, it of course did not budge.

You stood closer, your head falling to your chest as you pressed your fingers to the wood. Your mouth opened with a shaking exhale of an empty scream, and new tears flooded over to wash the rest of your grimy face.

You did not expect the door to push forward on its own, nearly smacking you in the face as it knocked you back. You land on the floor unceremoniously. Still so weak and unsteady, you weren’t even a suitable match for an old door.

The man was back, standing over you with a plate in his human hand. He sighed before setting the platter of promised food on the bed, stepping over you in the process.

He spoke evenly, saying, “I didn’t mean to hit you,” but his voice didn’t carry any ounce of guilt for knocking you back on your ass. Would this have been the first time he’d knocked you down, or was it simply the only time he hadn’t meant to do so?

“Are you alright?” he asked as he leaned over your crumbled form, reaching towards your reddened cheek where the wood had initially smacked you.

You immediately shied away from his touch but didn’t fight to scramble backward.

He leaned away but offered you his less harrowing hand to help you off the floor instead of leaving you to do so by yourself again.

You never answered his last question, but as he didn’t press further, it was possible that he wasn't really interested either way.

He gestured to the plate of food he’d set on the bed and said flatly, “Eat.”

You looked over at the plate still perched on a pile of blankets. A slab of cooked meat, diced cubes of root vegetables, and a mush of something boiled, green, and leafy. It was the best thing you’d ever seen.

Actual meat the size of your hand coupled with real vegetables possibly rich with those vitamins and mineral-things the doctor used to talk about. Whatever it was, it made your tongue wet as you swept it over your cracked lips.

A small part of you still wanted to be cautious, as another balled its fists in frustration from being kept away from a beautiful plate of healthy food.

You opened your mouth, only to choke back on the words with a wet cough. You sputtered again, crying like a sad child for him to witness before finally speaking.

“Are you going to drug me?”

"No,” he answered quickly and with little care.

You watched for any signs of a farce, a twitch of an eyebrow, a quirk of a lip, anything. His eyes held their dull, disinterested blue as he waited for you to make up your mind.

You ventured closer to the plate, pressing a dirty finger against the still hot morsel of meat. It was light in color, like white meat off a rabbit, but you needed to be certain before going past this thin line you had drawn for yourself.

Your lips stuck together as you nearly whispered a squeak of a few words, “Is it people?”

The ‘P’ was sputtered by the drop of collected tears, making the sound more pronounced as it left your lips.

“No”

You looked back at him at the subtle change in his voice. With one word, one syllable, it was oddly unmistakable. He sounded a little offended, and yet he didn’t lift a finger against you.

That last ‘no’ was all you needed before throwing yourself at the plate, scooping at the wet potatoes and greens with your fingers to wipe the tasteless sludge over your tongue in ecstasy.

You tore at the meat with your bare teeth like a hungry dog in a frenzy of unending starvation.

You weren’t human anymore; no longer yourself. It was shameful how you felt. In this moment, as you tore at a lump of fat with your back molar, you wanted this more than ever.

You wanted to be a pet if it meant the promise of this minimal care. You wanted to be kept; you wanted the fresh water and food; damned be the consequences.

You weren’t thinking clearly, not until you licked the last stain of grease and green vegetable smudge off the plate with your desperate little tongue. You hadn’t realized you were panting, gasping at the air, and holding the plate with white knuckles and numb fingers as if he could fly off and never return.

His expression had shifted for only a second. A split moment where his eyes widened a single centimeter before returning to their natural steely state. His shoulders stayed stiff with new concern. It was all a subtle change you had missed during your indulgence.

“Do you want more?” He asked, his voice still tainted with that unspoken concern.

You swear you could nearly feel your heart stop at just hearing those words. You were still desperate, and you nodded frantically.

He reached carefully towards you for the plate, giving you his metal fingers instead of the soft fleshy digits of his other hand. Possibly anticipating being bitten when pulling away the saucer. You let him take it from you, watching as he repeated his earlier actions of leaving and locking you inside the room.

There was a burn of shame somewhere in your stomach, but it was greatly overshadowed by a deep desire for sustenance. And, this man, what should be a monster in your eyes, was unbothered to fulfill such a desire.

You stood in place, not reaching for the door like the captive you are, not waiting on the bed like a puppy missing its master. But, by god, you wanted that fucking food.

Chapter 4

More post apocalyptic AU

Tags : @itsswritten @cjand10 @dear-lolita @took-a-wr0ng-turn @scott-loki-barnes @ihavetwoholesforareason @potatothots @toozmanykids @wintrsoldrluvr @heletsmelovehim

[threepandas]

The Vod's List: Part 3

The Separatist Army tries invade the Techganic homeworld and DIES SCREAMING.

I... I am cackling like a broken laugh 'track, in a low Senatorial staff seating area. Pretty sure everyone thinks I've lost my chips. But... BUT THEY DON'T GET IT! It's so FUNNY!? Oh Bones and Blood! Oh karking STARS!!! Of all the kriffing PLANETS to PHYSICALLY INVADE with DROIDS!!!

DROIDS!

I am wheezing. Gasping for air. Slowly tipping out of my chair as I all but seize silently in spasms of sheer, incredulous, amusement. Oh Stars, I'm gonna die. My gut is on fire and I DONT CARE. Droids! Just... just DROPPED UM right into the capitals like "here ya go! Surrender flesh bags!"

Pfffahahahahaha!

I finally slip, only for a gloved hand to catch my shoulder gently, keeping me from crashing to the floor. A calculated step and lift, brings my shoulder to brace against the side of familiar armor. A guard. I manage to glance up through my incoherent laughing fit. I know that armor!

"Fox!" I grin, glad I am starting to be able to tell the gaurds apart. It always felt rude to have to keep asking their names, even when I by all rights SHOULD already know them. "Good morning."

"Ma'am." He nods. I still don't get why people think they're 'emotionless'. Even through the voicecoder, his voice is warm. "Funny joke?"

"The Separatists invaded my planet." I laugh. At his questioning head tilt, I grin MEANLY from behind my mask. "Remember how we met? And you got infected? EVERYONE on my planet is some version of carrier, either Organic or Technological. Depending on where those droids land? They are either FOOD or free scrap metal. The Collective will EAT them. And folks back home?"

I glanced around, trying to find the room's cameras. Fox casually pointed before stepping between it's line of sight and me. Kriff he was so cool. I grabbed one of the old datapads I was supposed to dump in the recycler after my break. No one would miss if I threw one in the biohazard shoot instead... probably.

I turned it on. Showing it worked. A perfectly functioning, if old, datapad. Then? I listened to that old, old, OLD instinct in the back of my head that karking HATED technology. That honestly would be happier living in a stone shack on a distant moon, surrounded by growth. That could, at a glance, pick apart any given peice of technology's weak points.

Not to slice it. Or IMPROVE it. But to BREAK it. Irreparably.

My eyes found the weak point in the screen almost immediately. A point where fingers had worn it thin. Smack! I cracked it against the table, like an animal trying to open trying to open a nut. It cracked. And that was all I needed. All ANY of us would ever need, really.

Just One Little Crack.

I pulled off my mask, knowing my face was probably doing that... THING. That "super intent Murder Hunter" thing that we all do, when our instincts engage. But I wanted to show Fox. I trusted him. So I flexed my jaw and thought of the lift, of how me met, the STRESS. Just enough to get a bit of drool.

Then... I let it drop onto the screen.

The reaction, was of course, IMMEDIATE.

The datapad hissed and squealed, screen glitching violently. I carefully put it down, familiar with what was about to happen. Fox... was not. He watched. Frozen. Entranced. As the datapad burned and melted from within. Was CONSUMED. As my nanites wrecked hell in their final moments before dying, no longer supported by my body. Some of course, simply falling dormant.

Those were the lethal ones. The trap for future Collective members trying to reclaim tech. It's why all infected materials had to be treated as a biohazard. Those nanites stayed viable for upwards of a century AT LEAST. Several, in the right condition.

So droids? Ha! We were BIOENGINEERED to fight "droids"! We WERE the original GAR. What was that Human saying? "Nothing new in the Galaxy?" That.

Fox was taking even, measured, breaths. Clenching and unclenching his hand. His voice sounded... strained, as he agreed. That, yes. We WERE very, VERY alike. And that that was FASCINATING. Could his spit do that now too?

I... didn't know. Huh.

I blinked. First up at him. Then down at the 'pad. I hadn't considered that. Kriff. Well THAT was irresponsible of me. Yeah, yeah we should probably schedule some Techganic 101 lessons, shouldn't we? Since... you know, assuming you SURVIVE infection and first "heal"? It's kinda a one and done sort of thing.

You can't get... double infected? It very much IS a you ARE or you AREN'T a carrier. And even THEN... one of two kinds, which CAN NOT peacefully coexist.

Plus... since it's adapted to the Guards biology, a spread would be SUPER easy?

.........I..... I SHOULD tell someone.

But what would happen to Fox? I'm not blind. People aren't exactly... KIND to Clones. Would they decide its just easier to get rid of him? My gut say probably. Experience says likely. I've barely even STARTED working at the Senate and... well...

Maybe I should keep my mouth shut. WE should keep our mouth shut.

"This time, I'll be the one looking out for YOU, kay Fox?"

"Of course. I'll leave my self in your capable hands. I have no doubt... I'll learn A LOT."

There is something intent about the way he stands, the way he's bracketing me into my chair. The almost soft, warm but cloying quality to his voice. Like he's trying not to make it obvious he's handling me. Like I'm some import dignitary he wants to avoid upsetting. But one he LIKES. It's strange... I'm certain I'm missing something...

At least I have plenty of other Guards around to ask.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 10

Part (10) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Sorry! I know I owe responses to that fluffy little holiday thing, but I really wanted to get this out, too! (Also... big sorry... you'll see why)

Warnings: mild suspense, vague injury descriptions, decent bit of cursing, minor character death (very minor), (is there a warning for a kid wielding a gun?)

WC: 3,403

Droids don’t need the light. Not like we do. In the darkness, only the automated sound of whirring gears and clacking metal narrate movements governed by near perfect synchrony. The silence that surrounded those movements was deafening. It was easy to forget just how dangerous those machines truly were when watching the incredible ease with which the soldiers of the GAR could tear through them. But up close, when nothing lay between us but darkness and an armor that suddenly felt far too thin, the droids were monstrous; emotionless; streamlined and refined toward a single purpose: destruction.

I tried not to think about the simple fact that the same was often said of the entirety of the clone population; how readily society at large welcomed beliefs of unthinking, unfeeling suits of armor in the stead of the very real people that armor concealed. I tried not to think about how that mentality might linger and fester into resentment and fear once the end of the war offered some hope of integration, nor of the unending hardships that were inevitable with such naïve mentality. As I sat crouched in the nook of the freezing ventilation shaft, I tried not to think about anything at all save the near impossible task of silencing my own heavy breaths, attention trained on the endless rows of automatons marching barely a handful of feet away from me.

Wrecker had made it to the maintenance closet several meters ahead, but I’d still been fighting to force the adhesive of the deceptively small explosive to seal with the chilled metal of the duct, and what few seconds that cost me proved just enough to force me to hide as the echoing orchestra of marching droids approached us. We knew they were coming. Thanks to Echo, we knew exactly when to expect every routine patrol scheduled to monitor these halls, but the sheer frequency of their presence was staggering.

Neither of us moved for several seconds after the last droid finally vanished behind the rear door.

“You alright?” Even whispered, my body tensed slightly at the suddenness of Wrecker’s voice calling through the speaker of my helm, and I had to release a quick breath before responding.

“Yeah.” I murmured, glancing back at the detonator as I carefully began easing my way out of the small shaft. “Had trouble getting this one attached, but looks fine now.” A quiet grumble reverberated around me, and I could clearly imagine the troubled frown tugging at his lips.

My eyes flashed to the timer in the corner of my HUD steadily counting down to the moment Crosshair was supposed to take out the decoy power transformer. We still had several targets to rig if we wanted to level the station in time.

Wrecker led the way forward without another word, quick strides shockingly silent. It would never cease to amaze me how easily the man before me could dance between the kind, boisterous goofball and this: lethal, efficient; movements far too quiet for the terrifying mass of his powerful form. I’d worked with astounding soldiers before, but these men were different. Boost, Comet, and Warthog were frightfully capable, but Wrecker and his brothers…

His hand flashed out, pointing to the spot he wanted the next charge placed. He didn’t pause before moving on to set his own, leaving me to my job without so much as a backward glance. Even now, after so many months of working with them, it still felt odd to be trusted so explicitly, but there wasn’t time for even a moment of self-doubt as I quickly dropped to a knee to begin working. Despite the utter simplicity of these explosives, still, Wrecker could finish two in the time it took me to prime one, but he showed no hint of impatience; merely moved on to the next spot until the room was cleared.

We both paused upon turning to the door. It was quiet. It shouldn’t be. By now, we should have been able to make out the distant chorus of the next patrol.

“Status.” Wrecker called, voice just loud enough to be picked up by the mic. My shoulders ached from how taut the muscles were. He didn’t talk like that, governed by that stark militaristic sharpness… not unless something was wrong.

“In position.” Crosshair responded coolly.

“En route.” Tech answered next.

“Wrecker, update.” Hunter’s order came in far crisper than the others, the Marauder’s comms undistorted despite the metal walls of the facility.

“Clanker’s missed a patrol. Pretty sure they haven’t noticed us, though.” He replied curtly, head pivoting behind us before turning back to the forward door as though half-expecting a troop of droids to come rushing in at any second.

“Crosshair, any change?” The Sargeant called. I could hear the growing tension in his voice and knew he was standing tensely over the intercom, hands grinding into the metal corners.

“No, but this sector isn’t supposed to have another patrol for over four more minutes.” Cross reminded him, voice low.

“Keep an eye on your escape routes,” Hunter instructed, “and report any more abnormalities.”

A series of ‘roger’s answer him in quick succession before Wrecker continued forward, heavy blaster balanced against his shoulder. My pistols felt miniscule in comparison, but I still held them at ready as he cracked open the door. Beyond was a cavernous room dotted with Separatist transports. If things went south, Wrecker and I would blow a series of bombs starting with two at either end of the massive bay, granting us an exit route while several other explosions went off at pre-set intervals to mask our escape. If it came to that, however, there was little hope in retrieving that little girl’s father…

“… don’t like this…” Wrecker muttered after muting his com.

“How many more do we have?” I asked, treading closer to him so my whispered words would reach him.

“Ten. Twelve if we wanna hit the control tower, but…” He let the thought trail off as he peaked around the corner of the doorway to stare at the massive sheets of metal suspended overhead on thick tracks.

“So, we finish those ten and re-evaluate.” I offered quietly. He didn’t respond for a long moment, the fearsome visage of that feral skull still studying the distant bay walls.

“Yeah…” He mumbled absently, but a few more tense seconds passed before he drew a quick breath and moved through the door, strides measured and quick, stance low.

Our HUD timers had been perfectly synced. I’d known that there would be no delay between that small clock striking zero and the distant rumble of an explosion preceding at least a momentary flicker of the lights. Still, my body snapped taut as the world around us trembled, even if only for a moment. And then the darkness descended in earnest.

