#team dark (mentioned)

[sushibarton]

[trappedinchemicalplantzone]

me and my friend had an idea yesterday of Team Chaotix having their own show, each episode is a different case and each character has their own style for their thoughts

Charmy's is in bright crayon drawings

Vector's is in a film noir style

Espio's being in some kind of gritty comic style or something, my friend said something like the Spawn comics

so yeah you got these silly guys solving cases and such, Sonic would barely appear in it, tbh Team Dark would appear more due to the Chaotix getting in over their heads and stumbling into something they probably shouldn't have.

They might even make things worse sometimes,,, leaving a bit of a mess for Team Dark to deal with (Rouge making sure the other two members of her team don't 'punch/shoot first ask questions later' to the detectives) but hey, maybe they end up paying rent due to G.U.N. buys their silence,,, maybe Rouge pulled some strings for them.

the episode names would follow a theme of "the case of the-" or something, even if the job they have that episode isn't exactly a case. like idk babysitting duty or something, or just running errands and we get to see small interactions with the other characters (like helping Vanilla with groceries, or running to grab flour for Amy, getting parts for Tails since Sonic is out)

idk, something fun like that

[cheesebrackers]

SONIC ART ^^ (plus soundwave)

[1071png]

I have a confession to make, I prefer evil Shadowheart, storytelling and design wise 💚

[generic-sonic-fan]

Ensom

Summary: All the words in the english language downloaded to a dictionary on his drives, yet Omega can’t find the word he needs. 

He isn’t used to not knowing how he’s feeling. 

It’s frustrating. At least he knows that much.

(Vent fic. 1947 words)

---

Omega finds himself alone in his room. This is fine. He rolls the chair out from beneath his desk, sits down, executes the steps to turn on his computer. Exact movements he’s programmed into himself to save processing power, since the power buttons for both the external hard drive and the monitor will never move. 

He stares into the blank loading screen. 

He’s been here before.

He’s been in this exact posture before. Unmoving for hours. Maybe a twitch here and there to maneuver the computer mouse, that’s all. 

He pushes himself away from the desk and stands. He walks out the door of his room, emerging into the hallway. He’s been here before, too; hours standing in front of Shadow or Rouge’s door, hours walking up and down, fractions of travel that add up to significant percentages of his entire operation.

He passes the living room. The couch he has remained stationary on. Hours. The television he’s stared blankly at. The kitchen. The microwave he has watched rotate thousands of times while Shadow and Rouge wait for their food. The pantry that they stare into. Hours. 

He curls his claws around the handle of the front door. 

What is he going to do out there? Wander around and have meatbags stare at him? Have them run away screaming like they would any other Badnik? Judge him stupid, explaining things like love and freedom and what it means to be alive again like he’s supposed to obsess over their every word? 

Running simulation now: THANK YOU NONDESCRIPT HUMAN, I NEVER ONCE THOUGHT ABOUT MY OWN EXISTENCE IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOUR MARVELOUS AND UNIQUE INSIGHT ABOUT THE CONCEPTS THAT NO SENTIENT SACK OF FLESH CAN SEEM TO SHUT UP ABOUT!

And then they kick him out of their shop because he’s scaring away customers because he forgot to look them in the eyes at the right time or ask a meaningless “HOW ARE YOU DOING?” to every passerby to indicate friendly intent. 

As soon as he opens this door the entire city is staring. He wouldn’t care if they hated him. They don’t. He wouldn’t care if they were afraid of him specifically. They aren’t. 

All of the words in the english language downloaded onto his drives, and there’s no word he can assign to it that doesn’t make him want to tear every building in the city down.

He tears off the doorknob and slams it down. He grinds it into the cheap linoleum tile until the downstairs neighbor pounds back on the ceiling and screams at him to “shut up”. 

He draws his weapon. He aims for the blob of heat in his infrared scanner on the floor down. He aims slightly to the left, and pulls the trigger.

—

“Another complaint from the landlord. It’s our third strike. Managed to talk him back into letting us have a fourth.” Rouge tosses the paperwork onto the kitchen counter in front of him.

“I DO NOT CARE.” 

“Well I do. This is my apartment. Next time I’m kicking you out.”

Omega pauses. 

“What happened, anyway?”

“I WAS ANGRY.” 

“Fork found in kitchen, what else is news?” Rouge rolls her eyes. 

Fork is an eating utensil. The kitchen is where organics eat. She is saying the fork is found in the kitchen in a tone that, if he compares it to previous data of the various tones of her voice, most closely matches sarcasm. She is asking if finding a fork in the kitchen was somehow new information. She is relating the absurdity of this idea to-

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“IT IS YOUR FAULT!” He slams his fist on the counter. 

“How is this my fault?!” 

She is relating the absurdity of this idea to his rage. Asking if his rage was new somehow? No, too much sarcasm. Relating absurdity, the absurdity of asking a stupid question, the absurdity of asking him if he was angry. Because she knew he was always angry. Solution derived. 

This data would have been useful fifteen seconds ago, but is useless now.

“Sure, blame me for all your problems. See how well that works out for you!” Rouge snarls. 

“NOT JUST YOU,” Omega snarls back, “ALL OF YOU.” 

“‘All of me’? What, you mean-?”

“ALL MEATBAGS. ALL OF THEM. WITH FLESH AND BLOOD AND PATHETIC NEURONS. I’LL KILL YOU ALL.” 

He simulates ripping Rouge to pieces. It’s not satisfying. He simulates actually shooting the neighbor downstairs, watching the blood pour out of the exit wound. It’s not satisfying. He simulates torching the old woman who walks her dog every morning across the street. Nothing. 

Yet something is still burning in his code. He can’t put it out. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

He looks at her. I DON’T floats somewhere around his voice box, but can’t find a place to slip through.

He looks away. 

“What happened?”

“NOTHING HAPPENED. NOTHING HAS OCCURRED FOR TEN HOURS.”

“You’re bored.”

