#when a pacifist is pushed to his limits

[mangocurist]

hiiiiiii jet @jumped-for-the-yaoi @daylilie (idk which acc to tag so i just did both) . guess who decided to write wincezam (i fucking love that name so damn much can you Tell)

cw they do like makeout and wemmbu is implied to have a boner at some point? idk lol i wrote most of this in a rage last night while i was still post limited it hasnt been edited

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“Ugh. Dude, this is like, the third time this week, Wemmbu. Can you like, try and be a little more normal about me?” 

Zam rolls her eyes at him when his guards drag Wemmbu into the throne room, the clothes he'd borrowed (well, stolen, but on Lifesteal, there really wasn't much of a difference) from his doppelganger slightly stained with soot and redstone. 

Zam’s smiling as he looks down at Wemmbu, a brilliant light glowing from the sunny halo that encircles his head. He wants to rip it from Zam’s skull and use it to slit his throat— but Flamefrags is standing just a block away with a netherite sword, and while Wemmbu could probably survive it with the same exploits that got him on here in the first place, he'd really rather not reveal his hand immediately. 

Also, Zam’s rather nice to look at when he’s acting all confident like this. It makes Wemmbu wonder if he could've pushed his own Zam into acting a little more like this, if he just turned up the pressure a little more, pushed her buttons until she could no longer deny the blood on his hands.

Hm. Well, maybe not, on second thought. 

Wemmbu wasn’t sure if he liked that pacifist Zam who refused to raise her sword at any cost, but would send her guard dogs at any person who crossed her. At least this Zam was willing to get his hands dirty.

“You're— you're like, embarrassing yourself at this point. Seriously. Give it up, you're not gonna do anything with your… what was it? Orbital cannon? That’s a stupid name.” Zam blinks, one hand sweeping a strand of curly golden hair out of his eye, and stands up, walking closer and closer to Wemmbu until she stops right in front of him, motioning for Flamefrags and Manepear to leave them alone.

He's expecting the sword to his neck, sure, but the point of the blade pressing into his skin and the warm feeling of her fingers against his face, gently tracing the length of his cheek are unexpected variables— and, oh god, is that fucking perfume or blood? It smells like iron, so it could be either, but there’s also a tinge of some floral scent that he can’t quite place. Either way, Wemmbu shifts uncomfortably on the ground, silently hoping and willing Zam to come just a little closer. 

When she does, another unexpected thing happens. The sword falls to the ground, completely forgotten, as she settles on her knees, lowering herself to the same height as him. Oh, wow. It usually takes longer than this, but Wemmbu certainly won’t complain. “You are actually so stupid. Did you know that?”

To Wemmbu’s credit, he doesn't immediately jump forward and try to eat Zam’s face off. He’s not quite sure the prince-emperor would appreciate it if he ruined his makeup this early into the day. Then again, he did try to bomb the Prince Zam Empire earlier this morning, so surely she wouldn’t be too mad about her makeup compared to the attempted nuking? 

He doesn’t have to worry about that, though, because as it turns out, it’s Zam who ruins it first, yanking Wemmbu forward by his fitted shirt collar and smearing lipstick across his mouth as she cups the back of his head, teeth nibbling on his lower lip as he tries to wear down Wemmbu’s defences. At some point during the kiss Wemmbu thinks he can taste blood, and when he dares to look at Zam in the eye she’s grinning like the little yellow smiling freak she is. 

When Zam finally pulls away, Wemmbu is left practically reeling, glaring up at the prince who just smiles sweetly at him, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket to dab at the blood staining her face. “You lost this time,” Zam says, then, as an addition, “And also twice before that. Three in a row is a pretty bad track record, dude.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wemmbu rolls his eyes. 

He’s about to say more— point out the fact that he’s never really actually won, because that would require him to level the Prince Zam Empire to the ground and honestly he doesn’t really want to do that, not if it means that Zam won’t be around to match him anymore; or maybe the fact that he hails from a server where murder is the norm and it would be so much easier than Zam thinks to shove a sword between his ribs, make him choke on a poisoned meal or gouge his eyes out with Wemmbu’s bare hands— but then Zam is sitting on his lap, soft, ungloved hands pulling his face down to level, and Wemmbu—

Well. It’s pretty hard to think with a prince in your lap. 

It’s harder (haha) for Wemmbu specifically because this isn’t just any prince, this is Zam, and his blood is still crusted at the corner of her lips where the handkerchief hadn’t reached, and it’s just difficult for him to do anything but stare up at Zam reverently.

“You’re the one who’s going to shut up,” Zam says, voice dripping with honey, and then he bites Wemmbu again, tongue darting out to lick away the blood before she’s on him again, practically trying to smother Wemmbu with the taste of his own ichor. He can honestly barely think with the weight of Zam in his lap and the feel of her touch on his face, but Wemmbu is a self-saboteur in the best of times and he thinks himself a comedian, so when Zam reaches behind him to undo the chains binding his hands, seemingly bored by his limited reciprocation, the first thing he does is reach into his inventory for a small stick of TnT and put it in his hotbar.

Zam doesn’t notice what he’s doing immediately, which is good, if a little worrying. Seriously, for someone who faces so many goddamn assassinations (and he would know! He’s been the attempted assassin no less than 28 times, and it’s been only a month or so since he’s found his way onto Unstable) she really has no sense of self-preservation when in the middle of a makeout session. 

Speaking of. Wemmbu snakes his hand underneath Zam’s shirt, revelling in the fact that she shivers at his touch. He traces along the flat planes of Zam’s back, then slowly inches his way back to the front of her shirt, and— oh, God. Is he not wearing a fucking—

Okay. Cool. Wemmbu has his hands on Zam’s boobs. That’s… cool. The prince doesn’t seem particularly nonplussed about it, either, he actually sounds quite happy about it, but this is a little bit too out of Wemmbu’s depth, and when he’s feeling a little bit out of his own depth, he makes stupid decisions.

He switches his hotbar item, and it takes only a second before Zam is wrenching himself away from Wemmbu, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Wemmbu,” Zam says slowly, as if she's sounding out his name. He blinks at her, trying to emulate that kicked puppy look that always worked on his Zam. It's a losing battle, but he figures he may as well try. At least he’ll look cute while dying with a sword stuck in his gut. Or maybe Zam will put it in his dick, which will look less cute, but it’ll be funnier, for sure. “Did you just try and put a stick of TnT up my shirt?”

“Well, I wasn’t actually going to do it, I think, but I kinda stopped thinking when I touched your boobs,” Wemmbu says, shrugging when Zam turns an almost murderous glare onto him. He sounds much more casual than he feels, still reeling a little from the unexpected experience. A little voice in his head mocks him for getting so riled up at touching boobs for the first time, and Wemmbu ignores it to try and face Zam properly. He’s going to pretend that TnT slipup was on purpose, starting now. “Give me a head start?” 

“You have ten seconds to get out of my sight,” Zam says, the rage in his voice practically palpable. Wemmbu laughs shakily, even as he stumbles his way out of the palace, weaving past each and every guard Zam sends running after him.

“Bye-bye, your highness!” He blows a kiss to Zam as he leaves, grinning when he notices the begrudgingly amused smile he sees her trying to hide. Hey, at least he didn’t fumble as spectacularly as that other him did. Speaking of which… he hadn’t framed his doppelganger in a while, had he?

Well. At least he had that to take his mind off things.

(Somewhere halfway across the world border, a different Wemmbu sneezes. “Please don’t tell me I’m about to be banned from another country.”)

[ethnicallymoral]

Reframing Vander as protective, rather than peaceful.

posted this to twitter here, if you’d like to yap about arcane together! I’m a bit more unhinged on it, heads up.

Here’s a case for reframing Vander dropping his gauntlets on the bridge as choosing PROTECTION over violence, instead of peace. And how, contextually, this could work well with his and Silco’s characterizations pre and post-betrayal. I don't see him as a pacifist.

We know Vander as the Hound of the Underground, and he didn’t earn that title lightly. "Be a shame if I had to put them on again. Cast iron's, well, it's hard to clean." Young Silco, on the other hand, is shown with his journal. He was strategic and that trait stays consistent.

Silco isn’t naturally physically violent, but he surrounds himself with people who are strong, capable, and willing to act on the anger he internalizes. And he knows how to foster that well — something we later see with Sevika & Jinx. He channels his revolutionary ideals through people.

What’s compelling about this is we could then easily make a case that Silco respected Vander’s duty to the cause AND his violent nature. Maybe young Silco wanted to specifically channel Vander’s violence toward their cause/Piltover, often by instigating his temper a step too far.

Vander, by contrast, is capable of terrifying violence, but it’s shown to us as reactive: when the people he’s responsible for are threatened. That can suggest he’s more naturally driven by a protective & parental instinct. His default is to be passive, gentle, & voice of reason.

In this same conversation, Silco listens for most of it and contributes by reaffirming his commitment to their cause. “To Zaun, then.” It would be a great way to foreshadow an inevitable divide between them — regardless of Felicias death. An echo to where their true loyalty lies.

Either way, I think Silco would have kept pushing limits that Vander couldn’t reach. And eventually, he would have hit a wall that Vander refused to cross. AKA, I think Felicia’s death may have been the final catalyst for Vander losing his patience with Silco, but it didn’t START there.

“You had my respect—the Lanes’ respect—but that… that was never enough for you.”

The phrasing makes it sound like Vander was already fed up with just how far Silco was willing to go to not be seen as a filthy little thing anymore (and all of Zaun by extension). That wasn’t new.

When Felicia tells them she can’t parent and be a soldier, she says they’re not allowed to fail anymore. Except they did “fail,” with Silco instigating again. The protest led to a massacre, ankle biters orphaned, and that’s where all of it was brought back up to the surface.

Vander reacted by prioritizing safety. He narrowed his scope to what he felt responsible for: protecting The Lanes and those he loves.

Silco dug his heels in further, staying fixated on ALL of Zaun & its cause. He could not let Felicia’s death be in vain.

In Jinx Fixes Everything, Silco praised Felicia’s courage to have kids with admiration and signed the bottom with “Blisters and Bedrock” — a direct call back. It could suggest that her memory as a martyr fueled his resentment and resolve even more.

Silco was always going to keep fighting, no matter what. Whatever it takes. He had to see everything they did up until then as meaningful. The Day of Ash strengthened his conviction and MAYBE caused survivors guilt that he couldn’t shake.

“What is truth but a survivor’s story?”

Vander’s betrayal may have actually pushed Silco into becoming an even bigger zealot than he already was. It turned his love for people into love for ambition. People hurt you. Ideals don’t. And Vander’s choice to give up the fight was like killing Felicia all over again.

But, Vander saw Felicia’s death as a sign that the Nation of Zaun wasn’t possible. His job as her friend was to protect her and he failed to do that. So his ideals shift: now the only thing that matters is his responsibility to protect what’s left of the community they built.

He tells Silco as much and pleads with him to “spare the Lanes.”

Vanders scope: The Lanes and his family

Silcos scope: ALL of Zaun or nothing

Which does say a lot about Vander’s leadership… but I digress. Even then, he doesn’t say he’s against war or violence, just that they won’t win.

I also don’t think Vander is a pacifist because he never tried to eliminate violence in the Lanes — just contain it AWAY from Piltover. When Vi takes the kids to rob a topside apartment, he isn’t angry about the crime itself. He’s scared because it happened in Piltover.

He gives the “violence isn’t the answer” speech, but smiles when Vi says she beat up Deckard. So violence within Zaun is acceptable; what he fears are the consequences that come from provoking Piltover.

The letter shows Vander still blames Silco to some extent after the river: “The dirt is on both our hands.” Vander regretted the way he went about the split, but I don't get the impression that he feels cutting Silco off at the time was a mistake. Since despite the time that’s passed, he still considers Silco an extremely dangerous loose end. A lurking threat to the people he wants to keep safe. Enough so, that even Benzo was convinced. He knew Silco would still burn everything if it meant saving it.

Meanwhile, Silco had already forgiven Vander by time they meet again. He doesn’t even ask why because he’s not hung up on it. He just wants his Hound back. But they can’t coexist in Zaun. Not in the main timeline.

One was always going to either die fighting or protecting.

TLDR: I think Vander realized that Silco would still stop at nothing to pursue Zaun’s independence causing him to snap out of grief, guilt, but also intense fear. Vander’s responsibility to protect The Lanes kicked into high gear, which meant killing what he saw as the #1 threat: Silco.

I also like this because it parallel’s Silco’s arc as his scope narrows in, too. He wouldn’t stop fighting for Zaun, but he does come to understand Vander by choosing to protect (and love) Jinx.

"The greater good."

[burdigel]

It's interesting how like each of the winners in each iteration of the Life Series can be simplified into caricatures of themselves from the PoV of us the viewers or the deities that I'm not bothered to name but is essential to the lore (cough cough). From each victor and their tragedies forms stories intertwined across participants and other seaons.

Starting with Grian, as the first victor and the organiser of sorts he is like one of isakei tropes but he doesn't get hit by a truck. He is like the playtester or control experiment to see if the games are a success or not, and considering the amount of attention the Life Series garnered during its first season, he was the successful victor pathing for the next to come.

Scott, the winner of Last Life, is the like the poster child of rebellion to the Watcher's perspective. A nuisance that challenges the boundaries of the game but also a player who is still under their influence and can be replaceable in a way. Someone who despite keeping his alliances and promises with his the other participants still wins fairly.

PearlescentMoon on the otherhand is a tragedy in Double Life. With a gimmick that's supposed to pair you with someone compatible and then being rejected by that one someone who was once your teammate would be the first blow to Pearl. But then been surrounded by others who seemingly have their soulmates figured out, it just emphasises the loneliness that you seem to carry. When you finally team again, it's more out of an obligation to survive and conquer over the others. Eventually ending in a dillema where it's only you can win but not both. So essentially Pearl's season was a tragedy of loneliness and isolation that caused by the distrust of others towards her being an omen of death and chaos.

Martyn's arc, compared to Scott was that he was stuck in history. From his time in Dogwarts with Ren influencing his playstyle and his clothing to his time back in Evo, his history just parts Martyn's storyline through Limited Life. Even as he slaughtered the others in the finale in a mindless bloodlust, it was because of his involvment with the Watchers and Listeners that caused him to become the poster-child for the Watchers. A moldable victor for their entertainment.

GTWScar in Secret Life is the misunderstood villian. An antagonisitc force because of the involvement of the Secret Keeper. A playtoy that the uppermanagement used and quickly discarded because of his involvement with Grian. An ever-hopeful force that drags Grian back onto the orbit and away from the Watchers. Yet to him, Grian is the Sun that he captivates him.

Finally Joel or Smallishbeans, he is the uncontrollable and rebellious comedian of sorts that did what Scott couldn't do. He was able to push and persist against the boundaries and didn't fall under the Watcher's influence. He was almost a complete pacifist towards others and his teammate and alliances and only then like the other victors, did he win.

----

pt.39 lmao 13 more to go of thoeries and headcannions I haven't really watched scotts pov yet so most of my information is like hedacannons and stuff oof unfortunately idk what to write for real life as it kinda being short gives me barely enough information and I havent ven watched cleos pov so even bigger oof

[mixelation]

here's part of an itachi & karin fic i KNOW i posted here in 2021 but cannot find

i know i posted the first part. there's a bonus scene at the end that i don't think i posted?

warning for mild & canon-compliant suicidal ideation by the POV character (itachi)

xXx

The medic tells Itachi that the liquid filling his lungs and belaboring his breath can only be slowed, not fully dammed. She is the sixth medic to explain as much. She gives Itachi one of his worse prognoses yet: two years, maybe three. 