Our visors were designed for this: to grant us clear images even in the darkest nightmares of distant worlds. Regardless, I felt myself tense, adrenaline flooding my chest as I studied every shadow of the now monochrome display before me. Already, the Separatist forces were responding, dozens of squads activating and filing across the vast expanse of the hanger in precise, unhurried movements. Several took positions at entry points about the bay, though most marched out of sight, undoubtedly en route to the now destroyed power station.

“Yuh got some fun headin’ your way, Cross.” Wrecker warned, large hand reaching into his bag for another charge, attention trained once more on the command post.

“They won’t find anything.” He responded haughtily, words only just betraying a slight breathiness as he sprinted back across the rocky outcropping surrounding the north end of the hanger.

“Imma see how many a’ these I can stick before the others get here.” There was a subtle glee in his voice, thrilled at the promise of even that simple challenge.

“I’ll keep watch.” I drawled slightly, the eyeroll audible amidst my quiet chuckle. That tension was still there; creeping across my skin and keeping the muscles stretching up my spine taut, but this was their world – our world: impossible missions with unending dangers in which we still managed to find some taste of joy.

“…Kriff.” Every wisp of that joy instantly went cold.

“Cross?” Hunter called quickly, voice full of the same sharp concern that turned my blood to ice. Wrecker had just begun setting the fourth detonator and visibly froze, waiting anxiously for a response.

“…trap… -utoff from… -ing around…” His rushed reply broke between bursts of static.

“Dammit, they’re trying to block your comms! Where are you?!” Hunter shouted. The distorted reply was too muffled for me to make out, but the pained shout that followed was nauseatingly clear. “I can’t reach you with the Marauder. En route on foot.” His words left in a growl, voice now muffled with that telltale distortion as he abandoned the protection of the ship, the sound of the ramp lowering in the background just loud enough for the mic to pick up.

I didn’t need to see Wrecker’s face to know he was struck with the same dread as me, and, with a sharp nod of his domed helm, motioned toward the rear wall of the hanger. I was already running when the first explosion erupted through the air, but the sudden scream that tore through the speakers was all I could hear.

“Crosshair!” His name shouted from me in a burst of panic, but his desperate cry didn’t stop. The natural rasp of his voice broke in choked gasps between sounds of an agony that left my skin crawling. Blasterfire shrieked behind me in rapid flurries. I didn’t bother looking back, certain that Wrecker was eagerly providing a distraction to cover my retreat, but the droids weren’t fooled.

A curse caught on my lips as I dropped into a sharp slide, just managing to dart behind a supply crate as a troop of B1s trained their sites on me, and the volley of shots that seared the metal casing left my heart racing even faster. My arm was moving before conscious thought registered what I was doing, hand snatching at one of the few remaining charges. I didn’t know if this would work, fully aware that some explosives were perfectly stable until intentionally set off with a detonator. Regardless, I launched the small device toward them, HUD automatically following my gaze to lock onto it as I raised my own weapons, standing to face down the dozen droids targeting me.

The scent of burnt plastoid filled my senses before noting the faint line of red seared into my shoulder pauldron as I pulled the trigger.

Ringing. By now, I recognized the disorientated daze of shellshock and clung to the sense of annoyance rather than any fear or pain lingering beyond that confusion. Move. There wasn’t time for this… Before the thoughts even solidified in my mind, I could feel my body struggling back to my feet, balance wavering precariously for several seconds even as I staggered forward.

“…!” A voice rang loudly around me, but it took a moment of actual concentration to truly hear him. “-oc! Wha’ happened?!” Wrecker. He was shouting. I glanced over my shoulder to see him quickly backtracking toward me and gave my head a hard shake in some vain effort to clear the lingering fog.

“…m… I’m fine!” I called out, lips sluggish. “Used a charge to… clear the path.” He looked toward me only briefly before returning his attention to the encroaching units. Still, I could see the air of hesitation in his movements, the reluctance to risk creating any additional distance between us, so I took that decision away from him, jaw set as I forced myself through the still smoldering crater blown into the thick wall.

Crosshair was still screaming, growled cries catching on choppy breaths muffled behind ground teeth.

“Hunter, do you have eyes on him?” I shouted, sprinting toward the cover of trees surrounding the station as I silently cursed the steep incline leading toward the ship.

“Not yet, there’s… - dammit -... They sent a kriffing… platoon after him.” I could hear the strain pulling at his every word, and that dread returned en force, fear spiking at the thought of how easily he could find himself incapacitated as well just from exacerbating his preexisting injuries.

“Echo and I can provide backup.” Tech offered. Even his voice held that deep worry.

“No – continue with the mission. We’ll be halfway to the Marauder by the time you’d even reach us.” He ordered. “Doc-”

“I’m already en route,” I interrupted quickly, “just send me your location.” He didn’t respond for a long moment, and I had to fight to keep from shouting my impatience.

That earlier fear was gone. I barely bothered glancing between branches in search of enemy troops, the threat of what danger my brief isolation from the others might pose forgotten in the echo of Crosshair’s pain. My entire focus was on reaching them as quickly as I could, cursing every fallen log and sleek boulder that hindered my progress.

“I’ve got him.” He was panting, pain clear in the breathy words, and my heart twisted at the endless possible reasons for that pain. The keening gasps still sounding from Crosshair’s mic were the only thing silencing some sharp rebuke demanding he stop. There was no right answer here; no way forward without the risk of a sacrifice I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Might still be s… s’me droids… but think I got ‘m all.” His uncertainty was just as concerning as the slight slur dampening his smoky voice. That meant his focus was dwindling; that inhuman ability to feel the dance of electricity connecting the world around him was overcome by his own pain or exhaustion or something far worse.

“Dammit, Hunter! Just send me your location before you kriffing keel over!” I ordered harshly, no longer making an effort to mask that impatience.

“Tracker… tracker’s on… H… headed back.” Curses flowing unapologetically between ground teeth, I snatched the datapad from my waist, fingers stabbing at the screen far harsher than necessary as I locked in on his signal. The Marauder was just over a klick away, and Hunter’s signal was another half klick beyond that, speed frightfully slow as he made his way back.

“Talk to me, Hunter, or I’ll start using the karking pain scale questions.” I threatened, and was relieved to hear a huff of laughter. It was weak, but it was there.

“Damaged… damaged his helmet… Visor broke…” In an instant, that relief abandoned me. “Gave him… gave him what I had, but… it’s… it’s barely taking the e-edge off.” He panted.

“Burns?” I asked, straining to hide the depth of my fear at the very thought of what damage that might cause, but Hunter quickly dismissed that fear with something far worse.

“No… think it’s… There was a – a gas…” My stride nearly faltered. A gas… Chemical burns were far more difficult to treat…

“Listen to me: when you get him back to the ship, don’t try to rinse it out with water.” I instructed quickly.

“I kn- I know.” There was an unmistakable wheeze in the gasp robbing his retort of whatever annoyance he’d meant it to hold.

“What about you, Hunter? Were you exposed?” I made no effort to hide the harshness in my own voice, words quickly growing breathy as I sprinted from the base.

“N… no, my… my kit’s f-fine.” His response offered no taste of relief, the clear strain sown through each word quickly growing worse.

“Echo and I have secured a low-atmo speeder. We can reach you-”

“Ey, I think I see ‘im.” Wrecker interrupted.

“Ca- can you i-intercept?” Hunter’s vain attempt to maintain that indominable façade only further emphasized how just much he was clearly struggling.

“Uh… only if I start blowing stuff up early.” There was no glee in what should have been an overly eager plea, attention clearly torn between the task before him and worry for his brothers.

“Delay as – as long as you can.” Hunter ordered firmly. “Tech, Ech… Echo… con-continue a-approach.”

“Hunter, if you’re having trouble breathing again, you need to stop moving!” I ordered in a shout.

“Neg… neg’tive… Mar’der’s… in sight.” My lips curled into a snarl.

“I can’t carry you both, dammit!” There was a brief pause, and then,

“Roger.”

I was going to strangle him.

Sweat had long since soaked through my blacks. My muscles burned, blood like acid pounding through my veins, and I tried not to think about how loud my own breathing was, mic pointedly muted as I listened to quick bursts of communication bounce between the others illustrating the progress of a mission I struggled to find even a whisper of concern for. My own attention remained locked on the tracker beacon, noting how near to the ship Hunter and Crosshair finally were; how wretchedly slow their progress had become; how much distance yet lay between us as that accursed hill robbed my speed.

He didn’t check in when he finally stopped, their beacons stalling at the very foot of the ramp.

“Hunter, are you inside?” I asked. He didn’t respond. “Hunter, what’s your status?” I pressed, words growing harsher. Silence. “Hunter?! Cross, do either of you read me?!”

“The Marauder’s ramp appears to have lowered but hasn’t been closed since they arrived.” Tech’s voice was carefully even, but I could hear the faint rush of an anxiety that I had no doubt resonated between all of us.

“I’m almost there.” I assured them, and, mere seconds later, let out a sharp huff of relief upon finally seeing the very tip of the dorsal fin.

The first time I’d seen the complicated overlay of the HUD used by GAR equipment, it hadn’t been during my training to join the 104th. It was in the aftermath of a battle I’d only seen in the darkness of night, sneaking through ruined transports and far too much gore to ever be warranted under the guise of seeking peace. It was maybe the fourth such scene Emmy and I had visited. We didn’t even have a ship then; just us and a pair of overstuffed medbags with no thought toward secession or consequence or even what to do with those we tried to save.

We’d only found one soldier still clinging to life, and it had taken only moments to realize that nothing we did would save him from joining his brothers. He hadn’t blamed us. I think I wanted him to… but he merely got quiet when he understood… peaceful. He’d been a flirt, and I think we both fell in love with him a bit. He’d insisted we try his helmet on – had said something inappropriate about seeing his gear on a couple cute nurses. Neither of us corrected him, and I’d been shocked at the flurry of information that had bombarded me the instant it flickered to life before my eyes. He’d laughed. I’d never forget that laugh. It was free; weightless; haunting in a way that both crushed me and justified every risk we were taking in trying to offer what meager help we could. And then he'd died.

That nauseating hurricane of endless data and alerts was still just as overwhelming now as it was then, but I’d learned to filter it out, to prioritize only what was needed in that moment. When the sudden flash of a warning lit the screen, I didn’t hesitate; didn’t waste time for even a moment’s thought before my body dropped into a slide, just barely dodging the pair of blue bolts that screamed passed me as my hands instantly snatched the pistols from my hips, but then that wealth of data began to coalesce, and I quickly released my weapons, empty hands raising in surrender.

“Wait-wait-wait! It’s me!!” I shouted, wrenching the still flashing helm from my head, and my heart churned at the sight of the terrified girl cowering just inside the Marauder’s main cabin, at the horror and fear and overwhelming relief that left her near sobbing the instant recognition finally stole through her. Then I saw the two forms lying far too still at her feet. And that same terror ripped the air from my lungs in a sob of my own.

Next Chapter

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[radiance1]

"There is two of you."

Logos leaned back in his seat, resting his head against his fist as he stared at a screen displaying Pathos, currently being buried beneath a mass of different ghostly animals. "That there is."

Distain crossed Damian's face. "Who in their right mind would ever clone the likes of you, brother?" He waved a hand at the screen, a small flash of envy that crossed his heart over seeing the clone buried beneath a mass of fluff, before blinking, and jerking his head and Daniel's direction. "Full offense."

"None taken." Logos's voice was cold and emotionless, containing a more mechanical edge due to the voice changer installed in his gas mask. "Pathos is not my clone, he is half of me." Logos raised his other hand before Damian could speak. "We were torn apart, in case you were wondering."

Damian hummed, moving his eyes away from the screen and around the lab. Giving a begrudging nod at the extreme cleanliness, and eyeing a few of the tech left around, before turning back to his twin with a raised eyebrow. "I can't imagine the reason you called me here was for a mere chat."

Logos nodded. "Pathos wishes to become a hero, yet I have a different goal." Logos stood up from his chair, walking over to Danny until he was relatively close and held out a hand. "Such that I am unable to watch over him at every turn, so, dear brother. Will you look over him in my stead?"

Damian stared at the outstretched hand, before back at Daniel's gas mask covered face. His face was calm as he stared back at his twin, before clicking his tongue. "Tt. As pathetic as always. Such incompetence that you need others to clean up whatever mess your other half will surely bring." Damian crossed his arms, glaring at his twin.

"I will not be that person, Daniel."

Logos hummed. "The probability of you saying no was quite high, so I am not surprised." He walked past Damian, beckoning his twin with a hand to follow as he stopped at a nearby table, quickly gathering a few items he sought after. "These are the objects that will 'sweeten the deal' as some would say."

Said objects looked to be a few buttons, a ball, a laser pointer, and an arm bracer.

"And you expect me to accept to watch over your other half, for mere trinkets?" Damian wrinkled his nose, as he stared at Daniel as if he were an idiot, which he very surely believes he is. "I expected you to be smarter than that, but I am not surprised by your usual incompetence."

Logos shook his head. "These are not mere trinkets, brother, and I know you recognize that as well. These," Danny picked up the few small buttons, tossing them at Damian, who easily caught them. "Will are capable of expanding into ectoplasmic nets, that will also deliver a shock to those who try to get out of them, nothing lethal, so worry not about your father having an issue with them."

Damian hummed, holding one of the buttons up to his eye. Logos waved to a nearby target that he set up for this exact circumstance. "Go ahead, try it."

Damian glanced at his twin, before throwing the button at the target. It expanded into a large net that shouldn't have been able to be held in such a small object, wrapping around the target.

"Unfortunately, you will be unable to test the shock function at this moment, so you will have to test it later on a live subject."

"Tt."

Logos tilted his head. "You seem displeased."

"That you are capable? Yes. I am."

Logos hummed, before taking up the ball. "That is a mechanical eye, you be able to see through it, which would certainly make it easier for you who stalks the night, yes?" Damian clicked his tongue, and Logos took that as enough to continue. "You will be able to look through it with these," He picked up the arm bracer in his other hand and handed both items to Damian. "The bracer connects to the eye, which will show you a live recording of what is happening on the other side." Logos turned to pick up the laser pointer, before blinking. "Ah, just will it to move, and it will. So long as you have the bracer on."

Damian stared at the bracer for a moment, before swiftly putting it on, and the mechanical eye sprang to life as soon as he finished. A screen appeared over his arm, giving him a direct look through the eye's position. He tested the movement and found it true.

"Being torn apart may have been the best thing that has happened to you, brother."

"Perhaps." Logos threw the laser pointer at Damian, which he caught. "That is a small, portable laser, while also acting as a regular laser pointer. Just twist the knob at the bottom and you'll be able to adjust it." Logos' eyes narrowed. "Do not test it in here, or anywhere near here, for that matter."

Damian pocketed it silently, before recrossing his arms. He grunted.

"Pathos will be happy to receive your cooperation, though he is quite emotional, I expect you to work around that." Logos held out a hand, and Damian stared at it for a good few moments, before begrudgingly putting his hand in his twin's for a handshake.