“NEGATIVE.” This isn’t boredom. Boredom is like an itch that they all talk about. This is different.

Rouge furrows her brows. Omega checks his database. The expression matches with confusion but also anger. This particular instance is leaning more towards anger.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I ALREADY DID.” 

“‘Meatbags’ isn’t an answer.” 

“AND HOW IS IT NOT?” He snapped his gaze back to her. He leaned forward, closer, brushing the tip of his silver outcropping against her nose. “WHAT IF IT IS?” 

“There’s clearly something deeper-”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?” 

“Because you’re not acting like yourself!” She planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

He straightened. “ELABORATE.” 

She resettles her tongue between her teeth, data matching with ‘considering what to say’, before she speaks again. “You’re never this vague. You normally don’t snap only once and then get quieter again- you usually stay as excited the whole conversation. You didn’t shout when you said ‘kill us all’ which is how I know you didn’t mean it. You hate touching any part of us that you’ve seen drip snot or spit or anything like that, yet you got close to my face.” 

Omega compares her analysis against his actions for the past six minutes and thirty-one seconds and finds an exact match for each. 

“CORRECT.” He offers. 

“So what’s going on?”

That question tears the smoldering hole he’s been circling around in his code wide open again. His thought processes choke. Is this what it’s like to choke? The cessation of a function absolutely vital to determining your status as operational? 

“Do you. . . not know?”

“I AM ANGRY.” 

“You’re always angry. But this is different.”

“IT IS.” 

“It’s not your joyful rage.” Rouge puts her finger to her chin. “And it’s not your Eggman rage.” 

“MAYBE IT IS.” 

“You didn’t mention him once, hun.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think this is your rage at me or Shadow.”

“IT IS NOT.” 

“That’s good. I know you feel rage at stupid organic processes like bureaucracy and the like. Is it that?” 

Omega pauses. “CLOSER.” 

“And it does have to do with meatbags. But non-specific.” 

“CLOSER.” 

“. . . have you considered it might not just be rage?” 

Omega stares at the fridge behind her. “I AM ANGRY.” 

“But it’s quiet.” 

He reviews the past ten hours and finds himself having been silent for most of them. 

“YES.” He says. 

“You know, sometimes you can be angry and feel another negative emotion at the same time.” 

“SPECIFY.” 

“Oh no, I’m not going to guess. You’d get mad at just about everything I’d think to suggest.”

“GOOD! MAKE ME MAD.” Omega hits the countertop with his fist again.

“Okay. Sadness?” 

His hand freezes above the counter. He stares at it, commanding the actuators to move, but they don’t. 

“See, told you.”

“I HAVE NOTHING THAT WOULD MAKE ME ‘SAD’.” 

She looks at him. Her facial muscles weave a new expression. The closest match in his database for it is ‘pity’, but there are not enough markers to fully confirm it. 

“What do you think would give you the excuse to be sad, huh?” She asks, then stops herself, then lets herself speak anyway. “Having a dead sister?” 

“YES.” 

“Well, you don’t have a dead sister. So clearly it’s something else.”

“I REPEAT: THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SAD ABOUT.” 

“That you know of.”

“EMOTIONS ARE A RESPONSE TO AN EXPERIENCED STIMULUS.” 

“Sometimes you’re just sad for no reason. It happens.” 

“THAT IS STUPID.” 

“If you want to get technical about it, you’re actually sad about a lot of things, but you aren’t sure why or maybe you just don’t know how to think about it. Then you say you’re sad for ‘no reason’. Make more sense?” 

Omega stares at his hand that is frozen above the table. He sends one more command to the actuators in his arm. Slowly, his fist retracts and settles back by his side. 

“Have you ever felt sadness before, do you think?” 

He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Shadow: neither silence nor isolation nor the urge to cease existing. He has never experienced a similar arrangement of symptoms to Rouge: neither lying nor pretending nor the urge to binge sensory inputs. 

“UNKNOWN.” He replies. 

“That could explain things.” 

His dictionary doesn’t offer a concise comparison either. ‘Sadness’: affected with or expressive of grief or unhappiness. Searching ‘unhappiness’ is equally as useless, only meaning not cheerful or glad. ‘Forlorn’ is a synonym, but it specifically relates to isolation or desertion, and he is experiencing neither at the moment. ‘Downcast’ and ‘woeful’ and ‘despondent’, they all slip away.

‘Melancholic’. Of or relating to the subject of ‘melancholy’- a depression of spirits (a useless definition) or a pensive mood. ‘Pensive’ meaning a sad thoughtfulness. 

“RESOLUTION PROPOSED:” Omega finally says, “ELIMINATE RUMINATION.” 

“Think less? God, shouldn’t we all.” 

“SO YOU AGREE TO STOP TELLING ME TO ‘THINK THROUGH THINGS’?” 

“No,” she whispers a common lighthearted insult to herself, “but sitting there and brooding on your bad mood never makes it any better.” 

“I DO NOT BROOD.” 

“What were you doing this afternoon, again?” 

He crosses his arms. “BEING MELANCHOLIC.” 

“Don’t tell Shadow you’re going to beat him at his own game.” 

“THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“I’m afraid it will. Came with your free copy of being alive, unfortunately.” 

“I HAVE RECEIVED NO COPIES OF ANYTHING.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I DON’T.” 

She pauses. Furrows her brows. “You don’t?”

“YOU HAVE NOT USED THIS EXPRESSION BEFORE. THE APPARENT RESPONSE YOU WERE EXPECTING WAS NOT CORRECT. YOU ARE FORCING ME TO CALCULATE YOUR HIDDEN MEANING USING OTHER CLUES.” 

“What I meant was that being sad just happens if you’re smart enough. That make sense?” 

“YOU ARE SAYING I’M SMART?” 

“Yeah, I am.” She replies. She does not deflect into any other specification or technicality of his question. 

“LOGGING UNDER: ‘BLACKMAIL’.” He says again.