This medic is the first to offer a real solution. 

“No medical jutsu can cure you,” she says, “but have you heard about Grass’s miracle cure?”

It’s the first real ray of hope they’ve gotten besides, “I don’t know, maybe the Slug Princess?” Well, Kisame finds it hopeful. Itachi has long since resigned himself to a young death. 

Kisame leaves for two weeks to fetch the miracle cure. He comes back with a young girl. 

She can’t be more than eleven, and she has vivid red hair and eyes as red as Itachi’s own sharingan. There are no outward signs Kisame has hurt her, besides some chaffing from the binds around her wrists. Her clothes are dusty and her hair unkept with travel. 

She watches Itachi with wary eyes and doesn’t say a word. 

“Her name is Karin,” Kisame says. “That’s about all I got out of her.”

Kisame hadn’t been trying to get much out of her, of course. He’s not the interrogation specialist. Itachi kneels in front of Karin, pokes at her brain with his illusions, and compels her to tell him how to cure himself. 

“A bite,” she says. “Hard enough to draw blood. Just taking the blood won’t work; it has to be fresh, right out of the body.”

It’s cruel, Itachi thinks, for the world to allow such a bloodline limit to manifest in a child. 

“Can it cure disease?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” Karin answers. “Maybe.”

Itachi hesitates only a moment before pulling her arm forward. His vision has been blurring lately, from his mangekyou ripping through his retinas. At the very least, this girl’s blood will allow him to read comfortably until his death. 

Karin doesn’t tense or panic as Itachi pulls her toward him, straightening her arm in front of him. Her eyes are resigned, and he doesn’t even need a genjutsu to calm her. 

Itachi rolls up her sleeve. Her arm is an entire battlefield of bitemarks. 

They’re all pink, fresh scars, in the perfect crescents of human bite marks. They go from her wrist all the way up to her elbow and likely continue up her sleeve. There is no part of her skin that Itachi could bite and not overlap with other bitemarks. 

He lets go of her arm and she keeps it outstretched, waiting. Her eyes are observant and tired, but unafraid. Itachi pushes her arm down and rolls up her other sleeve. This arm is the same. There’s even a bite mark across the fleshy part of her palm. 

Itachi considers himself a pacifist, but he is also a ninja. He recognizes violence is sometimes necessary, even directed against children. He’s not such a bleeding heart he wouldn’t bite this girl if he deemed it necessary. It wouldn’t even be close to the cruelest thing he’s done. 

“It’s worse if you make me wait,” Karin says. Her voice is hard. She, too, understands that violence is sometimes necessary. 

There are more bitemarks poking out from her collar. There’s one on her neck, barely hidden by her hair. He can see them now, this close to her, even with his fading vision.

You always had a kind heart, his mother said, right before he murdered her. 

Itachi doesn’t even know if he wants to live. 

He stands. 

“After you’ve rested,” he decides. “Kisame, when did she last eat?”

Akatsuki does not often take live captives. Itachi prefers it to outright murder; it’s perversely soothing to take care of someone, to make sure they’re healthy and safe instead of bleeding out at his feet. Karin doesn’t say another word as Itachi makes a fire and Kisame goes to hunt down some meat. She continues to be silent when Itachi sends a crow with her to bathe in a stream. 

She’s quiet, but her eyes are sharp. She watches them diligently. 

They don’t retie her restraints when they move out the next morning. The red sores on her wrists are already healed. 

Itachi plays at this-- at letting Karin “rest”-- for three days before Kisame confronts him. 

“So what if her village treated her like garbage?” Kisame asks. “It’s what villages do. You’d barely even be hurting her.”

“Did you leave Mist,” Itachi asks, “so that you could continue to treat comrades like garbage?”

Kisame rolls his eyes. Itachi has tried to play this card before, to stop senseless cruelty. 

“She’s not a comrade,” Kisame says. “Just bite her, and we can leave her to decide if she wants to go back to Grass or not.”

You always had a kind heart, his mother said, and Itachi thinks about her blank, dead eyes. 

Itachi dithers. He asks Karin to help him search for food, and they have wild onions with river fish for dinner. She doesn’t say a word. 

That night, Karin does something interesting. 

They’re camped out under a solitary tree in one of the endless fields in Rice Country, and Itachi is on first watch. He leans back against the trunk of the tree, watching the moon. It’s just past midnight when Karin suddenly sits up. 

She hasn’t been sleeping well, which is normal for captives, but she usually at least feigns sleep through the night. This night, she gets into a crouch, eyes darting around. 

“Something wrong?” Itachi asks. 

“Shinobi,” Karin says after some hesitation. “To the east. Four of them.”

It’s the first time she’s spoken to him since he refused to bite her. 

“How do you know?” Itachi asks. They sleep hidden under a genjutsu, so he’s not overly worried. He palms a kunai and stands anyway. 

“I just do,” Karin says eventually. She adds, “They’re heading this way.”

By now their conversation has woken Kisame up, and he crouches next to Karin, his shadow dwarfing her, his hand on Samehada’s hilt. 

“We haven’t caused any chaos in Rice lately,” Kisame says, grinning. “They probably aren’t looking for us.”

“Grass undoubtedly will look,” Itachi says blandly. Karin doesn’t react, doesn’t perk up at the thought. 

Ten minutes later, four shadowy forms run across the horizon. They don’t pause or make any indication that they’ve noticed the trio. 

“They were Grass,” Karin says, once they’re gone. “I recognized one.”

She doesn’t sound happy or defeated or reveal any opinion on the matter. She’s stating a simple fact. 

“Do you even want to be rescued?” Itachi asked curiously. She doesn’t answer, instead curling back up on the grass to sleep. 

She warns them again, mid-morning, that Grass shinobi are crawling around nearby. Rice Country is at their border and does not have their own shinobi village for Grass to have to bargain with for passage.

“We should move on,” Itachi decides. “Cross a border.”

“Grass doesn’t get along with Rock,” Karin says. “We could go north.”

Itachi stares down at her, bemused. Her face is resolute. Kisame barks out a laugh. 

They don’t currently have an Akatsuki mission to direct them in any particular way. It’s as good an idea as any. 

There’s a story in Leaf, about the Fourth Hokage’s wife. She was captured and led out of Fire Country by enemies, but as they made her march, she pulled out her hair strand by strand and left a trail. Her hair was as red as blood, and young Namikaze Minato was then able to follow the trail to rescue her, like following destiny’s red string. 

Itachi is unsure if this story is actually well-known, but he remembers his mother telling it to him at bed time, promising love was possible even among ninja.

Itachi watches Karin as they move. She actively helps clear her own trail, and advises them when they pass near another group of shinobi. 

“You’re a useful little thing, aren’t you?” Kisame says and elbows her playfully in the shoulder. She scowls back at him but there’s little heat in it. 

Itachi remembers Sasuke scowling at him like that, disappointed and annoyed but not hateful. Never hateful, right up until Itachi ruined it. He’s not sure their mother was right about love and shinobi. If she was, then it was a cruel truth, not a hopeful one. 

When they’re well into Earth Country, they stop at a tiny road-side inn for a few days. The inn’s kitchen provides them with good, proper food three meals a day, and the owner is able to order medicine to be delivered for Itachi. 

Karin doesn’t get much chattier, but she becomes friendlier, warmer. She plays go and shogi with both of them in the garden and practices water-walking on the koi pond while Kisame watches. She lays out on her futon and reads a romance novel from the inn’s one-shelf library that Itachi is sure is too mature for her. 

Neither Itachi nor Kisame bring up the biting thing. In her sleeping yukata, Itachi can see that the bitemarks cover her ankles and calves as well. 

Karin only ever goes to the baths at dawn, when no other guests will be there. 

When Itachi and Kisame finally get a mission, Itachi leaves her at the inn with a flock of crows for company. When they come back a week later, she’s still there, sitting on the veranda and petting a crow. The inn’s owner says Karin has been helping with chores and doesn’t charge them for the meals she’s been eating.

“Can we go to Hot Water Country next?” Karin asks. “I’ve never been to an onsen.”

She’s read three trashy romance novels on the subject. Itachi wonders vaguely if he should have intervened in that. 

“We can’t just… take on a child,” Kisame tells Itachi, and he’s right.

They go south towards Wind Country instead. Sasori has a hideout there. Karin blinks curiously around at all the puppet debris Sasori has strung up around his workshop as Itachi explains the problem. She’s curious but unafraid. Itachi isn’t sure if this is because she’s confident in her own worth as a live captive, or if she’s confident in his unwillingness to hurt her. He hopes it’s the former. 

“It wouldn’t do to mar the canvas of the skin anymore,” Sasori agrees and doesn’t question Itachi’s aversion to biting her. 

Karin doesn’t complain as Sasori sticks a needle into the inside of her elbow. She doesn’t look happy, obviously, but she’s not upset or tense. 

“You’ve been treating her like a feral child,” Sasori sniffs, filling a tube with blood. “All those split ends…”

Sasori has his own feral child. Deidara had attacked Itachi on sight and been banned from the hideout for the rest of the day. 

“I’m not a child,” Karin says. “I’m thirteen.”

“I thought you were, like, ten,” Kisame says, and she makes a face at him. She is fairly small for her age. 

Itachi ingests the blood like a shot of shochu. It’s coppery and thick but it’s not particularly offensive in flavor, once he’s gotten over that it’s technically an act of cannibalism. Nothing happens. 

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Karin says. She sounds like she’d cross her arms, if Sasori weren’t currently holding one. 

Sasori convinces Itachi to try drinking directly from the line leading into Karin’s vein. This also doesn’t work, and Itachi is queasy about going forward any more with this. If he weren’t planning to let Sasuke kill him, maybe it would seem worth the trouble, but right now it just doesn’t. Itachi has already committed to his own death. 

You always had a kind heart, his mother said, and Itachi feels sick to his stomach. 

“We could try a transfusion,” Sasori says. To Karin he asks, “What’s your blood type?”

“AB,” she answers. Sasori turns to Itachi, expectantly. 

“A,” Itachi lies. Sasori doesn’t let the matter go immediately. 

“She could be lying,” he says, eyeing Karin up and down. “If I didn’t want to donate blood, I’d also say I had the rarest type.”

He suggests they take her to the clinic in a nearby town and have her tested. When Itachi rejects the idea, Sasori insists they at least take better care of her appearance and digs up a new set of clothes. 

Karin seems happy with them, and Itachi doesn’t tell her they’re likely lifted from children Sasori has murdered. 

They take Karin on their next mission. It involves hunting down a specific man, and Karin proves herself exceedingly useful on that front. It takes them deep into the jungles of Fire Country, and she complains about mosquitos the whole way. 

“Why do even bugs like to bite me?” she whines. She’s rubbed oils from a plant that supposedly repels mosquitoes all over herself, but it does little good. 

“Next time we’ll get you a chemical repellent,” Kisame promises her. 

Oh gods, Itachi thinks. Is there going to be a next time?

They find their target in a third of the time they anticipated. Karin is even able to pinpoint all the hidden guards at the temple where their target is hiding, saving days of recon. There is, Itachi realizes with the slightest hint of trepidation, definitely going to be a next time. 

“You should practice that as much as you can,” Itachi tells her of her chakra-sensing. “It will be an invaluable skill for a missing-nin.”

“Missing-nin…?” Karin repeats, and her hand grazes her forehead where her hitai-ate would likely sit, if she had hers. 

“That’s what you are,” Itachi confirms, “unless you decide to return to Grass.”

Karin wrinkles her nose and switches the subject to wanting to stay at an inn instead of camping. 

(They camp all the way through Fire Country, but he lets Karin pick a restaurant when they stop in a town for supplies. He misses having someone to spoil.)

In his report to the rest of the Akatsuki, Itachi only references Karin in the obliquest of terms. Deidara immediately rats him out. 

“The girl with magic blood?” he sneers. “You’re still dragging her around? What is this, some sort of weird fetish--”

“She’s a sensor,” Kisame defends. “She’s useful.”

“It doesn’t matter to us what you do in your spare time,” Leader says, “as long as you complete your missions.”

xXx

NOTES: i didn't take notes on the plot so i'm not 100% where this was going. i think the next step was karin basically gets loaned to kakuzu and hidan for a mission (free sensor!) and itachi is low key anxious about it but then she awakens her chains. so he's like "well, good," but then also "ah no, akatsuki is NEVER letting her go now....."

also she starts having a teenaged fling with deidara and no one likes this....!

the following scene is probably part of whatever emotional climax

xXx

“Here,” Karin says, and holds her arm out in front of him. 

She’s pushed up her sleeve. She offers him the pale, fleshy inside of her forearm. 

“Karin,” Itachi says, and gently pushes her arm away. 

“I choose who I save now,” Karin says. “That’s the whole point. And I want to save you.”

She moves closer to him, pushing her forearm up against his face. He moves away. She tries twice more, swearing at him the whole time, before finally backing off. 

“I never would have questioned it before, you know,” she says heatedly. Her nails dig into her thighs as she glares at him. “I thought it was my duty to let everyone bite me, abuse me. And then…”

She trails off. “They killed my mother.”

Itachi watches her. Karin has never talked this much about what Grass did to her, at least not to him. She chews on her thumb. 

Itachi’s chest burns. His lungs are failing him, poisoning the functions of the rest of his body. He may never get to talk to someone this openly again. 

“Mine too,” he admits. 

Karin’s eyes flick over to him, wide with surprise. He watches her face work through reconciling what he’s told her with what she knows. Itachi says his village killed his mother. Itachi killed his mother with his own hand. 

“Oh,” Karin says, her voice cracking. There’s only one way those two facts go together. 

Itachi stays silent. He stays apathetic. Karin searches his face and finds nothing. 

“I keep thinking about how I could have saved her,” she confesses, minutes later. 

“Me too,” Itachi admits.

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

What I love about Mob Psycho 100 is how we have a kind-hearted protagonist but he is still very human and flawed. And it is meant to scare you and throw you of guard but never is it framed as a moral failing.

He is crushed when he is confronted with betraying his moral by killing in order to save those he loves and listening to his master and running away.

And Mob did hurt people with his powers, intentionally, even when we already knew that he was taught NOT to do that and he is very adamant about not to use his powers in order to hurt people! But instead of being angry or reprimanding, Reigen is pissed at the Claw members who cornered him so much that he felt like he HAD to, that there was no other way.

There are a few times where Mob is on the very edge of 'Murderous Intent' and it is other people who pull him out of it.

And they do it because they know how much it would hurt Mob in the end. Because Mob is a good person! Even when he has these moments!

Mogami's trap did take affect on him, he was pushed beyond the limits and he wanted to cause pain because these people have done nothing but hurt him even though he didn't do anything. And he doesn't understand why people are so cruel without any reason.

Mob was not above Mogami, Mogami's plan had succeeded. And Dimple just takes it in as casual as possible. He quickly realises that this is not the real world, that he isn't alone. But it still allowed him to gain a new view on life.