Damian had a foreboding feeling that he would regret ever accepting this deal, and not even a minute after meeting him he already did.

[Based off of this post, and thank you @ashfly for the name suggestions! :3]

[juliewillruinu]

Garden of Forbidden Melodies | Chapter three | Sukuna x oc

Tw: None (other than Sukuna being a whole thirst trap👅)

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ....

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆: 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰𝒄𝒆

GHana's breath came in ragged gasps as she ran, the cold mountain air cutting into her lungs. The weight of the biwa in her hands was unbearable, a constant reminder of the monstrous power she had barely managed to contain. Her heart pounded not just from the exertion but from the lingering fear that at any moment, Sukuna could break free and lay waste to everything she held dear.

The forest was dark, the only light coming from the thin sliver of the moon that barely peeked through the dense canopy above. Every shadow seemed to shift and writhe, every sound magnified in the oppressive silence of the night. The path up the mountain, familiar as it was, felt more treacherous than ever. But Hana couldn't afford to stop, couldn't afford to let her fear slow her down. She had to reach her brother.

As she pushed through the dense underbrush, branches clawing at her clothing, a sudden chill swept through the air, unnatural and biting. Hana slowed her pace, her senses on high alert. The cold wasn't just the mountain wind-it was something else, something foreign. Her grip tightened on the biwa, the cursed energy within it pulsing with a strange rhythm, as if it, too, sensed the presence of something... or someone.

A soft, almost inaudible sound reached her ears-a rustle, a whisper of movement that seemed to come from all around her. Hana stopped, her breath hitching in her throat as she strained to hear. The forest was still, but the cold was deepening, seeping into her bones, turning her blood to ice.

Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.

Hana's heart leaped into her throat as she took in sight before her. A person, tall and slender, cloaked in a flowing robe of deep, icy blue that blended almost seamlessly with the darkness. Their skin was pale, almost translucent in the dim light, and their long, white hair framed a face that was sharp, elegant, and utterly devoid of warmth. But it was their eyes that sent a shiver down Hana's spine-cold, emotionless, and a shade of blue so deep it was almost black.

The figure regarded Hana with an expression of mild curiosity as if she were a puzzle to be solved. They stepped closer, and Hana instinctively took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest.

"You've got something that doesn't belong to you," the figure said, their voice soft, almost gentle, but carrying an undeniable edge of danger. "You've got Sukuna-sama."

Hana's breath caught in her throat. She knew who this was-Uraume, the mysterious attendant and confidant to Sukuna, known for their icy demeanor and lethal precision. The stories Hana had heard painted Uraume as an enigma, a force to be reckoned with, always by Sukuna's side, bound to him by loyalty and something darker.

"I don't want any trouble," Hana stammered, her voice trembling as she tried to keep the fear out of her tone. "I just want to protect my village."

Uraume's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, but there was no warmth in it. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Sukuna-sama doesn't take kindly to being imprisoned, especially by someone as insignificant as you."

The words stung, but Hana held her ground, even as her knees threatened to give way beneath her. "I did what I had to. I won't let him destroy everything."

Uraume tilted their head as if considering Hana's words. "You're brave," they said softly, almost as if they were complimenting her. "But bravery won't save you from what's coming. Hand over the biwa, and I might let you live."

Hana's grip tightened on the instrument. She knew she was no match for Uraume-she could feel their cursed energy radiating like a frozen wind, sharp and lethal. But if she gave up the biwa, she'd be condemning her village to certain destruction. And more than that, she'd be giving up the one thing that could contain Sukuna, even if only for a short while.

"I can't do that," Hana whispered, her voice barely audible.

Uraume's eyes narrowed, and the air grew even colder, the temperature dropping to a point where Hana's breath came out in visible puffs. "Then you leave me no choice."

In a blur of motion, Uraume closed the distance between them, their hand outstretched toward the biwa. Hana barely had time to react, her body moving on instinct as she raised the instrument to block the attack. But before Uraume's hand could make contact, a surge of energy erupted from the biwa, a blast of light and sound that sent Uraume stumbling back.

Hana's heart pounded in her chest as she realized what had happened. The biwa-its power had reacted to Uraume's cursed energy, protecting her. But Hana knew it wouldn't be enough. Uraume was too strong, too skilled. She had to get away; she had to find some way to protect her brother before it was too late.

Without a second thought, Hana turned and ran, her feet pounding against the forest floor as she sprinted up the mountain. Behind her, she could hear Uraume's soft footsteps, eerily quiet as they pursued her. The chill in the air deepened, and Hana could feel her strength waning, the cold sapping her energy with every step.

But she couldn't stop now. Not when she was so close.

Finally, she burst through the treeline and into the clearing where the small shrine stood, her brother's figure barely visible in the doorway. His eyes widened in fear as he saw her, but Hana forced a smile, trying to reassure him even as her heart raced.

"Inside," she called out, her voice trembling.

Her brother hesitated for only a moment before retreating into the shrine. Hana could feel Uraume closing in behind her, their presence like a cold shadow at her back. She stumbled toward the shrine, her hands trembling as she struggled to think, to plan.

"Hana."

Uraume's voice was closer now, and Hana whirled around to face them, her heart pounding. Uraume stood at the edge of the clearing, their expression calm, almost serene, as if they were merely waiting for Hana to accept the inevitable.

"Give me the biwa, Hana," Uraume said softly. "It's the only way to end this without bloodshed."

Hana's hands trembled as she clutched the instrument to her chest. She knew Uraume was right-there was no way she could win this fight. But she couldn't just hand over Sukuna. She couldn't just let him loose on the world without a fight.

"I won't," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Uraume's expression hardened, and the air grew colder still, frost beginning to form on the grass at their feet and began to creep towards Hana.

"Uraume." A deep voice echoed from her now glowing biwa. "Stand down."

Her biwa began to glow, and it only intensified as time passed, its energy crackling in the air as Sukuna's deep, resonant voice echoed from within. Hana's heart stopped at the sound, her breath catching in her throat as she watched Uraume, once so fearsome, now kneeling before the presence that had just manifested.

"Lord Sukuna-sama, Uraume murmured with reverence, their cold demeanor thawing as they lowered their head in submission. The oppressive chill that had blanketed the area began to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of tension-a dangerous, intoxicating energy that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the biwa

The instrument in Hana's hands vibrated violently as if the curse sealed within was straining against its confinement. She could feel Sukuna's power, raw and unfiltered, seeping into her very bones. A sudden fear gripped her, but it was too late to react in time. Before her eyes, the biwa's glow coalesced into a blinding flash of light, forcing her to shield her eyes.

When the light faded, a figure stood before her, larger than life, exuding the same aura of overwhelming dominance as when she first met him in the brothel. Ryomen Sukuna had taken form.

Hana's breath hitched as she took in his appearance. Pairs of eyes, each gleaming with malevolent intelligence, stared down at her from a face that was both beautiful and terrifying. A small mask covered the left side of his face, enhancing the sinister allure of his features. His four arms were muscular, each hand adorned with sharp, claw-like nails that looked as though they could tear through anything they touched.

Isamu, who had been watching from the doorway of the shrine, let out a terrified gasp. Sukuna's gaze flicked toward the boy, and a cruel smirk played on his lips before his attention returned to Hana.

With terrifying speed, one of Sukuna's hands shot out, gripping Hana's chin with a firm but calculated force. The warmth of his touch was in stark contrast to the cold terror that had gripped her heart. He tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You're trembling, Sukuna murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "Fear, or excitement?" His gaze swept over her face, lingering on her eyes and her lips as if memorizing every detail. "You know, it's a pity to see such a pretty face hidden beneath that hat." With a swift motion, he knocked the bamboo hat off her head, sending it tumbling to the ground.

Sukuna's eyes, all four of them, roved over her, taking in the details of her figure and her clothing, now torn and dirty from the chase. His expression was one of dark fascination as if he found something about her utterly captivating.

His thumb brushed against her lower lip, lingering in a way that was both unsettling and intimate. Hana's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The danger was palpable, yet there was something else in Sukuna's gaze-a flicker of curiosity, of interest that went beyond mere violence.

"You've managed to capture me, woman," Sukuna murmured, his voice low and smooth. "But it seems you didn't know what to do once you had me. I could kill you now... or," he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "Now whatever will you do?"

Hana's heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening. She knew she was standing on the edge of a precipice, one wrong move away from certain death. But there was something in Sukuna's tone, something that made her believe he wouldn't kill her yet, at least.

"Let go of my sister!" Isamu's voice, small but fierce, rang out as he darted forward, kicking at Sukuna's leg with all the strength he could muster. Hana's eyes widened in terror as she realized what her brother was doing.

Sukuna's gaze flicked down to the boy, and without hesitation, he released Hana and snatched Isamu up by the back of his kimono, lifting him effortlessly into the air. Isamu struggled, kicking his legs frantically, but Sukuna held him with the ease of a predator toying with its prey.

"Sukuna, please!" She yelled out in desperation. Oh, how enjoyed the way his name rolled off her tongue.

Sukuna looked at her, his eyes narrowing. The amusement that had colored his tone moments before was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "This brat," he said, shaking Isamu lightly, "means something to you, doesn't he?"

Hana nodded frantically, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please, don't hurt him. I'll do anything!"

A dark smile curved Sukuna's lips as he considered her words. "Anything, you say?" His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, Hana felt as though he could see right through her, into her very soul.

"Then you will be mine," Sukuna said, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "My songbird, my pet. Amuse me, entertain me, and I might just let your brother live."

Hana's breath was caught in her throat, her heart beating in her ribs. The choice before her was no choice at all— her brother's life hung in the balance.

Sukuna's grip tightened slightly on Isamu, causing the boy to yelp in fear. Hana's resolve hardened, and she nodded, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I'll do it, so please let him go."

"Good." Sukuna's smile widened his thumb once again tracing the line of Hana's jaw. "You made the right choice, little bird. And now," he released Isamu, letting the boy drop to the ground, where he scrambled to his sister's side, "We'll have lots of fun together."

[fieldofdaisiies]

azriel x eris | 2,6k words | warnings: mentions of abuse | masterlist

“Can you do that for me? Eris, please.” Her long, cold fingers curl around her son’s warm hand. A few faint scars adorn the back of her own hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she is holding onto him. Her calluses from all the work in the garden she used to do and all the knitting for her sons brush his skin.

Imala’s chest rises with a breath that feels too heavy, her shoulders drooping with each one that follows. “Just a few of them for either of them.”

Eris slowly bows his head, his auburn gaze focused on his mother’s eyes, his face, though, unreadable, emotionless. He lets his eyes run over her face, her sunken cheeks. 

The Autumn Court heir got most of his looks from his mother – the red hair, the shape of his eyes, though, the colour differs from hers. While his mother’s orbs are russet, just like he remembers Lucien‘s eyes to be, his own are amber. The same colour as Zen‘s eyes. As Kallax’s eyes. 

But most of his facial features, the sharp edges, the clean cuts, the slimness, are from his mother. He inherited them from her. Thank the Cauldron, he did – Eris couldn’t live with seeing a similar version of his father whenever he looks into the mirror.

“Promise me, you will—”

Eris kisses her forehead. “Yes, mother, I promise. I will put the flowers on their graves, a few for either of them.” His hand rests on her shoulder, and he can feel her bones against his palm. The hollowness of her face is something that has unnerved him for a while, her sunken cheeks, the dark circles beneath her empty eyes. She needs to eat – she needs to eat more. And she needs to rest. She is getting weak and he can’t let this happen. He needs his mother to be strong. She needs to fight. Only until he can rescue her. Get her out of this place. Change things for good. Make her feel alive again. But she needs to fight now. Be strong now. He knows she is strong, has always been, but she can’t give up now. 

The Autumn Court prince carefully takes the flowers from his mother’s hand, gently, carefully, to not break off the heads, and tucks them into the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

Beron’s mustn’t find out about it. The High Lord doesn’t forbid it, but he also doesn’t like it when they put flowers on Eris‘ late brothers‘ graves. He finds it a waste of time. Useless. They are dead, why still put flowers on their graves?

Eris doesn’t know if Beron also misses them. He thinks so. Or rather, he hopes so. They were his sons after all. 

“Will you say a few words to them as well? Just—”

“Isn’t dinner ready yet, or what are you two doing here? Scheming and planning?“

Beron’s demeanour seems tense, his broad shoulders squared, thick brows bunched, lips slightly pursed. His eyes pierce holes into their bodies when he scans his family members. 

Beron is truly warped by fear. Since the day Lucien was born he hasn’t given Imala his full trust, but he is also starting to mistrust Eris, the closeness between his eldest and mother always having been a thorn in his side. He doesn’t like it. Has never liked it. 

The High Lord lets his eyes run over both of them again, something – suspicion or fear – glinting in his eyes.

“We were just talking.” Imala steps away from her son, her hand not leaving his, though. “Dinner is already on the table.” Her tone is cautious, but steadfast. Over the years – the centuries – spent in this cruel place, with a lethal male at her side, she has learned how to talk to him. There is no use for showing fear, for trepidation. He would ignore it anyway. Or make use of it to his benefit.

The High Lord only grunts in response, strutting past them with long steps and then into the dining hall of the Forest House, leaving a cool chill behind in the corridor. Even the sconces on the walls flicker. 

Beron claims his seat at the end of the table and stretches out his long legs, palms placed flat on the table, and then he waits. To be served.

The big chandelier casts a light upon him that almost makes him seem like a god – the stress is on almost, but not even the light of the chandelier can hide the fact that a male with a wretched soul sits beneath it.

Eris has always found it silly, even as a child. He always liked the sparkly chandelier, loved how the light broke and reflected in the crystals, but he never saw what Beron saw in it. Why he needed the light to fall upon exactly from this angle. Why Beron wanted to be illuminated beneath it. Why he wanted to have the light on his side. A power display and nothing else, Eris had concluded back then. Ridiculous.

Sentries immediately load food onto Beron’s plate, while Eris and Imala claim their seats on either side of him, sentries also tending to their plates, keeping their heads low, gazes never meeting those of the Autumn Court nobility. According to Autumn's standards, this wouldn’t be proper. 

Cabbage, beans, eggs, potatoes, meat (deer, fresh from the Autumn Court‘s forest, caught only a few hours ago). A gravy tops off the dishes already on the plate, everything neatly decorated. No sentry would dare to spill something, scared of the aftermath.

Eris mashes his potatoes and shoves them into the gravy – his favourite way to eat them and lastly mixes in the beans. When he was younger, he always looked for a way to distract himself while eating, to not have to listen to the deafening silence - so mixing his dishes, although you should never play with food, became his favourite thing to do during family dinners.

Beron’s gaze momentarily lingers on one of the females, he is leering and Eris is disgusted. Beron has never had a mistress as much as Eris knows, he saw no use in it, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at females like that. From leering. From looking at them like they are objects, only there for breeding.

Eris takes his first bite, eyes narrowed at his father who slowly turns his head to him. 

“Zen will be stationed at the border to Summer.”

Eris swallows thickly. “Do you think that is really necessary?”