She doesn’t contradict him. 

“Just. . .” she sighs. “Let us know if you’re ever feeling sad again, okay? Even if there’s no obvious reason for it.” 

“MELANCHOLIC.” He corrects.

“Melancholic, then.”

“. . . I WILL.” 

“Good. Now,” Rouge flicks her finger over the complaint from the landlord, sending it off the countertop and onto the floor. She crushes it beneath her heel. “Shadow stayed behind at the firing range because he said he had something on his mind. We’re gonna go join him and see who can blow a bigger hole through either GUN’s wall or their wallet. Sound good?” 

“AFFIRMATIVE!” 

She trails her hand across his chest plating as she walks by. He stays motionless for three seconds, allowing the sensation of her touch to fade from his tactile sensors. Then he follows her out the door of the apartment.

[disabled-battlekukku]

THEY CARE FOR EACHOTHER. SO MUCH

[eff-plays]

So my problem with AA stans claiming to be "dark romance enjoyers" is that it's uuh. Incorrect.

I'm a fantasy romance writer and I have been in the same circles as dark romance enjoyers and writers. Like full on omegaverse non-con type shit. I don't like it myself and think it's wack, but the reasoning of the people who enjoy it is that they have lingering shame around wanting sex, around purity culture, potentially homophobia with men who enjoy omegaverse stuff, so a bigstrong alpha man who forces them to enjoy something they secretly want is a sexual fantasy to them. They can hold onto that "purity" and "innocence" and not have any shame around wanting sex, because technically someone else is forcing it on them. They can explore that safely within fiction, and don't necessarily want that to happen to them IRL, unless it's within kink scenes etc. And yeah I don't get it, but it is something people do and own doing, and I can't stop them so as long as they're doing it over there, it's none of my business.

But AA fans claim to love the "dark romance" of it, but then turn around and say that no!! He's NOT abusive!! He's NOT going to assault or mind-control Tav, it's NOT an unhealthy relationship, they're EQUALS and he ADORES them and won't disrespect them!! Just look at the backlash to the "kneel" kiss, people who got so mad that Tav looks distraught.

But look at what BW said in the infamous Discord screenshot: it's fine to enjoy the fantasy, but it's not healthy in-universe. The game itself says "maybe you enjoy degrading yourself."

But AA stans looked at that and went "UM NO!!! IT IS HEALTHY!! I'M BEING SHAMED!!! >:(" and "OH POOR BABY THINKS HE'S BELOW US AND THAT'S WHY HE THINKS WE'RE DEGRADING OUTSELVES!!"

And that's where my problem stems from.

An actual dark romance enjoyer would be like "ough yes Daddy Astarion brainwash me and make me your brainless little fuckdolll sex slave and make me take your cummies every day." Not "YAAS BABE YOU AND ME ARE EQUALS AND PARTNERS IN CRIME UWU UWU UWU (ignores all the red flags and pretends they don't exist)!!!"

So like. You claim you enjoy dark romance, but you're constantly, desperately trying to erase the actual, in-game, canon darkness of it. Any hint of it you try to excuse away, or blame on the writers, or say is OOC and wrong.

You whine and complain about "fixers" and "moralizers" and "fandom police," but you yourself are policing the very romance you claim to enjoy by sanitizing it and making it into something more palatable instead of accepting how dark it actually is.

I've yet to see any AA stan have a Tav who's like a brainwashed sex slave, or in an abusive relationship with AA. All of them are just girlbosses who are co-rulers, which leads me to believe you don't enjoy "dark romance," but privilege. That's the thing that gets you off, privilege and power, particularly a priveleged and powerful man putting you on a pedestal and giving you whatever you want, taking care of you, letting you get away with bad things because he has the power to make all your issues go away. (Is this why so many AA stans are also Russian ... who said that)

And that's FINE. But just admit that? Admit that Astarion's story isn't what draws you to him, that you just enjoy the idea of a beautiful man who has power sharing it with you, and AA just happens to have those surface-level traits if you don't engage with or misinterpret the source material. Hell, I'm a villainmancer myself, who's writing a villain origin story for shits and giggles where a girl becomes a war criminal with the loving help of her edgelord goblin king.

But y'all don't do that. And that's the problemo, lads. You made up a story in your head that isn't in the game, you idolize that story, and get mad when people go "Wait, that's not in the game???"

[nonbinary-sticks-the-badger]

🎉 ik team sonic is basically an abstract concept at this point so this post is based on the sonic heroes version! 🎉

i like it where there's sonadow, knuxouge and then tails and omega have a strong bond for no reason other than 'well if they're all dating we may as well be friends.' there's a team dark/sonic meetup every week and so they just became friends over 'this is so boring we may as well be friends tbf

[nebulousfishgills]

As much as I love playing embrace Dark Urge runs (discussion in therapy pending), there's something so narratively satisfying about how a Resist Durge playthrough can go once you get to the Bhaal Temple. Your character steps into the ring with Orin, it's intended to be a duel, but odds are you're getting eviscerated pretty quickly. You then switch to one of your other characters in your party and throw an attack, effectively breaking the duel and setting the whole temple upon you.

(Adding a cut because this ended up being longer than I thought)

But, I think it's a very satisfying way to play. Your party members have grown fond of your Durge, seeing them as a friend, a family member, even a lover. They've watched you and your pain over your Urge and what it makes you do or want to do. Maybe you've slipped up once or twice, but you've been trying so hard to be the hero they know you can be, that Faerûn needs. So, when it comes time to finally face your demons and you're getting so horribly hurt in the process, they can't help but rush to your defense. It'll put all of them in danger, but it doesn't matter because they want and need to help you, their ally and companion.

Bonus points if you select your character's romanced companion as the savior/duel interruptor to make it extra delicious. They've fallen in love with you, stayed with you when your Urge craved their blood the most, maybe by this point in the game you've helped put their demons down as well. They see you in pain, a final valiant effort to overcome your Urge against the power of Orin, a whole cult, a god of murder himself. They want to protect you, save you as you saved them.