Mob felt ecstatic and fueled by his powers, how strong they made him feel for a hot second during his fight with Toichiro. Until he sees how scared Ritsu is and he gets thrown back to That Day™

Mob is allowed to not be perfect, this icon of purity how you should always be kind AND pacifistic. Not that he doesn't believe that, but he isn't unwilling to bend if the situation really calls for it. It makes him human and all the more relatable in return

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I was thinking and what is stopping Killer from being labeled as god level or at least Demi-god level. So I was thinking what do all the gods and self proclaimed gods have that Killer doesn’t. Ink canonically isn’t actually that strong in battle but the fandom still labels him a god so it isn’t raw power. Nightmare and Dream aren’t ever scripted having abilities to destroy or affect an entire Au effortlessly even they have limits so it’s not that perhaps being a god in the Undertale fandom is all about purpose to be considered a god or god level you must hold domain over something and so I ask what is stoppping Killer from realistically being labeled god level when honestly knowing his lore he should be I feel as if his own strengths are pushed to the side, forgotten, or underestimated becomes Nightmare was able to capture and manipulate him. He’s able to take on both Dream and ink even when their working together and they themself are often labeled as god level Nightmare wouldn’t stand a chance if it wasn’t for the fact that he can only be damaged by one specific thing but that doesn’t meat he can’t be outwit. The closest thing we have to a god in Undertale is Asriel/Flowey that way we can more easily scale things. Flowey after absorbing six souls same power level as Color can still technically be defeated as long as such a being didn’t have determination although it can’t really be compared to pacifist or genocide run human as in one get break the rules of the game to take a second turn doing unknown amount of damage the second human is then able to erase the world a power Flowey doesn’t seem to be able to acces but Asriel can. As a god Asriel has the power to erase the world and easily bring it back same as Chara it’s not a power that just anyone can access but Killer is known to have access to and yes Nightmare was shown to be able to destroy his button but that hardly matters when Asgore does the same and the human can bring it back. We might not have enough data of Killer full abilities since he is know to hold back but seeing how he can fight the entirety of the Star Sanses without breaking a sweat he definitely holds back more then he shows. But, what if his battle with Blue I love him but he isn’t beating Killer. Killer didn’t even loose but the fact that he Blue unintentionally brought up upsetting emotions and feelings along with him acting and speaking just like Papyrus his hardest enemy no wonder the fight went poorly at first after that Blue couldn’t really escape or do anything against him. Sorry for the rant

~Musical Anon.

As Killer stated himself, all depends on what “universe” and interpretation a Player is going with—on who’s the strongest. Fandom often sees people like Dream, Nightmare, Error and Ink the equivalent of Gods—so they are surprised to learn that Ink isn’t really, and taking him down isn’t really that hard. Not to mention Ink has been stated to not jump straight to violence as their first option.

Also relevant to mention that Blue has reasons to hold back in the fight with Killer, and was approaching him with intentions to help—whereas Killer had every intention of making him give up and go away.

Even if that meant playing with Swap’s emotions and fighting ugly and dirty—using underhanded tricks, even including making Blue believe that he was willingly to stop fighting and accept help only to stab him in the eye when he let his guard down.

Killer doesn’t care about the Star Sanses. It’s his job to deal with them, and as he says, he unfortunately is not allowed to kill them. They, in contrast, have shown a desire to understand Killer—why he’s doing this—and help him.

They want to help him, at least Blue and Dream do, and they don’t want to hurt him. Killer has made it clear he won’t hesitate to use that against them, and the most he seems effected by Dream’s attempts at first is that he found it boring that Dream wasn’t doing anything back against him.

In large part, Killer fights very differently than the three of them do. So I’d say that is one big reason why he wins—some may view it as him being stronger or more skilled and intelligent, or it can simply be because the four of them are different people with different experiences and values. Either or, or a mix.

But thinking of Killer is something on a God or Demi-God level would be interesting..

[mysterious8artist-swalf]

Abovetale Sans

“Navy”

He/him

Bisexual

28 years old

Personality: serious, bitter, always frown, barely to smile. However still care for people but it just hard to show emotion.

Hobbies: exercise, Running at morning, training, spending at grillby’s

Likes: drink beer (he know his limited), hotdogs, listen music, spend time with his family and friends, read books. Ketchup on anything food (he don’t drink whole of ketchup)

Dislikes: people take advantage of his brother, see people crying, let anyone down, failure, humans(pacifist- former), see alternate versions of himself.

Strongest: He can make good points to anymore, very loyal to his boss. His skills is martial art, and he use long double bones as weapon to fight the people with his own skills. He does have magics, most powerful and high rank. He work at NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service), he does wear very fancy suits for his work, however when he get days off, he would wear casual clothes at his town.

Weakness: Keep fighting for long hours, cause to tired, Sans does not understand that why he always tired while he trained everyday. He too hard on himself and hard on others too. He is not really good at comfort but he does his best use advice from his brother.

Relationship

Papyrus: brother

He and papyrus used to closer when they was young, before their father passed away, Sans always tell good puns to his brother and make sure he laugh and smile. After father passed away, anything is big changed. Sans shows tough to his brother and push hard on him for not being softie to anyone. Sans has deeply feel bad for papyrus who tried do anything for his family and friends. Sans has worried about him, sans does not wish papyrus get heartbroken from someone who used papyrus.

Gaster: father

Sans loved his father very much and gaster loved his sons. Sans always look up at his father, and loved spend time with him. He was very heartbroken that he watch as hold his father’s hand and he passed away at the hospital.

Undyne: friend

Sans and Undyne are friend and sans knew about her, that his brother’s childhood best friend. However sans and Undyne not really know each other much.

Grillby: close friend

Sans always pay visit at Grillby’s. When sans get drink, and sans tell about his life and struggles to grillby, and grillby is really good listener to him. Sans and grillby always talk about their live, and sometimes tell puns.

The human: friend- pacifist

Sans realize that the human has spare him, and show him that not all humans is bad, and then sans has change a little, sans show care about the human and his family. Sans had to quit his job, and then get along with his brother and human to make new journey to travel the world.

Fun fact: he still love ketchups but rather put in foods. He got car license when he was 17 years old. He used to always drive to his brother’s school and pick up papyrus after school. He used to date two people but it not goes well. He loves go outside when it is rain. During battle-fight, He almost use bad word to the human, realize that the human is child, so he use “brat” instead.

He see alternate versions of himself as cousins but most hateful.

He wonder why there too many sanses who fights over pacifist and genocide, or positive and negative. He would like say if there no positive or no negative at all universe, it will be won’t exist. He believes all sanses should go back to their own universe and mind their own business. Navy sans is more neutral to all AUs.

Pacifist- the human never give up to spare sans until the human hit 1 hp, sans finally realized that human never use fight him. So sans quit fight, chose to spare the human and then drive the human to papyrus and sans’s home while raining. Sans is surprised that the human told him papyrus keep secret take care of the human from sans.

genocide- sans tell the human “ go to hell” as last word. Papyrus found out his brother is dead because of the human. Papyrus will be final boss. Papyrus is more powerful than sans but papyrus rather be chill guy.

[anon55mystery]

💙The Lazuli Universe Family🌊 A little AU idea me and aria-blue-donut-muffin are working on together.

Long story short. After Pink was shattered she took in Spinel, a few thousand years later Blue visited earth as a Lapis Lazuli, she fell in love with a human name Greg, had a child, and the rest is history. Steven Lazuli Universe!

Steven is the caring, protective, brave, and shy son of Greg and Lapis. He lives in an old barn his dad inherited. He sometimes helps with his dad at the car wash, or help Pearl with her garden. Or have fun spending time with Spinel or Connie.

He is musically inclined, a trait inherited from his father, with a propensity for breaking out into song and occasionally playing on the violin.

Whenever he uses his powers or summon his weapon, his eyes turn blue with his pupils turned into diamonds.

He wears blue-ish grey that Pearl bought for him when he gets older.

He sees the best in everyone and is also very compassionate, something which Pearl and Spinel notes he inherits from both his mother and father.

He shows a surprising gift for befriending enemies, and he probably could've left without violence had it not been for BP and Spinel's interference.

He's goofy and generous,

His weapon is a scythe, which belonged to his mother.

Steven's powers are maternal and the control of his gemstone is based on emotional clarity. Steven has shown to have some abilities of a regular Gem, but sometimes has little control over them due to not receiving enough training. He can warp using the Warp Pads and bubble objects and gemstones to be teleported to different places with seemingly full control. 

His favorite ice cream is still Cookie Cat.

Thanks to his training with Pearl and Spinel, and the support of his dad and Connie, his ability to control water with much greater precision and ease compared to when he first tried to use his powers. He's able to draw unseen water out of different sources and greater quantities in general, streaming them into powerful blasts and freezing water with much more control than before.

(Due to being half human he's able to fuse with Connie becoming Stevonnie.)

He's a sweet kid who wants to help others and carries the immense power and potential to do so.

When he's asleep or knocked out his mind will go into an astral dimension while his body remains comatose. While in this state, he cannot interact or communicate with anyone in the physical world unless he phases through them.

He likes the smell of petrichor (which is the smell of grass after rain).

Steven has been homeschool throughout his childhood, which explains how he knows about Earth's history, royals, and the wars.

He's a sweet kid who wants to help others and carries the immense power and potential to do so, but he's offset by his low self-esteem and self-loathing regarding his mom.

He loves wolves, for their loyalty and protecting their family.

Steven is generally pleasant and innocent, but even he can get pushed past his limit. He won't necessarily hurt you (at least, not much), but it's still best to steer clear of him at all costs...

He is haunted by how scary and destructive he can be when using his powers; being that he's a pacifist by nature.

When he's feeling extremely sad, his eyes glow blue causing any Gem or family members within his reach to be overwhelmed with intense feelings of sadness and cry uncontrollably.

Like in the canon he's able to heal injuries from his tears or saliva.

He doesn't know much of his mom's past. (Which was an agreement by Greg, BP, and Spinel believing the truth about his heritage will pressure him and make him feel anxious).

He enjoys traveling throughout Beach City, his favorite places are The Big Donut, arcade, and the library.

💙Blue Pearl🗡 (BP)

Blue Pearl (or BP for short) started out as nothing more than a quiet, obedient servant of Blue Diamond. But, after her diamond fell in love with a human, and became pregnant with their son, Blue asked Spinel and Pearl to promise her that she'll take care of their child (with Greg and Spinel of course). Ever since she became Steven's loving, intelligent, artistic guardian.

BP is talented at cooking, painting, chess, pottery, candle making, and gardening. (Which she and Spinel enjoy doing together, since gardens remind Spinel of Pink).

BP is shown to be quite knowledgeable in engineering, as understoo s able to repair and upgrade Greg's destroyed van and was able to construct a spaceship out of scrap.

BP is an expert sword🤺fighter, she teaches Steven how to sword🤺fighter so he can use his scythe properly, which became helpful for Steven.

She's really good at painting and drawing, which she shares with Vidalia.

BP likes boba tea just like Steven and Connie. (Also because Greg introduced her, Spinel, and Lapis to human food and drinks.)

While BP is typically patient and kind to Steven and Spinel, she does have a limit for them. She expresses disappointment in Steven and Connie for snooping around to find answers about Steven's mom.

She clearly loves Steven and Spinel, but is also ready to scold them when she catches Spinel being too clingy.

She and Spinel were delighted when Connie comes to visit them to spend time with Steven, and frequently pops into the barn with excuses to check on the two of them.

She is a graceful martial artist whose weapon of choice is a sword, (whom happened to be a gift from Lapis/Blue.) her fighting style is very elegant, using acrobatics and lithe movements.

She is a talented sword fighter who has taken on and won against matches with corrupted gems or unknown rebel gems.

BP likes listening to folk music.

While Steven, Connie, and Spinel are capable of combat, but when a corrupted gem threat is happening, BP will resort to violence by using her sword🤺fighting skills

She likes to draw very much! She enjoys drawing nature, buildings, but mostly her family!

She likes going to the beach, because its one of her favorite places to draw. The sound of the ocean relaxes her.

💖Spinel💙

After Pink was shattered, Blue visited her garden, where she found Spinel still waiting for Pink. She decided to take her in and she became Blue Diamond's court jester. After, Blue became pregnant with Steven, Blue asked Spinel and Pearl to promise her that she'll take care of their child (with Greg and Spinel of course). Ever since she became Steven's goofy, loving, and hyper sister. (Sorry for repeating)😅

Spinel tries her best to be nice and friendly with everyone, but she gets furious when Steven and BP are threatened by a corrupted gem or a rebel gem, she does not hesitate to attack them.

She has attachment issues for understandable reasons.

She has a thing for hearts, mostly because its her gem shape, but also because its like her symbol.

Spinel thinks Steven and Connie are meant for each other, she's secretly planning for their future wedding.

When she isn't helping BP with her garden, or Greg and Steven at the car wash, she enjoys rollerblading around Beach City.

When BP, Greg, Or Steven leaves only for one minute. 1. She follows them because she views them as her family, 2. She's very clingy to them because she doesn't want to feel abandoned.

She's not the youngest of the family, that would be Steven, but she certainly acts like the youngest. And while her behavior may bother others at times, they all treat Spinel as if she was their little sister. Meanwhile she's the goofy big sister to Steven

Spinel is lovable and near perpetually bubbly and cheerful. Her hair is similar to the color of a rose, showing her intensely cheery personality.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Previous Chapter

A03 Link

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 9.4K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

Nines continued to dwell on the topic. Extensively and despite resistance.

Reed refused to return to his sphere of mental containment. He was no longer a concept—scattered, meandering preoccupations. Instead, he had become a single, disruptive entity. One that wandered through his mind without tolls or boundaries, as the android was forced to endure the torturous drag of every footfall.

It had been the previous night, when he retreated to his orchard in search of respite, that he saw him. A stain on his meticulously constructed sanctuary, grinning smugly as he emerged from the fruit trees:

“Hey, tin can—come here often?”

‘Protocol: Reed’ proved useless in combating the manifestation. With no tangible stimuli to which it could link, persistent annoyances slipped through, producing large, irreparable holes in its net of security. 

The programme would require extensive tuning, so much that Nines reluctantly conceded to retire it. At least until he could devise a more effective system. And so, the simulation stayed—its behaviour mimicking its real-life equivalent with such startling accuracy that it became difficult to discern from reality. 

A dissonance that was not helped as he input the address of a familiar residential district and began making his way towards it. Charging down the sidewalk, each step weighted by the load of pronounced irritation.

As he moved, he considered his options. A task that was easier said than done. While disruptions crashed like waves, ravaging his battered defences, solutions pooled shallowly on the shoreline. Already scorched, drying beneath a punishing sun.

All recent strategies for promoting compliance, such as increased social contact and rapport, now seemed redundant. Nines supposed that some might deem this karmic retribution, given his duplicitous intentions for fostering such a “bond.”

In any case, it left him with little option but to return to default configurations, limiting involvement with Reed to the bare essentials of work.

Regrettably, this did not spare him from contact outside business hours. There were developments in their case, with circumstances demanding they be discussed urgently, in preparation for Monday.

> COMMUNICATION LINK REQUESTED —> HOST RK900 #313 248 317 – 87; DET. G REED

> PERMISSION GRANTED.

> CONNECTION INITIALISING…

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 >> DET. G REED

Detective Reed. I have made a breakthrough in the case. Please let me know when you have received this message so we can discuss further.

Model RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 – 87 .

Seeing the man was active on his phone, he awaited acknowledgement—then pressed for attention when this did not come:

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 >> DET. G REED

I would like to meet in person to discuss this, should you be available. Let me know 

- Model RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 – 87.

DET. G REED  >> RK900  #313 248 317 – 87

its my day off nines. cant it wait until monday?

also you don't need to sign your messages. i know who you are. jackass

Nines huffed, fleeting amusement piercing the fog of his disillusionment. The text exuded intense annoyance, despite its briefness, and he reasoned it was only fair he might draw some paltry enjoyment from the otherwise miserable situation. 

With an adjustment to his autonomous identification system, he constructed another message:

You will want to hear this. I assure you, I won't take up much of your time.