Slowly, Beron’s eyes narrow, fork and the piece of meat on it long forgotten. The room chills, a shudder coursing through it that makes even the mice in their little nooks tremble. 

“Are you questioning my decisions, son? Are you questioning my ability to make decisions?” Beron’s voice drips with venom as he speaks with lethal calm, his sharp graze burning holes into Eris’ skin. His power manifests and slowly stretches out like a dark cloud. It is tangible in the air, and makes Eris’ chest feel very tight all of a sudden. 

“I‘m not questioning your—”

“It sounded a lot like it.” The High Lord’s voice is loud. So loud it makes Imala cringe. She closes her eyes, grinds her teeth, and grabs her own fork tighter. Her eyes are lowered to the plate in front of her, not able to watch the scene that unfolds in front of her. 

“Do you want Summer to march all over us? Led by no other than the brute from the Night Court. The brute who you allowed to fuck your future wife?”

Why does he always have to bring up Morrigan? Even after centuries. Eris is tired of it – so incredibly tired of it. Back then he felt ashamed, incredibly ashamed. She brought shame upon him by choosing Cassian to take her maidenhead. But now, now he feels indifferent about her. Nonchalant. About the whole situation with her. 

Though…he doesn’t feel indifferent about how Azriel thinks about her. Feels about her. The High Lord’s meeting—

“You allowed shame to fall upon our family, Eris.”

“I allowed nothing. Morrigan was spoiled before she even got here!” Now the heir raises his voice as well, fury simmering beneath his pale skin. He is so tired of it all. For the blame to always be on him. 

Publicly, Eris had claimed that Morrigan was sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie to keep his image of the polished, cruel Autumn Court prince clean while in reality he had always known that Cassian had done both of them a favour.

Eris could have never bound Morrigan to him, could have never envisioned a life for her here. Cassian had saved her. Eris knew that he himself could have never allowed her to live here. Not this life. Not under Beron’s rule. It would have killed him.

“And yet you had nothing better to do than save her. Alert the pretty shadowsinger to come rescue her. And you waited. Hidden in the thicket to know she really gets picked up and won’t be left there to die.” Disdain graces the High Lord’s face and he shakes his head. “Pathetic.”

Eris says nothing. He only lowers his chin. And then draws in a deep breath.

“So,” Beron seethes. “Is that what you want? Them ruining us? Seizing our court?”

Eris shakes his head but it is not enough of an answer for his father.

“Answer me, son!” Spit flies from Beron’s mouth. “Is that what you want?” 

“No, father, of course not,” Eris answers. Slowly, his eyes lift, meeting Beron’s gaze.

“I thought so.” He finally brings the piece of meat to his mouth. “Always asking the same stupid questions as your mother.”

The High Lord chews loudly, the sound filling the room. Eris looks at his mother, but her gaze is cast downwards, bony shoulders slouched. Were Beron to use violence, his mother would step in, take the pain upon her. But Eris always makes sure it never comes to that, that he is always the one to take it. His mother should never ever again become subject to his father's anger. He will never allow that to happen again.

They eat in silence for the rest of the dinner, and have never talked much during these family gatherings. There is nothing to talk about - no happy chit-chat other families have. He often lets himself think about the Night Court, if Lucien has found a family there. A proper one. One he never had here. The thought once again sends a pang of hurt right to the heir‘s heart - he misses Lucien and yearns for what they could have had.

He is longing for a family. For love. Not only from a wife – or in his case, a husband. Something the Autumn Court standards would never allow. But also love from his family. He knows his mother loves him, but it is hard for her to let it show. To let it show openly. She never shows many emotions, her heart frozen by the endless years spent in the Autumn Court, under the control of Beron. 

Her soul is empty, probably nothing but an endless void, due to being separated from the male she truly loves. 

His mother told her eldest everything. Eris knows the story. He had found his mother the day Lucien left. He found her in pieces, broken, shattered, crying, and she had told him everything.

Eris was in shock. Had been for a long time. But he held her in his arms. For hours. Until their tears mingled, the pain about Lucien being gone never easing. Not until this day. 

Little Lucien - his little Lucien and until this day Eris can still hear his voice when he asked him a question that broke his heart for the very first time. Lucien was barely four years old then, tugging on the leg of Eris‘ breeches, looking up at him with his big russet eyes. “Big brother Eris, why does father hate me?”

He had no answer for him. He only scooped him up in his arms, and held him tightly.

Eris clears his throat, knowing he has zoned out once again. He reaches for his glass and takes a sip of the sweet wine. Then another.

“It wasn’t my intention. I never meant to fall for him. To create feelings for him. But he was there. And he was good. And warm. He made my heart feel warm, Eris,” - that’s what his mother told him back then, tears wetting her face. 

He didn’t understand it back then. How it was possible. She had barely known Helion and had no intention of falling for him and yet she did.

Now, Eris has a better understanding of her situation. Falling for someone you don’t plan on having feelings for. Every thought is going to this person. Your heart beats faster when someone only mentions their name. 

There is a person – a male – in his life now that…

He is abruptly fetched back to reality. Movement outside the Forest House, in the thicket, covered by bushes and trees in all colours autumn has to offer, makes him turn his head toward the window. 

His eyes immediately catch on the shadowy figure. Azriel. The best spymaster? – Eris doubts that, having caught said Night Court male already twice in the past year.

The heir rests his fork against his lips, slowly chewing, eyes narrowing. He observes and for a moment it feels like his eyes lock with Azriel’s, his heart slamming to a halt.

“What are you looking at?” Beron snarls, his fork clattering on the plate.

“Nothing,” Eris answers quickly and whips his head into his father’s direction. 

He can’t let Beton catch Azriel, knowing he would do unspeakable things to him. And he can’t allow that. 

“Why are you looking at the window then? What are you looking for?” Beron’s gaze is as sharp as knife, piercing into his flesh.

“I think one of the hounds broke loose.” An easy lie.

“Then catch it.” Beron gives him a dismissive look.

Eris takes his last bite, tabs his mouth clean with a serviette, smoothes out his trousers and then rises to his feet. Sentries immediately usher to his place, gathering his plate and glass, and cleaning up his spot on the table.

But the moment Eris turns, it happens. One of red Gerberas slips out of its place inside his jacket, slowly sailing down to the stone ground before Eris can reach for it.

His breath catches and so does his mother’s.

Beron raises a brow, a gleeful expression adorning his face. The light of the chandelier perfectly casts light upon his sharp cheekbones.

“For a secret lover?” the High Lord asks, resting his fork against his plate. Slowly.

“Or is it what I think it is?” His tone makes Eris uncomfortable, the way in which his father speaks is so low, so slow, so unnerving with a small hint of gleeful amusement. 

Eris stays calm. But he reaches for the flower, picks it up and tucks it back into his jacket.

“It is what you think it is,” he eventually replies, expression cold, indifferent.

A disappointed laugh parts Beron’s lips, and he shakes his head. In a disdainful tone he says, “You know why they are dead.”

Eris says nothing, only grinds his teeth harder. Of course, he knows it. The memories have been haunting him day and night since their death. Have caused him sleepless nights for centuries. How Tamlin killed his brothers. How Jesminda was killed right in front of their eyes. Lucien’s wail. All of it. 

“And yet you still care about the little fox.”

He does. Because that day he did not only lose two brothers at the hands of the High Lord of the Spring Court. No. He also lost his youngest brother. His favourite one. The one he swore to protect until he failed him. Something he will never forgive himself for.

When he doesn’t answer again, Beron smacks the flat of his palm onto the table, rattling not only the cuttlery but also all the glasses and plates.

Imale sucks in shuddering breath.

“You‘re dismissed, son.” He waves him off, like Eris is no more than a servant to him. Someone unimportant. Not his first-born son. “Get out of my sight!”

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[nebjamin]

So I’m DMing a dnd campaign, and the players are fighting a major boss battle. The enemy is an NPC who was once a friend and companion to the party, until she was bitten by a parasitic Worm and became part of a major hive mind.

The players have her down to 8 HP. I let them know that her body is breaking down and blood is running down her face and her armor, but her expression remains unchanging and emotionless as an unthinking member of The Collective (the hive mind). A player rolls high enough to kill, so I finally give him the ethical dilemma I’ve been building up for the last few sessions: “do you attack lethally or non-lethally?”

After staring at me for a few seconds, he answers “lethally.” The rest of the players are silent. The player, who arrived 37 minutes late to the 1.5 hour session, then proceeds to ask, completely seriously:

“wait, was she our friend or something?”

[captain-azoren]

I want someone to tell me what "non-evil" thing Azula was supposed to do when Aang was going into the Avatar State that wouldn't have been incredibly incompetent or out of character or made no sense in general.

How would you have written Azula in a way that makes her less evil but keeps the story the same? Just make her smirk less?

I see a lot of talk about Azula's agency and the choices she makes, but if she's trying to win, why would anyone expect her to anything differently?

And before anyone starts, this is not making excuses, this is trying to understand where the character is coming from.

Azula sees Iroh as a traitor and a disgrace. She legitimately hates him. Of course she's going to do a lethal sneak attack on him. Zuko betrayed her, their family and their nation. He also hates her. Azula had no reason to like him, so why is it so hard to fathom she wants him dead by the end of the series?

Azula isn't going to feel remorse because she believes she is the good guy, or at least that the Fire Nation winning is for the greater good. And newsflash, so does the vast majority of the FN. If any other loyal soldier in the FN had to make those choices, they likely would have done the same.

Nearly every single FN soldier had been trying to kill these kids. That includes Zuko. Zuko was literally RIGHT THERE fighting Aang and Katara in the crystal catacombs, but he doesn't get called evil or heartless all because he was too incompetent to strike a killing blow on Aang while he was powering up and then later expressed regret.

Except Zuko only regretted betraying Iroh. Need I remind people Zuko hires a damn ASSASSIN to kill a 12 year old in the next season? If you think Azula coming the closest to killing Aang somehow puts her at a higher grade of evil than 99% of the villains who attacked the Gaang, you have moral myopia and are full of shit.

Azula isn't going to bat an eye at killing Aang because Aang being a child is secondary to Aang being the single greatest threat to her goal. You cannot reasonably expect her, within the circumstances, to politely ask Aang to surrender. You cannot expect her to just lay down and accept defeat when her level of skill, her tactical cunning, and her upbringing under Ozai all point her towards shooting Aang in the back.

Why shouldn't she try to kill Zuko and Katara? She's the enemy and he's a traitor. She hates them and she's pissed. This isn't some moral event horizon.

Azula hates Ursa because she felt neglected and that Zuko getting more attention was unfair. It might be a misunderstanding, but as a child it isn't Azula's responsibility to sort things out.

Azula has arguably the least agency due to her age and having the most oversight by a powerful adult, so yeah I'm not letting that go.

I'm not saying Azula isn't bad. She has a pretty unpleasant personality and dies some shitty stuff. But it's only some, and on the whole she isn't even particularly bad compared to the other villains in the franchise. Is the smirking bad? It is only if you consider having nasty thoughts to be a crime. A bad sign, but just a sign.

But that's all it really ever boiled down to, isn't it? That damn smile of Azula's that shows you just how much she enjoys hurting people. Well the fact is, no matter how much Azula seems to enjoy her actions, no matter how little remorse she shows, it doesn't make her actions any worse than if she had a cold, emotionless or angry frown. It makes her unpleasant, yes, but ultimately you have to judge people on their actions and less on their thoughts and feelings.

No matter how conflicted Zuko was, he still stole that girl's horse when he could have kept walking, hard as it was. No matter how jolly or enlightened Iroh was, he still waged war for decades.

If you expect me to forgive Zuko and Iroh for all their wrongdoings just because they turned things around, then I'm going to hold Azula to that same standard and say that, smirk or no smirk, her actions are, not excusable, but forgivable.

And yes, I do sincerely believe that Azula caused less harm to the world than Zuko and Iroh in the months she was actually active. I understand that conquering BSS was bad and burning down the EK would have been an actual atrocity, but I also understand that conquering BSS was something the FN as a whole was aiming for and burning the land have zero objections by any of the FN military.

Azula also suggests it to keep Zuko from saying something stupid and to get on Ozai's good side. I do not believe she suggested burning the land because she sadistically wanted to kill thousands of people. Azula probably thought it was a brilliant tactic for stampings out the last few rebellions for good.

Is it bad? Yes, it's very fucking bad, because Azula doesn't understand the sheer gravity of what she's saying or the devastation of Ozai's escalation. But that's true for everyone in that room but Zuko. It isn't JUST Azula, it's the whole damn Nation.

You know what Azula does that's just plain mean? Destroying a sand castle. Taunting Zuko about Ozai going to kill him is pretty cruel. Azula probably could have found a nicer way to get Ty Lee on her team.

But don't give me any bullshit about Zuko being Azula's abuse victim. It was a toxic rivalry. And I guarantee you if Zuko had gotten the upper hand on Azula sooner he would have done what he could to humiliate her, because he hates her out if envy, not just because she's mean.

And why should Azula be nice to Zuko, who is always belligerent and angry towards her for being better? That is how she sees him, in her eyes Zuko is the bad sibling who needs to be humiliated and taught a lesson because he's stubborn and entitled and spoiled by their mother who loved him even when he failed, unlike their father who gave attention when it was deserved and earned.

Yes, that's a fucked up way of seeing things, but that's how Azula sees it, that's what she believes is right, and you shouldn't expect her to know otherwise because she IS 14 and has no exposure to anything else.

Azula DOES regret some things, she regrets always having to use fear to control people, but as the series itself spells things out, it's literally all she knows, it's all that she thinks she's even capable of from her failed attempts at being normal in the Beach.

Azula doesn't think she has a choice,band if you don't think you have a choice, then THERE IS NO CHOICE. There is NO opportunity or chsnce to change without guidance, and what so many dumb casuals and antis just don't GET is that Azula really doesn't know right from wrong. That these supposed second chances she's getting to change her ways are utterly pointless if she lacks the wisdom to see them as choices.

None of us are excusing Azula, because that would defeat the purpose of wanting her to finally understand for herself what she did wrong and to get better, but we can't blame her for everything either.

Just because what she did wasn't right doesn't put her beyond forgiveness. The right thing to do would be to trying and actually guide her and help her, not just throw second chances at her and be shocked when she makes another bad decision.

This is a hard pill to swallow for some of you, but a victim is a victim, and no matter how bad or abusive they are, a victim NEEDS HELP. So get over your hangup and do something useful, and if you can't do that, then stay out of the way and let someone else help.

I'm sick of people trying to convince me to forsake a kid, no matter how cruel or messed up she is. Stop telling me to give up hope, stop telling me to keep fighting to save that one little kernel of goodness buried deep down.

I've been doing this shit since I was a teenager, both for myself and for actual people who made bad choices. Even if Azula laughed at Zuko's pain or was willing to kill, she deserves to heal from her abuse as much as she needs to right her wrongs. Fuck anyone who thinks it's okay for her to suffer.