I'm also fond of the extra beauty of Astarion being your Resist Durge romance since it puts the two of you in very similar situations. Fighting against the will of your masters, finally defeating your demons with your newfound companions' help and being offered the greatest power you could ever fathom... only to deny it, ignore power in favor of your party and your love.

This isn't even mentioning just how goddamn good the Withers resurrecting you cutscene is. This skeleton in your camp with unknown and unfathomable power (also apparently supposed to be Jergal himself if I've done my research properly?) is able to bring you back to life, free of your Urge. The line along the lines of "Bhaal could only destroy what of you that he knew, but because you've grown past your Urge and become your own person, he couldn't destroy that new growth" is just so weirdly powerful narratively. Tav may be a default character for you to create upon making a new save file, but Durge is the canon protagonist and I think that entire scene shows it the best. It's a beautiful secondary climax of the narrative (primary being battling the Netherbrain of course).

And, perhaps it's just an oversight on Larian's part or something that'd be a bit difficult to work into the cutscenes mechanically, but I think that it could only get more impactful if your companions could comfort each other during these moments. Everyone and their mother wishes you could hug Astarion after he kills Cazador, but also imagine your romanced companion cradling your body after Bhaal kills you. It seems just a little odd that they all (meaning your party) kinda just stand around staring at your corpse, especially with how close y'all have gotten.

Idk, I have a lot of thoughts about this section of the game in this particular type of playthrough and some of them are hard to articulate into words. It's just such a damn good narrative peak and can really make you feel things.

I've completed I think two resist Durge runs and just hit this point on my third and it really stuck out to me this time (then again my new antidepressants are kinda fucking with me so that might be playing a role). I left it as my last mission before dealing with the Netherbrain and I think it helped build the anticipation of that moment. Everyone else has been helped by you, and now it's your turn to come into your own. I really felt so connected to my character walking into the temple, feeling like everything has been building to this, that regardless of what happens our suffering will finally end. And you have your party there to help you in your time of greatest need as you've done for them.

There's a reason this game was Game of the Year, the narrative is just so powerful and the replay-ability is just insane. I've beaten this game ten times, heading for my eleventh and it truly just never gets old and never fails to make me feel so many things so strongly.

[shy-the-trash-lion]

✨💖Current CRK Team💖✨

[cluelessatthispoint]

Nightlight

(Emesis Blue Pyro)