I am messaging you from my internal hub. I will try deactivating the signature, but I cannot guarantee success.

Reed noted the change immediately, making clear he didn’t appreciate the slight to his intelligence:

DET. G REED  >> RK900  #313 248 317 – 87

those last two messages didnt have signatures.

you know what you're doing. stop fucking with me.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 >> DET. G REED

It would appear I have succeeded. How fortunate .

Nines, feeling pleased with himself, noted the visual evidence of Reed’s struggle to formulate a comeback. He studied the flashing dots at the end of their chat log, flickering perpetually in and out like a buffering search engine. 

This was before they vanished, with satisfaction persisting for as long as it took him to realise they would not be returning.

The status of his partner changed from 'Online' to the time elapsed since his last activity. He waited impatiently for it to switch back, to be provided with a reply. When this did not occur, the pace of his steps began to slow, until he had almost ground to a halt:

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 >> DET. G REED

To reiterate, my visit will be brief.

I am approximately 7 minutes from your apartment. Please acknowledge.

Any joviality dispersed completely, as Nines firmly reminded himself of the reason for his urgency. 

The information he had gathered was pivotal to their case, but could amount to nothing, should their superior not be convinced. A feat that would be difficult, requiring persuasion, as supporting evidence was nowhere near as airtight as he'd hoped. 

Forensics had submitted their report from the Ravendale crime scene, revealing the same images of the MJ100 that had been uncovered on the forum. While still alarming, this now constituted a case of data breach. Extensive IT investment and funding would be required to track the poster, given the meticulous efforts made to cover their tracks. 

Without the definitive link to their killer—the crux of his argument—it was an effort that would prove difficult to justify. 

All of this had proven vexing enough, troubling the RK900 into the early hours of the morning, but was made significantly worse as he was forced to watch minutes stack on the idle chat log.

Lest Reed slip into the pretence that he wished to engage in superfluous communications, the RK asserted the importance of the situation. The renewed conviction, in turn, corrected his wavering pace, as he sternly marched on.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 >> DET. G REED

To answer your question, this cannot wait. It is of pivotal importance to the ongoing success of our investigation that we address this matter immediately. 

Updated ETA: 5 minutes. Be ready to let me in.

The apartment complex came into view ahead of schedule, Nines having found the caveat of being ignored uniquely motivational.

Upon charging up the stairwell with the same single-minded efficiency, he rounded the corner to his partner's fourth-storey home. Even if he’d been unaware of its location, there would have been no mistaking which of the doors belonged to Reed.

He glared at the shamelessly proactive ‘welcome’ mat beneath his feet before surveying the nearby wall for a bell. It did not work, as poorly maintained as seemingly all surrounding amenities. Instead, Nines defaulted to a manual approach, striking the wood with firm taps.

Whilst knocking, he sent another message, calling increased attention to his presence:

I am outside. Open the door. 

There was a brief lull in beats, awaiting a response that never came, before Nines started again. This process repeated for some time, with each ensuing correspondence becoming more insistent:

Detective Reed, this is highly unprofessional. 

Knock. 

The door, which felt worryingly flimsy under the weight of his hand, rattled with a sharp creak. 

I know you're inside, and I'm aware you can hear me. 

Knock. Knock.

The sound carried down the length of the corridor, reverberating against ageing plaster walls.

We will be having this discussion. You are making things needlessly difficult. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

There was still no response, and in exasperation, Nines lowered his arm. A sliver of doubt crept into his mind, burrowing through bad faith cynicism. 

Perhaps there was a chance that Reed hadn't heard him. 

It was a Sunday morning, after all, with the man boasting very little in the way of domestic duties. It was entirely plausible he’d gone back to bed, or intrepidly braved the elements to smoke.  

The latter inspired a clearer picture. Reed, dressed in a baggy night shirt and sweatpants, leant precariously over his balcony. A cigarette in hand, he mocked the persistence of his partner to a flock of nearby pigeons—

Cynicism returned, as Nines was shocked back to reality.

Incensed by his own speculations, he bent forward to steal a glimpse of the living room through the peephole. This proved seldom effective, as he was unable to discern anything but the distorted outline of furniture. 

Nines instead pressed an ear to the door, tuning for increased aural and metabolic sensitivity, searching for traces of life. Instead, a disruption was identified. Dull, continuous rushing—the flow of running water. 

He scowled. Choosing to bathe amid active correspondence proved callous enough; doing so without any form of acknowledgement omitted the most basic of courtesies. 

The android lingered, listening on, stewing in disdain. More productively, he was able to deconstruct the water’s pitch and frequency, determining the precise amount of force needed to reach his partner, without inadvertently destroying the door. 

He then straightened up, his fist raised toward the panel, and prepared to strike. Before he did so, however, a shift of motion caught his attention and he stalled.

As his head snapped around, he was faced with an elderly woman stepping onto the landing. She clutched a bag of groceries to her bony chest, with a larger carrier trolley pulled a few inches behind her.

She looked horrified, bewildered, with sunken eyes darting repeatedly between Nines and the door. He wondered how long she had been watching, despairing at the thought. A rush of humility and self-awareness bristled through him before he pulled away sharply from the apartment. 

With his arms tucked neatly behind his back, he attempted to save face, dissuading any presumptions of unsavoury intent by providing additional context:

“There is no cause for concern, madam—I know the man who occupies this lot. He is my partner.”

The woman continued to squint, her beady eyes lost in crinkled folds of her face. Then her thin lips parted, saggy jowls stretching wide before she released a hum of understanding. 

“Ohhhh, I see, I see...” She smiled, nodding her head before turning on her heel and hobbling away. As she moved, she muttered a series of disjointed pleasantries under her breath. 

“Such a nice man—so polite—I thought he was single, isn't that sweet—”

The words struck like a cold rush of water to the face. This was chased by a sharp surge of biofluid as Nines realised he had been woefully misunderstood. 

His mouth opened to correct her, but it was too late. The woman, surprisingly nimble for her age, had already rounded a nearby corner, the squeaking wheels of the trolley carrying along behind her. 

He stood alone, reeling from humiliation, considering the place he had secured himself in the building’s rumour mill. Then he shook his head, dislodging the trivial concern. There was no sense wasting energy on matters of personal pride—not when this power could be more productively invested in achieving his primary objective:

> ENTER DETECTIVE REED'S APARTMENT. 

The shower continued to rumble distantly, with no signs of stopping. He found it difficult to believe that Reed would prove so diligent in personal hygiene. It seemed more likely that he had become preoccupied with other, less sanitary, activities, or that he had already finished, neglecting to switch off the water. 

Nines had no desire to loiter indefinitely on the doorstep—subjecting himself to the scrutiny of prying neighbours—to find out.

With a direct route of access unavailable, he would have to secure an alternative. Ideally, one that allowed for some degree of discretion. 

Accessing local architectural archives, the android searched until he had uncovered the blueprints for Detective Reed's complex. Constructing a wireframe projection of the building, he then assessed for other access points. 

To his relief, there was a network of fire escapes mounted to the south side of the building. The structure served each home above ground level, connecting them safely to the streets below.

As his attention drifted up, he noted a blank-faced effigy emerging onto one of the balconies. A cigarette was clasped in their fingers, lifted to an absent mouth for a slow, indulgent drag. Ash was then flicked, scattered in the direction of a dispersing flock of birds…

He dismissed the simulation, prompting an update to his physical routing. Once finalised, Nines pivoted on his heel and proceeded to the new destination. 

Whilst moving, he affirmed the justification for this trajectory. In case it required explaining to his superior officer. He hadn’t intended any breach of personal boundaries or privacy. He had simply been acting in the interest of professional diligence, as well as consideration for his partner.

After all, he had failed to secure Reed’s attention following multiple attempts. It was entirely plausible that there was a more serious reason as to why.

A slip, perhaps, when leaving his inordinately long shower.

As Nines reached the back of the building, assessing the network of frames, it became clear that his polished simulation failed to account for some crucial aspects. Principally, the real-life structure was abysmally maintained.

Rusted bolts protruded at odd angles, with attached platforms damaged or missing in several places. The additional weight and pressure on ill-secured joints had caused the entire framework to bow disconcertingly.

It fell so woefully short of Michigan safety codes that it may as well have collapsed completely, left piled in the centre of the pavement. Indeed, he predicted this would be the fate of any misguided individual who attempted to use it. Additional strategy would be required to ensure a safe ascent. 

Nines focused his cognitive output onto pathfinding, assessing optimal routing for both stability and discretion. After several failed calculations, in which he was forced to witness a simulation of himself plummet pitifully to the ground, systems locked into a path that proved feasible. 

He began to climb the escape ladder, tactfully avoiding the loose rungs and evading the unsteady grates that risked collapsing under his weight. Utilising the leverage of a suspended bar, he swung across a narrow gap, only realising mid-momentum how close he had been to a nearby window. 

The android was operating on borrowed time. A concerned resident could contact law enforcement at any moment. The result of which would be an intensely awkward interaction with one of his colleagues.

By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was infuriated. Deeply resentful at having been forced to degrade himself in such a way. The sum of this frustration, of course, was targeted at the man who had made such measures necessary. 

Stepping onto the balcony, he noted that one of the windows had been left ajar. Just enough that he could confirm there were no further sounds of water—dwindling alibis, stripping Reed of a primary excuse for ignoring him. 

There was no trace of the man as he peered into his kitchen, although Nines was able to detect the metabolic rhythms of another, smaller creature. It was Tiffany, seated off to the side, growling as she stared accusingly into an empty food dish. Nines could feel his frustration fester in solidarity with the animal. All the more incentive to enter the apartment, feeding her himself, should his partner consider self-indulgent idleness a greater priority.

He tapped on the glass, firm and insistent, enough that the frame rattled from the impact. He maintained a close visual on the nearby door, anticipating that the human would be unhappy to see him whenever he decided to grace the RK with his presence. 

This posed no concern. Nines had exerted far too much effort, implicated himself in far too many potential misdemeanours, to back away now. Despite this, he resolved to maintain professionalism and restraint in the impending confrontation. 

The approach was clear: assertive, but brief. Cover the key points, establishing enough cohesion with Reed to ensure he wouldn’t actively impede their meeting with Fowler. Then, he would leave, having successfully limited extraneous contact, in line with their shared interests.

His partner still refused to show himself, having transformed what should have been a straightforward task into an arduous feat of self-discipline. 

It was a fight that Nines risked losing, as his clenched fist came dangerously close to compromising him. ‘Accidentally’ striking the pane with too much force, shattering fragile glass and permitting him passage into the home…

Then, at long last, there was movement and the structural integrity of the window was preserved.

As Reed came bumbling through the doorway, it was clear he was unwell. He sported a bedraggled appearance, strikingly similar to the one he had on the first day of their partnership. It was a sickly kaleidoscope of discolouration—sallow flesh paired with purple rings beneath swollen, bloodshot eyes. 

No doubt, a consequence of overindulgence the night before. The plans Nines had become privy to when catching the man in a slanderous digital rant to Officer Chen.

While enjoyment was undoubtedly drawn from the tragic presentation, it was not the only aspect of his appearance that proved…compelling. An injustice which struck Nines like a blow. By far, the most violent and unyielding that had been levied against his wounded pride.

Prior assessments of the man's physiology proved woefully correct. Reed was in remarkable condition, given his unsavoury lifestyle.

While there had been hints of a well-formed physique beneath the wrinkled folds of clothes, it was indisputable in his current undress. Only his lower half was covered, tucked beneath the fold of a bath towel, with his upper body bare. Comprising well-defined muscles, his chest was lightly dusted with hair, interspersed with scattered scars.

He clutched the side of his temple, head bowed, muttering inaudibly. As the cat across the room yowled in growing impatience, his grumbling grew more incensed. He recoiled, wincing, his torso jutting forward as he did so. 

The overhead light caught on the moist droplets clinging to his skin. His towel shifted, its tie loosening slightly, revealing the top of a sharp V-line that traced the contours of his abdomen.

Nines’ HUD flashed in warning, alerting to a sudden arrhythmia in his pump regulator. His scowl deepened, and his gaze, which had wandered traitorously, was snapped back into proper alignment.

Reed staggered further into the kitchen. Presumably, to serve the pet her belated meal. The effort soon proved too strenuous, however, as he stalled mid-step, visibly dazed and teetering precariously. It took some time to steady himself. Once he had, he redirected swiftly, shifting his course to the overhead cabinets by his sink. 

He swung the first open and proceeded to rifle through its contents. Although visibility was limited, Nines caught glimpses of precariously piled dishes that shook with each ill-coordinated reach. 

It was unclear what the man was looking for, but whatever it was, it was considered to hold great importance. The man grew increasingly frantic the longer he searched, not helped by the fact that he, too, was operating with restricted vision. 

The top of the shelves sat just above his eyeline, to which Nines suppressed a chuckle. He did not wish to compromise his position, at least not yet, whilst flailing arms remained entangled in fragile porcelain. Any damage would be a consequence of Reed's own carelessness, for which the android refused to accept any responsibility. 

He instead waited for a more suitable moment to catch his attention, ensuring he would not be startled. At last, Reed stepped back, his annoyance plateauing before it plummeted into dejected surrender.

Nines seized his opportunity and knocked again. Not as firmly as he had before, just enough to ensure his target became aware of his presence. 

It became clear that he had miscalculated the timing of this address, or the human’s tolerance to sudden noise. His lowered head jerked to attention as Reed looked at him, utterly terrified.

His already puffy eyes bulged to comedic proportions as a sharp curse tumbled from his lips. He stumbled back, a jumbled mess of flailing limbs, before reaching instinctively to his side—no doubt a reflex borne from years on the force.

As his clenched hand gripped at nothing, he was thrown further off balance. The man swayed, directionless, only halting when he clipped the side of a nearby table.

The corner stabbed at exposed skin, and he arched away, hissing like an irate cat. His actual feline sat to one side, having witnessed all this take place but barely reacting. Instead, she pawed at her bowl, the lingering dregs of her patience rapidly dwindling.

Recovering from the fallout of his shock, Reed’s head swung trepidatiously back to the window. Recognition began to settle on his face, loosening the tense lines of panic. 

They returned soon after, with a vengeance, the centre of his brow pinched into a large, unsightly knot. Flames of accusation roared, crackling behind his narrowing gaze, as Reed glared . His attention darted between the android's face and hand, as though daring him to knock again. 

Nines rose to the challenge without hesitation. Following another brisk tap, he used his available hand to gesture towards the balcony door. A request that his partner received but coldly rejected. 

The two were locked in a stalemate, neither willing to yield. Of course, Nines held a substantial advantage, capable of waiting for much longer than his organic counterpart. 

Something that also seemed to be dawning on the human, as cracks began to splinter through his obstinate resolve. One of his eyelids twitched, and his head pulled stiffly to the side, as though he were attempting to remove the RK900 from existence through the power of mental persuasion. 

When the effort was unsuccessful, he grunted bitterly and proceeded towards the door with heavy, reluctant steps. His towel remained pinned to his waist as the android mused on how well it had held through all the commotion.

He had not stepped an inch onto the foot mat when the entrance swung open. It narrowly missed a full-on collision to his face, as the android sidled to avoid it. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

The demanding bark omitted any greeting. It was hurled into his face with violent propulsion, chased by a potent waft of alcohol. 

Nines ignored the smell but could not overlook the opportunity to levy a jab at the man. The consequences of his late-night escapades were all the more apparent now he was standing up close. 

"Good afternoon, Detective,” Nines said calmly, inspecting him with an equally manufactured diplomacy. “You're looking well.”