[werecat1234]

Revised Merging Timelines Chapter Two

Sans was walking through Snowdin, Chara next to him as they killed all of the monsters in the area. The snow was falling around them, and it was mixed with the dust of the lives they'd taken. Sans could feel something new in his soul, and he savored the feeling, wanting to feel as much of it as he could before it vanished again. He headed into Grillby's, a water bucket behind his back, and Chara was peeking around the corner of the window after him, watching him in interest. 

"hey is anyone here?" Sans asked, hiding the bucket of water behind him, knowing a certain fire monster was here and would remain here for the rest of the timeline... as a corpse.

"Sans!" Grillby exclaimed, rushing over to him, "Ah, thank god you're ok!"

Grillby put his fiery hands on Sans's shoulders. The warmth would've typically been comforting and soothing, but it did nothing for the numbness he felt other than make his soul pound in his chest at the nearby kill. His soul had started enjoying killing; the emotions soothing the aching numbness, and the LV helped too. It was just this once, and then it all stopped. The guilt would stop, the LV would stop gnawing at him; it was all just this one time! 

"Your brother was looking for you." Grillby continued, voice gaining an urgent tone, "There's a human killing every monster they see and we have to go right now!"

"grillby." Sans said flatly, getting the fire monsters attention, "i want some ketchup."

"Ke-ketchup?" Grillby asked in shock and surprise, "What... Sans... Did you not hear what I just said?! There's a human ki-!"

Sans brought the water bucket out from behind his back, chuckling a bit in anticipation, a forced smile on his face, Grillby's fire reflecting in the water. The laugh was still flat and numb, no emotions truly behind it, but he can't remember the last time there was. Everything he was was fake. 

"Sans... what are you doing?" Grillby asked, stepping back, his only response being the emotionless face of the skeleton, who took a step closer, "HEY SANS STOP! STOP IT SANS!"

Sans broke into another fit of laughter, the sound hollow and unsettling, easily able to send chills down even the fire monster's face, pun unintended. 

"Sans if you do that I will be-" Grillby started, only to be completely drenched in water.

Grillby yelled out in agony, his constant flames weakening and shrinking, being snuffed out by the water. He yelled out in anguish again as the water froze him, extinguishing some of his flames and leaving him weakened, body barely aflame. Sans used bone attacks against him, pinning the weakened monster against the wall, two bones sticking out from his chest with others stuck in the wall around him.

"Why.... did you do that?" Grillby asked, barely getting the words out through the pain, both horrified and shocked.

Sans chuckled again, a bit of madness seeping into it this time as he replied "why not?" with a murderous smile.

Grillby groaned in pain, gasping out, "'Why not?'? Sans, you're not like this. What happened? The Sans I know would never hurt his friends or his family."

Sans summoned Gaster Blasters behind him, his hand alight with magic as they charged up their lethal beams.

"i'm really sorry, grillby, but i have given up on all of you." Sans replied, voice empty, voice not having any true remorse. "Sans wai-!" Grillby yelled, only for the blasters to fire, killing him.

Grillby didn't turn into dust, instead a pile of ashes that floated through the air, the glasses broken on the ground, the suit burned and damaged beyond recognition from the blast as smoke and embers floated through the air. He would be coughing if he had lungs, and he shuddered at the pleasing feeling of the kill, and Sans felt his LV go up. Everything faded to black and then....

Sans woke up with a gasp, jolting up and loosing his balance, falling onto the floor with a grunt. He could still smell and taste the ashes, like he'd walked through a cloud of cigarette smoke. It was bitter in his mind, flashes of weak flames in his vision that he was desperately trying to blink away, but he was left mostly unsuccessful. Like the last Reset, Papyrus burst inside of the room, skidding to a stop on his knees, but thankfully this time Sans hadn't woken up from a nightmare as severe as the last timeline, so he was a bit calmer with his brother. 

"SANS? BROTHER, WHAT'S WRONG?" Papyrus asked in concern. 

"oh... h-hey, paps..." Sans said, voice shaking as much as his eyelights were as he looked up at him. 

"WHAT HAPPENED? IS... IS EVERYTHING OK?" Papyrus asked.

He couldn't unhear Grillby's screaming. The screams were echoing through his mind as much as the faint noise of Chara's words were, their voice in the background but words too muffled to hear. His bones were rattling and trembling in his fear, and he looked down at his hand, his tears on his glove, and his vision flashed to it being that black liquid from his nightmare last timeline. Sans blinked quickly, and the hallucination faded again, much to Sans's relief.

"yeah, i-i'm ok... just uh... j-just a nightmare." Sans replied, wiping away tears.

'or was it?'

Sans jumped, looking around, eyelights shrinking. What was that?! Sans's soul twisted and clenched in his ribcage, and he looked around the room, but he couldn't see anything. No hallucinations of Chara, no hallucinations of anyone else.... It... It sounded like himself.

"SANS?" Papyrus asked in concern.

"hey pap? could um... could i be alone for a bit? i uh... need some time to think.." Sans requested. "OH... ARE YOU SURE?" Papyrus questioned.

"yeah, i'm uh... i-i'm sure, bro..." Sans replied. 

Papyrus still looked hesitant, but he relented after a moment, exiting the room. After a moment, Sans asked quietly.

"w-what did you say?"

'i said, 'or was it'. by the way, do you realize how damn much you sound like alphys? i mean jeez...' The voice chuckled.

Sans let out a shaky exhale, bones rattling a bit as he asked, forcing his voice to be steady, "who the hell are you?..."

'you really don't know? wow, you're seeing weird memories of yourself that aren't you, and now you're hearing your voice, and yet you can't even put two and two together? was i seriously this dumb?' The voice questioned, mostly to himself.

"wait, are... are you that... that other me?" Sans asked.

'ding ding ding, you guessed it.'

"how... how is this possible?.." Sans wondered, more to himself than the voice in his mind.

'you think i know? i just got here.' The new voice verbally shrugged.

"i... i think i need a minute." Sans said.

'well i'm not giving you one. look, i don't know if i'm even real, or if i'm just a figment created by your, to be frank, very unstable mental state. honestly, i've seen a cup of water in an earthquake more stable than your mind.' The voice taunted.

"shut up..." Sans muttered, fists clenching a bit.

'yeah... no. you're stuck with me whether you like it or not. besides, i'm stuck with you, in your body, in your mind. have fun dealing with the kid later.

Sans groaned. Right, that was happening in...

'two hours and fifteen minutes.'

Sans was silent in surprise, wanting to give the voice a confused and curious expression, but since he didn't have a form, he just gave it to the floor. 

'what? i've experienced countless resets, i know the times.' The voice replied, and Sans sighed, rolling his eyelights. 'hey, look at it this way, me and you get some quality time to talk 'til the brat opens the doors. whichever personality is controlling them, anyways. and yes, i know about that, i'm in your head, you have no privacy~'

Sans sighed, knowing this would be absolute hell. Not only did Chara's voice like to go peek-a-boo in his mind, this other version of himself would probably be here for the foreseeable future, and Sans already had a headache. What had he even done to deserve this?

"shut it... what do i even call you?" Sans asked.

'hmmmmm... interesting question, lucky, it has to be something elegant, bold, says a statement, makes me stand out, and it's just gotta-'

"killer." Sans cut off his honestly narcissistic monologue.

'huh?'

"killer. that's what i'm calling you. that suit you, your highness?" Sans sassed, and Killer burst out laughing in his head.

'oh man, i think i might actually enjoy this!' Killer laughed.

Killer laughed more, and Sans sighed in exasperation. The laughter was dark and twisted, sounding like his own but much more malicious and evil, and it did a lot for his headache... by making it so much worse.

"why are you even calling me 'lucky' anyways?" Sans asked after a moment, admittedly curious..

'because if i get a nickname, then you get a nickname. it's only fair~ besides, you're luckier than i was. ergo, lucky. can't call ya leprechaun because you don't have enough g for that to be correct.' Killer answered.

Sans wished he could punch him, but Killer was unfortunately only in his head. Something caught his vision, and his eye sockets widened in shock, teleporting over to his window, looking at his reflection. He couldn't see his eyelights in his reflection, but he could sense they were lit, but he couldn't see that in the glass. What he could see was a faint, glowing red target on his chest.

'ooooh looks like someone's hallucinating already~ again~'

Sans stayed in his room for the rest of the night, mostly tucked into a corner of his room with Killer talking in his mind, thankfully drowning out Chara's whispers in his mind. Sans honestly wondered if Killer was doing that on purpose.

'i am. i know how it feels when they just don't shut up. so, i just drown out the noise by always thinking' 

"thanks..."

'don't thank me. you're gonna have to listen to me nonstop talking in here~' Killer pointed out.

"great..." Sans muttered, less thankful than earlier.

Killer snickered, the sound echoing in Sans's mind, and Sans sighed, looking down at the floor. 

'you still thankful?' Killer asked.

"a little." Sans replied, and Killer chuckled.

In the morning, Sans followed his regular routine, with eating breakfast with Papyrus, Killer muttering complaints about the pasta and about eating in general under his breath, and Sans had to choke most of it down, forcing it down his throat for his brother's sake. Killer was not happy about it, but Sans was ignoring him. He wasn't going to listen to someone who killed everyone multiple times all because he felt empty inside.

'watch it, lucky.' Killer growled.

Sans smirked at the anger in Killer's voice, hiding it with a forced smile as he ate some more of Papyrus's spaghetti. He had to admit that it was pretty satisfying to hear Killer pissed off. Sure, Sans knew what Killer went through, but he could still be bitter about what Killer did and how he didn't seem bothered by it. 

'oh c'mon, you know repression is the best medicine.'

Sans wasn't too sure about that. He knew that?

'eh, you'll learn. eventually.' 

Sans wasn't looking forward to how Killer expected him to learn, but it did seem like a given... 

Once Sans's patrol started, he headed to the Ruins door, waiting for the kid to show up. His vision flickered after a gust of wind shot by, carrying snow that briefly blocked out Sans's vision. When the snow passed, everything was a bit hazy, and he looked down, seeing himself with dark blue sleeves, black fingerless gloves, white shorts, and blue sneakers. He saw the door open, and Killer's voice jolted him out of the hallucination, reality flickering back into view.

'the clock's run out, time's up, over blaow! snap back to reality, whoop, there goes gravity-! oh hey, welcome back!'

Sans looked around, the door slowly opening to the human exiting, and he could tell from their expression they weren't Frisk. They didn't have any LV or EXP, and there was no dust on their clothes, which was admittedly comforting. He was still on guard, though, so he regarded them carefully before approaching. He realized as he walked forward that Killer had drawn him out of the hallucination intentionally, and he was thankful for that, and no catch Killer could come up with would change that.

 Sans reached the kid, and greeted, "hey kid, you been behaving?"

The kid looked over at him, surprised with his appearance, responding after a moment, "Yeah, yeah I have... umm... are you ok?"

"i'm fine. i can tell you're not frisk, though. they already told me about the.. situation... what's your real name? you have one?" Sans asked, and the kid didn't answer.

'intimidate them! do it!' Killer encouraged.

Sans refrained from listening to the resident murderous, sadistic sociopath in his head for the... second time this timeline? Was it more than that? Sans had a feeling that number would go up a large amount overtime, and he was barely a few hours into the timeline. 

'hey! ... true. also yeah, that counter's gonna be going up a lot.'

Sans held back a sigh, and told the human, "come on, kid. it's not a big question."

"My... my name's Riley.." The kid answered.

"well then, it’s nice to meet you, riley. well, we might've actually met before in a previous reset, but I'm making this our first official meeting." Sans said.

'now do it. ensure they won't try any funny business. no one wants them to... i dunno... get ripped apart limb from limb, tossed into the burning pit of hell as the hellfire licks away at their pathetic and useless flesh as they scream out in absolute agony and... sorry, is this bothering you?' Killer asked, chuckling.

Sans looked absolutely done right now, he was sure of it, and Killer was snickering in his mind, the sound bouncing around in his skull. 

"you gonna be merciful this timeline? no killing?" Sans asked.

"I plan on it.. Are you ok? You look upset..." The kid asked.

"yeah, i'm fine. and good, glad you're not gonna go around dusting everyone. what's even the point of doing all these resets anyways?" Sans questioned, "why go through the underground every time?"

"I don't know, I just know I'm Determined to finish the route... It's hard to resist the urge, and... none of us can control when a Reset happens except for one of us..." Riley said.

"chara."

Riley looked at him in surprise for a moment before saying, "Good guess."

"what?" Sans asked.

"You... you just said their name. Chara." Riley explained, confused at Sans's confusion.

"oh, uhh..." Sans started, Killer laughing in his head. How had that happened? "i didn't realize i said it..."

Riley shrugged a bit, lightly kicking at some snow under their foot. They seemed like an anxious and nervous type, so he would need to try and keep them mostly calm here.

'soooooooo...... no threatening them?...' Killer asked.

There was no way in hell Sans was doing that.

"so, want me to take you into snowdin? keep this from getting repetitive for both our sakes? different events?" Sans asked.

"That... . . . I'd like that, thank you. Promise you won't let me get killed?" Riley asked.

'just say no and kill them! please!'

"sorry, kid, but i don't make promises, however... i'll try keeping you alive. how's that?" Sans asked, ignoring Killer.

"It's good enough.." Riley relented, and Sans led them into Snowdin.

On the way into town, there was an awkward silence between them, Riley looking down at their feet as they walked.

'i'm bored. wanna trip them with a bone?' Killer asked.

'no'

'killjoy.... oh hey, you thought back at me!'

'what do you mean?'

'that! instead of me just reading your internal dialogue!'

'reading?'

'nevermind! you still did it! congrats!'

'. . . thanks?...'

'you're welcome! . . . seriously though, this is boring. at least start up some sort of conversation for me to eavesdrop on!'

Sans sighed, Killer back tracking to that again. Did Killer have ADHD or something, or was he just used to keeping his mind filled with thoughts to block out Chara's chatter?... Sans should probably give him something to entertain him before he found some way to break something or drive Sans crazier than he already was.

"so kid, how many times have you been in control during a reset?" Sans asked, starting up a conversation.

"I umm.. I have no idea. I didn't really keep track.." Riley replied. 

"gotcha. any hobbies?" Sans questioned.

"I like knitting and reading. Swimming too, that's kind of fun, but not in cold water." Riley replied, and Sans nodded.

"you tried swimming in waterfall by hotland? should be pretty warm there." Sans suggested.

"I think I tried that a few Resets ago. It was pretty nice." Riley replied, before asking, "Why are you asking all of this?"

"eh, i'd at least like to know who i'm talking to instead of just a name. you and the others in there, you're all unique with your own preferences, and you should know that you don't have to be considered as one collective group." Sans replied, and Riley smiled a bit at him, unaware of his (mostly) lie.

"Thank you." Riley smiled, and Sans nodded in response.

'chick-flick moments are so damn cheesy. hey lucky, wanna hear about the time i got a knife stuck in my eye socket?'

Aaaand the moment was over. Great. A minute later, Papyrus came into view, and Sans's eye sockets widened with an idea. This was a distraction Sans could get behind, and based on Killer's laughter, he'd overheard Sans's thought.

"kid, give me your hand." Sans whispered, and when Riley did, Sans put the whoopie cushion on their hand.