Warnings: Stalking, disturbing behavior, home invasion, corrupt corporation, kidnapping)

~~~~~~~~

Staying up way past midnight these past couple of days has been taking a toll on you, both mentally and physically. Work has been absurdly busy lately. Yesterday you had to fill out multiple orders for product shipments, then today you had to work on "the next big hit product". One guaranteed to get consumers scrambling for it at shopping malls everywhere. It was a mistake, the "Dream Product" that you had to get done by tomorrow started off as a simple self-made invention that brought you happiness. Apparently, the company that you work for gives its workers little to no privacy and "loved" what you designed and wanted to mass produce it. It was a small generator that made electrical energy from a non-mechanical power source. The first ever renewable energy source-based generator that had no negative qualities or setbacks.

The thought of your beloved little invention being mass-produced made your blood boil. Suing them at first chance was a great idea a few weeks ago when they announced your invention as an upcoming project to the board. When explaining everything that happened to your lawyer; the look in his eyes was filled with regret. He was a long-time friend and he knew you from when you were a toddler. The look he gave you was enough for you to know that he's been bought off. But, at least for now, you've been given a raise and a higher position at work. But, that still meant nothing to your superiors. The looks they give you when you walk down the halls give you the shivers. In all your years you've never felt a fear like this before. Ever since starting there, you've been hearing strange rumors. A cubicle mate of yours would always look at you with pity. His words ring in your head even now, at home alone...in the dark.

"The company needs you for now. And if you do a good job, hopefully, they'll keep you."

It sounded like it was supposed to be words of encouragement, but they sounded too sinister. Your coworker; a few days after saying that quit. His normally neat and tidy desk was cleaned out save for a small box of matches resting by his computer monitor. Normally he would have called you by now. But it's been nothing but radio silence for the past week and a half. Leaning back with a heavy sigh you rub tiredly at your face, a lazy attempt to drive the sleepiness away. It's only a few days and the paranoia was taking its hold on you.

Lately, you've been seeing the same box of matches almost everywhere you went. On an empty seat on the bus ride home, On the outside of the window seal by your favorite spot in the library. And yesterday night...right outside your door. This box was different from the rest. Its label could still be faintly seen, it looked like a heart. It was just laying there innocently on the doormat. The words "WELCOME' in big bold letters have long since faded due to a mix of being in the sun for so long and repeated trips to and from the house.

Paranoia kept you from leaving the safe confines of your small cozy house. It's normally a safe neighborhood, located not too far from the downtown area and not too far away to be secluded. The neighborhood was a safe one, many families made their homes in your location. Still the feeling of being watched or followed at times made your stomach twist in tight painful knots.

The more you thought about your 'missing' coworker the more your mind strayed to the small box of matches. The cover was worn and faded, and there are small traces of a once bright label that decorated the box. The faint outline of a heart, with smudged words, is all that's left of the label. Working in the dark wasn't a common thing that you did. But, working by candlelight just made you feel so cozy. Using one match after another, candle after candle, day after day finally came at a cost. This was your last candle and you already used up the last match.

Getting up from your chair to ease your aching joints felt like the best thing to do at this point. With a sigh and a yawn, you made your way to the door and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. You could feel your eyebrows crease. With pursed lips, you flicked the switch again. And still nothing. The room remained dark.

"How in the hell did the power go out?" You whisper to yourself. Your voice echoed across the room, sounding louder than it really did.

Grimacing you reach for the candle on your work desk and head out into the dark hallway to check the other rooms. For some reason, you felt compelled to walk as quietly as possible. The air felt cold against your skin, Only wearing a t-shirt and pajama shorts really wasn't the best idea at the time but it was all that you had ready at the moment. The soft tapping of your bare feet hitting the hardwood floor was the only other sound besides your stifled breathing. Making your way to the hallway light switch you flick it on.

Off.

On.

Off.

On...

Your hair stood on end. The flickering flame of the candle betrayed your frightened features to the dark. Off to the corner, the sound of faint shuffling broke your panicked train of thought. Without thinking; you turned and ran full force into something hard. The fall against the floor felt like nothing compared to the heart-stopping horror that you feel now.

The candle that you once held extinguished in the fall leaving you and your uninvited guest engulfed in the darkness. only panicked whimpers and half words left your mouth. You couldn't move, you couldn't breathe, and all you could do was stare into the darkness in front of you. Turning over to get to your hand and knees you scrambled your best to get to your feet. Large gloved hands roughly pushed your head against the ground. Adrenaline rushed through your system, fight, flight, or freeze; you couldn't do anything, it was too late. From the corner of your eyes, you could see a small flame coming from between your assailant's hands. You didn't even hear them strike the match. Your heart was pounding so loud it felt like the whole neighborhood could hear it. The light that the match produced was just bright enough to see this person's face. You could feel your breath getting caught in your throat.

'Oh God!'

'Oh God! Jesus Christ!' You felt like you were choking.

'What the fuck?!'

A white mask peered from behind the flame. His head cocked to the side as if in a questioning manner. Tears gathered in your eyes, struggling to get up, struggling to even get a breath, your mouth formed words. You couldn't hear yourself, but you could tell that you were sobbing. Almost in a gentle manner, the masked man removed the hand that firmly held you down in place and brought it up to gently caress your cheek. Empty eye sockets bore down into your tear-filled eyes. It was too much, it hurt too much to think, it hurt too much to feel, and the adrenaline rush that you felt at first now left you tired. You could feel a sort of haze at the end of your vision. The world felt like it was spinning, and you knew no more.

[themanwhomadeamonster]