Reed saw through this instantly. He squared his shoulders, appearing to make another attempt at willing him out of existence.

"No, seriously. What are you doing? Because if this is about work, I swear to god, I'm pushing you off the balcony. I already said no, I don't want to—"   

"I never received a 'no,'" the RK interrupted coolly. “You asked if it could wait until Monday. I concluded that it could not and informed you as such. Did you not receive my message?" 

"I stopped reading your messages, dipshit. They were pissing me off.” The retort was delivered with a matter-of-fact finality. As though it differed in any way from the vast sum of their interactions. “Why didn't you knock on my door? Instead of scaling the fire escape like a goddamn lunatic?" 

"I tried the door, but you were not answering." 

"I was in the fucking shower. You could have waited a minute." 

"I waited several minutes."

The vein that pulsed on Reed's temple looked ready to burst. He shifted his stance, feet braced in a stubborn blockade between himself and the apartment.

It seemed increasingly unlikely that Nines would be granted entrance. At least, not without moving the man by force. Instead, he appealed to his better judgment, attempting to incite reason. “Nevertheless, I am here now, so you may as well let me in."

"Are you—" The sentence broke, devolving into a series of indignant splutters. Following his impromptu impersonation of a malfunctioning motor, Reed started again.

"Okay, another ‘Human Tip’, jackass.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “You can't just show up at somebody's house without permission. For all you know, I might have been busy, like, I dunno, cranking one out. You really want to walk in on that?"

Nines tilted his head, taking a moment to process the strange colloquialism. A cross-check of his internal database revealed a plethora of detailed sources. All of which he would have much rather avoided.

Having already considered this prospect as a reason for the man's tardiness, he informed him as such in a curt rebuttal. “I am perfectly aware of human fondness for self-stimulation. Truthfully, there are less appealing things I can think of seeing." 

Reed baulked, his disgruntled scowl dropping immediately. The pace of his breaths quickened, core body temperature elevating in tow. He seemed suddenly, inexplicably conscious of his undress, where it hadn't bothered him previously. 

His stance was adjusted, his arms crossed tightly over his torso, as though he were attempting to recover some modesty. Paradoxically, there was a dilation of his pupils, indicative of unspoken interest, before his gaze was averted. 

It was only then, with all these elements falling into place, that Nines realised what he had done. 

He cursed his social routing for leading him so wildly astray, propelling him into the second major miscommunication of the day. 

This one proved more troublesome, as he would be forced to endure the fallout. Attempt to recover some degree of professionalism following the inadvertent flirtation. A tactic for behavioural management that had been firmly abandoned, given recent—

"I'll let you in.” A voice interrupted, injecting itself into his spiralling thoughts. It was dry, forcibly stilted, attempting to mask the subtle waver that persisted throughout. 

A stipulation was then added, as though to dispel any speculations that the invitation was cordial. "...but only because I don't want my neighbours to think I'm being robbed." 

One of his arms fell limply from his chest as Reed flung it behind him, ushering Nines inside. He failed to respond, staring at the limb, paralysed by bewilderment. 

Then came a creeping realisation. One that perhaps indicated his interpersonal routing had not been so fatally flawed. Clearly, some dormant part of himself had anticipated this outcome, quietly electing to retain specific processes deemed defunct. A subtle rebalancing of control, adjusting the scale tipped heavily in his partner’s favour.

As the RK900 was led inside, Reed stared fixedly ahead, with such steadfast ferocity that he could have punctured a hole in the nearby wall. Tiffany, noting her owner's return, responded fast. Bouncing to her feet, claws clicking against the tiles, as she intercepted him halfway across the room. 

Her wiry tail, already moving in restless swings, was swept like a duster across the side of his exposed ankles. Reed jolted back, his attention torn from its deadlock with the plaster as he sidestepped the furry hazard. 

He mumbled a half-hearted apology before directing a similarly unenthused acknowledgement towards his partner. As though tacitly barring the RK from advancing further, he gestured vaguely toward his displaced dining table. 

Nines obliged without comment—if only to ensure Tiffany would receive her ‘breakfast’ before sundown. After adjusting the furniture's positioning, he sat in one of the cheap, fold-out chairs and waited. 

Under his silent observance, Reed reached into his pet supply cupboard and pulled out a wet food packet. The wrapping was partially opened, a tear teasing at the edge, before the motion was aborted. 

Reed dropped the sachet, heaving uncontrollably. Clearly, some combination of the smell and texture had deeply offended his current delicate sensibilities.

 It was almost comedic, just how disproportionate the aversion proved. He doubled over, slumping pitifully in the RK's direction, stomach clutched in pained grips. Nines quietly estimated the space between them, determining whether or not he was at risk from any digestive fallout. 

“Are you alright, Detective?” He prepared to sidle his chair to a safer distance, should his calculations prove unfavourable.

“Fuck off,” came a clipped reply. 

Reed stumbled back, and for a moment it seemed as though he might topple over. Pushing past his aversion, Nines prepared to step in. There would have been little point in troubling himself with the visit should the man decide to collapse on the floor, rendering himself unconscious.

“I would be happy to offer my assistance,” he offered, in a slight embellishment of keenness.

As though out of spite, Reed shook off his bout of squeamishness. Standing tall, he fixed Nines with a glare of obstinate defiance. 

“I said ‘fuck off’. ” 

He made a concerted effort to appear unfazed as he resumed his duties. This involved several instances in which he covered his mouth and nose, or anchored his body away to conceal more aggressive signs of repulsion. A long, steeling breath was drawn before the off-kilter man braved a final, perilous descent toward the kitchen tiles, setting down the freshly-stocked dish.

Not fast enough, it seemed, as Tiffany had already lost interest. 

Having abandoned her station by his feet, she skulked around the kitchen in fractious circles. Amber eyes were alight with consideration as she sniffed the floor, searching for any morsels of food that her owner might have callously dropped. It was during this sweep that she noticed the legs protruding beneath the nearby table. 

She pulled away, startled, her ears pinned back trepidatiously. Studying the stranger, he watched the continuous bounce of his knee as he waited impatiently for Reed to compose himself.

A low grumble started to build, rattling in her throat, pulling the android free from his agitated trance. He looked down, to which vibrant eyes locked firmly with his own. 

They stared at each other silently until Nines recalled the warnings he had received on her penchant for territorial hostility. He stilled at once, tension drained from his posture, as he slowed the pace of his blinks and subtly diverted his gaze. The aim was to project as much passive openness as he could, hoping Tiffany would judge him harmless and resume her patrol.

She did not. Instead, the cantankerous feline proved unexpectedly receptive, abandoning aggression and meeting his gesture with placid curiosity. She strolled up to the android, planting herself at the base of his chair before admiring her reflection in the tips of his polished shoes. 

Attention then turned to his ankle, her nose bumped lightly against the pant leg. She stalled, then repeated the motion. This time, incorporating the arch of her neck, adding weight and pressure. 

She was testing for life; tangible feedback to demonstrate her touch was felt. Nines was not surprised that she was unfamiliar with the logistics of androids. He doubted Reed had invited many into his home previously. He helped to mitigate confusion, allowing a slight shift of his heel, just enough for his leg to brush against inky fur. 

It was all the affirmation the cat required, as she settled into a reclined position before curling peacefully into a ball. In turn, the relaxed rise and fall of her breath, visible through her protruding gut, gave Nines the assurance needed to extend appreciation for the trust. 

His hands, clasped primly in his lap, slowly began to unfurl. Fingers outstretched, flexed gently before sinking beneath the chair.  His reach was angled in such a way that Tiffany could anticipate it. Sinking lower until he had ghosted the top of her skull—

" Don't ." Reed, having become aware of what his partner was doing, was quick to interject. “I've already told you, Nines. If you touch her, she'll—”

The warning came too late. Contact was made, with any ongoing protest shrivelling on his tongue. 

Nines began massaging her fur, discovering that the texture matched its lustrous appearance. He worked the delicate bones beneath with expertly applied precision, and soon found the sensitive junction behind her ear. 

Tiffany purred appreciatively, and if Reed were an android, his slackened jaw may have dislodged completely, clattering to the floor beneath him. His bulging eyes would have likely followed, popping from his skull and rolling out of sight beneath the fridge. As it stood, they remained nestled in their sockets, watching on dumbly. 

"It would appear your cat likes me, Detective Reed.” 

Nines had been unable to suppress the pride that carried through this announcement. It rushed his partner, proving enough to snap him back to reality. His mouth clamped shut, curling into a tight, bitter snarl. A low noise rumbled the seal, sounding distinctly like a growl. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he set the still-hovering food bowl harshly to the ground. 

The clattering metal disturbed the peace of his pet. Her head whipped around, slipping loose from the hold that was caressing it. Bounding onto snowy paws, she abruptly trotted away, leaving Nines’ arm suspended in the space she had occupied. 

Reed, delighted that his exercise in petty insecurity had worked, grinned at the android. This was before he shook his head, tutting in ‘commiseration.’

 “That’s cats for you. Fickle bastards.” 

The mockery backfired, justly punished, as the rocking motion appeared to trigger a new wave of dizziness. His body, which had only recently peeled from the nearby counter, collapsed back into it, left draped on the granite like a sickly ragdoll. 

Nines, in his own act of spitefulness, responded with false sympathies to the self-inflicted suffering, "You appear to be in physical distress, Detective. Are you in pain?"

"I'm hungover , dipshit,” the human snarled back, as though the android were incapable of ascertaining this for himself. 

He groaned and writhed, his head turned towards the sink, as it occurred to Nines that this spectacle of self-remorse might endure for an indeterminate period, unless steps were taken to prevent it.

In search of a solution for the man’s distress, Nines remembered the animalistic scavenging observed through the window. It was plausible that Reed had been searching for something to alleviate his discomfort before abandoning the attempt. 

Recalling the footage from his memory archives, he began sifting through it, dissecting each frame. Amongst the precariously stacked plates, Nines noted an unusual number of mugs. It seemed excessive, almost absurd, for a single person to own. 

Some had been used more than others, as evident in chipping and stains, with two of them showing the most wear. The first was adorned with a bizarre statement decrying law enforcement, whilst the second could only be described as a hideous misuse of artistic expression. 

A hand-painted atrocity, adorned with a series of bright, uneven smiley faces. It seemed unusual that Reed would show a preference for it, until Nines studied the near illegible message crammed into the centre:

> NO.1 CAT MOM

The handwriting was familiar. A lopsided scrawl he had seen pasted to his partner's monitor numerous times, in the form of post-it notes:

> SAMPLE MATCH... CONFIRMED.

> OFFICER TINA CHEN. 

As the name displayed confirmed his theory, Nines was struck with a reluctant sense of…charm. It was endearing that his partner showed such sentimental fondness for the gift, despite its questionable execution. 

He tried not to dwell on this long. Instead, moving on to the next still. As his focus shifted further into the cabinet, he noted an obstruction wedged between two stacks of plates. It was a small screw-top bottle, its label faded from wear, but the contents clearly visible:

> ACETYLSALICYLIC ACID (ASPIRIN)

> DRUG CLASSIFICATION: ANTI-INFLAMMATORY

> DOSAGE: 300MG SLOW-RELEASE CAPSULES — UP TO 2.4G PER DAY 

WARNING: DO NOT EXCEED RECOMMENDED DOSE, FOLLOW MANUFACTURER'S INSTRUCTIONS.

By the time Nines had dismissed the memory log, Reed was scarcely upright. His shoulders trembled, quivering arms propped on the side as they struggled to support his weight. 

Undoubtedly, there wasn’t much time before the man would be forced to retire to bed, to which the android directed smoothly to the cupboard above his head. "Painkillers are on the top shelf—behind the mugs."

This sparked an immediate response. In another miracle recovery, fueled purely by shock and misguided pride, Reed snapped to attention: Bolt upright, sights darting sceptically between the android and the cabinet.

"...So what, you got X-ray vision or something?”

“Not as such, merely an observation." 

His partner was unable to comprehend this. He squinted at the sealed door, lips parted and ready to protest, before he was halted by the mounting pain rattling his skull. His expression contorted, cortisol spiking, as he abandoned his desired elaboration in favour of more urgent needs. 

He opened the cupboard with a clumsy jerk and searched its contents a second time. He seemed muddled, almost maddened, when he remained unable to locate the painkillers—as if he’d expected the bottle to bound from its hiding place and slide obediently into his grip. 

Nines felt his lip twitch as he considered putting the man out of his misery. Not with any permanence, but rather, reaching over to secure the item that sat tantalisingly out of reach. He could only imagine the reaction this may inspire, the almighty knee-jerk of wounded masculinity. 

Eventually, fingertips brushed the lid of the painkillers. Stormy eyes brightened with recognition as Reed pressed down, applying pressure to the seal. It was just enough to flick the bottle forward, dislodged from the hold of the plates.

With the item held securely in his palm, he breathed a sigh of relief. This was before the sound lodged in his throat and his attention snapped back to Nines. Scepticism returned to his gaze. This time, edged with a more biting accusation. 

" How did you know this was here?" 

"I noticed them earlier when you were searching your cabinet…” the RK900 began plainly, unable to resist the additional, “I'm surprised you didn't” that slipped from his curled lips.

"Oh, what, when you were creeping through my window? Didn't think 'Peeping Tom' was one of your features."  

The smirk had slipped from Nines’ before it finished forming. While it was true that there had been an element of passive appreciation that had developed when watching the man, it hardly seemed fair to insinuate that any planning was involved. 

He dismissed the notion accordingly, in a brisk defence of his honour.  "Please do not flatter yourself—I would have liked to have made my presence known sooner, but I was seeking to determine an opportune time. I did not wish to frighten you.”

Reed was no longer looking at him. Instead, he had started to busy himself at the nearby sink, a callous snub of his presence. Even without the weight of his glare, tension persisted, held in the clench of his jaw before it was released:

“Well that was a bust, because you scared the shit out of me." 

The mocking, sing-song cadence delivered a final, striking blow, toppling Nines from his pedestal of superiority. Any lingering confidence in his own professionalism promptly crumbled to dust. He had miscalculated—fumbled—at almost every juncture that day. Having floundered gracelessly through the threshold of Reed's apartment, rather than entering with precisioned steps. Two pills were deposited into his palm, and the detective neatly swallowed them. The bicarbonate coating dissolved, allowing bitter powder to fizz on his tongue. He then chased away the taste with a large gulp of water.

With his face flung back, out of view, Nines found that his mind subconsciously filled in the blanks. Summoning echoes from recent data banks, as gentles trickle of water were exchanged for beads of perspiration. Satisfied sighs became gasps of terror, then pain, as Reed retreated, colliding with the edge of the table.

He pondered what the human might have experienced in that instant. The outcome he had foreseen, reaching for his waist, in a reflexive grab for his missing firearm. He had already concluded the intruder posed a lethal threat to his life, based on a single, fleeting glance—

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Shame and self-contempt surged, straining the walls of his skull. He pushed it back, along with all manner of unwanted memories. The agonised howls of cries, screams, rattling like a gale through the rafters of his subconscious. 

He couldn't face them. Not now. Instead, he adjusted his perspective, acknowledging his failures in accepting responsibility for a far less egregious offence. 

“...I apologise.” 

Reed’s head snapped back, recoiling so forcefully that his neck appeared elasticated. Stray droplets dribbled from the overgrown stubble on his chin as he stared at the android blankly. 

Slowly, gears of cognition began to shift behind his stare. A process that was becoming all too familiar, as eyes narrowed into dubious slits, and the sincerity of the remorse was brought into question with a callous tsk. "Sorry to tell you this, Nines, but the 'kicked puppy' look really doesn't work for you—give it a rest; you look constipated.”