They walked through the snow a bit more, leaving behind footsteps that were covered up by the snow soon after. They reached Papyrus a bit later, his steps faster and larger than Sans and Riley's, making it take longer to approach him. Papyrus looked over as their footsteps neared, and he waved, walking over to them both.

"HELLO, BROTHER! HELLO FRIEND OF MY BROTHER! I DON'T BELIEVE WE'VE MET! I'M THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND YOU ARE?" Papyrus asked.

"R-Riley, nice to meet you." Riley said, holding back a laugh as they extended their hand to him.

When Papyrus shook their hand, a loud fart rang out in the area, and Sans and Killer both burst out laughing. Riley was soon to follow, Sans doubled over from laughter, his lighthearted and happy while Killer's was a dark, twisted version of it. The fact that Sans could hear his own laughter within Killer's was honestly disturbing, and a bone-chilling reminder of the fact that Killer was, in the end, him. "SANS." Papyrus said flatly after a moment, and Sans only laughed harder, but Killer couldn't possibly laugh more than he already was.

"y-yeah bro?" Sans snickered.

"WHY?" Papyrus asked, and Sans snorted. 

"s-sorry, bro. if you gas-ked me, though, i'd say that reaction really blew me away." Sans chuckled, and Papyrus just looked done with everything. Killer wheezed.

When they got to Snowdin, everything was mostly normal... mostly. Some monsters were suspicious, but only really tried fighting them when the kid approached them on their own, mainly the guard dogs. Sans didn't intervene much, just when Riley seemed like they were having trouble, so Sans occasionally pulled them out of the way with his magic, Papyrus cheering the kid on the whole time, thinking it was all surprise sparring. 

'how come you're helping them so much? i mean it wouldn't be the first time the kid's died and came back.'

'i want to be on good terms with the kid. not letting them get killed like they asked seems like a good start.' Sans thought.

'fair... say, how bad do you think this whole situation is gonna get? i mean honestly, you can't possibly expect this to not get worse.' 

Sans shuttered a bit; he'd known it would, but being reminded of the possibility... wasn't fun.

'might not be fun, but hey, ya gotta consider these things. watch the brat.' 

Sans's attention drew back to Riley, pulling them out of the way of an incoming attack from Dogaressa that would be difficult to dodge. 

'thanks.' Sans thanked him.

'eh, whatever.' Killer brushed him off, 'saw your memory last timeline, when you saved frisk from undyne. you know why they did that?'

'manipulation from chara?'

'it's a bit more... extreme than that, but basically. watch for when you go blank, that is uh... bad news. i don't deal with it, personally, but you will.'

'yeah... thanks for drawing me out of it before.' 

Sans pulled them out of the way from more attacks, and he heard Killer's voice reply in his mind again.

'don't mention it.'

'no, i think i will.'

'why?'

'to irritate you. i'm still pissed at you because of what you did.

'yeah, i feel it. whatcha gonna do about it?~'

'i don't know, you aren't exactly tangible, so... maybe just annoy you?'

'. . . i'm a masochist, by the way.

'you slimy little-!'

'haha! you can't win!'

Sans groaned, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity, and he closed his eye sockets, opening them when he heard Riley approaching him and Papyrus. He could see on their face that they'd figured him out, and upon them saying thank you, Sans shrugged in response, playing it off. 

After Riley was able to befriend and spare them, they walked back to Sans and Papyrus, giving Sans an appreciative look. Looks like he'd been had. Oh well.

"WAIT, ARE YOU A HUMAN??" Papyrus asked, having overheard some of the conversations.

"Umm.." Riley started, fidgeting a bit as they considered how to answer. 

"yeah, they're human." Sans said.

"WHAT?! SANS, WE MUST CAPTURE THE HUMAN! WHY HAVEN'T YOU DONE SO ALREADY?!" Papyrus asked in shock.

"well, they aren't hurting anyone, and besides, they're pretty cool to hang out with." Sans shrugged.

'that and they aren't killing everyone they see. yet.' 

Sans held back the urge to facepalm. Barely. 

"We can hang out if you want? No capturing needed?" Riley offered, nervous.

"LIKE... FRIENDS?" Papyrus asked, hopeful.

"Yeah, like friends." Riley agreed.

"YIPPEEEE!!" Papyrus cheered, putting Riley on his shoulders and happily marching to Sans and Papyrus's house. Sans chuckled a bit, following behind them.

'... am i the only one who wants to see papyrus just yeet riley into the air and see them get somehow impaled on the top of one of the trees?' Killer asked. 

'dude!!'

Sans was shocked, eyelights shrinking a bit, and he was greeted to the mental image he was convinced Killer had put there. 

'ha! intrusive thoughts for the win!' Killer laughed, and Sans sighed. 

When they got home, Papyrus showed them around the house, Riley found some G in the couch, which they gave to Sans, who told them to just keep it. After the rapid tour, Papyrus and Riley went up to his room to hang out, and Sans sat outside of the door, his skull resting against it with his eye sockets closed. The whispers were in the back of his mind, muttering things to him that he couldn't understand, and Killer's voice was white-noise drowning it all out. Killer was easier to ignore than the whispers, though, which was nice in a way, but Killer was right, it was getting annoying. When Sans started listening to Killer again, Killer was in the middle of a sentence.

'- so then i started wondering, are there other combinations with strawberry jam and black licorice?'

'... what?' Sans was extremely confused.

'oh! look who's paying attention again! heya lucky!' Killer greeted with way too much enthusiasm.

Sans sighed quietly, facepalming. He heard Papyrus cheering in his room, and Sans smiled fondly at the noise. At least his brother was happy for the time being, that was the important thing. 

'ugh. i still don't get why you're so focused on that.'

'what do you mean?' Sans asked.

'ensuring they're happy. i mean, you're going through hell, and yet you're focused on everyone else being happy, or at the very least papyrus being happy. why?'

'i guess i just know that just because i have to go through it, doesn't mean that they need to.' Sans replied, 'they don't deserve to be brought down just because i am. even if they wind up forgetting, even if it all gets reset... there's no point in making them miserable. besides, i can handle it.'

'you and your damn martyr complex...' Killer grumbled.

'you and your damn apathy.' Sans countered.

'. . . touche. still, even if you're not taking them down with you, why don't you do something to entertain yourself? change things up? the kid knows you remember anyways, why don't you make your own choices?'

'i do make my own choices, and i'm choosing to do this.' Sans replied.

'that's not what i mean. i mean doing something you normally wouldn't do in fear of consequences. you could run through the underground wearing something ridiculous, you could prank everyone, you could get undyne and alphys together or get trash talk from the lady behind the door about asgore. hell, you could even convince papyrus to wear undyne's armor through a truth or dare and have him run around the underground as her! or you could just start killing, but that's a big stretch for you.'

Sans shuddered at the last thing Killer mentioned, though the other ones were admittedly interesting. It would be... pretty fun to stir some stuff up, but he was also too lazy to do something like that. His exhaustion wasn't forgotten; it didn't let him forget his existence, always making him sluggish and tired. The thought of messing with everyone else, though, just from harmless gags everyone would forget anyways... it would be entertaining... It would definitely keep things from getting boring or monotonous, that's for sure.

'i take it you did those things too?' Sans asked after a moment.

'nah, i didn't break the script. the same thing, every single time, all to piss them off, but they got their way in the end... i never really did anything different before chara convinced me to team up with them for some fun.' Killer answered.

"killing everyone isn't 'fun', Killer." Sans muttered, fists clenching.

'it is when you haven't been able to feel anything for so long. feeling anything at all is pure bliss. besides, i'm sure the longer this keeps up, the more bored you'll be. i have some harmless ideas for you to try, and i can tell you're tempted by them. you'll break eventually. everyone does.' Killer said. 

Sans went to respond, but he heard footsteps approaching Papyrus's door, so Sans quickly teleported to his room, hiding the fact he'd been outside of the room. The door opened a moment later, and Sans could hear Papyrus and Riley exiting the room, their steps heading down the stairs towards the living room. Sans sat down on his bed, next to the clump of sheets on his mattress, and he crossed his arms.

'i'm not like you, killer, and i never will be. i refuse to be. i might change things up, but i won't kill everyone like you did.' Sans glared at a wall in frustration, Killer not having a physical form for him to glare at.

'i thought that too, once. i told chara that so many times, and  l o o k  w h a t  h a p p e n e d . '

Sans shuddered a bit from the change in Killer's tone, and he looked off to the side. He hated the fact that Killer was right. They were technically the same monster, sans the genocide loop and everything, but Sans did have a decent amount of Killer's trauma. The whispers in the back of his mind were proof enough of that, trying to get him to listen in and let them guide his thoughts, but Sans wasn't stupid enough to allow that to happen. Sans went to respond to Killer's statement, but Papyrus calling for him cut him off.

"SANS! BROTHER, WE'RE TAKING YOUR FRIEND TO UNDYNE'S SO THEY CAN MEET EACH OTHER!"

They were what?...

'heh. seems like the brat wants to change things up too.' Killer chuckled. 

"SANS!!!" Papyrus called out when Sans didn't immediately respond, "GET DOWN HERE YOU LAZYBONES!!"

"i'm comin', paps!" Sans yelled back, getting off of the bed and heading towards the door.

'seriously, think about it, lucky. being lazy is a weakness; a flaw. it's boring. cut loose; have some fun.' 

'do you think that, or is that something they said?' Sans asked, knowing which one it was, and Killer went silent. Sans sighed, 'that's what i thought.'

Sans opened the door, heading downstairs to see Papyrus waiting by the door a bit impatiently, and Riley was standing next to him, much more patient than Sans's brother was. Papyrus perked up when he saw Sans, though, his impatience giving way to excitement.

"GREAT! NOW, ARE YOU BOTH READY?" Papyrus asked.

"b-both?" Sans asked, eyelights shrinking a bit from panic.

Did he know about Killer? No, he couldn't know, there was no way. Killer was just in his head, he didn't have a form, and if he did, Sans would be the only one able to see him. There was no way Papyrus knew about Killer!

'relax, papyrus doesn't know about me. he's not smart enough to figure that out.

'killer, shut the fu-!'

"YES! YOU AND YOUR FRIEND RILEY! ARE YOU BOTH READY TO HEAD TO UNDYNE'S?" Papyrus asked, cutting off Sans from his swearing, and Killer snickered in his mind.

"oh. yeah, i'm ready. kid?" Sans responded before looking at Riley, and they nodded.

Sans tried to ignore the curious and concerned look they sent him afterwards, seemingly seeing his panic when Papyrus had remained oblivious to it. He needed to be more careful unless he wanted something happening.

"GREAT, LET'S GO!" Papyrus smiled, picking Sans up and heading out the door, Riley following behind the two skeletons, Sans facing behind Papyrus from how he was carrying him, "SANS, YOU SEEM TENSE, BROTHER... IS EVERYTHING OK?"

'oh wow, lucky, you sure do such a good job on keeping everyone happy and unaware of how poor your mental state is.' Killer sassed, and Sans gave him the mental middle finger, Killer responding by blowing him a raspberry.

"SANS?" Papyrus asked, drawing his attention back to him.

"huh? oh, yeah, i'm ok. you don't kneed to worry about me, paps. just got a lotta things on my skull." Sans replied.

"UGH! THAT WAS HORRIBLE, BROTHER!" Papyrus groaned, and Sans chuckled, relaxing.

"aww c'mon, paps! i thought it was pretty humerous." Sans grinned.

"SANS!" Papyrus yelled, and Sans laughed.

"tibia honest, paps, nothing's wrong. just thinking about how some body said someone had their back. i'm trying to figure out where they went with it." Sans grinned, and Riley snorted.

"DO NOT ENCOURAGE MY BROTHER, RILEY!" Papyrus chastised.

"what's the matter, paps? your funny bone broken?" Sans asked, and Papyrus groaned in exaggeration.

Riley reached up to give Sans a high five, and once said high five happened... the whoopie cushion went off. The loud fart rang out around them as they walked, Killer snickering in his mind as Riley giggled quietly out loud. 

"SANS!" Papyrus yelled, exasperated.

"heh, sorry bro. i didn't mean to let that one rib." Sans grinned. 

Papyrus yelled in frustration, slinging Sans over his shoulder as he stomped to Undyne's house in annoyance, Riley following behind him, laughing. The laughter was drowned out by the blizzard, wind gushing past his skull, and the snowy landscape behind them flickered, Chara faintly visible.

'crap.'

"Come on, Sans... You can do it... Now's your chance, partner!"

Sans looked down at himself, seeing his appearance identical to Killer's once again, and there was a knife in his hand, but he couldn't feel the weight of it or himself gripping it. Killer was saying something in his mind, but Sans couldn't concentrate on it, Killer's voice muffled.

'no.'

"Yes! You know not to refuse your best friend, right, Sans?~"

'shut up...'

"You're so close... Just one slice, and you'll win! Kill him for me, Sans... Kill him. now."

'stop, please..'

'oh for the love of-!' Killer started blasting music in Sans's head, making him grimace, it difficult to focus on anything in his mind, but also drowning out Chara's voice.

The music was loud, mainly a lot of electric guitar and drums, and Chara vanished from his sight, his own appearance flickering before returning to normal, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He felt some tears coming from his eye sockets, and he disguised them with a yawn, ignoring how they took the appearance of black goop before returning to their usual appearance. The blizzard faded into the distance, the three of them now walking through Waterfall, and Sans buried his skull in Papyrus's chest, eye sockets closed to block out how the shadows of the walls almost seemed to move around them when he looked at them for too long. He felt like he was losing his mind.

Killer eventually turned down the music into a faint background noise, covering up the whispers, and Sans thanked him mentally, not thinking it but feeling it. Killer didn't seem to care either way, though; indifferent to Sans's gratitude. He removed his face from the crafted armor after a few minutes, needing something else to focus on other than his own mind, and he started counting stalactites on the roof of the cave system, trying to distract himself.

"Hey Sans? What are you doing?" Riley asked.

"counting stalactites. why?" Sans responded.

Riley shrugged a bit, before questioning, "What's the difference between stalagmites and stalactites?"

"easy, kid. stalactites grow out of the ceiling, and stalagmites grow out of the ground. you can tell the difference through the 'm's and 't's. the 'm's look like stalagmites growing out of the ground, and the 't's look like stalactites growing out of the ceiling." Sans answered.

"Wow..." Riley said in amazement.

"WOWIE! THAT IS AMAZING, BROTHER!" Papyrus complimented.

"thanks." Sans said. 

'did you know you can slice a stalactite at just the right moment and drop it on someone and dust them?' Killer asked out of nowhere, and Sans's eyelights vanished for a moment.

Thankfully, the kid didn't seem to see the look on his face before he could school his expression. The fact that Killer knew that because he probably tried it raised a large amount of questions Sans didn't even know how to ask.

'dude, what the hell?' Sans asked as Killer snickered in his mind. 

'hey, you can't tell me you never thought about it~' Killer replied.

'yes i can, because i never thought about it!!' Sans snapped.