with warframe adapting more and more of dark sector's setting + story ideas are they gonna address what the orokin script on arthur's shoulder means

[generic-sonic-fan]

5 Times E-123 Omega Denied That He Cared + the 1 time he admitted it

3309 words

1.

His two fleshy teammates came stumbling in from their sleeping quarters. Rouge yawned. Shadow rubbed his eyes. Omega registered the lingering limp in his step from the injury he sustained from the prior mission, even if his epidermis had healed. 

“BREAKFAST IS READY.”

“Smells good.” Shadow remarked.

“Yeah, got me out of bed! It can’t be just the normal.”

Omega placed the two plates in front of the barstools. They sat down in front of the correct plates. They were evidently awake enough to tell which one belonged to them. 

“Is it butter or margarine?” Shadow asked as he looked down to his toast. 

“MARGARINE. YOU STATED YOUR PREFERENCE TWO MONTHS AND THIRTEEN DAYS AGO.”

“Thanks.”

“This is lavish!” Rouge cut into her crepe with her fork. “I think we know who he likes more.”

“NEGATIVE. SHADOW HAS EXPRESSED A DISTASTE FOR COMPLEX OR SUGARY BREAKFAST FOODS. YOU, IN CONTRAST, HAVE EXPRESSED A DESIRE FOR STRAWBERRY CREPES TWO PRIOR TIMES I HAVE PRODUCED BREAKFAST FOR YOU.”

“Aww, well it’s sweet that you remembered.”

“Why?” Shadow asked.

“DEFINE.”

“I told you I’m fine. The injury’s already healed.” A lie. “And I told you not to feel guilty about it.”

“NOTE THAT I HAVE SERVED ROUGE A SIMILARLY-CATERED MEAL.”

“I agree with Mr. Broody over here- why bother?”

“WOULD YOU LIKE ORANGE JUICE, SHADOW?”

Shadow stared at him for four and a half seconds, before responding, “yes.”

Omega turned back to the fridge. He retrieved the fresh carton of orange juice from the shelf, bought in anticipation of Shadow’s preference, which he had noted in his memory banks twenty-six days ago. He poured a glass and set it beside the plate.

He turned to Rouge. “WILL YOU BE MAKING YOURSELF TEA?”

“Yeah, after I’m done. But I bet you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

Omega had indeed estimated that preference. That did not explain how she had accurately guessed that he had. 

“Is it because you care?” She asked.

“NEGATIVE.” 

Shadow gave a snicker. 

“IT IS MERELY EASIER TO DEAL WITH YOU MEATBAGS WHEN YOU ARE WELL-FED.” He elaborated. 

2.

Omega had retrieved the mail today. 

Omega had retrieved the Eggman package from the mailbox today. 

He had scanned it for any threats. It contained no explosives, poisons, or tracking devices. He did not rip the package to shreds. He did not incinerate it with his flame throwers. He did not explode it with his missiles. He did not shoot it with his guns. He barely even crinkled the exterior packaging as he carried it back up to the apartment. 

He stared at the mustached red logo from across the living room and simulated all the ways he could remove it from existence. After thirty minutes, the door to the apartment opened. Shadow and Rouge entered carrying bags containing clothing. Omega did not spare them a longer look and returned his focus to simulating the impending demise of the package. 

“What’s the matter, Omega?” Rouge asked. 

Omega would have pointed to the package if he was sure he could avoid engaging his targeting protocols. Instead, he kept his hands down by his sides. “SHADOW. YOU HAVE RECEIVED A PACKAGE.”

Shadow scanned the room, before finding the package on the kitchen countertop. He dropped his clothing bags and ran over to it. Tearing the tape off the packaging, he revealed an aged blue ribbon. Further scanning revealed organic residue on this ribbon- a single strand of blond hair. Shadow cradled the fabric against his chest. 

“NOW THAT YOU HAVE RETRIEVED THE OBJECT OF NOTE, GIVE ME THE PACKAGING SO THAT I MAY REMOVE THE WRETCHED LOGO FROM MY SIGHT.”

“I told him not to make it obvious.” Shadow said. “I’m sorry.”

“GIVE ME THE PACKAGING SO I MAY TAKE OUT MY RAGE UPON IT.”

Rouge set down her bags and grabbed the packaging from Shadow. She felt along its edges before holding it out to Omega. Within three tenths of a second he had snatched it from her grasp. In the half a second that followed, he drew his flamethrower, calibrated his aim, and incinerated the brightly-colored plastic, turning it into a melted pulp. He then tore the pulp to approximately 156 tiny shreds before opening the living room window and depositing the refuse outside. 

Omega turned around again to see Shadow staring at him. He was clutching the ribbon tightly in his fist.

“YOU ARE VERY FORTUNATE I DID NOT IMMEDIATELY DESTROY YOUR PACKAGE.” Omega stated.

Shadow unclenched his hand. “I suspect that the doctor was counting on it.”

“WILL YOU ENGAGE IN FURTHER CORRESPONDENCE WITH HIM?”

“This will not happen again.”

“GOOD.”

“Why didn’t you destroy it, then? Why would you care?”

“I DO NOT CARE!” Omega slammed his hand on the couch. “I WAS MERELY HUMORING YOU.”

3.

“They’re crocodile tears, big boy. No offense to any crocodiles, of course. I’m crying on purpose to give the look that I,” Rouge sniffed and wiped her face, “that I was wrongly accused.” 

“NOTED.”

“Now come o-on, let’s get inside.”

Omega unlocked the apartment and held the door for her. Rouge walked straight to the couch and sat down. She covered her face in her hands.

“Give me a moment to stop this and I’ll be right as rain.”

“SHALL I DEPOSIT THE DIAMOND NECKLACE TO YOUR COLLECTION?” Omega shut the door.

“I don’t ha-have it. GUN gave it back to get me out.” 

“I COULD HAVE RETRIEVED YOU FROM YOUR CELL MYSELF.”

“That’s called escape from lawful custody, and that’s a felony.” Rouge smiled as another tear rolled down her face. “I ap-appreciate it though.”

“REGARDLESS: YOU HAVE BEEN FREED. CEASE YOUR STRESS REACTION.”

“I told you, I told you, I’m working on it. Give me a moment.”

Omega walked to the kitchen and stood in his usual place next to the refrigerator. Rouge took breaths that were continually interrupted by her sobs. She wiped her eyes and nose with her glove. Omega scanned for the nearest box of tissues and located one within the bathroom. He moved to retrieve it.

“Omega?”

“RESPONDING.”

“Don’t go?”

Her voice was the most delicate he had ever recorded from her. He turned around and entered the living room, crossing in front of the couch where she sat. She did not say anything more for another three minutes and twenty-two seconds.

“Sorry. Forgot what I was going to say.” She gave a smile that was too wide. “You can go now, stud.”

Omega stepped to the side of the coffee table and relaxed his hip joints, sending him to the ground. She flinched only marginally at the noise. 

“Bastard. It’s nothing. Seriously, it’s nothing.”

Omega constructed many humorous or insulting responses in his processor, but deemed that silence would most adequately communicate his doubt.

After one minute and fifteen seconds, she mixed laughter into her sobbing. “O-okay, maybe it’s not nothing.”

“OBVIOUSLY.”

“Don’t tell Shadow.”

“GUN WILL NO DOUBT INFORM SHADOW OF THIS INCIDENT WITH THE INTENT THAT HE WILL, QUOTE, ‘KEEP YOU ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW’ IN THE FUTURE.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“GUN INFORMED ME OF THIS INCIDENT WITH THE INTENT THAT I WILL, QUOTE, ‘KEEP YOU ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW’ IN THE FUTURE.”