The RK900 bristled, but had no chance to defend itself. Reed finished his drink, slamming down the empty glass with a disconcerting clink. 

"Look, as disappointing as this might be for you, towel time is over,” he announced bluntly. Rubbing his palms together, he hunched to protect himself from the cool draft seeping from the nearby doorway. “I'm freezing my balls off; gonna get dressed…While I'm gone, don't touch anything . That includes my cat. You got that?" 

Nines wavered, a bit disheartened by the final stipulation. He agreed nonetheless, nodding stiffly, valuing the proposed physical distance, as it might help him organise his chaotic thoughts into a more rational structure.

As it transpired, he had time to spare. 

The human showed no signs of rushing himself, as Nines was left to sit in the kitchen for an inordinate amount of time. Provided with no direction except to stare at the filthy appliances he had been forbidden from disturbing. The logical assumption in the delay was that the human, too, was appreciating their distance. Although it seemed counterintuitive, to provide the android with prolonged, unsupervised access to a space where he wasn’t trusted. 

Seeking an escape from mind-numbing tedium, as well as ensuring any lingering tension was dispelled quickly upon Reed’s return, Nines sought to connect to an inactive temporal link, dispatching a new transmission:

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87 >> RK800 #313 248 317 - 51

I have made a small error in my interpersonal judgment. Your input on how to resolve this matter would be appreciated.

…Of course, no actual input was needed. Nines already knew, with the utmost confidence, what RK800 would say to him. 

He would ‘enlighten’ his counterpart on conclusions he had already drawn. A significant line had been crossed during his forceful invasion of the detective’s home. 

There would be a touch of hypocrisy in the rebuke, which Nines would consider exploiting, reminding his counterpart that he had engaged in a far clearer instance of breaking and entering, targeting Lieutenant Anderson. Nonetheless, he would concede, acknowledging that he was the last individual to pass judgment on matters pre-deviancy...

Time passed slowly as Nines grew disinterested in the fictional dialogue. RK800 hadn’t responded, a rare event, prompting the younger android to conclude he was exceptionally busy or locked in stasis. In either case, any response he could expect would arrive long after the point of relevance. 

In the absence of external support, he began to evaluate his options. 

At this point, his best chance to reduce tension might involve expressing delayed gratitude for Reed’s hospitality. However, his choices would be significantly restricted if he continued to follow the man’s restrictive instructions.

> STAY PUT.

> EXTEND GESTURE OF GRATITUDE TOWARDS DETECTIVE REED.

> ERROR : CONFLICTING INSTRUCTIONS. 

As he scoped his surroundings with renewed intention, Nines found his attention caught on a well-used coffee machine. Specifically, a glass jug, blotched with stains, resting on its base. Its contents were emptied, save for a viscous brown sludge caked to the bottom, betraying just how long it had been sitting.

Inspiration struck, encouraging the android to rise from his chair. Defiance was secured as his systems honed in on their new priority. 

> MAKE DETECTIVE REED COFFEE. 

The dirtied pot was removed and cleaned, with what sparse dish soap was left beside the overfilled sink. Setting it back into position, focus was directed to the cluttered storage above his head. 

The first product Nines encountered was an economy-grade filter blend. Upon checking the brand with online retailers, the reviews were notably poor. He was taken aback that Reed would tolerate such subpar quality, even with his financial strains, given his frequent and vocal complaints about the coffee served at their workplace.

It seemed unlikely that such a mediocre product could serve as a proper peace offering. Frowning, Nines continued to rummage through the disorganised shelves, eventually discovering something more promising, hidden beneath a pile of crumpled noodle packets:

> BRAND: BLACK HOLLOW RESERVE  

> PRODUCT: PREMIUM DARK ROAST BLEND  

> RETAIL PRICE: USD 18.99 / 12 OZ  

> CONSUMER FEEDBACK SUMMARY: POSITIVE  

> RATING AVERAGE: 4.8 / 5.0 (SOURCE: 3,842 REVIEWS)  

The packaging was new, unused, with residual glue on one corner where a price tag had been removed. It stood out against the low-budget offerings in the cupboard, leading Nines to deduce it had been a gift. After measuring the grounds into the filter basket, he activated the machine. It whirred to life, hot water cycling in slow, rhythmic pulses. Drips of ember liquid began to gather in the jug, growing steadily in volume. Satisfied, the android turned away, heading off to retrieve a mug from Reed’s plentiful stock.

The selected mug was set aside, its entourage of asymmetrical grins beaming approvingly at the coffee. The RK shared in the appreciation as warm wisps of steam began to fill the air around him, meeting his olfactory sensors with a pleasant, smoky scent.

It drifted beyond the confines of the room into the neighbouring living space. As though drawn to the aroma by some imperceptible, magnetic pull, Reed finally emerged from hiding. With a steady creak of the door and the hurried thud of footsteps, the man crossed the tiny apartment, arriving back in the kitchen just in time. The brew had finished, and Nines had started to prepare his drink.

"...What part of 'don't touch anything' did you not understand?" The question was caught between a hiss and a sigh, pushed through gritted teeth. It was the sort of response comparable to a parent uncovering their child’s botched attempt at breakfast.

Nines ignored this, having already traversed past the point of no return, and reasoning that there was little else that could make his partner more upset. "I realise that my intrusion today was somewhat callous…” He held up the beverage, extended towards Reed in a cordial offering. The man’s spite was redirected to the cheerfully decorated mug, as though the blotched faces had betrayed him personally. 

“Given your fondness for caffeinated drinks, I thought making one might show appreciation. For the fact that you didn't turn me away." 

The words had barely escaped his lips before Reed began to pick them apart. 

"Last week, you would have fed me to lions if it got you a lead—and now you're making me coffee.” He seemed to take pride in the unwavering cynicism. Eyebrow raised, arms folded over the faded graphics of his t-shirt. “Either you’re Antisocial Asshole protocol is on the blink, or Connor’s been giving you more kiss-ass lessons." 

The android stiffened, his grip on the handle tightening, threatening to shatter the fragile ceramic. His attention darted back to his internal communication network—and the message that remained unanswered. Of course, the detective could not know , nor have any concrete evidence, that he had sought guidance from his predecessor. He was simply taunting him, based on a spiteful, albeit accurate, assumption. 

In response, the android offered a half-truth. Not denying the hypothesis, but withholding the satisfaction that could be drawn from confirming it outright, "...While I was given enhanced abilities in deduction and combat, RK800 has a more sophisticated social protocol. I’ve made it clear to him that I'm not interested in significantly altering my behaviour. Nevertheless, in the past, he has provided guidance on how I may improve my working relationships." 

Reed scoffed, unsatisfied with the response. He appeared keen to press for details, but as his flared nostrils caught the pleasing earthiness emanating from the mug, he stalled. 

He tilted his head, registering the difference from his usual blend—a curiosity which rolled organically into temptation. Ultimately, he gave in to primal urges and reached out to seize the drink.

Acknowledging the gesture of goodwill and stepping back from their argument, he did so with the stipulation that he would have the last word:

"Provided this coffee doesn't taste like shit, you can tell him it's working."

Their ensuing conversation was moved to the table. Reed sat opposite him, elbows propped casually on the table, the lax weight of his head supported by an open palm. He gestured loosely with his free hand, demanding the android proceed with his findings before he changed his mind. 

"Okay, tin can, you've kept me in suspense long enough—so, what is this massive breakthrough that couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?" 

A snide retort gnawed at Nines’ lips, informing his partner that he would have relayed this ‘breakthrough’ significantly faster, had he not taken so long dressing. He bit his tongue, instead pulling a stack of neatly folded papers from his jacket pocket. They contained an overview of screenshots from ‘The Fleshbound Brotherhood’ forum—prepared in a physical format, for ease of review by his partner.

“Do you recall when I scanned Mr Scott's phone? Back at the electronics store?" He set the sheets on the table, smoothing them out courteously.

"I remember you caught him watching porn.” 

His fingers stilled as the android cast a withering look at his partner. Of course, this would be the ‘pivotal intelligence’ Reed retained from their visit.

"I wouldn't have said the material constituted pornography. It appeared to be a compilation of women in bikinis.” Refusing to entertain further semantics, he firmly tapped the sheets, ensuring the discussion did not veer off course. “This was not the only thing I discovered…my scan revealed Mr Scott had been engaging in several suspicious or troubling online activities. After further research, I have collated the following examples."  Reed perked up from his semi-reclined position. Curiosity piqued, he reached across the table, retrieving the first of the papers. As he scanned the contents, a perplexed knot formed in his brow, and the intrigued spark in his eyes started to fizzle away, returning to dull indifference. 

"...Look…I'm not saying this shit is nice, but it isn't that bad, really.” He abandoned the printout in favour of blowing on the rim of the cup. Cutting through the steam with restless puffs, eager to take a sip of the beverage. “Besides, I don’t really see what it's got to do with the case."  Nines, ascertaining there was little he could communicate that would be achieved more effectively than a visual representation, solemnly directed back to the evidence. 

"Turn the page."  There was something in his tone that enraptured his partner. Perhaps it was the graveness, the stern urgency that spoke to all manner of grim truths, that made Reed understand just how serious this was. 

There was no more fidgeting or snide comebacks, as suddenly, he had the man's undivided attention. The coffee was abandoned in favour of studying the android and his disconcertingly blank expression.

Sightlessly, Reed turned the page, only looking away as his head lowered to inspect it. 

It was as though he had been petrified. Locking sights with a creature of ancient European folklore. He was bright, alert, but devoid of any joy or pleasure. There was nothing but grave dissonance, as though his mind were struggling to process the vicious brutality on display, whilst simultaneously understanding that the victims he was examining were not human .

Despite this, Nines saw something —a glimpse —beyond detached intrigue. A genuine condolence, sadness, as he stared at their mangled bodies. Lifeless faces, blotched with tears. As though he could… see . 

See them. Their pain, fear. Unable to wave it away or coldly deny it. 

The revelation passed as soon as it emerged. He looked away, swallowing thickly before stabbing his finger against a specific item of interest. "This one is ours—the MJ100.” 

"They're all ours, Detective."

Nines allowed Reed a moment to process the gravity of this. Watching as he shuddered, sucking air sharply through his teeth, before nodding in numb understanding, prompting the android to continue.

"The HR400 is featured too, as well as all other crimes that could be linked with our investigation.” 

He looked down at the page, not that he needed to. The images were already burned permanently into his processor—an unsightly fissure, carved seamlessly into existing formations. 

“This is more than just an innocuous hate forum—it is an organised group, operating outside of Detroit. Most, if not all, of these pictures depict locally based crimes. There are also discussions alluding to local meet-ups and events." 

With reluctance, Reed followed his gaze. Scanning the evidence repeatedly before shaking his head in surrender. "I don't see anything like that…"

“It seems posts are routinely deleted. No doubt for security reasons. Some crucial details remain, however. Look closer—"

Under the RK900’s direction, their focus was pulled to a discussion thread. The one that had most avidly captured his attention, upon initially discovering the forum:

> bacon at cedars + me. organic and synth.

It didn't take long for Reed to understand. As he did, his jaw hardened in scarcely repressed fury.

>> What did they want?

“Tlla ha JSOX. ZS J…” 

He muttered the sequence under his breath a number of times. Labouring on each letter, curling them against his tongue as though reciting a ritualistic chant. He was exhausting a mental checklist of possible interpretations.

Nines, having already decrypted the sequence before arriving, spared him the effort. "Meet at CLHQ. SL C—It is a code within a code. Arrangements to meet in person." 

" Son of a bitch ” The detective gripped the sides of the page, pressing them together until the paper had been reduced to a crumpled wad. "Were you able to find any private chat logs? Or trace where these messages came from?" 

"Unfortunately, no. The forum operates on an anonymous basis. Private chats are unavailable, and while usernames can be edited, most appear procedurally generated. 

Whoever this individual is, they have been careful to cover their tracks. I was unable to pinpoint their location." 

"That fucker Mikey has a lot to answer for. I say we head back there and beat it out of him." 

Nines hummed, indulging in the cathartic mental projections this inspired. This was before logic won out, and he offered a more practical suggestion. 

"Tempting as that may be, I suggest we discuss matters with Captain Fowler first. Mr Scott is hiding something, and I believe a private interrogation may prove invaluable." 

"Gotta admit Nines, you didn't disappoint. This is a solid lead.”

The RK felt a small swell of pride at this. It was the most receptive his partner had proven in their investigation thus far. All the more astonishing, given his compromised state. 

He grew optimistic that this might allow for an ongoing dialogue. While he had discerned the purpose of communication between Scott and his affiliate, specifics remained undiscussed. Namely, the location represented by ‘CLHQ. SL C’ and how uncovering it might be supported by their existing findings. 

The android had a theory, one that he hoped to run by his partner—

He never got a chance, however, as the human abruptly tensed. He leaned forward, clutching his stomach with a prolonged whine. 

It seemed the painkillers were not reacting well to the already rampant volatility in his gut. The force of his moans appeared to dislodge remnants of his poor decisions, propelled unceremoniously up the length of his oesophagus. He attempted to swallow it back, to push through the nausea, but to little avail. His words became laboured and clipped, sentences failing to form.

“Nice—uh—”

His eyes filled with glum resignation. Acceptance of the inevitable, as he hurriedly lurched to his feet, chair screeching in shared urgency. 

"—I'm gonna hurl." 

With the climax to the man's nausea drawing increasingly near—and a renewed, more immediate risk that Nines might bear witness to the consequences, he stood as well.

Further discussion would have to wait. During the interim, he would deliberate on the best approach to their meeting with Captain Fowler and forward it in a brief for Reed's consideration. One that he hoped the man would review after he had expelled the contents of his stomach.

"I'll see myself out.” He smoothed the creases in his jacket, preparing to leave the home in a decidedly more dignified manner than he had entered it. “Thank you for your time, Detective—I trust you will be well enough to join me tomorrow." He received no response, as in a blur of movement, Reed was gone. Charging towards his bathroom, all but slinging himself across the couch that dared impede his passage. Having reached his destination, miraculously uninjured, he slammed the door behind him.  

[carlyraejepsans]

Yknow, despite how it is impossible by all Ingame options, I wonder how a neutral route with *ONLY* Sans (and Asgore ig) killed would look? Would he count enough as a boss monster (NOT a Boss Monster) to push it from a Queen Toriel ending to an Empress Undyne ending? How would Alphys react (She lost one of her closest friends, but she still has MTT and Undyne around.)? How would Papyrus react (Would he go full angst mode and try close away his heart? Would he become even more of a people pleaser, trying to make sure he doesn't repeat whatever mistake he made with you again? Would he go into denial mode, trying to find Flowey to set things right with him either finding him or not based on what Frisk choses after the FloweyX fight? So many choises), especially with how he seems to Know Something he doesn't let on. I'd imagine that (provided it's a Queen Toriel Ending) Undyne wouldn't be thar affected, sad that Papyrus lost a brother rather than sad that Sans died (she never is close with Sans. She doesn't hate him, but she doesn't know him as more than "Papyrus weird brother" and "My sentry that works the ABSOLUTE bare minimum needed"). I don't think mettaton would appear or be affected, leaving the call pretty limited. So we have Papyrus and Maybe Undyne, with Papyrus probably being... kinda miffed that everything is going along the same, as if Everything hasn't changed. Bonus points if it's Post Dates, leaving a pretty aimless Undyne moving into Sans room, trying to fill a void that she never can. It isn't some threat she can suplex or teach to cook, it's the world being unfair.