'. . . damn. i can't believe i used to be this boring. eh, whatever. it's still cool. maybe you'll see it happen in one of your nightmares. those seem to be something that'll be happening a lot more, and the hallucination... well...' Killer trailed off, and Sans internally sighed at that, knowing Killer was probably right. 'it used to be one of chara's favorite things to watch. it never worked on undyne though, we tried that a bunch of times and it never worked.'

'can you not talk about murdering my friends?' Sans requested.

'aw c'mon, jekyll! don't tell me this is bothering you!' Killer snickered.

Sans decided not to give him the reaction he wanted, and Killer sighed.

'hmph, fine. be that way. if you'll excuse me, i'm gonna hyde out in your subconscious for when the fireworks start at undyne's house.' Killer said, 'enjoy the tunes!'

Sans sighed quietly as Killer started playing music in his mind, though at least he might have a few minutes without a psychotic version of him in his mind chattering away about murder, brainwashing, or about strawberry jam and black licorice, which... what the hell.

When they got to Undyne's house, things got... chaotic. Papyrus approached the door, holding Sans with one arm as he raised the other to knock on the door. He adjusted his hold on Sans again, using both arms to hold him securely, and Sans heard Undyne walking towards the door. Sans turned his skull to see the mouth of the entrance of the house opening, Papyrus stepping back as Undyne walked outside.

"Hey Papy-!" Undyne greeted, but stopped in her tracks upon seeing Riley, before continuing in a much more dangerous tone, "Papyrus. Why do you have a human behind you?"

"WELL-" Papyrus started, but stopped when Undyne summoned a spear, clearly ready to attack.

"undyne, don't. they're fine." Sans said. "not a human, just a monster kid who got confused on what holiday it was."

"I doubt that. That's a human, Sans. I know it is." Undyne glared, and Papyrus gave Sans a strange look from his lying.

"hear that, kiddo? your costume is super realistic." Sans smirked.

"STOP MESSING AROUND, SANS!" Undyne snapped.

"i'm not." Sans denies.

"YES YOU ARE!!" Undyne hissed.

Riley hid behind Sans, Sans could feel their grip on the back of his jacket, and he could see them peeking over his shoulder in the reflection in one of the waterfalls. The reflection flickered, Chara gripping Sans's shoulders with the wide smile visible on their face, whispering next to his skull. Sans had black liquid running down his cheekbones, wearing a black turtleneck, dark blue jacket with a fluffy tan hood, white shorts with a black stripe on each side, and blue sneakers. There was a glowing white and red upside-down heart outside of his chest, the red dripping down from the bottom.

"Protect your best friend, Sans... Protect me."

The reflection changed, Chara's hand moving down his arm, despite the fact he could only feel Riley gripping his back, and Sans kept his arm tense, not letting it go boneless as he saw Chara grip his wrist. Their smile grew as they slid a knife into Sans's hand, the skeleton's fingers moving to hold the imaginary weapon, Chara's other arm moving to wrap around his neck in a hug, their chin resting on his shoulder. Sans fought to keep his mind from going blank, the emptiness setting in and he felt himself growing more and more out of it, and more compliant. Papyrus and Undyne were arguing, but Sans couldn't understand what they were saying, everything a fuzzy haze except for Chara's whispers. Sans clenched his jaw as he fought it off, and he was actually missing Killer's presence right now-

'i leave you alone for a few damn minutes! focus on the kid, lucks! focus on what feels real, not what your mind is doing to you!' Killer yelled, and Sans obeyed, focusing on Riley's presence.

He focused on Riley gripping the back of his jacket for safety, and his toes curled in his slippers, focusing on the physical sensations, tearing his gaze away from the waterfall, and the whispers slowly quieted down, his appearance returning to normal after a few blinks, and he breathed out a silent sigh of relief. 

Undyne was watching him strangely, and something seemed to click in her mind, and knowing her, it would either be unnervingly accurate... or extremely far-fetched...

'i'm betting on far fetched.' Killer said, and Sans agreed.

"I think I know what's going on here.." Undyne spoke up, narrowing her eye.

"yeah, the kid got confused." Sans replied.

"No. The human is mind controlling you!" Undyne accused, pointing at them dramatically.

"... what?" Sans asked.

'called it.'

"Of course! It all makes sense now!" Undyne shouted, before turning to Papyrus, "Papyrus, are you controlled too?!"

"NYEH? NO! AND I DON'T BELIEVE MY BROTHER IS, EITHER! RILEY IS A GOOD FRIEND, THEY WOULDN'T DO THAT!" Papyrus replied.

"That sounds like something a mind controlling human would make you say... Sorry, Papyrus, but I don't have a choice." Undyne apologized gravely.

'move.' 

Sans saw Undyne's spear swiping at him, and he teleported himself and Riley out of the way, Undyne looking at him in surprise as he dodged. Sans had an arm in front of Riley, a barrier between them and Undyne, and he got ready for a fight.

'i know her attacks, just follow my instructions and you'll be fine.' Killer told him.

'i know them too.' Sans pointed out.

'i've killed her before, i know them better. you want my help or not?' Killer asked.

'. . . fine...' Sans begrudgingly agreed.

'get the kid out of the way.' Killer instructed.

"paps, catch!" Sans yelled, using blue magic on Riley's soul, flinging them to Papyrus, who caught them.

'dodge to the left.' 

Sans dodged to the left, avoiding spears that shot out of the ground from under him. 

'duck.'

Sans ducked down, dropping to the ground, Undyne's spear swinging right over him.

'jump.'

Sans leapt off of the ground, pushing off with his hand, spears appearing under him and vanishing as he landed again.

'dodge to the right.' 

Sans dodged to the right as spears shot out of the ground, one slicing a tiny mark through his slipper, narrowly missing his foot.

'duck.'

Sans crouched down as Undyne swung her spear at him again, and he felt his hood move from the speed of the attack.

'jump.'

Sans jumped up as spears appeared around him in a circle, converging towards him, and he made bones appear to block them as he fell to the ground again, ready to dodge once more. The attacks continued a bit longer, Sans falling into the rhythm of dodging the spears and getting used to following Killer's instructions.

'fling her into her house.'

Sans used blue magic to grab her soul, flinging her into her house immediately and leaving a dent in the building, and he froze after he did so. Undyne was looking at him in shock, still held in place by the blue magic, and Sans was surprised he'd just did that.

'dude?!' 

'what? hey! don't let her go! keep her there. don't release her soul.' Killer snapped as Sans went to release her soul before stopping, keeping his grip on the white upside-down heart.

'ok? now what?' Sans asked.

'talk at her or whatever pacifists do, i dunno. i know how to fight, that's it. just keep her there so she doesn't do anything too stupid.'

Sans held back a sigh, barely, before asking Undyne "will you please listen to reason now?"

Undyne was still looking at him in shock, probably processing the fact that she'd just been beaten by the laziest and 'weakest' monster in the Underground. He could hear Killer laughing in his head at that, and Sans had to admit, it was kind of funny, even though in reality Sans was one of the strongest.

"U-Undyne?... I umm... I really want to be your friend. I.. Papyrus told me a lot about you, and you seem really cool..." Riley said quietly, fidgeting.

"I won't fall for your tricks, human! We can never be friends!" Undyne declared.

"you mean to tell me, that you, undyne, captain of the royal guard, can't do something?" Sans asked, and Killer snickered, and he heard Papyrus laughing a bit. 

"Wait- NO! I can do anything!" Undyne defended herself indignantly.

"apparently you can't be their friend." Sans smirked.

"RAAAAAAGH!!" Undyne yelled in frustration.

'gaslightin', huh lucky? not bad... not bad at all.' Killer praised.

Sans sighed. Killer praising him for something was somehow worse than the murder talk. Sans released Undyne's soul, knowing she wasn't going to be a problem anymore, and she pulled herself out of the dent in the wall, looking mildly impressed with Sans's capabilities before turning to the three of them, looking Determined.

"FINE! I'll be their best friend ever!! You'll see, punk!!" Undyne yelled.

Undyne walked over to Riley, her steps shaking the ground a bit, and she picked the human up, carrying them inside. Sans and Papyrus exchanged glances before nodding, the skeletons following the human and fish monster into the house. When they got there, Undyne was grabbing a pot and some vegetables, preparing to make some pasta sauce by the looks of it. Undyne was very... violent when making the sauce, fruit juice and guts splattering everywhere, the pasta was thrown into a pot, including the damn box, and everything was on fire within minutes. Killer was laughing like a maniac as the house went up in flames, and Undyne grabbed Riley, carrying them outside as Sans teleported himself and Papyrus out of the burning house. Sans could still hear Killer laughing so loud he could barely hear himself think, and Undyne set Riley down on the ground, looking them over for injuries before looking back at the flaming house.

"Fuhuhu... Uhh... That was awesome!! Hey, you know what?! I bet, since I just, like, saved your life and all, that we're definitely best friends now!!" Undyne yelled in triumph. Riley nodded, going along with it, and Undyne grinned in pride. "YES!! I did it!! Take that, punk!!"

Undyne pointed at Sans with a victorious grin on her face, and Sans faked a defeated expression, "dang. yeah, you got me. you really proved me wrong."

"I DID! Did you see that Papyrus?! I JUST PROVED YOUR BIG BROTHER WRONG!!" Undyne yelled, and Sans winked at Riley with his left eye when Undyne wasn't looking, causing the kid to laugh.

"I DID, UNDYNE! WELL DONE!!" Papyrus congratulated.  

"Oh!! You know what'll make us even closer now?! You gotta meet my... friend, Alphys!! She's so cool! She's so smart and funny and creative and knows a ton about human history! She's got these picture books detailing everything, with massive swords and sticks with magic and there's even giant ones and then there's these ones with wings and- sorry, you probably know all this, you're from there!!"

'i don't think the brat's from an anime, undyne.' Killer snickered in Sans's mind. 

"Anyways! Come on!!" Undyne yelled, picking up Riley again and stomp-running to Hotlands, Papyrus quickly picking up Sans and running behind her.

Sans sighed, watching craters form in the ground when Undyne stepped somewhere, and how Papyrus had to run around those areas, barely making a sound. They got to Hotlands in record time, Undyne barging into The Lab, and scaring the crap out of Alphys and making her almost spill her cup of Instant Noodles. From there, introductions went on, Killer wouldn't shut up about telling Alphys and Undyne to just kiss already... and then Mettaton showed up. For some reason, Killer was just itching to fight him, trying to convince Sans to pick a fight, but Sans refused every time.

Riley went on several of Mettaton's shows, including a final one where they fought at the end, and Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne were locked out of the room, unable to help, but Alphys helped out a decent amount. Sans had to fight off his own mind, resisting the urge and Chara's voice whispering for him to help them, and he was tense the whole time. Sans eventually settled on not watching the fight at all, the skeleton turned away from the TV. Riley wound up getting the ratings up sky high and Mettaton's battery died soon after, ending the fight.

From there, they all traveled to Asgore, walking through the hallways, Judgement Hall, which brought back all kinds of bad memories from his nightmares, and then they finally made it to the throne room, where Asgore was already waiting. Sans was in front of Riley, ready to defend them, but a fireball came out of nowhere, knocking Asgore away. The source of the flame turned out to be Queen Toriel, the lady behind the door, and there was some conversation that followed before once again, the barrier was broken. The timeline was over again....

Riley looked down sadly, and apologized "I'm sorry. This was really fun, Sans. See you next time..."

Just like that, their eyes opened, turning red, their mouth pulling itself into a smile, Sans tensing despite the smile seeming different from the one haunting his mind. The world Reset once again, but something felt so, so much worse than last time...

RESET.

[soldier-of-mayhem]

Legion HCs - Julie Kostenko

- 22 years old

- Slavic roots

- grey eye colour, blonde hair

- has a piercing in her tongue and barbed heart tattoo on lower back

- dating Frank Morrison

- due to her being a single child in quite wealthy family who'd give her basically anything she'd ask for, it sometimes reflects on how stubborn and bitchy she is if she really wants something.

- has issues with jealousy, sometimes taking things a bit too far because of it. She'd never kill anyone because of it tho, just go as far as to threaten with few non-lethal injuries.

- dangerously smart and constantly plotting something, whenever it's something harmless or another mischief rundown for the Legion.

- read through a lot of criminology, not really to see why people did it, but how they did it. Soon started to have some murderous thoughts herself but kept denying she'd actually ever want to truly kill anyone.

- saw possibly every single slasher film that exists.

- artistically expresses herself through drawings.

- knows how to drive, however going with her is a heart attack hazard. No matter how much she ensures you everything is fine, single ride will leave you traumatized. She speeds to places immensely.

- a fucking arsonist.

- even tho Frank is the supposed leader of the Legion, Julie is mostly the one coming up with ideas and being the brain behind most of their shittery.

- after Legion started doing murders as well, a lot of them were just to impress Frank in contrary to gaining pure enjoyment out of killing during trials.

- the Legion most likely wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for her putting the group together.

- when comes to trials it's almost like as if she was a completely different person, sometimes going as far that it even pulls the more brutal killers into shame. Nobody knows if it's something with Entity's influence or just her letting violent cravings out.

- might be the only one actually enjoying getting dragged to Entity's realm, it's little boredom outlet.

- once got her hands on Caleb's gun, the Redeemer, and had too much fun using it. The situation got bad to the point Entity had to interfere.

- she never takes her mask off in the Entity realm, it's almost like as if her face was completely fused to it. To the emotionless, terrifying husk of a face.

[jayfeather323]

Starving, Darling

Chapter 1

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

Cassian

The three males had reached the age Rhys’ father liked to call “the age of fighting and fucking.” At least Cass and Rhys had. Even though Azriel was older, he only ever seemed to be interested in the fighting part.

It wasn’t for lack of female interest either, Azriel was all lean muscle and lethal grace. He was far prettier even than Rhys, which gained him plenty of attention. The few dates Az had been on, he had stormed back into the house hours too early and locked himself in his room. Neither Cass nor Rhys could get him to talk about it, stubborn as he was.

So, when he finally broke down and told them what was going on, they were shocked, to say the least. They were shocked, but it was Azriel, and after everything he’d been through, it was a wonder they didn’t figure it out sooner.

Azriel was resistant to any kind of physical affection – to any touch, really. Now that Cass thought about it, training (or outright brawling) was the only time Cass’ skin had ever touched Azriel’s.

In the years they had shared a home in Windhaven, Cass had always been affectionate with Rhys and his mother. Hugs, a clasp on the back, and friendly punches were just part of how he communicated with the only family he had ever known. He learned quickly, though, that that was not something he could do with Az.

The few times he had gone in for a hug or a friendly nudge, Az had flinched. The response pained him enough that he avoided that sort of contact with him.

The time he struck an arm out in an amused punch to Azriel’s shoulder, he landed flat on his back, wings flared out awkwardly before he could even make contact.

Cass had seen Az talking to Ezra’s sister, Maya, earlier that day. When he disappeared after dinner, he mentioned it to Rhys who gave him a knowing smirk.

Maya was pretty with long, dark eyelashes set against high cheekbones and softly curling black hair that fell nearly to her waist. Her pale green eyes were in stark contrast to her dark skin, and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. She was gorgeous. He could see why Az liked her.