“Oh.”

“I DO NOT INTEND TO FULFILL THIS INTENT.”

“Thanks-”

“BUT DO NOT GET CAUGHT AGAIN.”

Rouge curled her fists. “I don’t even know what went wrong this time, though! I’ve done this sort of shit thousands of times- how could I fuck it up this bad?”

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO RUN AN ANALYSIS?”

“Yeah, since I’m clearly so incompetent. . .”

Omega paused his recall of the previous mission. He instead ran an analysis on her previous statement. Verbally, she assented, but tonally, it was apparent that she did not actually wish to receive a breakdown of her failure right now. 

“YOU ARE NOT INCOMPETENT.”

“If I just botched a simple palming, then yes, I am.” She snapped. "Analyze it again."

“ONE FAILURE DOES NOT MAKE YOU INCOMPETENT.” 

“But-”

“I DO NOT WORK WITH INCOMPETENT TEAMMATES.”

Rouge sighed. She stared at her palms. She stayed in this position until no new tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Why’d you stay?” She asked.

An illogical question. “YOU ASKED THAT I NOT LEAVE.”

“Well, sure, but you didn’t have to.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. I DID NOT HAVE TO.”

“. . . thanks, then. For caring.”

“IRRELEVANT.” Omega said. “DO YOU REQUIRE FACIAL TISSUES TO AVOID STAINING YOUR CLOTHES AND OUR FURNITURE?”

“How about a cold rag? So that way Shadow doesn’t have to see me like this.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. RETRIEVING NOW.” 

4.

Today was a good day. 

Omega’s miniguns were like how meatbags described a symphony; perfect, thunderous, precise. Badniks crumpled beneath his hail of bullets as flashing scarlet light bathed the base. Omega’s targeting protocols coursed the same blood red over the still-moving machines and faded to orange over the ones he destroyed, guiding him from attraction to attraction in a seamless flow. 

Today was a glorious day.  

Omega’s comm crackled to life. “Status update: the scouting detachment has been destroyed and the Emerald retrieved. I am en route to your location, over.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED, SHADOW.”

Omega whirled around only to find the soft hum of orange former-targets. He took a sixth of a second to capture the image of the charred, shattered metal components and saved it to a folder in his memory banks titled “TO REVIEW ON ‘RAINY DAYS’”.

Scanning showed more targets assembling in the next room. Omega reloaded his weapons, swapped to his missile launchers, and approached the door. The strobing alarms blurred some of his targeting reticles as they formed. The effect was irritating, but well within his ability to compensate. Shadow would arrive, and. . .

He paused. 

He switched to his semi-automatic wrist cannons, and shot out the pulsing light. He retraced his steps through the path of destruction he’d carved so far through the facility, identifying the wall panels the alarms were attached to and shattering them beyond repair until he reached the front entrance. He eliminated every strobing light within range on the exterior of the building for good measure. 

He then activated his rocket thrusters and charged back in to resume his assault. He switched to his missile launchers and blew the offending door down; beyond, a swarm of spider Badniks clung to the walls. What a fortunate coincidence that three hung next to the irritating alarm!

By the time Shadow rejoined him, he had cleared through the entire base and secured the central hard drive before it could erase itself. Shadow inserted the flash drive, and Rouge, from her remote connection, began extracting the data. After the extraction was complete, he retrieved the drive.

“PERMISSION TO DECIMATE THE LAST OF THE INFERIOR EGGMAN TECHNOLOGY?” Omega flexed his claws.

Shadow smirked. “Go ahead.”

Omega shattered the screen with his fist, and tore through the cabinet until all that remained was a tangled mess of wires. Shadow drifted amongst the rest of the wreckage. He kicked around a loose chunk of metal plating across the floor. He stopped and stared up at the walls. 

“You destroyed the alarms.”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

“. . . thank you.” 

“WHY ARE YOU EXPRESSING GRATITUDE?”

“I did not expect you to have such care.”

“THE ACTION WAS FOR EFFICIENCY’S SAKE.”

“Of course.” Shadow looked away. “Let’s go.”

5.

The data cascaded down the screen of the isolated computer system as the intelligence officer worked to crack the encryption. Rouge tapped her hands against her hips. Shadow leaned against the nearby pillar. Omega watched them. He considered startling the information officer for entertainment, but the process was already taking ‘forever’, so he decided against an interruption. 

The intelligence officer turned around. 

“What’s the deal?” Rouge asked.

“This is information on some sort of weapons initiative Robotnik might be pursuing. The data looks new enough to be relevant.”

“MOVE.”

Omega pushed the intelligence officer aside and searched the top of the file for its metadata. The line was a jumbled mess of words and numbers, but a pattern soon emerged, and Omega was able to correct the corrupted letter that had thrown off the rest of the line. This revealed the date of creation to be two weeks and three days ago.

“Didn’t know you were good with computers.” Shadow said. 

Omega turned his head and stared at him. Rouge laughed. 

Shadow pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nevermind.”

“In that case,” The intelligence officer interrupted, “this information is very bad news.”

“NEGATIVE. THE DATA CONTAINS COORDINATES TO A TOP-SECRET EGGMAN LOCATION AND SUGGESTS THAT HE MAY RESPOND PERSONALLY TO AN ATTACK UPON IT. THIS IS GOOD NEWS.” Omega glanced back to the screen. The officer opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “HOWEVER, THERE WILL BE TOXIC CONTAMINANTS AT THE LOCATION.” 

“Toxic contaminants? Don’t tell me Robotnik’s investing in chemical weapons.” Rouge said.

“He’s looking into weaponizing the hazardous waste from his manufacturing processes, from what I can gather.” The intelligence officer said. 

“Then we should destroy this location as soon as possible. We can’t let him think he can get away with this.” Shadow stepped forward. 

“Why now?” Rouge asked. “There’s a reason he usually doesn’t bother with this sort of weaponry, and that’s because any particularly strong breeze tends to throw it off. It’s useless against people with any sort of respectable top speed.”

“It could be to target civilians.” The intelligence officer said.

“Which is why it’s all the more important that we handle this now. How soon can we be deployed?” Shadow asked. 

“I can have the report written by tonight. The commander ought to approve it quickly. A couple of days?”

“ADDITIONAL TIME MAY BE NEEDED TO HAVE ROUGE AND SHADOW FITTED FOR PERSONAL PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT.” 

Rouge gave an awkward smile. “What?”