(This also would give a pretty Unique Undyne state, being halfway between her "I don't like that you had to kill Asgore, but it's what you had to do" mindset and her more common "You betrayed me in such a soul crushing way it'll affect how I love forever" mindset in most Neutral Endings. I can imagine her actually trying to rationalise it, because the human only killed Asgore (sucks but she Gets It), and... Sans. The easiest enemy, one too weak to make it into the guard, and almost too weak to be a Sentry (Sans would have no reason to reveal Blasters, and his magic would barely scratch the TRUE HERO of the Underground when Karma is factored in. All she would see is surprisingly complex patterns that don't deal even a tenth of her hp). So surely, they had a reason, right? Why else would they do it?)

Forgive any bad writing it's literally 2 AM rn where I am

can't not confess I've thought about it too, but it IS really hard to extend as a concept because there's just... really no way for sans to die outside of the NM run. and I don't mean logistically, i mean character-wise he is so defined by his survival. by his Being There as everything falls apart. the final girl last man standing in the story. so the whole concept immediately falls apart.

undyne wouldn't personally grieve him, seeing as they didn't really know each other, but she WOULD still feel his death on her conscience as she does with every other monster killed in neutral runs. plus, there's her friendship with papyrus to emotionally aggravate things.

papyrus would definitely go into denial. he would be annoyed about him vanishing all of a sudden, then it'd turn to worry, then as his worries become more and more plausible, he'd shut out all rational thought about the subject and pretend everything is alright. i like the idea of him reaching out to flowey, but he'd try to explain his plan while also comtradicting himself all the time in order to never say outloud "sans is dead. we need to fix this"

betrayed undyne... yeah this is where it falls apart again, since you'd have to reason why sans would die (or even instigate a fight at all) in the final corridor during what has so far been a flawless pacifist run.

buuut pushing past the visceral resistance to the concept. i can easily see a scene where the betrayal pushes her to lose it and seek revenge like it does in normal neutral runs, and her looking to papyrus for training help/human destroying plans. and just... meeting a Wall of denial. that would be a harrowing talk. something people don't mention enough is that papyrus sees himself as sans' caretaker as much if not even more than sans does towards him. a world where sans is dead is a world where he failed his brother. it would devastate him. so he clings to anything not to think about it/delude himself. and here comes undyne ready to shatter that fragile hope. it would be a horrible moment between them

but yeah. everything aside, sans would straight up just not die lol.

[fursasaida]

[same article as this post, different excerpt]

Emma Saltzberg: When Israeli state actors were trying to influence the American Jewish conversation, what did that look like? What kind of activism were they targeting?

Geoffrey Levin: One of the main figures in the book is Don Peretz, a pacifist-leaning American Jew who volunteered to help displaced Palestinian Arabs in Israel in 1949, wrote the first dissertation on Palestinian refugees, and later became a major scholar on the subject. In 1956, the AJC hired Peretz to be their first Middle East consultant, and he wrote pamphlets for them about Arab refugees that did not rule out return as part of a possible solution. Later that year, Israeli diplomats pushed the AJC to fire him. The AJC compromised by allowing Peretz’s writings for them to be looked over—or censored—by the Israelis. Eventually, the AJC did push Peretz out. Israeli diplomats also successfully lobbied the London-based Jewish Chronicle, as well as several mainstream American Jewish publications, to disaffiliate with their longtime writer William Zukerman because he repeatedly wrote about the Palestinian refugee problem and was upset about refugees not being able to return.

A lot of these figures they went after, including Zukerman and Peretz, were not radical anti-Zionists. But Israeli diplomats were actually more concerned about these people who were operating within the American Jewish mainstream, because during its early years Israel relied heavily on American Jewish financial and political support. And they were afraid that the American government might pressure Israel to accept a limited refugee return, which they opposed because they wanted to maintain a larger Jewish demographic majority and to avoid having to return land to its previous Arab owners. So they didn’t want the American Jewish community wavering on its opposition to that. As far as Israel was concerned, it was best if American Jews just didn’t talk about Palestinian refugees at all—unless they were repeating Israeli talking points.

ES: What about the CIA and Arab state actors? How were they trying to influence American discourse on Israel/Palestine?

GL: Surprisingly, one of the main reasons American Jews were thinking about Palestinian refugees in the mid-1950s is because this CIA-funded anti-Zionist organization called the American Friends of the Middle East (AFME) was raising awareness about the Palestinian cause. This was part of the Eisenhower administration’s effort to create more political space to push Israel to make concessions to Egypt to help them court Arab nationalist Egyptian leader Gamal Abdel Nasser as an anti-Communist ally. In the US, AFME ran propaganda campaigns against Zionism. Many of its members were white American Protestants, though AFME also sponsored the creation of the Organization of Arab Students. So the first national American Arab student organization was funded with CIA money, though the students didn’t know that; they were just advocating for their cause.

There were also Arab state actors who were advocating for Palestinians in the US; I focus on the work of Fayez Sayegh, who was running the Arab League office in the US for a short period in the mid-1950s. At that moment, there was a hope amongst some in the American foreign policy establishment and some more conservative Arabs—often Christian like Sayegh—that America and the Arabs would align to counter Soviet influence in the Middle East. But by the ’60s, and especially by the ’70s, that dream was falling apart as Cold War alliances solidified. And so you had Arab states and the Palestinians moving in an anti-US direction, turning toward Third World alliances and alignment with global anti-colonial struggles. In fact, In the early ’70s, that Arab student group that was first funded by the CIA ended up being monitored by the FBI.

[autisticsupervillain]

FTF Shorts: Not Even Close!

A vs show where the longer analysis and set up is skipped in order to briefly explain why a certain fight is nowhere near close.

This Week's Fighters....

Aradia Megido vs Asriel Dreemurr!

Artwork by @velvetvessel-edits Their stuff is incredible. Please give them a follow.

Conditions:

Post canon Homestuck is completely ignored.

I was originally planning to only cover these characters at their peaks, but I figured I would have a lot more to talk about going over each of their forms in turn. That way this fight could represent in macrocosm why most Undertale vs Homestuck matchups are massive curbstomps in favor of one or the other, as across their various forms, these two hit a lot of similar points on the scaling chain for both franchises.

Ghost Aradia vs Flowey

Neither of these two have much in the way of direct onscreen feats and the number of times they do anything really combat applicable can be counted on one hand, so I'll have to rely on scaling.

Flowey should have no problem hurting a ghost, as all magic attacks are capable of directly harming and destroying souls. Neither should he have any problem using DETERMINATION to save scum to his heart's content, as Aradia by this point hasn't begun manifesting her connection to her Aspect in any really tangible way.

Those are the only positives I can give Flowey as by all other counts he is fucked.

Let's be generous by using low end Homestuck scaling against high end Undertale scaling. Flowey is capable of restraining Toriel when he catches her off guard and able to bully Frisk near the end of pacifist route. A version of Frisk who, by necessity, would've had to survive encounters with the strongest monsters in the Underground.

These would include monsters like Snowdrake, who can create winter storms when they fight you, and characters like Mettaton, who attacks with bolts of electricity. Electricity, for those of you unaware, can travel through material as fast as 99% light speed, depending on the circumstances. Meanwhile, to create a snowstorm of applicable magnitude, one would require energy equivalent to 15 Megatons of TNT.

As impressive as that is, Aradia can still match it. She should still be comparable to even the weakest of SBURB Players (I highly doubt Ghost Aradia was ever weaker than, say, Tavros) and even the weakest of those can still fight evenly alongside their Sprites. Kernelsprites, when completely unprototyped and in their most basic possible form, are capable of some truly ridiculous feats. Such as tanking the meteor trip that cratered Jade's Island, a feat that gets into similar Megaton ranges as the snowstorm.

Source:

Or being able to fly to Prospit and Derse in seconds from LOWAS. A feat that gets up to quintillions of times light speed.

Source:

So, even at our most generous, Aradia has a massive advantage in speed. So much so that Flowey wouldn't even be able to react to her attacks. If we're not being generous, then there are plenty of higher feats for Homestuck low tiers I can use to scale Aradia, such as regular Psionic batteries being able to push spaceships at near light speed or several Damaras being able to smash two planets together.

As powerful as DETERMINATION is, it isn't all that useful here because it doesn't help him kill Aradia at all. So while Flowey can retry as much as he pleases, his patience has limits and he'll give up eventually. He straight up tells you he could never get past Asgore before you came along and eventually gave up trying on his own. If Aradia keeps telekinetically ripping him from the Earth, he'll fold eventually.

Aradiabot vs Omega Flowey

Omega Flowey and Aradiabot both represent an utterly massive powerboost for both characters. In fact, I'd go so far as to say this is probably the fight at its most debatable, with Flowey in this stage being one of the High-Tiers of Undertale, where Aradiabot represents a Mid-Tier for Homestuck.

Omega Flowey is blatantly a universe buster, no matter how you split it. After singlehandedly erasing all of human and monsterkind, he completely destroys Frisk's Save File, the timeline that they had been resetting every time they died. He's even shown to manipulate seven other Saves all throughout the fight. His soul destroying attacks now manifest in a barrage of eldritch bullet hell, even dropping nukes on his enemies.

Aradiabot's scaling is a bit more complicated. Aradiabot, meanwhile, is depicted as one of the strongest members of the Beta Troll team. She's capable of effortlessly slapping around Equius like a ragdoll, is strong enough to brutally beat Vriska to death, and even after Vriska returns to life as a God-Tier, Aradiabot points out she could casually snap Vriska's neck, which Vriska doesn't even try and argue against.

Keep in mind, Aradiabot by this point had already seen Vriska use her Ancestral Awakening form in the fight with the Black King, the same form Vriska would then use to challenge Jack Noir. Despite Vriska thinking the form could match Jack and despite her own massive ego, Vriska doesn't even bring up that she could use it to beat Aradiabot, instead immediately conceding the point that Aradiabot could kill her whenever.

This makes sense. While Vriska was the main damage dealer during the Black King fight, this is because Aradiabot was primarily working support, using her abilities to make sure they aren't all immediately wiped out by the Vast Glub. This interpretation is further backed up by the fact that Gamzee had to open out with mind control abilities to comfortably subdue Equius, whereas Aradiabot could slap him around effortlessly. Gamzee did more damage to the Black King in a single attack than Vriska did all fight.

Why does all that matter? Bec Noir can destroy an entire universe and a universe in Homestuck contains infinite alternate timelines. Ancestral Awakening Vriska can fight Bec Noir. So, to simplify all that: Bec Noir >/= Ancestral Awakening Vriska =/< Aradiabot.

I'm not arguing by any means that Aradiabot is a one for one equal to Jack. She blatantly canonically isn't. But she does have enough going on to be around that same ballpark. 1/4 infinity is still infinity.

As such, the strength gap here is infinite, thus leading to much the same problem Flowey had before. It doesn't matter how many times you Reset if you genuinely can't win. Not helped by the fact that Aradia has begun using her Time abilities by this stage and Time players have been shown to inherently sense alterations to Time. (Dave immediately sensing John wasn't supposed to be there when he was Retconning shit and Aradiabot inherently knowing what actions are required to not doom the timeline) As such, Aradiabot would likely understand what Flowey is doing. While having attacks that directly attack the soul is useful, Aradiabot is just a soul in a tin can after all, Flowey would have to use that against the countless temporal duplicates Aradiabot will be constantly creating.

But, Flowey's reset abilities have improved as well. He could just stalemate by resetting anytime Aradiabot does anything, right? Well, no.

Flowey has to actively keep resetting her to keep her incapacitated. He's on a ticking clock until the Human Souls rebel against him and Aradia's ability to commune with the dead would only speed up that process. Exactly like what happened in the original fight.

God-Tier Aradia vs God of Hyperdeath Asriel

And the big one. Asriel is as high up the Undertale food chain as you can get without invoking the Player themselves. To the point where his very existence was ending the entire world. Including all of the FUN Values, which are suggested by Goner Kid to be alternate timelines.

Sadly, this still doesn't put him in spitting distance of Aradia. Infinite timelines are infinite and Aradia by this point is much stronger than Aradiabot. Not only is she capable of time stopping Bec Noir in place, but the author's commentary from Hussie indicates she could do so physically too if she wanted.

Beyond that, this is the same dynamic as with Omega Flowey. Asriel cannot actually hurt Aradia due to the strength gap and even if he could, time clones and God-Tier Immortality go "nuh uh". Meanwhile, Asriel is still weak to the souls within him rebelling against him and Aradia is still perfectly capable of exploiting that. Especially as he's just now coming to grips with having emotions again after so many years without as a result of those souls.

In other words, the massive stat gap and Aradia's own hax keep Asriel from ever killing her while Asriel's canon weaknesses fit perfectly into Aradia's skillset, allowing her to recreate the scenarios where he was canonically defeated. Whether that's giving Flowey a fight he can't win or turning the Souls against him.

Asriel's DETERMINATION and ability to directly attack the soul might break the stat gap against other characters, and I could easily see him beating many of Homestuck's other stronger characters who don't have counters to what he's bringing to the table. But Aradia herself has everything she needs.

This Throwdown's Winner Is...

Aradia Megido!

[phoenixyfriend]

AU ask: Satine Lives

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it

I think she deserves a cool facial scar. As a treat.

Running with the Rebellion. She's too powerful a symbol to be allowed to take her seat as Duchess back, especially if she decides to work with Bo-Katan; pacifism may be incredibly important to her, but there is a limit to how far you can push someone before they engage in self-defense, and even as ardent a pacifist as Satine will rally her people to survive the Empire. With her and Bo working together, they can do a lot... and that's why the Empire will absolutely not allow either of them to become leader of Mandalore again. (So it goes to Korkie, who the Empire believes is little more than a puppet. They think they know about his little violations of the law, and so they miss the big ones, like smuggling force-sensitive children and O66-survivors away from the Empire.)

She doesn't know Obi-Wan is alive, because Bail forgot to get permission to tell her, until 10 years post-RotS... when Bail invites her to greet "Ben" and Leia on their return to safety on Alderaan. She promises to visit him, if there's a chance.

(She doesn't. Instead, he visits her. Satine is far more likely to be tracked to Tatooine than he is, after all.)

She still doesn't pick up a blaster, though; canon gives us some pretty solid evidence for her PTSD preventing her from being any use at it. However, she's very convincing and is very good at getting on-the-fence politicians on the Rebellion's side... and donating credits, rations, and transports to the cause. (Some even donate weapons. She... tries to ignore that part. She lets it happen, but... it hurts.)

[raayllum]

Theory time: There's been a lot of mirroring between Viren and Callum. What if Viren's relationship with Harrow starts to mirror Callum and Ezran? Something happens, Ezran snaps at Callum in a similar way to what Harrow did with Viren. Ezran apologizes afterwards though and they make up, but it's still just another push towards Aaravos

I have a lot of thoughts about the generational parallels between Viren-Harrow and Callum-Ezran. If you want more thoughts on Ezran's side of things / where I think it may go in S6 check out this meta I wrote here <3 We also have confirmation after the fact in a recent interview with Aaron Ehasz that the brothers will indeed have conflict in future seasons:

Aaron: You know, we’re gonna see Ezran face some of the limits of his idealism, of his pacifist stance, and see what — where that takes him.  Interviewer: I’m actually really excited about that! My one like little wishlist thing is I kind of want, um, I’ve always wanted Ezran and Callum to have like a sincere argument about something, and for Ezran to pull rank on him, a little bit almost like a callback to his own father and Viren. Probably not to that extent, but in a way it’d be very similar, and there were a lot of callbacks I know in season five back to season two. Aaron: Right. Harrow says in I think the second episode, “a child is freer than a king,” so in some ways he [Ezran] has moved backwards, right? He’s taken on responsibility and constraints that have made his life harder. Yeah, to your point about conflict between Callum and Ezran, I think we actually talked about that briefly when in season five, when they’re deciding what to do next, and they end up voting — Rayla ends up voting, deciding kinda two versus one, what they’re going to do, so we didn’t have it be Ezran going “well I’m the king and I get to make—” but I will say that a version of what you’re wishing for and a one-on-one conflict between the two of them could happen, and how do they resolve it? They’re brothers, they’re equals, but also Ezran is the king, so what does that lead to?