But only an hour after he’d left, he returned, the front door slamming behind him, shadows writhing angrily. His face was as hard and emotionless as always, but the twitch of his wings and his coiling shadows gave him away. Az was wearing denim pants and a pressed black shirt, a rare change from his fighting leathers.

Cass was tired of Az angrily shutting himself away anytime he met with a female. He needed to know what was upsetting him so much. Azriel was his best friend and Cass hated to be shut out.

Before Az could make it through the kitchen and up the stairs, Cass launched himself in front of him, arms and wings spread wide, blocking his path.

Cass really miscalculated. The spot he threw himself into was only a few inches in front of Azriel and he…flinched.

All the air and determination went out of him as Az’s hands came up in front of his face, mangled scars in plain view, and for probably the hundredth time, he wanted to murder Azriel’s father and stepbrothers. Az was good and he deserved so much better than the hand life had dealt him.

Cass took a step back but kept his wings spread to block the way to the stairs.

“Az,” he said. “Just tell me what happened. I care about you.” I care about you. They were Illyrians. Mean and brutish and good for little except fighting and fucking. But they made a pact. To be brothers. To have each other’s backs no matter what. To care.

All at once, the hard, irritated line of Azriel’s shoulders fell. The tightly held fold of his wings that Cass knew still felt unnatural drooped down. His carefully blank face fell to reveal his frustration.

At this sudden change in body language, Rhys stepped closer toward them. Cass had forgotten he was standing near the window, ostensibly watching the snowflakes as they fell and collected on the ground.

“What’s wrong, Az?” Rhys asked in a velvet voice meant to soothe.

Azriel stepped back to slump into a chair pulled out from the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. Like he couldn’t look up at his friends. It was several long seconds before he spoke. Several long seconds in which Cassian could only hear Az’s stuttered, forced breaths as he tried to calm himself.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with me!” The frustration in his voice panged through Cassian’s chest. “No one can just touch me! I freak out every time!”

Oh. So that’s what this is about.

“What do you mean?” Az looked up when Rhys spoke, revealing watery hazel eyes and a vulnerability Cass had never seen in him before. That pang in his chest sank and curdled into a protective fury. He just wanted to tug Az into his chest. To slaughter everyone who had ever hurt him.

“Today, with Maya, I went to her house. I’d talked to her a few times, and I guess she wanted to fool around when I went over today. When she reached out to hug me, I flinched! And she got this sad look in her eyes, but that wasn’t even the worst of it.” Az just sounded so defeated. Cass could tell he was trying not to let tears fall and he had never seen Az so vulnerable. Not even when he admitted he couldn’t fly.

His words came out in a rush. “We were fooling around, just kissing a little and…and I was shaking. She kept asking me if I was okay, I kept brushing her off, but my…my hands were shaking so bad. It was just so much, and then she was kissing me and her hand slid down, and I…”

Az dropped his gaze to the tile floor and moved his arms, so his lap was now visible.

Cassian’s jaw nearly dropped at the wet spot on Azriel’s thigh. He looked at Rhys, the same expression of soft surprise mirrored on his face.

“I just ran out of there. She looked at me so surprised.” Az’s gaze remained fixed on the floor.

Az had come in his pants. From barely a touch.

“Az, there are far worse things than coming in your pants. I doubt Maya even really cared.” Rhys saved them from the silence.

Az only gave him a skeptical look.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Cass said. A half-baked plan began to form in his head. “I think…we could help you.”

“Help me?” Az only sounded more skeptical.

Rhys seemed to pick up on where he was going with this. “If you’re overly sensitive to touch, if you flinch when people get too close, you just need to get more used to it. With people you trust.”

The doubtful stare didn’t let up.

“You trust me, right? Trust us?”

His gaze shuttered. “Of course, I do.”

“Then let us help,” Rhys said, his calm, velvet timbre doing wonders to broach the topic to Azriel.

“Okay.” The trust in his eyes made Cass smile. “How…exactly do you plan to help me?”

“We can start with you letting someone take care of you for once. We can get you cleaned up and then go from there.”

Azriel nodded and his gaze flicked back and forth from Rhys’s captivating violet eyes to Cassian’s hazel ones.

“Can I touch you?” Cass pitched his voice low and soft and stepped right in front of Az where he sat on the wooden chair.

He nodded, and Cass reached out slowly. He ran his fingers through the silky soft strands of Azriel’s hair. He brushed away the yet unmelted flakes of snow and scratched his blunt nails lightly across his scalp. Affection swelled heavy and warm in Cassian when Az’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned ever so slightly into Cass’ touch.

He trailed his hands down to grasp Azriel’s scarred ones, pulling him up from the chair. He had never had so much contact with Az in his life. At least not outside of grappling in the dirt.

“Come upstairs. You can take a hot bath,” Cass said. He knew that while Az may never admit it, he was rather fond of bubble baths ever since he had discovered them.

Rhys led the way and they all walked up the stairs to the bathing room they shared. Rhys waved a hand and the bath, at least big enough for two Illyrian warriors, filled with hot, soapy water. The male didn’t have his wings out today, which Cass thought was a good thing considering the size of the bathing room.

Sinking to his knees, Rhys held eye contact with Azriel.

He kept all his movements slow, deliberate. Rhys began to unlace Az’s boots, never once breaking eye contact, telling him with his eyes and his actions exactly how he intended to help him.

Cass understood what Rhys was trying to communicate. He was heir to the Night Court. Kneeling to anyone was not in his nature. Rhys communicated through action, and this, this supplicating reverence begged Azriel to trust him, to allow him to take care of him, to show him that there is more to the world than pain.

As Rhys made his way to the ties of Azriel’s pants, Cass unbuckled straps and undid buttons on his leathers. He gently eased the sleeves down his arms, oh so careful to avoid his wings. Cass pressed a gentle kiss to the warm, tan skin of his chest. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Is this okay?” The soft, shuddering sigh from Azriel at the contact told him that it was, indeed, okay, but he wanted to hear him say it. Cass’s gaze flicked up to Az’s. His lips were parted in soft shock, as though he couldn’t believe anyone would ever touch him like this.

“It’s…it’s good.” His voice shook a little as he spoke and as Rhys gently removed his pants from where they were tangled around his feet, Cass pressed another soft kiss to the side of his jaw, where the barest beginnings of dark stubble tickled his cheek.

A sigh escaped Az’s lips and as they made eye contact, he could see the nervousness he was trying to hide. His scarred hands shook where they were clenched at his sides and his shoulders and wings were tight with tension.

Rhys stood and pressing his hands to the sharp bones of Azriel’s hips, he nudged him over to the bath.

“Relax,” Rhys said, pressing a tender kiss to Az’s shoulder. “Bathe. We’ll be right here.”

By some miracle of the hot water or of Rhys’s soothing whispers, some of the tension in Az melted away as he settled into the bath. Az dunked his head, wetting his raven’s feather curls. Cass watched the water trickle down his face, the little bit of stubble filling in around his jaw, the corded muscles of his neck.

Rhys trailed feather-light fingers down his spine, and Cass watched, enraptured, at how his eyes fluttered shut, at the shiver he tried to suppress.

As Az scrubbed his body, Cass stepped forward to run shampoo through the male’s hair. His chin tipped back, and he didn’t even try to keep his eyes open this time. Az just relaxed into his touch.

Cass didn’t know how to feel. He had never seen Az this open before. He was relaxed, enjoying himself, even. His shadows were settled along the stretched-out curves of his wings and pooled around his legs. He thought if they could purr, they would be doing just that. Hell, maybe they could, and he just didn’t know.

Rhys never stopped running a soothing hand down the ridges of Az’s spine. Scars littered his back, another reminder of the male’s cruel past. He didn’t stop the calming motion until Az stepped from the bath, and Rhys wrapped him in a fluffy towel.

The water dripped in little rivulets from his lightly curling hair and down his face. Az always had a haunted look about him, like maybe the only thing beneath the masks he wore, beneath the cold fury, was a scared little boy still trapped in his father’s dungeon. But now, wrapped in a cream-colored towel, water dripping from his eyelashes, his rage seemed to have melted. He looked almost innocent…cute even.

They followed Rhys to his room. His bed was thankfully big enough for three winged Illyrians. Cass darted to his own room to grab a change of clothes for himself and for Az before returning.

Cass handed Az a pair of underwear and a soft sleep shirt that was just a tad oversized on him. He and Rhys slept shirtless, but he knew Az preferred clothing.

As they all sat on Rhys’ oversized bed, Rhys spoke, “Azriel, I want you to know that you have all the control here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just say the word and everything stops. If you want to slow down, if you want to do something different, all you have to do is say so, okay?”

Az nodded, and when his too-vulnerable gaze flicked over to Cass, he said, “Do you want to do this? Do you want us to take care of you? Do you want our help with…this?” Cass’ questions betrayed his nerves, but he so desperately wanted Azriel to say yes. He so desperately wanted to show him the care he deserved, the care no one had ever bothered to give him before.

“I…I want this, but there have to be some rules.” Az had a kind of shyness in his eyes, in his voice that Cass had never seen before, never thought he would see.

“Of course, what do you propose?” Rhys asked.

Cass couldn’t understand how Rhys was so level-headed and calm. He wanted this, yes, but it also felt like their whole dynamic could change completely and some fear that their relationship could change forever made his hands shake just slightly, made his heart beat just a little faster in his chest.

Rhys, however, seemed entirely unruffled. His violet eyes were clear and the way he sprawled against the dark wood of the headboard was cool and confident and relaxed. Rhys was always better at hiding his emotions than Cass was, though.

“I think we should keep this,” Az motioned between the three of them, “confined to the house. We can’t bring any of this to the training ring.”

“I agree. Is that alright with you, Cass?”

“Yes, of course. I really don’t want to know how Devlon would feel about an arrangement like this. Anything else?”

Az shook his head.

“Stay here tonight? With me?” Rhys asked.

Cassian nodded, but Azriel’s eyes widened, full lips parted.

“I’ve…I’ve never…I,” Az stammered.

“I know Az. That’s part of this. You don’t have to; we can always try another night.” Rhys’ voice was low and smooth and already tinged with sleep. It was quite late, and they were all tired and still processing the day’s events.

“No, I…I want to. I’ll stay.”

Rhys smiled, eyelids drooping slightly with his need for sleep. Cass smiled at Az, too, pride lacing his features. He knew this was a big step for Az. He knew how hard he tried to hide his nightmares, how often his past still kept him awake.

Rhys made himself comfy on one side of the oversized bed, wings still tucked away to create more space. When Az settled in the middle of the bed, Cass threaded an arm around his waist, slowly and not too tight, allowing Az to push him away if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He seemed content with the contact and Cass draped a wing over their bodies, cocooning them in warmth.

Cassian wanted to stay awake. Even as Az’s breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm, he wanted to stay awake just a little longer. To make sure he was okay, to be there if he woke up. But the steady hum of their combined breathing and the warmth enveloping them lulled him into an easy, dreamless sleep.

[moonbiscuitsims]

💀Olive Specter: infamous killer of Strangetown in Night City/Badlands💀Here to show the scavs how it's done Trigger warning: videogame violence

Check out similar posts: 🤩All Cosplays 🛸 Vidcund Curious 👾Lazlo Curious 💀Ophelia 💅🏻Brandi Broke/Newbie ⚡Nervous Subject 🖤Lilith 💋Chloe Curious (with mods) 💚Angela Pleasant 👽Bella Goth in Night City <3 Bella CP cosplay pics 👽Where’s Bella? Where’s Johnny? More Bella CP cosplay pics 💔Cassandra Goth (with mods) 🤑Dina Caliente cyberpunk 2077 cosplay 💜Nina Caliente Cyberpnuk 2077 cosplay 🤍Dina and Nina Sims 4 Cyberpunk CC lookbook I realise some of these pics are a bit intense, but so is Olive so it is fitting. I wanted her to be emotionless in all the pictures though I tend to do that anyway. While I was clearing out a scav hideout I was like "oh god not the red chair!" but there were no good sitting poses, I don't use mods or any fancy photomode addons, just pure vanilla game for all, hairs, clothes, settings, poses, etc. I realise Olive looks a bit more like Ophelia with the "merc" outfit I gave her and I realise her hair was slightly blonde as opposed to white like I thought but I like it, I like to imagine she is younger and resembles ophelia a little more despite being her aunt. The sinner/lethal tattoo definitely suits her 💀I wish I could have found some sort of graveyard in the desert but alas there is just sand. I thought the Voodoo Boys chapel seemed a bit like the psp meetinghouse/ 13 Dead End Lane house vibes. Of course Olive as a merc doesn't even think twice about killing no matter who is her target and I think the job suits her despite her motivations always being mysterious and hidden. I like to imagine she is still looking for Grim in this world. I'm not sure who I want to do next, I can't do Brandi because my V is loaded already, can't do any male characters (don't think you can change the gender but I don't want to for this playthrough anyway), and can't do any aliens unless I use a mod for green skin or photoshop it. I was thinking maybe Cassandra or Lilith, or a corpo Mary Sue.

[teine-mallaichte]

Emotionless

@year-of-whump-tropes day 8.

CW: conditioinging, emotional suppression, loss of identity, isolation, dehumanisation.

Complex 27 Alex YOWT Jan list

The sterile hum of the facility's lights flickered above, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Asset 84 stood motionless in front of the metal table, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides, the only outward sign of life. His expression remained blank, not a flicker of emotion betraying the turmoil that raged beneath his controlled exterior.

His body, a machine crafted for precision and destruction, stood in stark contrast to the emptiness within. No warmth, no joy, no fear. Only the conditioned mantra repeated endlessly in his mind: I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure.

He hadn’t been allowed to feel in years. The facility had drilled it into him, hammered it into his bones until the very notion of emotion felt foreign, even wrong. His humanity was buried, suffocated by the cold, unfeeling command of his handlers. He had become a weapon in the truest sense—an instrument of lethal force without purpose beyond their orders.

The echo of the briefing room door opening snapped him from his reverie. The familiar clink of boots approaching from behind didn’t stir any instinct within him, no tightening of his chest, no sense of threat. It was simply another task to complete, another order to follow. Carter’s voice, detached and clinical, filled the room.

“84, your next assignment is prepared. Report immediately to to loading bay,"

There was no hesitation.

No questions.

No rebellion.

“Understood, Colonel,” Alex responded in the same monotone that had long since become his voice. His hands did not tremble, his breath did not hitch. He simply turned, his steps even and measured as he moved toward the door.

The hallway stretched endlessly before him, a series of metal doors, stark white walls, and the faint sound of distant machinery. The facility had become his world, the only one that mattered. He did not remember his past, not truly. The faces of his family, his mother, his siblings—they were ghosts now. Fuzzy. Lost. He was 84 now.

A weapon.

Nothing more.

His boots made no sound against the floor, a ghost moving in the sterile silence. No fear of the mission. No sorrow for the lives he would take. His heart, though it beat, felt like a distant drum, unheard and ignored.

When thetransport vehicle arrived, the weight of his rifle was all he could feel. He checked the ammo, adjusted his gear, and prepared. This was what he was made for.

This was who he was.

A weapon, emotionless and unyielding.