“PERSONAL PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT. I.E. RESPIRATORS AND GOGGLES, TO SHIELD YOUR EXTERNAL ORIFICES FROM CONTAMINATION.” Omega pointed at her face. 

“That’s very sweet of you to think of it, but it’s not going to be a problem. I can outfly any poison cloud.”

“And I’m the Ultimate Lifeform. I’m immune to poison and disease.” Shadow said. 

“YOUR SUSCEPTIBILITY TO ANESTHESIA SUGGESTS OTHERW-”

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“I URGE YOU TO RECONSIDER.”

“We’ll be okay. We appreciate your concern- it shows that you care.” Rouge winked. 

“I AM MERELY INVESTED IN THE OUTCOME OF THIS MISSION.” Omega snapped. “IF EGGMAN IS PRESENT, I WILL NOT BE DISTRACTED!”

“Of course not. He’s all yours, big boy.”

And the 1 time he admitted it:

The only movement in the apartment was from a singular buzzing insect that had trespassed upon the property four hours ago while Omega had held the door open. Now he tracked it with an intensity that caused his targeting to suggest marking it. 

What pressed heavier into his awareness, however, was the absence of all other noise. There were no footsteps. Shadow did not pace in his room. There was no music from Rouge’s bookshelf speakers to which her voice did not croon along. The toilet did not flush and the microwave did not hum. The silence was “deafening”; Omega could understand the oft-used expression now. 

He stood. He walked down the hall and knocked on the bedroom doors. Shadow opened his first. Rouge’s footsteps approached the door, but she paused for thirty-six seconds before she grabbed the knob. 

“TEAM MEETING.” Omega declared. 

They followed him, wordlessly, to the living room. He pointed to the couch. They sat down. Backs against the backrest. Both feet on the ground. Hands neatly folded in their laps, still and silent. 

“I HAVE COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT YOU ARE AVOIDING ME.”

“We just figured you’d need some space after. . .” Rouge’s usual smile faded. “After the mission.”

“We needed to recover from the physical effects of the device.” Shadow replied. 

“YOUR STATUS?”

“I’ve still got a headache.” Rouge replied. “You?”

“I’m fine.” 

Their lips ceased moving and their breathing lost tone. Shadow stared at the floorboards below Omega’s feet. Rouge held eye contact for forty-three seconds before she averted to a wall panel just left of his head. 

“CEASE THIS. RETURN TO YOUR USUAL STATES.” Omega said. “WHY ARE YOU ACTING THIS WAY?”

“. . . you aren’t mad at us?” Rouge asked.

“Even after our failure?”

“YOU ARE REFERRING TO YOUR INCAPACITATION BY EGGMAN’S DEVICE.”

“Yes.”

“YOU ARE ORGANIC. THE SUBSTANCE RELEASED WAS TOXIC. YOUR BIOLOGY HAD NO DEFENSE.”

“I’m sorry. We’re sorry.” Rouge said.

“YOU CANNOT HELP YOUR ORGANIC MAKEUP.” Omega leaned forward. “THAT IS WHY YOU ARE TEAMMATES WITH THE ULTIMATE ROBOT.”

“We failed you.” Shadow hissed. 

“NEGATIVE.”

“Eggman got away because of us.”

“Don’t remind him. If he wants to forget about it, don’t stop him.” Rouge nudged him with her elbow. 

“I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN. BELIEVE ME, I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN.”

Rouge and Shadow grew still again. 

“I RAGE AT THE KNOWLEDGE THAT THE WRETCHED DOCTOR HAS ONCE MORE ESCAPED MY GRASP.”

“So why didn’t you take the shot?” Shadow asked.

“FURTHER EXPOSURE TO THE POISON WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU BOTH.” 

“So?” Shadow stood from his seat. “You could have fulfilled your mission.”

“THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM AND THE ULTIMATE THIEF ARE TOO VALUABLE OF ASSETS TO LOSE.”

“You wouldn’t need us as assets if you had not thrown away your chance!”

“DO NOT MISTAKE MY DECISION FOR A SUDDEN ‘CHANGE OF HEART’. IN OUR NEXT ENCOUNTER, I WILL SLAUGHTER EGGMAN WHERE HE STANDS!”

“And what if the same thing happens again?"

“WOULD YOU PREFER TO BE DECEASED? ADDENDUM: SHADOW, DO NOT ANSWER THAT QUERY. I WILL NOT ENCOURAGE YOUR SUICIDAL IDEATION. ROUGE, PROVIDE A RESPONSE.” 

“No. We’re grateful to be alive, of course.” Rouge replied. “But-”

“Quit dodging the question! Why didn’t you take the shot?!” Shadow jabbed his finger into Omega’s chestplate. 

Omega stepped back, and paused. 

The decision to evacuate Rouge and Shadow from the cloud of poison took three seconds to reconcile. The window of vulnerability created by the Eggmobile’s exposed inner workings lasted twenty seconds beyond that. Targeting it would have taken five seconds. Firing would have taken ten more. A fifteen-second increase in exposure to the poison would have caused Rouge fatal nerve damage and Shadow permanent injury. Firing from within the poison cloud would have ignited the vapor, causing a flashover. 

Omega constructed a simulation from the data and cycled it continuously. Even in circumstances with slightly cheated variables- eliminating the three seconds it had taken him to process the decision, for instance -there was simply no other course of action that was physically achievable during the timespan other than the retrieval of his teammates. The shot would have been guaranteed only if Omega had immediately switched to targeting and-

And. . .

He ceased the simulations. He refocused on the two organics in front of him. Shadow was seated again, but his heart rate had increased by twenty beats per minute. Rouge’s was continuing to rise as the seconds passed. Movement had returned to their bodies, but only in that Shadow’s hands shook as he clasped them together and Rouge squirmed against the couch cushions. 

“I WOULD PERFORM AN IDENTICAL RESPONSE.” Omega stated.

Shadow’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“I WOULD PERFORM AN IDENTICAL RESPONSE. FIVE MINUTES AND THIRTY-ONE SECONDS AGO, YOU ASKED ‘WHAT IF THE SAME THING HAPPENS AGAIN?’. THAT IS MY ANSWER.”

"I don't understand. You've made it clear in the past that you're willing to leave us behind if it means accomplishing your objective."

"Yeah. Why didn't you?" Rouge asked.

Omega recalled every instance that he had spoken such an assertion. The viewing of these in his memory banks, however, also recalled another recurring phrase.

“Is it because you care?”

“Why would you care?”

“Thanks, then. For caring.”

“I did not expect you to have so much care.”

“It shows that you care.”

And he constructed the only conclusion he could. 

“A VARIABLE HAS CHANGED.”

“And what’s that?” 

“. . . I CARE.”

[shylittlefrogg]

Something small I made from some Fae design ideas for some precure.

the first one is Nagisa's, followed by Love, Honoka, Mana, Yukari, Miyuki and Hana and then it is repeated but in Fae version.

[welcometogrouchland]

Anyway since they're apparently not going to go with the "Steph leading/babysitting a team of young heroes" book idea (pause for despair) I'd like to pitch MY idea for Steph: Steph gets back into playing piano (she already started doing so in Batgirls #18!) and ends up taking on a mystery related to the basement rock scene in Gotham (I know the underground concert game there is INSANE absolutely prime serial killer territory)

[star-critter-2-sonic-hq]

Shadow : Are you drunk?

Rouge : Only on the spirit of Christmas!

Omega : And the spirit of whisky.