The thing about Viren and Harrow is that at the same time, they both absolutely needed each other, and that simultaneously, there was no world where their choices around dark magic didn't ultimately rip both of them apart at the seams (which is arguably the main narrative purpose of dark magic, but anyway). Harrow is very principled and idealistic, and that's not a bad thing, but you have to also surround yourself with counterbalances; for him that was Viren and Sarai, allowing him to land somewhere the middle (willing to do the Magma Titan mission with ultimately very few moral reservations, but not willing to leave the wounded behind). And at the same time, Harrow's presence in Viren's life kept him tethered to something at both better ("I need to be the man he once believed I could be") and worse (an unrepentant dark mage) than what he became: a man who had forsworn both. There was no world, I think, in which Viren could've done dark magic and stayed at Harrow's side and been fine, mostly because of the growing resentment between them (Harrow towards Viren for living, in some ways, and Viren towards Harrow for not seeing/appreciating Viren's been slowly dying for him, over things neither ever actually asked or wanted the other person to ever do, lmao).

All of this to say that Callum and Ezran, likewise, do need each other. Callum is able to cut his losses (is the first to want to leave Rex's lair), make hard choices (smashing the primal stone), and see/understand angles no one else really does (various plans and scenes in particular). Callum's immense loyalty to Ezran means that he'll follow his brother's lead and be guided subsequently by Ezran's compassion/duty-bound attitude (following his lead in 1x03 over the egg in the first place). Without Ezran, Callum would've focused on a potential 'solution' (even when the wording of the poem can be read in a few different ways) gone chasing after the Nova Blade, which would've taken time and left the prison ultimately unguarded, leaving an ultimately violent end their only option. (Given enough time/reveal spells, Claudia likely would've been able to find said prison or just taken the pearl accidentally anyway, I think.)

The boys, likewise, don't have the same societal/economic baggage that Viren and Harrow do, either within their relationship ("You are a servant of Katolis") or within themselves ("I see you've overcome the limitations of your upbringing" / "What did I do except be born with everything?"). And in a lot of ways the personality clashes that tore Viren and Harrow apart are far more akin to the ones Callum and Rayla have had, respectively ("Ah, so that's what this is really about: pride" / "You're going to stay here and die out of pride?!").

However, the boys do have something that has both been something that helps resolves their conflicts and will likely exacerbate them: Rayla. The impending assassination is the first thing that splits the brothers apart, and Rayla keeps Callum more tempered in particular ("Callum, back off!") in a similar manner that Ezran helps keep him tempered, too ("If she'd been here the last two years" "Callum!"). Rayla also resolves their burgeoning conflict in 5x05 over whether to go get the Nova Blade by siding with Ezran.

However, with Rayla brings the coins, and Runaan. Callum has already personally dedicated himself to getting them out, not only in finding a possible solution for it (when even Rayla wanted to leave it for another day) but in freeing them by his own hand: "So to do it, I'll need these." And we know from Ezran's short story, "Deep Below," that he harbours strong resentment/anger towards the elf Callum has sworn himself to freeing. Which, if Ezran - who values his crown and place on the throne so much from a place of duty, and who has been growing continually more assertive - pulls rank, and Callum - who's always been very determined and can be obtuse in arguments - disregards it, it's a perfect storm of emotions.

I think the heart of the matter for me - and Idk how much the show will go with / develop this, particularly in the second notion I'm about to offer - but I think a lot about Callum having a Genuine form of Viren's claimed devotion of "I'll do anything to protect my family" (when he wouldn't reveal the egg in 1x03 and has been willing to sacrifice his children) towards Ezran and Ezran having a Genuine form of Viren's resentment toward Harrow ("I'm the one who has to make the hard choices you refuse / don't have to") because he's the one who's king, and Callum isn't. Of course, Viren took a lot on his own plate that Harrow absolutely did not ask him to, but Harrow also didn't stop him from doing it, and Callum would be there for Ezran in whatever ways Ezran would allow (and again, similarly even in ways Ezran wouldn't want him to).

I don't think Callum is capable of resenting his brother the way Viren was with Harrow (Callum has pride, sure, but that's not how it manifests, and he's interested in power as agency, not power as self importance); he'll also keep secrets to protect his brother, the same way Viren surely thought he was doing with Harrow. And Ezran definitely has shades of Harrow's anger, evidenced even in 2x08, in which Ezran is decidedly more verbally harsh with Rayla upon finding out the truth about their dad's death than Callum was in 2x03.

Given that every other sibling pair in the show (save for Sarai and Amaya, who we by far see the least of) has gone through a major upheaval and often ended up on opposite sides (Viren-Harrow, Karim-Janai, Claudia-Soren -- often with the more 'royal' aligned sibling being on the 'good' side, and the mage adjacent sibling being on the 'bad' side) I think it's clear that Callum and Ezran will have a conflict. I've actually been somewhat waiting for this since S3 and big time since S4, as seeing the boys overcome what broke Viren and Harrow apart is crucially important in 1) breaking the cycle by 2) proving that they aren't the same as their predecessors and won't fall prey to all the same mistakes. Just most of it, at first, it seems.

TLDR; basically, I've always wanted a major political/personal conflict between the brothers for both characterization and thematic reasons - and now it seems like we'll be getting an emotional at the very least. I always assumed it'd be a scene where Callum was more in the wrong (and perhaps somewhat infantilizing his brother) but am deeply intrigued/excited if it's a scene in which Ezran is (perhaps) more in the wrong. I think it will be ultimately nothing they can't find their way back from, but I will definitely be crying a lot over it anyway. Yipee

[ciaossu-imagines]

What would the Winter Troupe be as elements?

Although not a traditional element, I would place Tsumugi as a wood element/plant element type of person. It was a little bit of struggle to really nail him down, as there were aspects of both water and air elements that I also thought fit him, but in the end, wood/plant element characteristics were the ones that I felt fit him best. Wood element type personalities are often caring, calm and nurturing and Plant element type personalities are often seen as benevolent, pacifists, and meek. These are the people who are genuinely kind, who often see the good in other people, even if they sometimes struggle to see the good in themselves, who are gentle and soft. They tend not to raise their voice and they don’t get angry often. They often play mediator, but they can become stressed trying to fix everyone’s problems or to find that perfect solution. They enjoy being in nature or being outside, finding it beautiful and relaxing. They’re often aesthetically pleasing and they are quick to recognize the beauty in things. to me, all these things are very much parts of Tsumugi. Among this group of people, he’s very quietly calm a lot of the time. He does play mediator a lot and really just wants everyone to get along. He doesn’t blame anyone else in the troupe for problems that come up, often shouldering the blame himself. He lacks self-confidence, especially at the beginning, but he’s quick to see and notice all the amazing things about the others and will praise them for those things. I personally headcanon that Tsumugi doesn’t have much of a temper and when he does lose his temper, it's in an almost eerily calm way. I also headcanon him as someone who likes going for long walks outside when things get to him, because he finds being outside soothing and relaxing. His brain works better out in nature, where he can spot both the beauty in the crowds of people but especially so in the landscape.

Tasuku is definitely an earth element type person to me. Legit, I didn’t even need to think twice about it. It was so obvious to me and I hope I’ll be able to explain properly why it was that obvious. Earth people are overall pretty stable and reliable. They’re solid people – they tend to lean more practical and logical. They’re determined and unafraid of hard work. If it helps them accomplish their goals, even if they have to sweat and work and push past both their physical limits and their own hang-ups, they don’t really give it a second thought. They’re always striving, in some way, to improve themselves. As people, they’re ground and focused. Earth people also tend to be creatives and have strong senses of aesthetic. They don’t tend to have huge social circles, though they tend to be friendly to people. It’s just that they don’t let people in all the way too easily. When they do though, they are the most loyal of people. They can be overprotective and they have a bad habit of being exceptionally stubborn. At their worst, they’re always convinced that they’re right and they can try to force others to do things their way, though they think they’re helping. All these things scream Tasuku to me. Out of the group, he’s the most level-headed. He’s practical, not prone to flights of fancy. He does love theatre. He loves telling stories, getting to be someone else, loves entertaining others, connecting to the creative side of these personalities, but even taking that into account, Tasuku is the one, out of all the troupe, to think about the little practical things that also go into acting and when it comes to living as an adult and how to function in his day to day, he's exceptionally grounded. He’s also always looking for ways to become a better performer. He studies other actors, purposefully puts himself in positions that, while they’ll be hard, will help him grow. He puts in the work, that’s for sure. I also do think that Tasuku is an incredibly loyal person – it’s why he took Tsumugi’s ‘betrayal’ so hard. Oh, and yeah – he’s got one hell of a stubborn streak. When Tasuku is convinced he’s right, he’s digging his heels in and he’ll need concrete evidence before he accepts that he isn’t in the right.

I debated with Hisoka as to what element would fit him best. It was always down to two elements for me, somewhat related elements. I vacillated between either ice or water. Some part of me still thinks that either one of them could easily fit and make sense for him. But in the end, I went with water, as I felt it fit him just a smidgen better than ice. Water personalities are yielding, eternally adaptable. Like water has the ability to take the shape of the vessel its poured into, these people can chameleon and take the shape of whatever they need to, they can adapt and change and are always constantly becoming. They can be mercurial, moody. They’re mysterious – not openly passionate, not the type to wear all their emotions on their sleeves. Water people are often soft and unformed, creative and imaginative, empathetic individuals. One of the things that has always struck me about Hisoka is just how mysterious he is, but also just how malleable a character he is. Due to his amnesia at the beginning, he’s not really a completely formed person. It’s like he’s just learning, feeling out, who he is and who he wants to become. He adapts to the things around him and he adapts quickly. Even when his memories come back, that adaptability is still forefront in who he is. He gains a little more of a core personality throughout the story but in a way, Hisoka never feels fully formed as a person to me. He’s someone who changes constantly, trying on personas, trying on hobbies, actions, and jobs, learning and growing and chameleoning himself until he’s who he wants to be. On top of that, though it’s not shown often, I think Hisoka is someone who easily understands other people. He’s observant and empathetic, at least in my opinion.

Homare was another one where I really, really struggled with deciding between two elements for him. It was always between two – both popped into my head right away when thinking of him – and ironically, in a stark contrast to Hisoka’s, the elements are in complete opposites. While I could still make some really good arguments for Homare fitting as an air type personality, in the end, I think I do place him a little more as a fire element personality. Fire personalities are enthusiastic, impulsive, charismatic, passionate, dramatic, and a lot of fun. Anyone who meets Homare cannot deny the man’s passion and enthusiasm. He has an undeniable zest for life and he throws every atom of his existence into living it to the fullest and chasing his artistic passions. He’s more than a little impulsive – if an idea pops into his head, if something moves him, if an opportunity is presented to him that interests him, Homare’s not the type to say no. he’s someone who has all this energy and he brings more than a little dramatic flair to situations. This makes sense since fire type personalities are often born performers. Fire type personalities are also the most honest of all the personalities. They speak and act straight for their heart, honestly, bluntly, without hiding anything and without really thinking about their words. We see this is a negative trait of Homare’s, that it’s something he’s prone to doing. He doesn’t stop to think, or just doesn’t understand, why his honest words are often taken so poorly. He doesn’t think about his words or the consequences of them. While he means well, he’s prone to hurt people’s feelings and he can easily destroy relationships like this.

Azuma is, to me, an almost quintessential water personality. I say almost because there are some weaknesses unique to water element personalities that don’t really fit with Azuma (for example, I don’t think he’s at all gullible), but overall, it’s the element that fits him the best and for the most part, he really highlights all the strengths of that personality type. He fits the water element in a completely different way than Hisoka does though – a swing side of water personality types that wasn’t previously mentioned is that water characters can often be diplomatic. They’re good at being the glue that holds all the other emotional extremes together. Water people have a lot happening under the surface. Emotional people, they’re very empathetic and intuitive. They tend to understand and connect with other people very easily, though they can easily hold back when it comes to allowing people to truly know them…or they swing to the complete opposite, going all in on trusting people and becoming a little codependent. They are daydreamers, creatives, people who love retreating inside their own heads, which can only serve to make them even more mysterious. Azuma is mysterious. While he openly shares bits and pieces of his life, that’s all they are – bits and pieces. He keeps a lot of things to himself and is full of secrets. Some of it is that he’s just not sure of whether to trust others with those secrets but there’s also a part of him that enjoys keeping his secrets and his thoughts and dreams just for himself. He’s someone who enjoys the fantasies and lovely daydreams he can spin for himself. The only time he doesn’t enjoy being inside his own head is when the memories come back, when the serious thoughts creep in and threaten to drown him. I think Azuma is also someone, as shown in canon, to have a lot more underneath his charming surface than he’d like to have people believe. He can come off as kind of superficial, as just beautiful, charming, friendly, and a little vapid, but that’s far from the truth. He is a very emotional man; he’s self-aware and able to identify and understand his own emotions, the reasons he behaves the way he does, but he’s also incredibly observant and is quick to see, accept, and understand actions, behaviours, and the emotions others put out. Because he is charismatic and charming, because his presence is often soothing for others to be around, he can quickly gain these human relationships, even if they never end up being very deep ones. In his past, and even in his present and future, I do think Azuma will struggle with some codependency when he does allow himself to go all in on trusting someone, but at the same time, I do think that, with most people, initially he does put up some walls and does keep a little bit of an emotional distance from them. It’s not something the other person would notice, because Azuma is great at hiding it, but it’s there and felt on his side.

[mythologyfolklore]

I altered my design for Golden Cicada a little bit. (I swear, drawing anthropomorphic insects is a nightmare, for what did I punish myself by designing them like this?!)

Okay, here some headcanons about GC. :)

They're an agender cicada spirit (they/them), who came to be sometime around 2400 BCE (about 400-300 years before the legendary Xia-dynasty) and cultivated under Yùdĭng Zhēnrén.

Soon after becoming a senior disciple, they encountered two small lost children and led them to Yùdĭng Zhēnrén, who took them in as disciples. Golden Cicada quickly took the children under their literal and metaphorical wings and struck a life-long friendship. These children later became Èrláng Shén and Sānshèng Mŭ.

More than a thousand years later, they were travelling the world and encountered the Buddha himself, which inspired them to convert to Buddhism and become his disciple.

Golden Cicada is mostly calm and kind-hearted, but sometimes a little manic. They'll yell "I'M A PACIFIST!", as they push someone down a flight of stairs for talking shit about their friends.

Golden Cicada has absolutely no self-control, when it comes to sweets. They often get scolded for eating sweets, that were meant for everyone (they don't mean to be selfish, they just can't help it). They also can't resist the occasional urge to sing at night.

Golden Cicada has the gift of precognition, but they share their knowledge so rarely, that it's unclear where the limitations of that gift lie.

Most of the time, Golden Cicada is as chill as Mt. Everest, but there are two things that can actually piss them off. One: you hurt their friends and/or talked shit about them. Two: their friends did something incredibly stupid and/or bad.